Chapter 9

The site of the first known incident did not display any of the damage that was described in the reports. What remained of the burnt-out ruin had been torn down, cleaned up, and carted away. A new flour mill sat blithely upon the foundations of its predecessor, the fresh daub of its walls gleaming in the noonday sun.

“Imagining someone just walking up and lighting this place on fire feels surreal.”

Looking up at the mill beside Ludmila, Andrei offered a grunt in agreement.

Built at the top of a hill, the building had a commanding view of the surrounding countryside. Anyone casually walking up to it would be seen quite plainly. No one in their right mind would simply stroll up and set it aflame, expecting to get away with it.

With the bulk of the harvest already processed, the mill had very little traffic. Still, the local authorities saw fit to station a Death Knight at the entrance.

“I wonder if a Death Knight would even be effective in this situation…”

“Beg your pardon, Camilla?”

“The Death Knights won’t preemptively attack the citizens,” Ludmila explained. “A charmed individual could walk up in broad daylight without challenge. Half of the interior would already be on fire by the time the sentry noticed the smoke.”

Andrei frowned at her observation. Rebuilding the mill served two purposes: the first was because the citizens in the surrounding villages needed it. The second was to show that the local administrators would not give in to…whatever the perpetrator’s motive was. A sentry had been placed just in case any retaliation was directed towards the new building.

It never came to pass, however. Instead, a mill was destroyed on the opposite side of the county a week later. Another mill went up in flames a week after that. House Völkchenheim continued chasing the weekly incidents around, except the fourth week ended with three more arsons. With the strong recommendation from the county’s Elder Liches to call someone in, the Count had finally relented.

Except the person they called in had no idea how she was supposed to help. While the Sorcerous Kingdom’s administration might see her as a Human and assume that all Humans acted the same way, this thinking only held on a fundamental level. The problems that frontier populations faced were far removed from the issues of the interior, and they may as well have been two lands separated by vast distances rather than two territories of the same nation right next to one another.

The magnitude and nature of crime were different. In the past, one could not set a mill on fire in Warden’s Vale, since there was no mill in the first place. Most labour was done by hand with personal tools. Everyone knew everyone, and destroying something everyone relied on made trouble for everyone one knew, which included friends and loved ones. If the damage was severe enough, the settlement’s very existence would be put into jeopardy.

Violence amounted to brawls, and brawls were welcome in Warden’s Vale. Aggression was required to fight threats to the border and honing that aggression was an ongoing thing. Bystanders knew when to break up fights if they got out of hand and sent the battered combatants to Bohdan.

In the interior, there were just so many people and one would encounter more strangers than acquaintances. That one was a single person amongst a vast sea of people changed how one perceived their actions. Damaging a community was not an existential threat to the entire population. There was always somewhere to run; someplace where no one knew who one was.

She supposed that her exposure to this behaviour was a good thing: Warden’s Vale was no longer a tiny community, and it was possible that these types of crimes would come hand in hand with its growing population. Recalling the group of ‘immigrants’ that had appeared uninvited in Warden’s Vale from Crosston, she wondered if their blatant disregard for the law was common.

“Out of the settlements in your territories,” Ludmila asked, “did any have a history of incidents like this?”

“That’s hard to say,” Andrei replied. “House Völkchenheim took over land that half of the nobles abandoned. They weren’t nice enough to leave a neat pile of helpful notes for whoever they thought would rule here next. Even when it comes to the fiefs with intact administrations, I can’t say that the record-keeping was very good. Things have gotten better with the arrival of the Elder Liches, of course, but that won’t give you any of the answers you’re looking for.”

“And the only territories unaffected are those under House Völkchenheim’s direct management.”

“Which is a blatant attempt at misdirection. We’ve worked hard to get this place up to the administration’s standards, and a whole lot of feathers were probably ruffled along the way. It’s clear that they have a problem with us in particular – Jezne next door hasn’t had a single issue.”

Ludmila appreciated that Andrei was more open with her now, but she didn’t like how he attempted to preempt her thoughts. He was still very defensive when it came to House Völkchenheim.

“They at least have some sense of what to attack,” Ludmila said. “Instead of lighting fields and forests ablaze, they’re targeting production bottlenecks. After the summer harvest ended, they switched from flour mills to lumber mills.”

“If you noticed that,” Andrei said, “why did you start here?”

“Because it was on the way to the most recent site?” Ludmila replied, “It didn’t hurt to look. Do all of the mills have wooden frames like this?”

“The design differs depending on what’s used to run them, but yes, they all use timber frames. It’s the material we have the most of on hand, after all.”

『Woodlouse. What’s taking so long?』

Ludmila raised a hand to her ear.

『You’ve completed your sweep?』

『I have. These local maps are garbage. The ‘Ranger’ that made these may as well have been a caterpillar.』

『What about the most recent ones from the administration?』

『They are accurate.』

『Thank you. We’re headed to the site of the most recent arson now. We’ll meet you there – hold onto those caterpillar maps.』

The Message spell abruptly cut off, and Ludmila lowered her hand with a bemused smile.

“People usually don’t smile after speaking to Miss Nabe,” Andrei looked at her thoughtfully.

“I appreciate her efficiency,” Ludmila replied. “She has her own sort of charm, as well. We should get moving – Miss Nabe is on her way to our destination already.”

They hopped back into the awaiting carriage – which felt insufferably slow – and headed northeast towards a small forest under the management of one of Count Völkchenheim’s baronial vassals. It was nondescript enough to be something used by members of the noble households travelling back and forth from the territories to Crosston, so Ludmila conceded that it was a useful way to hide their movements on the open rural roads. Since she died in the Azerlisia Mountains, Ludmila’s capabilities as a Ranger had diminished somewhat, so she wasn’t confident in her ability to conceal her presence in the farmlands.

As Ludmila watched the fields and hamlets roll by, a detail she had first noted in Crosston started to bother her.

“Völkchenheim County does not seem to have much in the way of Undead,” she noted. “The Death Knight at the mill is the only one we have come across so far out here.”

“Adoption of Undead labour has been slow,” Andrei told her. “Lord Völkchenheim and his court have seen the projections from the administration, but juggling 40,000 people around isn’t something that can be done in a season.”

“Has anything particularly problematic occurred? Aside from these arsons, that is.”

Andrei leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms and rubbing a chin with one hand.

“The temple’s been pretty sour about the whole thing,” he said, “but there’s nothing they can do about it.”

“They haven’t spoken out against the Sorcerer King or the Undead?”

The Ranger snorted.

“‘Course not. That would be tantamount to suicide. They can’t do anything but stick to their shrines and temples and keep working quietly. You’re not suggesting that they’re the ones to blame for this, are you?”

“No, I was just wondering if there was any resistance to the use of Undead on the religious front.”

“There isn’t any active effort by the temple to resist the adoption of the Undead,” Andrei said, “but how we see the Undead has been ingrained in us since childhood. The enemy of the living, as they say. Until the Sorcerer King showed up, nothing gave us any reason to doubt. They call those ‘wild’ Undead now, don’t they?”

Ludmila nodded quietly, idly adjusting the ring on her right hand. She wasn’t sure if she was ‘wild’ Undead or not.

“Have you had any success at all with Undead labour?” She asked after several minutes.

“A few of the braver families were willing to give it a try,” Andrei said. “There was a lot of confusion at first, but I think they got the hang of it. The crops did the same as everyone else’s, so it was at least proven to work. My lord hopes that it will encourage others to try, but…”

“But?” Ludmila prompted him.

“Well, there are two main problems,” Andrei told her. “The first is that, like I just said, the crops did the same as everyone else.”

Why was that a problem? If anything, it showed how useful Skeletal labourers were. Andrei grinned at her confusion.

“If Sanju had a face,” he said, “it might look like yours does right now.”

“Maybe,” she glanced at the Elder Lich. “What you said makes little sense to me.”

“At least a part of it is our fault,” Andrei said. “We gave them the recommended number of Skeleton labourers for their land.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Yeah. The handful of households using Undead labour got to kick up their feet all season, but what everyone else saw was the same yield as themselves. You probably know how it goes from there.”

She did. Tenancy was essentially a venture where the leaseholder was running a family business on the plot of land defined by the terms of their contract. A landlord was supposed to issue enough land to support a family under the lease stipulated in their agreement, meaning that every household roughly had the same amount of land as their neighbours. Since the results were borne by personal effort, successful tenants had an intrepid mentality with a high degree of pride and confidence in their ability to work their land.

In short, they did not see any point in leasing Skeleton labour when they could do it themselves for the same result.

“Lord Völkchenheim has taken steps to make the difference clear, I assume? There should be plenty of abandoned plots after the annexation.”

“Too late for that,” Andrei replied. “We were busy just getting things going again, so we just drew up contracts for all of the second and third sons out of those that stayed to assume tenancy. Winter will be the best time to try something, but it’s going to be ugly. I can hear all of the angry farmers demanding why certain families get more land than others already. We’ve got one long headache ahead of us.”

They couldn’t tell them that it was because those who received more land were willing to use Undead labour since there wasn’t enough land for all of the households that would suddenly volunteer to use Undead labour. Forests couldn’t be cleared because those forests were under management by other tenants and represented a significant share of the county’s primary industries. By changing it, all derivative industries would be adversely affected.

Adopting Undead labour, consolidating land and encouraging people to abandon their ancestral vocations in a time of unprecedented plenty…‘juggling’ was an understatement. Ludmila could almost feel all the hungry eyes looking at her undeveloped lands and demanding that she be relinquished of the territories that weren’t being ‘properly utilized’.

“I don’t envy House Völkchenheim for the work it has ahead of it,” she said in sympathetic tones. “I had a vague sense that the more densely populated territories would have issues adjusting, but knowing some of the specific details makes it seem a nightmare. What about the Undead security forces? They aren’t tied to this problem.”

“We’ve gone with the Royal Court’s recommendations for the number of Death Knights required to maintain order in the county.”

“That should be a fair number of them,” Ludmila said, “but they appear to be quite scarce. I think I saw two hidden away at each gatehouse in Crosston, but there are no patrols on the roads.”

“The majority are deployed along the border,” Andrei replied.

Ludmila furrowed her brow. While maintaining internal security did mean that one was responsible for local borders, the network of roads connecting all of the hamlets and villages in a fief was a priority when it came to where a regular noble should project the administration’s presence.

“Have there been issues with the neighbouring territories? I understand that three of your borders are essentially wilderness…”

“Overall, it’s become safer, I think,” Andrei told her. “Tob is a new border, but, according to Baroness Allard, the threat of attacks from the forest have always been next to nonexistent. If anything, she gets more Demihumans poking their heads out now than ever before, but they’re more like ‘visits’ than raids.”

“I’ve been curious about how the northern frontier has held up so well compared to the south,” Ludmila said. “Are you saying that the tribes in the north have just kept to themselves all this time?”

“Hm…I’m not sure how to put this exactly, but it was because of the local politics.”

“Politics?”

Andrei held up a hand with an apologetic look.

“Yeah, that probably isn’t the right word,” he said. “It’s more that there was a long stalemate between three powers in the forest: the Serpent of the West, the Giant of the East, and the Wise King of the Forest, who controlled the south. The Wise King of the Forest was a singular force that suppressed everything else in her territory, meaning that tribes, monsters and the predatory population in general never grew to the point that competition would turn their attention outwards.”

Cheating. The northern Frontier Lords were dirty cheaters. It was like having a Dragon conveniently placed on a mountain nearby that took care of every threat while leaving their territories alone.

“You speak of this ‘King’ in the past tense – what happened to her?”

“About a year ago, she became Momon’s pet.”

“Eh? Do you mean that giant rodent with the long tail that always sleeps in front of Momon’s guest manor? The one with the Death Knight.”

“Ah, so you’ve seen her. Yes, that’s the Wise King of the Forest.”

It was true that she was very powerful and very fluffy, but she also seemed very lazy. Then again, predators often seemed that way. She understood that the Sorcerous Kingdom extended its control over the Great Forest of Tob long before the annexation of E-Rantel, so it made sense that no disturbances resulted from the shift in the balance of power.

“What about the other two powers? What happened to them?”

“I have no idea,” Andrei shrugged. “The people up here only know them by their names, but details on race or character…well, I guess I’ve always imagined them to be Heteromorph or Demihuman Lords of some sort. After seeing the Wise King of the Forest, however, their being monsters is also a strong possibility.”

She made a mental note to ask after them. They could potentially provide some insight into the management of tribal populations.

“The Frontier Lords of the north…since their circumstances are a product of these ‘politics’, does it mean that they aren’t militant nobles?”

“The northern territories aren’t anything remotely like a wild frontier,” Andrei replied. “One might think they’re border lords, but they’re functionally regular nobles. Even our old territory saw more trouble.”

“I see.”

Fixing her face into a neutral expression, Ludmila turned her gaze to the scenery outside.

The old Lady Allard and her daughters frequently made appearances at the noble functions in E-Rantel that Ludmila had occasionally attended as a child. Lady Allard was the daughter of one of the noble houses in another part of Re-Estize, and her daughters were two and three years younger than Ludmila, respectively. She had thought that, since their mother was from the heartlands, she had influenced her daughters to behave more like herself, but it had turned out that they weren’t from a militant house at all.

A sense of loneliness and unease settled over her. Beyond being the last of her house, Ludmila Zahradnik may have been the last of her kind.