Chapter 69: Fitting People into Progressively Tighter Spaces (Patreon)

After the devastation, the two Willems turned their gaze to the fractured territories beyond their borders. Dorgul Khan’s invasion had left lands lawless, each prey to brigands and famine that naturally arose without centralized authority. Rather than raze them further, Willem Junior deployed their armies as instruments of order. His commanders were issued writs of integration with their instructions written by Willem Senior himself—they were to establish provisional councils, restore granaries, and pledge protection in exchange for allegiance.

The remnants of nobility and monarchies had devolved into local warbands, but each were exhausted and undersupplied. Junior made the decision to absorb them to swell their army, as they had much need of labor. Those remaining readily embraced absorption into service to Ravenveld under Junior’s strict discipline—he even offered minor rank for the most helpful.

Senior, meanwhile, was a highly pragmatic governor. In each annexed province, Willem Senior installed stewards from among well-educated commoners or pragmatic native elites, backing their reign with garrisons of Junior’s choosing. These regions, utterly devastated by horse lords and wary of further attack, offered no meaningful resistance.

After that robust consolidation, the two Willems began the recovery by reestablishing administrative order through a centralized ledger system. Recognizing that the previous feudal tax structures had collapsed under the Lord of the Blue Sky’s invasion, Willem Senior took the opportunity to replace them with a robust standardized census and land registry, ensuring that every field, tenant, and head of livestock was accounted for.

Tax collection was no longer left to unreliable lords and instead became overseen by royal-appointed tax collectors paid a fixed salary. Willem Senior personally established the methodology for seasonal audits, which curtailed corruption and introduced a tried-and-true accounting system that was, in most ways, ahead of its time. Being ahead of time wasn’t always helpful, however—people did have some difficulty adjusting.

In the lands where villages were ash and fields lay fallow like that of northern Ravenveld, Willem Senior enacted a policy of targeted resettlement and incentive-driven labor. He granted temporary tax exemptions to families willing to reclaim these wastelands, offering seed stock and tools from royal stores. Moreover, he prevailed heavily upon the church of the nameless goddess of life to hasten their ascendancy.

Former soldiers, refugees, and priestesses of the goddess were organized into agrarian ventures. Each were state-supported farming units that restored arable land under the oversight of those most knowledgeable in efficient land division. Through careful planning and the efforts of the priestesses worshipping life, the blackened earth began to green again. It was a far cry from what it was, but it was the beginning of a promising recovery.

To reignite commerce, Willem Senior declared years of amnesty for farmers and tradesmen whose obligations had become unpayable due to war. He reformed toll systems, abolishing the arbitrary fees imposed by local nobility and replacing them with a uniform tariff policy that favored long-distance trade. Merchant caravans, once easy prey for bandits and extortionate militias, were granted royal charters that guaranteed them military escorts and legal protections in any territory under the crown of Ravenveld. These charters served as glue binding merchant interests to the preservation of Ravenveld as a state.

Despite the remarkable recovery, the two Willems’ reforms placed immense strain on the populace. Educated scribes and administrators—now suddenly burdened with tracking taxes, auditing accounts, and enforcing unfamiliar policies—found themselves working from dawn to dusk with little margin for error. Mistakes meant demotion… or worse, being lectured by the more self-absorbed of the two kings, who thought he knew all there was to know of managing money. Meanwhile, the common folk, many of whom had never known consistent rule, were thrust into rigid schedules, quotas, and recordkeeping that felt as alien as they were relentless.

It was Willem’s ceaseless presence—Senior’s personal visits to grain stores, or Junior’s harsh but fair regime established by his armies—that held it all together. Their charisma and their uncanny ability to anticipate problems before they grew kept the machinery moving. But beneath the surface, the kingdom was stretched thin, balanced precariously on the will of two men who never slept for long.

Underneath all of that… the two Willems amply enjoyed themselves. They came to know and respect the ability of the other. As a matter of fact, they had a great deal of fun.

But nothing lasts forever.

***

In an endless expanse of sky, two very similar-looking old men looked down upon the scene created by the Eye of Sovereigns. They both sat in a stately throne, but one was made of light wood while the other was deep and dark.

Lazzaro sat with Lazzaro, looking over at him. “Why are they like that?”

Lazzaro looked over to Lazzaro. “Like what?”

“Why are they getting along?” the more lax, savage Lazzaro asked.

“Just because you’re impossible to deal with doesn’t mean that others can’t adapt to the situation,” the more stately, dignified Lazzaro responded.

“Oh, so it’s my fault, is it?”

“Certainly not mine. Do you have any idea how many concessions I gave to you? And still, you were never satisfied,” lamented Stately Lazzaro.

“You needed to give me concessions,” Savage Lazzaro said, leaning in. “It was the only way that I could save your sorry, pathetic, worthless ass.”

“Enough,” Stately Lazzaro said. “With what mark shall we bestow him?”

“His handling of Dorgul was worse than ours,” Savage Lazzaro said. “Willem Junior fought well enough to kill him straight-out in a ruthless battle. He let the other one talk him out of it—that was his problem.”

“But tens of thousands would’ve died,” Stately Lazzaro said. “And because they didn’t, the economic reform went incredibly smoothly.”

The two sighed, disagreeing as ever.

Stately Lazzaro eventually looked over. “Should we give the pair advice about being twin-souled?”

“Forget that. Did we get a tutor? Did we have it easy? No!” Savage Lazzaro said. “If they want to figure out the intricacies of our condition, then they should do it as we did. Besides, I don’t want to talk to them. They annoy me, with their… handsome faces, and their smug superiority.”

Stately Lazzaro stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm… agreed. I doubt that smug prick would listen anyway.”

The other Lazzaro threw up his hands. “But… what we still haven’t answered the question. What mark shall we give him?”

***

When Willem woke up and looked around, seeing people that he’d been able to forget about, he let out a curse.

“Damn it,” he said, standing up angrily. “I was just about to review the tax on sugar!”

Several people looked at him bewilderedly, each clearly deeply affected by what they’d gone through. They couldn’t understand—things were just getting fun, and then the game ended. The kingdom was just about to start turning around, start printing money—or he supposed ‘minting currency.’ It was gold balls of the highest magnitude. It was cruel and inhumane to deny a man the fruits of his economic policy.

“Congratulations,” King Arnoud said grandly before anyone else could talk. Willem turned his head in that direction. “You’ve survived the Eye of Sovereigns. I’ve taken the liberty of moving you here, that we might assess you immediately.”

Willem looked around further. They were in an underground cavern, that much was obvious, but… ahead were ring-like structures. A series of four gates stretched through a narrowing tunnel, each one smaller and more intricately constructed than the last. They were ordered, layered—bronze, silver, gold, and… obsidian, it looked like. Willem couldn’t say for sure. Each had thin layers of magic between them, barely perceptible.

“Lazzaro the Twin-Soul will have judged you personally,” Arnoud said. “He will have given you advice about your journey.”

Willem narrowed his eyes, looking at the people nearby. Advice?

“I have little doubt that advice will have changed your life,” Arnoud continued.

Willem saw people crying, getting emotional. Others hardened, grew resolute.

“Did I get ripped off?” Willem muttered, but then came to the natural conclusion.

Ah, yes. Lazzaro simply couldn’t give me advice, Willem realized. Naturally, naturally. I was worrying over nothing. I’m sure Junior got heaps of advice, though… poor fellow.

“But most importantly for our purposes… he will have marked you. The purpose of this structure behind me…” he turned back. “The royal vault. It is meant to yield rewards toward those that prove themselves before the Eye of Sovereigns. Before you lose yourself to joy… the millennia since it was established has not been kind to it. My predecessors have pillaged it, leaving it bereft and distributing it according to their whim and whimsy.”

Willem translated that quickly—the vault was empty.

“Now, we will verify how Lazzaro has marked you,” Arnoud continued. “For those only attaining bronze and silver…” Arnoud slammed his royal scepter against the ground. “You are out,” he said.

“…but that doesn’t mean you don’t have value,” he continued after a pregnant pause. “You survived the time of troubles during Lazzaro’s reign. That means you are more than worthy. If you wish it, I can arrange a position for you in the royal court. If not… I have little doubt you can achieve success wherever you wish to go, once rumors spreads. For those that achieve the golden or dragon marks… you have the right to carry on in this contest.”

Arnoud looked at Willem squarely. “But I wouldn’t like to waste your time talking.”

Willem wondered if that look was targeted.

“Follow,” Arnoud declared, turning and walking beneath the first gate.

Willem hesitated a little bit, but eventually advanced. The first gate, wide and weathered with carvings of bronze branches, had a peculiar mark above it. It glowed as most past. A few hundred of them were allowed to pass through the bronze gate. Only a few were barred entry—they clutched their heads, despairing.

Beyond it stood the silver gate. It was tall, sleek, and adorned with mirrored faces that wept tears of mercury. The silver mark atop it glowed purple as they passed beneath, letting out a humming noise. This one was quite the hurdle—near a hundred faltered. From here, Willem could examine people closely. He only recognized two—the princess, Clara, and Raphael. Raphael’s eyes met Willem’s, and he walked over.

“Seems you’ve made it,” he said. “What did you think of the aura bows?”

“Surmountable,” Willem said simply.

“They say that no one has been able to figure out how the aura bow functioned,” Raphael said cryptically, looking ahead. “But then… I’m not no one.”

“Yeah?” Willem looked over as they walked. “Why are you telling me? You want a medal? Fresh out.”

“I know you beat Dorgul,” Raphael said. “Saw you fight—there’s no way he could’ve beaten you. But… economy. How’d you handle that?”

“Way better than you ever could,” Willem said.

“Oooh,” Raphael said. “And here I thought you weren’t interested in this competition.”

The third, golden gate, was narrow and lined with shifting inscriptions, permitting passage to a smaller lot. Willem, Raphael, and Clara all passed through without issue. Only about thirty others joined them. Behind, Willem heard sorry lamentations. He looked back to see countless people highly distraught. Princess Clara looked mightily relieved. She’d seemed to have harbored some doubt about whether she’d make the cut. King Arnoud smiled at her—Willem didn’t miss that. Despite everything, he still had some affection for his daughter.

“Looks like you made it. I’ll be glad to compete against you more personally,” Raphael said with a smile.

“Can you find someone else to do this rival routine with?” Willem said tiredly.

Raphael went silent, then turned and walked away ahead of everyone. He followed Arnoud through the final gate like it was his birthright, unobstructed. The final gate was little more than a slit in the rock, pulsing faintly as though alive. Its barrier of magic was dark and foreboding. Willem waited for a few other people to try it before stepping forth himself, staring at the black curtain. As he did, he saw Princess Clara walk up and try to pass.

She was blocked. She looked a little crushed, but she kept her composure admirably, inhaling deeply and exhaling as if meditating. Perhaps she noticed Willem’s gaze, though, because she turned to him and stared back. He expected her to say something, but she was as silent as their first meeting. Willem, too, turned to the final black gate.

Without ceremony, Willem tried to walk through. It felt like he passed through sludge, but…

He did pass.

On the other side, Raphael and Arnoud stood waiting and watching. Raphael’s smile widened a little seeing Willem again, but Willem only rolled his eyes and looked around the room. It looked like a high-security storage room, but the shelves and chests were all empty and barren. It seemed this place had been thoroughly looted.

Now… it was time to see who followed them through the gates.

***

As the details of the first contest spread throughout the capital, six figures became the subject of the most intrigue. These were people that had faced the crisis that Lazzaro the Twin-Soul himself endured, and emerged with the highest possible evaluation. Six names, six talents. In accordance with the name of the mark bestowed, they soon had a nickname: the Six Drakes.

It was a nickname born of an urban legend—that drakes were the children of dragons who were bid to survive without wings by their parents until their worth could be proven. For now, little was known beside their names.

But now, the whole of the kingdom would take notice of these exceptional figures. And much like the urban legend, they were doubtless to be put to the test.

<Previous      -Table of Contents-     Next>