Chapter 93: Capitalism With Avarian Characteristics (Patreon)

All of the commanders of the army of Ravenveld chattered incessantly as the king sat at the table with his arms crossed. Arnoud stared into the distance like no one else was around him, like no one else was talking. Even the Grand Commander, Princess Clara, seemed at a loss of what to do. The prevailing topic of conversation was the sudden disappearance of Sarah and Willem both.

The pair had been their lynchpin in the strategy to fight against the cyclops, and now they were both gone. They hadn’t returned to Ravenveld, but rather had likely proceeded ahead. Galahad assured that Sarah’s illusion magic was capable of that much—after the tremendous blow that had been dealt against the liches, there were no real magical obstacles in the armies of the Avarians.

“Enough.” The king stood to his feet, and all silenced. “I’ve shown Willem a great deal of leniency because I respected his talent. I even allowed him to display his independence streak without rebuke. But… he’s shown that he has no regard for the kingdom or its inhabitants on multiple occasions. He’s entirely self-interested. Given the tremendous power that he possesses, I can’t allow him to remain free, nor allow this desertion to go unpunished.”

Count Tielman threw himself to his knees. “Your Majesty—”

“Henceforth, Willem is marked as a traitor to the realm. If he approaches you and engages any way, you are to apprehend him as soon as possible. If he does not cooperate, each and all of you have my leave to kill him on sight.”

“Mercy, Your Majesty!” Tielman shouted, practically kowtowing.

“Count Tielman, all of House Brugh, and Viviene Dubois are to be placed on house arrest immediately,” the king continued. He walked up to Tielman. “You are relieved of command, count. Take him away,” he commanded his royal guard, and they moved to obey.

The tent went silent, sobered by these developments. Tielman accepted his apprehension with grace, knowing that struggle could only lead to more disaster.

Arnoud regarded his daughter. “Given that there’s now a vacancy in the infantry division, I recommend myself as the commander. However, it remains your decision.”

Clara nodded. “…very well, father.”

“Spread word to the army,” Arnoud said coldly. “Every week that Willem remains absent, I will execute one of his family members, feeding them alive to rats.” The king made to leave.

“No, you won’t.” Clara stepped up to him, blocking his path out.

Arnoud stared down at her. “What did you say?”

“You’re not going to do that,” Clara repeated. “I won’t allow it.”

“It’s not your decision,” the king said.

“I’ll see myself dead before I allow you to do something like that,” Clara said. “Don’t strike at his family because he chose to do something against your orders.”

The king drew his dagger and held it out. “Kill yourself, and I’ll rescind the order.”

Clara looked up at her father, hurt and shocked. She couldn’t even muster words after being told to do that. The king’s face was as steady and cold as stone, as if he wasn’t even looking at his daughter like she was a human. He offered the dagger again, as if goading her. All watched in silence.

“Pfft. ‘See yourself dead.’ Imbecilic statement,” he said, sheathing his dagger. He turned around and shook his head.

“I’ll do it,” Clara said, grabbing his arm.

The king looked back at her. He drew his dagger once more and held it out. This time, Clara took it. She held it up to her neck, right by her jugular. All in attendance watched as her hands shook and her breath grew uneven and unsteady. Then, her crimson aura manifested around the blade, and her hands steadied. With one final calming breath…

…she cut.

The king lashed out, striking her hand and sending the dagger flying so hard that it burst through the tent wall and out into the camp. Next, he grabbed the gorget of her armor and held her face close to his own. Blood poured from her neck in a steady stream. The king’s face was that of total wrath, but underneath it was a dim undercurrent of panic.

“A shame,” Clara said, her gaze steel. “I might’ve gone to the heavens to tell mother you consigned both her children to death in your endless pursuit of the absolute respect you’ll never have.”

Arnoud released her and stepped back, obviously shocked. Without another word, he turned and left the tent. There was a dim haze of uncertainty throughout the tent, and everyone appeared utterly unsure of what was going to happen next.

“Now…” Clara turned back to the strategy table. “Someone get me a priestess, please… but until then, let’s continue where we left off.” She put her hand to her neck, pressing down. “Ignore the words of my infantry commander. He’s getting old.”

Clara smiled as if she’d won her very first victory even as her wound pulsed with her own aura.

***

Sarah and Willem walked through the slums in the city of Vel Karak, staying relatively low key as they approached the presiding oligarch’s mansion.

“How would your beloved ideology of capitalism cure this land?” Sarah asked him as they walked.

Foreign tongues flowed all around them, and no one seemed to even care especially that they were here. They didn’t seem to be a people accustomed to invading forces, or espionage from opposing sides. As a matter of fact, it seemed like most of them were ignorant there even was an invasion.

“Easily, that’s how.” Willem said calmly.

She looked at him incredulously. “Really now? Please do tell.”

“Industrialization.” He smiled at her broadly. “There’s nothing quite better to get up society out of poverty. I could tell you story after story about how industrialization propelled civilizations to great heights. If you’re one of the first movers to industrialize, you can get ahead of the curve. And this place already has quite a few advantages in that department.”

“Advantages?” Sarah pressed.

“Well sure. Urbanization is essential for industrialization. All this place has is a bunch of major cities, it seems like.” He looked around. “For wide scale industry, you need a ton of labor. If you’re exporting a lot of goods–or better yet, expanding local markets—that’s a recipe for advancement. And in my mind, Ravenveld would make for an excellent consumer market.”

“Just like that?”

“Well… I am trivializing things too much, but I do have some good models. Lee Kuan Yew, Douglas MacArthur…” Willem lost himself in thought. “I suppose Douglas would apply more for this situation. Maybe there could be someone like that. I suppose that depends on how King Arnoud handles things.”

Sarah studied him ponderously. “I had no idea you were interested in economic reforms of this sort,” she said. “You gave the impression that you were rather uninterested in the governance of the realm.”

“Well, of course I’m vaguely interested. Microeconomics is my main interest, but macroeconomics plays a role. You can’t really predict macroeconomics, but I think I have a good grasp on what makes the wheel turn.” He looked at her, studying her reaction and face. His own face fell. “I don’t like the look that you’re giving me.”

Sarah looked away with a faint smile but didn’t say anything more as they arrived at the base of the mountain. Willem looked up to spot a grand structure made of the finest stones like marble and granite. The walls and windows were gilded and kept immaculately clean. Boundless fertility stood on proud display, with trees visible even from the outside bearing juicy fruits kept sustained by the fertile soil of the volcano.

Sarah walked up to one of the guards and spoke a few words, and then the doors parted like they weren’t even serious obstacles. She walked back up to Willem and beckoned, and then they both walked into the palace. It was filled with luxuries—marble flooring, gilded walls, and gem-encrusted fabrics dangling from every corner. It seemed like all the wealth in the world had been sequestered in this place. He half expected to find a dragon lurking within, lounging on a horde of gold and gems.

They walked for a long time in this quiet palace, moving by as if they had an entry pass. Perhaps she did. Neither of them said a word, just taking in the sights all around. The entry hall alone made the royal palace of Ravenveld seem like nothing more than a dinghy provincial estate. As they proceeded up and up, that impression only deepened.

Finally, they moved to the final floor. Sarah led him to a side door lined with a velvet and gilded with gold, and pushed it open without a second spot. The strong smell of incense and perfume hit him immediately, and he crinkled his nose as he proceeded in with Sarah. It looks to be a gigantic bedroom, with a bed the size of a swimming pool partially hidden by countless see-through purple curtains. There was a woman lying in the center of it, wrapped in blankets and half-covered by the haze of smoke. She roused, lifting her head up.

“Seventy-Two,” Sarah greeted.

“Nine?” the woman stood up immediately, and Willem realized that she was naked. Like any proper gentleman, he turned his head to look away. She continued to say something in a tongue that Willem didn’t understand, but had heard some of on the way here. It must’ve been Avarian.

“Speak the Ravenveld tongue, sister, for my dear friend here.” Sarah put an arm on his shoulder. “And put on some clothes.”

“The Ravenveld tongue?” Seventy-two said disbelievingly. When next Willem saw her, she was peering at his face with a blanket wrapped around as an improvised toga. She looks so much like Sarah it was immediately obvious why the guards had just let them pass. “How curious. It looks as though Nine really has consorted with the enemy.”

Willem saw fit to look back now that she was dressed. “Indeed. Sarah threw it all away for me.”

“For you,” Sarah’s sister repeated dryly. “And yet you’re here, alone. Tell me…” she looked between them and, contemplatively. “How many years of life do you think I could get from the council for turning the two of you in?”

“Zero. Because in no time at all, the armies of King Arnoud are going to break through,” Sarah said. “The oligarchs won’t have a second to spend on someone like you.”

“Hmm,” Seventy-Two smiled and laughed faintly. “You said that last Grand Crusade.”

“Except this time, they’re already fighting Thrall,” Sarah said. “We’ve only been in Avaria for a day—that’s just how close we were.”

Seventy-Two said nothing.

“I think it’s long overdue for a family reunion,” Sarah said. “Help me bring our sisters around… otherwise, Arnoud will slaughter us all. I have no delusions about that man. He can’t hold this land—strategically, it’s just impossible. And he’ll know it—thus, he won’t hesitate to wipe out every person and force the Fount of Avaria to erupt. He’ll go to any extreme if it means ending the nation as a threat forevermore. Thus… we have to prepare,” Sarah said certainly.

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