Free Web NovelChapter 379: Chapter 83: Living Is Not Just About Staying Alive
"Deacon... since that great lord is so powerful, and a kind man, then... then why didn’t we beg him for help? Ask him to put in a word with the Baron? Or... or to see that justice is done? A word from someone like him would surely carry weight!"
Her words were like a small stone tossed into a calm pond, sending out ripples.
A few of the peasants exchanged glances. Some felt Marian was being fanciful, while others couldn’t help the flicker of the same desperate hope in their own eyes.
"Marian, you’ve lost your mind!" Old Peter piped up. He was the oldest and most cautious person in the village. "For a great man like that, just having him pass by and glance our way is a stroke of luck. You actually wanted to approach him? Besides, on what grounds would he help us?"
"That’s right," another peasant chimed in, his tone blunt and practical. "We’re just common folk. You think we can just talk to a Legendary Knight? Best not to anger him and bring disaster down on the Deacon instead!"
Deacon Byron listened to their debate, feeling both gratified and bitter.
He was gratified that they were instinctively trying to protect him, but bitter because that protection was so fragile, and his own power was still too meager when facing a lord like the Baron.
He raised a hand, waiting for the crowd to quiet down before speaking slowly. "Marian, I understand your intentions. And Old Peter, your concerns are valid."
He first pacified both sides, then pointed to the crossroads, now empty of Guards. "But look, the lord has, in fact, already helped us."
The crowd fell silent, stunned. They followed his finger and saw that the spot was indeed deserted. After Murphy had gone, the Guards had already slipped away.
Deacon Byron continued, "Those Guards, when you get down to it, are just pawns following orders, not the Baron’s actual Knights. Faced with us gathered here to stop them, they were already nervous. They were even more afraid of the situation escalating, of people getting hurt and the church’s grain being ruined. They wouldn’t be able to answer to their superiors. After all, they have to pay some mind to the Church Court’s honor."
"And then Lord Melfield’s carriage happened to pass by. He didn’t need to say a word, or even make his position clear. His status, his very title as the Thunder Sword, is an invisible mountain in itself. No matter how foolish the Guard Captain is, he knows he absolutely must not offend such a figure. The lord’s escort merely demanded the road be cleared. For them, this was the most legitimate of commands, and the most convenient of excuses."
He scanned the faces of the peasants, who were slowly beginning to understand. "So, they withdrew, quickly and cleanly. Not because they feared the pitchforks in our hands, but because they were ’obeying the command of a Legendary Knight.’ We have saved this grain for now. We’ve made it through today’s crisis. This... this is the most practical help that lord has given us."
The crowd fell completely silent.
Young Thomas opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing. He simply put more of his strength into pushing the heavy grain cart.
The glimmer of hope in Marian’s eyes died completely. She lowered her head, wiping the corner of her eye with the edge of her apron, unsure if it was from dust or something else.
Old Hans, who had been listening in silence this whole time, slowly straightened his stooped back.
He glanced at Marian, then at Deacon Byron. His deeply lined face showed no sign of agitation, but in his cloudy eyes, something seemed to settle, while something else began to faintly glow.
He cleared his throat forcefully. The sound was as raspy as a broken bellows, yet it drew everyone’s attention.
Old Hans began to speak slowly. "The Deacon’s right. Lean on a mountain, and it will crumble. Lean on the water, and it will flow away. In the end, relying on others... is no substitute for relying on your own two hands."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over faces that were either dejected or bewildered. "In all these years, droughts, locusts, tax hikes, conscription... which of these wasn’t a crisis? Ten years ago, with that terrifying ’Eastern Territory Tax,’ didn’t we grit our teeth and survive it? There was no Legendary Knight passing by back then, and Deacon Byron hadn’t arrived yet."
Deacon Byron’s heart was stirred. He took up Old Hans’s thread, his voice suddenly rising. "Hans is right! A moment ago, even if the Thunder Sword hadn’t happened to pass by, were we really so helpless? Would we have just let them haul away our last hope?"
He took a step forward, positioning himself a little higher. The afternoon sun fell upon his faded Monk’s Robe, giving it an unexpected air of sanctity:
"We have gathered here not because we enjoy confronting our Lord, but because we must live, and we must let our children live! The pitchforks and wooden clubs in our hands may not stand against real swords, but our resolve to stand together, our will to protect our homes and our faith—that is our strength!"
His gaze burned as he looked at each and every face:
"The grain is safe for now, but life must go on. From now on, we must hide this grain more carefully, distribute it fairly, and help one another. We must work the fields more meticulously—even a single extra ear of wheat will be a blessing. As for the Baron... so long as we act righteously, keep to our duties as fellow believers, and remain united, he may not dare to push things to the absolute extreme. Do not forget, I am still here. The church is still here. The light of Oriane will not be hidden by dark clouds forever!"
His words were like a gust of wind, scattering the unease that had settled in their hearts.
Young Thomas straightened his back. Without a sound, he shouldered a sack of grain, his steps much steadier than before.
Marian scrubbed a hand across her face. No longer looking into the distance, she bent down, carefully cupped the scattered grains of wheat in her hands, and poured them back into the sack.
