Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Monster
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Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
I woke to the deafening toll of the bells.
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
"They're finally here."
I grabbed my sword and headed outside.
Unlike the first time, I wasn't rattled.
When I reached the farm,
I saw Black Goblins swarming around the watchtower.
The slaves atop the tower fired crossbows at the goblins.
The fight ended in a flash once the villagers joined in.
"There are way more than before."
There were at least three times as many as the first attack.
Without our preparations, Field A would have taken heavy damage.
"You were right. Without the watchtower and slaves, the barley crop would've been ruined."
"Grandfather. Once is one thing, but twice? Coincidence?"
"...You suspect the militia?"
"Let's head there first."
I led Grandfather and the villagers toward the bridge.
The militia guarding the bridge tensed up as the crowd approached.
"Uh... what brings you here?"
"You lot! Didn't you see the monsters crossing?!"
Grandfather bellowed.
The militiamen shrank back.
"What the hell happened?! No incidents for years, and now twice?!"
"We... dozed off a bit..."
One of the on-duty militiamen stammered an excuse.
That's when
I called over the slave I'd planted as a spy.
"These are slaves I assigned separately. I had them watching the militia since they seemed suspicious."
The slaves recounted what they'd seen.
A dark night.
One militiaman crossed the bridge.
A while later, he returned, luring a horde of Black Goblins.
"Lies!! We'd never do that!!"
"Enough!! Shut it, all of you!!"
Grandfather calmed the crowd,
and the slaves continued.
Once the militiaman lured the Black Goblins,
the other guards on the bridge cleared a path for them.
Even after crossing back, the militiaman kept luring more.
Toward the farm.
"Mr. Campbell! You can't seriously believe slaves over us? We didn't do it!"
Grandfather shoved the militiaman roughly.
"Why?! Our lifelong dream is right there—farming on Monster Island! Our kids will live better than us! So why?! Why?!"
Guilt flashed across the militiamen's faces at his roar.
But they didn't stop making excuses.
"We're sorry. But... it was a mistake."
This wouldn't resolve anything.
The slaves' word against militiamen they'd lived with for decades.
Who would River Village folk believe?
They'd have doubts. But without proof?
My mind raced.
I had to end this now.
Find the culprit.
Or the farm would stay at risk.
'How to get more evidence here?'
I'd built the watchtower,
trained slaves on crossbows,
assigned fast ones to watch the bridge.
Still not enough.
One more step.
For a sure fix.
I pondered, but no evidence surfaced.
As I thought longer,
the mood shifted subtly.
Blood is thicker than water, after all.
Soon, they started siding with the militiamen they'd known forever.
Family, kin, friends among them.
'No evidence? Then another way...'
That's when
I recalled game theory from college, payoff matrices.
The Prisoner's Dilemma, specifically.
Prisoner's Dilemma.
Two prisoners choose confess or silent.
Their choices determine each other's sentences.
Four outcomes total.
Key point: Sentences per scenario dictate choices.
"Grandfather, let me handle it."
Grandfather stepped back from berating the militia.
"Heir, forgive us. It was a mistake."
"Heir, please pardon us."
Shing.
Thud.
I drew my sword and stabbed it into the ground.
Where all could see.
"I, Elwin Frontier, as Heir of the Frontier Viscounty, have the right and duty to resolve this."
Mentioning my full name and title sobered the crowd.
"I'll give you one more chance."
"Thank you!"
"Truly, thank you, Heir."
I yanked the sword out in fury and slammed it down harder.
"Quiet! Listen."
I locked eyes with each militiaman.
"You failed bridge watch. Thus, exiled from River Village."
"Heir!!!"
"No!!! Where will we go if banished?!"
"However. Confess today's crime, and I'll commute to three years farming with slaves. Paid same as them."
Not one militiaman spoke now.
Just exchanging glances.
"But! If one confesses and another holds out to the end, the holdout and his family—all exiled!"
True Prisoner's Dilemma isn't this extreme.
Sentences tuned to reveal truth.
Showing individual best isn't collective best.
Vital in economics.
But no need to overthink.
I didn't fine-tune sentences like that.
Confession was key.
"Grandfather, take one for questioning."
"One with me, and the last... you take him, Administrator."
River Village administrator.
Appointee from Frontier Viscount Family.
He wouldn't just cover for militia.
The three bridge guards split up.
Farm fields.
Near the watchtower.
"You know Monster Island's reality."
"..."
"How precious food is."
"..."
On the continent, they might feed beggars.
Not here.
Food costs a fortune.
"Exiled? Wander and die? Or get caught by slavers and live as slaves?"
"..."
"Think. You stay silent, another confesses—you and family exiled from River Village. Heir's word—I'll enforce it."
I laid out reality plainly.
Designed for confession.
If others don't confess, his best is to confess.
Three years farming, paid.
Hold out? Exile.
If others confess, still best to confess.
Three years farming.
Hold out? Family exiled too.
Confess always wins.
As the militiaman agonized,
Isaac approached.
Handed me a paper.
I pretended to read it.
"Done. Spill now? Or keep silent and get up."
As if it was over.
Like another confessed.
"No!! I'll talk too!"
The truth was this.
One day, the administrator visited the militiaman.
Ordered monsters lured to fields.
They refused at first.
But he insisted it was Brilda's command.
"Administrator said the current... Heir would be ousted, position to young Master Gibson. Disobey, no one protects us. Sorry, Heir."
Brilda behind it, as expected.
'She knows about the fields, then.'
Barley unharvested,
but villagers ate young barley once.
To reassure them.
'Word reached Brilda. Via administrator, probably.'
Attack Brilda over this?
No.
She'd cut ties.
Deny involvement.
No proof then.
Frontier retainers already hers.
'Father stays neutral again.'
Neutral? Letting Brilda run wild.
Long ago.
Toddlers Elwin and Elena lost mother.
Kids vs adult woman.
Father neutral?
Anyway, end with administrator.
Full war with Brilda? My loss.
Forces just fields, slaves, Grandfather.
Time passed.
I stood.
"Back to the bridge."
Crowd at bridge.
Grandfather and administrator there.
Asked administrator first.
"Did the militiaman confess?"
"No real confession. Pure mistake."
Eyed the militiaman behind him.
"Truth? One last chance. Speak now, treated as confessor."
I hadn't planned another chance.
Bad luck—paired with ringleader administrator.
Couldn't spill all.
"Final lifeline. Grab it. Last confession shot."
"..."
Militiaman stayed silent.
Turned to Grandfather.
"Grandfather, results?"
Grandfather strode center.
Then lunged at administrator.
Struck throat,
as he clutched neck and bent,
slammed back.
Thwack.
"Gahk."
No words needed.
He got the confession.
As all gaped,
I stepped center.
Eyes on me.
"Two of three militiamen confessed."
Explained.
Slaves saw true,
administrator ordered militia.
Omitted Brilda.
"Crystal clear. Final judgment."
Called two confessors.
"You two: three years farming with slaves."
"Understood."
"Thank you, Heir."
"Non-confessor: exiled with family from River."
"Mercy, Heir!!"
Militiaman crawled to my feet.
"Heir! My wrong. One more chance. Please."
I ignored him.
Forgive?
Nice word.
But not always best.
Distinguish confessor from not.
Declared publicly, full name out.
No-confess: exile.
"Heir!! Please... How will my family survive exile?!"
Step. Step.
Ignored militiaman,
stood by administrator.