The Wise Life in the Boondocks

I forwent food and drink entirely and devoted myself to grasping the situation.

I began with the mere five books the village possessed, then sought out everything from ghost stories and folk tales to the most insignificant symbols, piecing together the meanings they held.

And under the pretext of feeling unwell, I shut myself in my room and combed through Asty's memories from beginning to end.

At the end of that long ordeal, what I discovered was this:

This place was a fantasy world set on Earth.

The mythology of this world was exceedingly simple.

Back when humanity was still primitive, living solely by hunting and gathering, a benevolent flame descended from the heavens and instilled in them the wisdom to build civilization, along with various virtues.

However, the other races who had not received the goddess's blessing grew jealous of humanity and started wars. After three defeats, they were driven beyond the borders of human territory.

Thus the age of humanity arrived, but the arrogant humans neglected the virtues the goddess had taught, and in the end the disappointed goddess left their side... That was the simple myth, summarized.

What made this absurdly short story important was that this place wasn't just medieval Europe—it was a fantasy world.

The priests of this world's goddess, Vesta, actually wielded divine power.

The clergy chosen by the goddess used holy arts as if casting magic, contributing to humanity's prosperity in various ways, such as healing the sick or burning other races to death.

Then the goddess absconded, and the entire order collapsed.

There was solid evidence, too.

It was the quack doctor currently spouting nonsense right in front of me.

"Ah, so you're that Asty? Your parents were worried that you've been skipping meals and muttering strange things in your room. But it's all right now. After tapping your head three times with a hammer and lightly tearing the scalp—"

I immediately picked up a book and smashed it down on the crown of his head.

The city's finest doctor, whom my parents had brought, was caught off guard by an eleven-year-old kid's surprise attack and collapsed unconscious.

"Asty, is something wrong?"

"Yes. I just killed a person."

Unfortunately, the quack still had a pulse.

Aunt Agnes bound him tightly and locked him in the warehouse, then began scolding me.

"You, you! What do you think you're doing? Do you know how much money it cost to bring that man here? He's the most skilled doctor in Montpellier! When his hands touch them, two out of ten patients survive!"

Did you just hear that?

The so-called best doctor in the city only saves two out of ten.

Since there was no such thing as an emergency surgery specialist in this era, that meant even common cold patients got sent off with an 80% probability.

Patient mortality rate of 80%. That was almost on par with the Black Death's fatality rate.

I guarantee that if they hadn't called that quack and just fed people properly, far more would have survived.

"He's just a fraud. He wanted to open up my head."

With a stiff expression, Aunt Agnes and Uncle Cooper buried the quack doctor in the mountain behind the village.

And from the medical book the quack had been carrying, I found solid evidence that Vesta's priests had used divine power.

Summarizing the lengthy content that began that way into a short sentence yields this:

Since the priests wouldn't use heals, we decided to become self-sufficient.

Yes.

That doctor just now was a quack, but he wasn't a quack.

Because relying on divine power had delayed the development of medicine itself enormously. It wasn't that the survival rate was a mere 20%; it was a full 20%.

Of course, that didn't mean I planned to spare him.

There was no way to spare him anyway.

Uncle Cooper had already split his skull with an axe.

"Setting: Europe. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Era: Medieval. Genre: Fantasy..."

Still, thanks to the doctor, I roughly got a sense of why this neighborhood was such a mess.

Originally, the Catholic Church in medieval Europe handled relief activities for the poor and local administration.

Surveying the village population and mediating relations between the lord and the people of the domain was also their role.

But here, the Vesta Order, which had taken on the role of the Catholic Church, had collapsed due to the goddess's absence, and as a result, all of Europe had become a free-for-all.

In other words, our neighborhood was in worse shape than the actual Middle Ages.

The virtually only social safety net of the hopeless Middle Ages had disintegrated into thin air.

Looking on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the bright side, even in our already destitute circumstances, there was no need to pay tithes anymore.

"Uh..."

No matter how I thought about it, it seemed like a loss.

Without even a church, wasn't the Middle Ages a true living hell?

No relief, no mediation, administrative networks shattered.

Wouldn't that make it even harder to survive than in the real Middle Ages?

"And on top of that, it seems there's even mana or something."

A feudal lord who uses magic in a world without churches... Just imagining it made it hard to breathe.

Thanks to that, the history of European philosophical development had also fallen into a labyrinth.

Since the religion was different and superhumans actually existed, the humanities of this world couldn't possibly be the same as Earth's.

In the end, my attempt to uncover the unknown only resulted in encountering new unknowns.

It was depressing.

I felt all the strength draining out of me.

With complicated feelings, I sprawled out on the straw bed.

Inwardly cursing the goddess who had probably definitely contributed to my reincarnation.

The anxiety I'd felt from the first day of reincarnation had now grown unmanageably large.

Count Montpellier was an utterly common feudal lord of the sort you could find anywhere.

A thoroughly ordinary feudal lord who received the loyalty of knights below him, offered loyalty to King Claude V above him, and ruled over his domain and its people.

Of course, he had no particular interest in things like human rights or the people's livelihood.

It wasn't because Count Montpellier was an especially vicious person; in this era, the scope of who counted as a "person" was quite narrow to begin with.

In a fantasy world where it was scientifically correct that there were people above people, there was even less to say.

Just by not beating a maid to death on the spot for smashing a cherished flower vase, he ranked as a fine person of character.

"I'm sorry, my lord! Please, just once, show mercy—"

"No, it wasn't a particularly expensive pot, so never mind. You'll just work until today."

Of course, that was because he valued time rather than people, but whatever the reason, it was in practice an extremely merciful measure.

It wasn't his fault that the neighboring domain's harvest had failed, was it?

Now the dismissed maid could starve to death happily without passing debt onto her family.

"Bread prices have risen quite a bit. Are those idiots in Avignon still saying they can't open the granary doors?"

Regardless, Count Montpellier was more interested in the neighbor's warehouse than in the suffering of his people.

In fact, considering the circumstances, it would have been stranger if he weren't interested.

The reason the lords of southern France were recently suffering from rising grain prices was because the Count of Avignon, who ruled the largest granary region in the Oxyca Region, had completely botched last year's farming.

That fool had gotten obsessed with some baseless cult and poured seawater on the fields, ruining the crops.

The atrocity of killing the crops in the name of praying for abundance was stopped early by the intervention of neighboring lords, but the enraged peasants rose in rebellion, and grain production was cut in half.

"Yes. Even if His Majesty the King were to order it, one cannot give bread to livestock that have bitten their master..."

"This will drag on. Continue to put effort into stockpiling food."

"Yes. I shall follow as you have commanded."

In that regard, Count Montpellier was on the superior side.

At least he didn't do useless things that ruined the harvest or make the lives of the lower classes more difficult.

Compared to the greedy, blind evil lords, his tax rates were quite conscientious.

Peasants 50%, serfs 70%.

Considering the average tax rate for serfs was 80%, Count Montpellier's domain was practically a utopia.

It wasn't that he was detached from wealth; it was just that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as a relatively safe southern lord, military expenses were lower.

"The village of Biorn was attacked by bandits? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Is it unrelated to the peasant rebellion in Avignon?"

"At least so far, we have found no connection. It would also be difficult for hundreds of rioters to come this far while avoiding people's eyes, so it is proper to view them as separate incidents."

"That is true as well. Send soldiers to suppress the bandit group, and implement tax reduction measures for Biorn village."

Anyway, Count Montpellier was quite competent as a lord.

To the point of immediately sending troops upon hearing a report that bandits had attacked a village and supporting the recovery from the damage.

Compared to the Count of Avignon who was about to get impaled on bamboo spears for pouring salt water on fields, he was an angel.

But the competence of a medieval lord ultimately went only so far.

Count Montpellier sent two hundred soldiers to suppress the bandit gang that had attacked Biorn village.

And he concluded the matter by giving a small reward to the commander of the suppression force who brought back satisfactory results.

The remnants of the scattered bandit group attacking a small outlying village was of no interest to anyone.