Chapter 104: Strike
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 104: Strike
Strike.
It was a truly foreign concept to Ferda.
“A strike?”
“It means, quite literally, a collective declaration that they will not work.”
“Why would they refuse to work if they’re being paid?”
“They halt labor to demand certain rights or concessions.”
“So, it’s a hostage situation.”
Ferda found the idea novel. To use oneself as a hostage... Since it was their own lives and livelihoods on the line, why would they do such a thing?
“I don’t recall such things ever happening back in the Empire.”
“It’s a matter of demand, My Lord. In the Empire, if someone dared to say such a thing, they would simply be replaced in a heartbeat.”
There were tens of millions of people in the Imperial Capital alone. It was a place where someone could die without anyone blinking an eye, and replacing people was a daily occurrence. Ferda realized once again how blind he had been to the nuances of power.
To think the Emperor’s authority is more immediate than a dragon’s.
It sounded nonsensical, yet he understood the logic. A kitchen knife held to one's throat is always more terrifying than a legendary sword miles away.
Regardless, Ferda sought to resolve the issue and asked, “Who is this insolent ringleader?”
“A carpenter from the Empire named Hanson. He is currently acting as the foreman for the laborers who followed us from the capital.”
“Would there be any problem if I simply killed him?”
His solution was simple. Cut off the head so the rest wouldn't dare harbor such thoughts. That was the most efficient method Ferda knew.
Isabella, sensing his intent, replied, “His skills are mediocre, but killing him recklessly will cause complications.”
“Why is that?”
“He has deep connections among the commoners, and there are concerns that it might damage your political image.”
“My reputation is already abysmal; how much worse could it get?” Ferda said dismissively.
Isabella tilted her head, then suddenly realized something. “...Just in case, are you unaware of your current reputation, Lord Ferda?”
“I am.”
Isabella blinked. Realizing she needed to enlighten him, she spoke with a serious expression.
“Are you not the one taking in refugees and guaranteeing their right to survival?”
“I am.”
“In a winter as harsh as this, there is no greater savior than a lord who accepts refugees. Furthermore, you are guaranteeing them jobs, allowing them to provide for their own food, clothing, and shelter through a stable income.”
“I see.”
“Moreover, since they are people driven out by foreign powers, you have shown the ambition to protect them from those very threats. Many have been deeply moved by that.”
“Is that so... Hm?” Ferda tilted his head. “Did I ever say such a thing?”
“I made it up, so it’s only natural you wouldn't know.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because of the Red Dragon’s infamy, you needed a contrasting reputation for benevolence.”
“But I’m not actually like that.”
“The world believes you are, so what can we do?”
Isabella’s point was clear: the people would only feel at ease if Ferda’s perceived virtue could stand against Valdrova’s dark reputation.
“Besides, you have no intention of kicking them out, do you?”
“That is true.”
He had taken in those who fled because their previous rulers were incompetent; he had no reason to hand them back. At any rate, he understood her logic.
“The point is, my reputation in the village is actually good.”
“Some are even whispering that you must be the reincarnation of a saint.”
It was a strange turn of events. Ferda was neither a saint nor a virtuous man. He was merely charging forward for the sake of Valdrova alone, willing to do anything to achieve his goal. They say life is full of ironies—perhaps this was exactly that.
Ferda brushed the thought aside and returned to the main point.
“If taking his head is out of the question...”
Since the simplest method was off the table, he sought another way.
“That isn't the only problem.”
Isabella moved on to the next topic before he could finish his thought.
“What else?”
“If we include the minor grievances, there are many, but most notably, there is a fierce conflict of opinion between the wall architects.”
She pushed a sheet of paper forward.
“The adventurers are trying to collect protection money by district, causing friction with the shop owners.”
Another sheet.
“And while people were praying, a certain pink-haired girl passed by singing a strange song, causing everyone to burst into laughter. They couldn't maintain their solemnity, so the priests are requesting that she be apprehended and punished.”
“Pink hair...”
He knew exactly who that was without even looking at the report.
“Amidst this dissatisfaction and confusion, there is someone intentionally eroding your reputation, Regent. There is undoubtedly an instigator.”
Instigators existed everywhere—those born into wealth or raised with enough education to use their silver tongues to manipulate the masses. In a city like this, with a short history and a lack of established systems, the commoners were perfect prey.
“Can I punish that fellow?”
“I am trying to find them, but I haven't found a lead yet.”
That was surprising. “You can’t track them?”
“I cannot. It is embarrassing to admit, but they are truly elusive.”
“Hmm...”
She was a descendant of Iorga, the Aspect of Magic. For her to be unable to track someone meant the opponent was no ordinary foe.
They aren't just a simple agitator.
It was likely someone like a pure demon—someone who enjoyed chaos more than power.
“Anyway, it would be best to settle the accumulated issues in one go,” Isabella said, laying the documents down. “By holding a council.”
“You mean I should face the commoners and speak with them directly?”
“It is the smoothest way to resolve this.”
Smoothly. Ferda didn't particularly like that word. Why would a ruler need to be soft? He believed in being firm.
But Isabella is superior in these matters.
Isabella must have also considered the idea of restoring order by striking at the top. If that were the best option, she wouldn't have come to him with this proposal. A council was worth considering.
Now that I think about it, it might not be bad...
There were times when more could be gained by keeping someone alive than by killing them. Perhaps this was one of those situations.
“Understood. Let us proceed with the council.”
“Yes. I will set the schedule, then.”
Isabella bowed and withdrew. Ferda immediately took out a communication crystal and connected to his contact.
—Lize, liaison for the Pascal Trading Company, greets the Regent. How may I assist you?
“This is Regent Ferda Valdrova. Is the Director there?”
—The Director is in. Shall I connect you?
“Please.”
A moment later, Stephan’s voice came through.
—Greetings, Regent. Are you calling regarding the strike?
His sources were fast. To think he would get straight to the point.
“Indeed.”
—I was actually thinking I should take measures regarding that myself. If you need help, please do not hesitate to ask!
His voice, brimming with confidence, was reassuring.
“I do need your help. I’m going to hold a council; how do you think it will play out?”
—A council... I’ve moderated many of those. In cases like this where they oppose a lord, it usually boils down to a desire for power.
“Power...”
Where there is power, money naturally follows. The feeling of being looked down upon was unpleasant.
“So you’re saying I just need to give them that power.”
—You might not like the idea of giving it away, but there are ways to preserve your own authority while doing so.
“What do you mean?”
Stephan spoke with a voice full of devious confidence.
—Just trust me. I will turn them into puppets you can torment for a long, long time.
* * *
Hestia Village, construction site.
The area where the Hestia Merchant House was scheduled to move in had been occupied and transformed into the headquarters for the Far East Labor Union (Provisional). The leader was none other than the foreman, Hanson. He had succeeded in persuading the other foremen and supervisors to form the union.
“Will... will they really listen to us?” one supervisor sitting on the floor asked cautiously. “No matter how I think about it, I don't think the high and mighty folks will allow this kind of thing...”
“Hey, don't kill the mood.”
“You were all for it when you said you wanted more money! If you want out, leave now!”
“No, I’m just worried...”
Faced with the harsh rebuffs of the others, the supervisor had no choice but to back down. Hanson waited with a stoic expression, his arms crossed.
I’m worried to death, too.
Before he had started this, he had been full of grand ideas. But now, he felt like a death row inmate waiting for the executioner. Even so, he couldn't stop. Having already mounted the tiger's back, he had no choice but to ride it to the end.
Still, they won't be able to touch us recklessly...
The reason Hanson could be so bold was that he had a reliable ally.
The Armored Knight.
A warrior with monstrous strength who could lift eleven logs with bare hands! A hero who had slain two monsters single-handedly! Though the knight inspired awe and fear, they were the most respected figure in the village. The biggest reason Hanson could commit such a reckless act was that the Armored Knight had agreed to it. The other foremen and supervisors also trusted the knight implicitly. In effect, the knight was the glue holding them together.
And that central figure was sitting right next to Hanson.
Right, because the Armored Knight is here.
Nothing bad will happen.
Due to the knight's Vow of Silence, they had never shared a conversation, but there was a collective belief that the knight would protect them in an emergency.
A moment later, the door opened. A woman with sharp glasses and intellectual eyes entered. Dressed in a red uniform emblazoned with the Valdrova crest, she exuded a professional, overbearing aura that sent a chill down their spines. The laborers, in contrast, were all wearing headbands that read: ‘Life or Death!’
“I have finished speaking with the Regent,” Isabella said. “Prepare your demands. We will hold a council in one week.”
“A council... do you mean we will face the Regent and speak with him directly?”
“That is correct. He will listen to your grievances, so I suggest you prepare yourselves in the meantime.”
Their faces showed pure disbelief. If this were the Empire, they would have disappeared without a trace; in any other village, they would have been forcibly disbanded by the security forces. Yet, the Regent was offering to listen instead of using force.
“And since he has agreed to negotiate, I expect you to cease the strike and return to your work.”
At those words, the supervisors shifted restlessly.
“We cannot.”
The one who spoke up was Hanson. He forced strength into his voice.
“You’re telling us to work when you haven't even offered us any terms yet. Does that make sense?”
The men looked back and forth between Hanson and Isabella with troubled faces. Isabella replied calmly.
“We cannot leave the construction site abandoned when there are no immediate replacements. Wages will be increased to 150% of the current rate, effective immediately—”
“Wages are not the issue! In a situation where people have died, what will you do if the same thing happens again?”
“Hey now...”
The supervisors watched the exchange, their hands trembling, unsure of what to do. Hanson was escalating the situation. When he had heard the young mage’s advice, it had gone like this:
— They will tell you to return to your livelihoods.
— Then what do I do?
— You must never accept. If you return to work now, you will be looked down upon. They’ll say that even if those ignorant commoners act out, they’ll risk their lives again as long as they’re thrown a bit of coin.
— Hmm...
— Above all, the power you stand to gain will be weakened.
Hanson, hooked by those words, had responded exactly as the mage suggested. Of course, his current "do or die" attitude played a large part. He had grown far too bold for his own good; what was a little more risk?
Isabella stared intently at the man. The children of Iorga represented a certain coldness—a chill that pierced the heart and made the world stop. Just as Isabella was about to speak, Hanson felt a poke on his shoulder. Startled, he turned to find the Armored Knight looking at him.
Hanson asked, catching his breath, “Phew... What is it, Sir Knight?”
The Armored Knight was under a Vow of Silence. Instead of speaking, the knight simply shook their head. Hanson understood the intent immediately.
“Are you saying... we should go back to work?”
A nod.
Hanson hadn't gotten the total defiance he wanted, but he couldn't push any further. How could he refuse when the very pillar of their movement signaled a retreat?
“Since the Knight has said so... very well. We will return to work immediately. But if those demons appear again and things get dangerous...”
“I will take responsibility personally.”
A chill settled in Isabella’s eyes. “What kind of responsibility will you take?”
“I...”
Hanson did not answer. Despite the words ‘Life or Death’ written on his headband, he couldn't find the words to challenge her further. Isabella sighed, the tension leaving her shoulders.
“Fine. Let’s end the bickering here. Get back to it.”
Isabella spoke briefly and clearly, then disappeared. The supervisors, who had been holding their breath, let out long sighs of relief.
“Phew!”
“My heart was nearly pounding out of my chest.”
“It’s a good thing it worked out. If it had gone wrong, we’d never have been able to show our faces here again...”
“Come on, let’s get to work. Ugh! Sitting around like a scholar has made my whole body stiff!”
The supervisors left the room one by one. Finally, a middle-aged man standing at the back glanced around and slipped toward Hanson. He was a refugee who had worked diligently to earn his position as a supervisor.
“Foreman Hanson, don't ever do that again,” he warned, his expression murderous.