The Wicked Lord of Seorigol (3)
Beyond the crowd, Anya nearly jumped out of her skin watching Ian deliver his speech.
What the hell is he thinking, nyang!
They should have been building houses for the refugees, and instead he was telling them to sacrifice themselves for Seorigol!
She already knew Ian was even more unhinged than Grandma Elara, but this went far beyond anything she had expected.
Didn't he want to make Seorigol bigger?
He even told me that if any refugees showed up, I had to grab them and not let them leave!
The refugees had arrived while Ian was away at the Academy, and Anya had done everything in her power to keep them there. She had begged them to wait just a little longer, then frantically scribbled a note and sent it off by pigeon.
…She had believed in Ian. She had worked that hard because she trusted him. She had followed him, just like Grandma Elara said.
And this was the speech he gave them?
He's being greedy.
If a territory wanted to take people in, it was common sense that you had to give them something first. Anya knew that much — she had heard Grandma Elara grumble about it often enough.
But this wicked lord couldn't even spare that.
Urgh…
Anya wanted nothing more than to charge over and smack that idiot lord upside the head.
"W-what kind of garbage is that?!"
"What a waste of time waiting in this insane territory! I gave up looking at other fiefs to stay here!"
"Give us food! Give us houses!"
The refugees clearly felt the same way. Their furious shouts stabbed at Anya like needles — a beastkin's senses were far sharper than a human's, and every word scraped raw against her nerves.
A sudden unease gripped her.
What if they rush him and start beating Ian, nyang?
These were people who had lost everything. People with nothing left to lose. Anya tensed her legs, ready to drag him out if the crowd surged.
Even so — Ian was the lord of Seorigol. If anyone was going to hit him, it ought to be her.
But then—
"Everyone, please calm yourselves."
Ian absorbed their hostility without so much as a flicker in his breathing. He was so utterly composed that the refugees faltered mid-step, suddenly awkward, and stopped where they stood.
Silencing them without another word, Ian turned his head.
Deep, black eyes.
The moment they met hers, Anya flinched before she could stop herself.
Anya.
It took her a second to realize he was speaking without making a sound.
Anya. Go grab the axes and shovels I brought back from the Academy.
A… axes, nyang?
Yeah. I'm counting on you.
What was he going to do with those? She almost asked, but Ian had already turned back to look down at the refugees.
Anya bolted for Seorigol's storehouse.
The equipment Ian had hauled back on his return to the territory was stacked high inside — dozens of axes, hoes, and shovels.
What is he even planning to do with all this?
Was he going to hand one to each refugee and send them packing to some other fief? At that rate they'd just smash Seorigol to pieces with a weapon in every hand.
Or was he planning to bury them all…?
Her head spun with every grim possibility. Anya shoved the thoughts aside and loaded everything onto a cart. Once she brought them over, she would find out soon enough.
She was still grunting and hauling the cart when Ian's voice reached her again — a voice that had somehow recovered all its fire.
"Here in Seorigol, we will protect your lives!"
A stir ran through the refugees. Eyes full of hope and suspicion alike poured onto him.
"From the threat of monsters! From the agony of starvation! And from… the world that abandoned you! Seorigol will be your final shield!"
Ian spread his palm toward the territory behind him.
"Which fief survived this Eclipse intact? Have any of you ever seen a territory that withstood even an Aberration and still stands whole like this?"
His voice gathered strength with every word.
"What does money matter? What does honor matter? The only thing that matters to us right now is life itself — surviving! Being safely sealed away from those horrific monsters, and winning one more chance to live! That is the single, most certain promise Seorigol can make you!"
His speech was… excellent. No — cunning.
It drove straight into the deepest survival instinct and the craving for safety buried in every listener. There was a strange, gripping persuasiveness in his words that seized hold of anyone who heard them.
Even Anya nearly found herself nodding along before she caught it.
But.
Think about it carefully and it's different.
What does money matter? Living is what matters.
That was the kind of line lords used right before they bled you dry. Right now, Ian was skillfully whipping up the refugees under the banner of safety.
He's even scarier than Grandma Elara.
Grandma Elara was cold and selfish, but at least you could see what she was doing. Ian's true intentions were impossible to read.
Judging the mood ripe, Ian shifted the tone of his voice.
"Safety is not given freely!"
He raised his voice.
"Everyone! Are you willing to do anything for Seorigol?"
"…No?"
A few refugees answered hesitantly.
Ian smiled faintly and changed the question.
"Then are you willing to do anything for your own safety?"
"Yes! Yes!"
This time far more of them shouted back.
"Then Seorigol is your best choice. Because it can keep you safe."
The refugees murmured among themselves. Their eyes kept sweeping over Seorigol. Having drifted through fief after fief on the way here, they knew what they were looking at. Seorigol was small — but it looked secure.
"This place actually seems decent, doesn't it?"
"So what if the facilities are rough? Beats dying. Beats dying any day."
Ian spoke again at once.
"For the safety you would do anything to obtain, Seorigol is the best choice. I trust you all understand that well."
Nods of agreement rippled through the crowd.
"Seorigol is safe. In other words, safety is Seorigol. What did I just say, everyone?"
"Safety is Seorigol!"
Only Anya caught the slight upward curl at the corner of Ian's mouth as he briefly turned away.
"You said you would do anything for safety. Is that correct?"
"Yes!"
Most of the refugees answered.
The atmosphere began to swell.
"Safety is Seorigol — correct?"
"Yes!"
"In other words, you would do anything for Seorigol! Why? Because safety is Seorigol! Because only by being in Seorigol can you be safe!"
"Yes!!"
Anya stuck her tongue out in pure disbelief. From where she stood watching, Ian looked like some kind of cult leader. He had actually gotten these refugees to answer "yes" to the question of whether they would do anything for Seorigol.
"Excellent! Then ask yourselves this! Before you think about what you will receive from Seorigol — think about what you can do for Seorigol!"
He clenched his fist and roared.
"If you want to survive! If you want safety! You must seize it with your own hands! Can you fell trees for your own safety?!"
"…Yes?"
"I am asking if you can raise wooden palisades around the village and keep the monsters out — for your safety!"
"…Yes!"
"Can you haul stone to build higher walls?!"
"Yes!!"
"Can you dig the earth?!"
"Yes!!!"
The light in the refugees' eyes had changed. In place of fear and despair, a desperate will to live was burning. They had been completely swept up by Ian's words.
"Excellent! Starting this very moment, you will build the houses you will sleep in! You will secure the food you will eat! With your own hands! With your own sweat! You will construct a new foundation for life right here in Seorigol! That is the price you must pay!"
Ian stretched his arms toward them.
"The place you will live is a place you must make yourselves! That is the Seorigol way! If you want safety — prove the price of it! Right now!"
With his final cry, the refugees began to move as one, as if entranced. Some seized axes and went to fell trees. Others hauled stone. Others started digging. It was an energy impossible to believe of people who, only moments before, had been drowning in despair.
…Wow.
Anya clicked her tongue.
In the end, he wasn't even going to give the refugees a place to rest. He meant to rebuild the territory on the back of their labor.
Elara had put it this way once:
Those are the ones who become wicked lords. Wicked lords.
Right now, Anya agreed with her completely.
"We need somewhere to sleep by tonight, don't we? Come on — the trees are over there!"
You could never tell what was going on inside Ian's head. Sometimes calculating, sometimes vicious, occasionally obsessed with money. And skilled at stirring a crowd.
A wicked lord.
And knowing all that—
"Right here, Seorigol's proud welfare program! We lend saws and axes! You must return them after use, no exceptions!"
—she still couldn't stop watching him.
This person called Ian Darkest.
She kept finding herself staring at his back.
Why?
Anya wondered. Why had she been looking at Ian's back so often lately?
"All right! Everyone, put your backs into it!"
Ian rolled up his sleeves and waded into the thick of them.
"Ah."
Watching him, Anya understood.
The reason the people of the territory grumbled and complained but never truly hated Ian.
He showed them his back.
"Here, here — take this!"
He said outrageous things. He acted like a wicked lord often enough. But he worked before anyone else did. He worked harder than anyone else.
He hauled logs himself, dug the earth himself, and spurred the others on.
"Don't try to build anything grand — these are temporary shelters! I'll lend you canvas too!"
The sight of him out in front, pouring sweat… that was no act.
Looking back, Ian had started to change at some point. She had felt it for certain on the day the world went dark — the phenomenon they called the Eclipse.
Ian had foreseen the disaster and prepared for it. He had stepped forward himself to fight the monsters. He had even worried about her and Grandma. He had stayed calm in the middle of danger and carved a path through crisis by the strangest methods.
"I see."
Anya smiled without realizing it.
The reason people stayed in this barren territory. The reason Grandma Elara cursed it endlessly and still never left. She thought she understood it, just a little.
Ian Darkest.
As a lord, she was starting to see him a little differently — just a little…
"Anya! Are you just going to stand there and watch? Get over here and haul some rocks!"
…….
Yep. Worst wicked lord alive.
Anya stuck out her lower lip in a pout — and walked toward the pile of stones anyway.