Non-Humans and the Poll Tax (2)
Truth be told, the "chaos" he had in mind wasn't anything particularly elaborate.
All he had to do was gather the chieftains of the non-human races and make them furious.
Once things escalated far enough, the Imperial Court would naturally throw him out as a sacrificial lamb just to soothe their rage.
Better wrap this up quick and start packing ahead of time.
This particular job was practically free money for him.
And for good reason. At the eastern and western edges of the continent—excluding the North—stood kingdoms belonging to the non-human races. Most of them lived among themselves in terrain so treacherous that humans scarcely dared approach, but that didn't mean they had never dealt with the Empire at all.
Which was why Intelligence Bureau agents learned about them during training, long before ever being deployed to the field.
Rohan had mostly been assigned to missions against the Kingdom Coalition, so he had never met any of them in person. Even so, he knew about as much as any other agent.
To piss off the warlike orcs, the high-and-mighty elves, the prideful dwarves, and the wary beastkin all at once…
He sifted through what he had learned in training, turning over methods that might set every last one of them off. If he wanted none of them left out, he needed something they all hated in common.
Of course, tax collectors were universally despised regardless of race, so anything he did was bound to leave a bad taste. But if he wanted their anger to truly explode, he needed something decisive.
After thinking it over for a long while, he settled on playing the part of an arrogant, overbearing noble. A racial supremacist, more or less. Treat them like insects—no consideration, no respect—and that ought to do it.
They already had plenty of grievances from living among humans. If a high-ranking civil servant came at them like that, they would have no choice but to lose their tempers.
Time to blow some serious money for once.
Alone in his office, lost in thought, Rohan finally pushed back his chair, stood up, and headed straight outside.
Across a warm field bathed in bright sunlight came orcs whose entire bodies were layered in muscle, their skin a vivid green. Behind them walked elves draped in robes, their sculpted faces and dignified eyes leaving a lasting impression. From the opposite direction, bushy-bearded dwarves came scurrying along on short legs, clustered tightly together.
"Looks like everyone's arriving."
An elderly raccoon beastkin who had gotten there first pointed them out as he spoke to Rhea. Standing against the backdrop of the capital's towering walls, she hurried forward to receive them.
"Thank you all so much for making time despite how busy you must be. Let's start with identity verification. You brought your identification papers, right?"
Rhea forced a smile, clutching her trembling nerves, and held out her hand. An orc draped in a bearskin pulled a sheet of paper from his pouch with a face full of open displeasure and thrust it at her.
"Ah! Chief Kutanta of the Red Fang Tribe. Welcome."
"Chwik! Welcome, my ass! Chwik!"
"Haha. Please take a seat next to Chief Daruon of the Moon Halo Tribe—he's already here."
"Chwiiik! Fine!"
Kutanta shot Rhea a sidelong glare and stomped over to sit beside the raccoon beastkin. The moment he did, the elves who had been waiting their turn stepped up in front of her.
"Hurry it up, human."
"Yes, sir! Checking identification now. You must be Tyrien, leader of the Sentinels of Teclis. Welcome! We're glad to have you!"
"Does this situation amuse you? We did not come here for anything pleasant, so why all the fuss?"
"Ah. Um. I think there might be some misunderstanding…"
"I do not wish to hear it."
Between the orcs and now the elves being so cold and snappish, Rhea felt ready to die. But what could she do? This, too, was part of a 4th Grade Senior Secretariat's duties.
She had barely steeled herself again when—
"Damn it all! Are we dogs to you?! Huh?! We're busy as hell—why the hell are you dragging us around?!"
The dwarves, last in line, came panting up and immediately started yelling at her.
"Um, e-excuse me, your identification…"
"What?! Hey! Did we check it already? Did we?! Bloody hell!"
"I have to verify it as a matter of procedure."
"This is insane. Completely insane! Humans, I swear!"
The dwarves were so furious that conversation was impossible. Rhea's mind went completely blank.
I want to go home.
Even if they were non-humans, was this really how you treated a 4th Grade Senior Secretariat? With no real field experience, though, Rhea decided to stay positive and assume this was just how non-humans were.
"Chief Bromgar of the Iron Wolf Tribe, welcome. Please take any open seat!"
Somehow she finished verifying the dwarves as well, clinging to her last shred of composure as she guided them along. And so, answering the summons of Special Tax Collector Rohan, the representatives of the non-human races all gathered in one place.
"Chwik! When does this start?! Chwik! It's hot!"
"Hah. This is exactly why I can't stand humans."
"You drag busy dwarves out here and then pull this?! How long are we supposed to wait?!"
"Hmm. I've already been waiting two hours myself. Time is gold, you know."
Maybe it was because they had been called over taxes, but everyone was wound far too tight.
When on earth is the Special Tax Collector going to get here?
Afraid that opening her mouth even once would set them off, Rhea could only hop from foot to foot, waiting endlessly for Rohan.
"Hey! Pointy-ears! What's with those eyes, huh?! You lookin' to die?!"
"Amusing. You're so short I have no choice but to look down on you. What exactly would you have me do?"
"What?! You little—! I oughta smash you with this hammer! Argh!"
"Chwik! Chwiiik! Too loud! Chwik! Short-stack's got no manners!"
"Huh? And who the hell are you? Why're you pickin' a fight?!"
"Chwiiik! You! Keep yappin' and I'll split your skull with my axe! Pointy-ears too!"
Whether Rhea was there or not, the ones who had been dumping their complaints on her soon started sniping at each other instead. Chief Daruon, the elderly raccoon representing the beastkin, remained relatively quiet—but the elf, dwarf, and orc leaders snarled and bristled at one another with blades drawn.
Is this normal?
The arrows that had been aimed at her were now pointed at each other, which brought a private sense of relief—yet Rhea could only tilt her head in confusion. For non-human races who got along this poorly to have united as one in refusing to pay the poll tax meant something was seriously wrong.
So why hadn't the Special Tax Collector tried to address the root cause? Why had he simply rounded them all up in one place like this? Was he really going to ignore their problems and just collect the taxes?
Rhea was thoroughly bewildered.
And then, without warning, the city gates swung open and music began to blare.
—Boom-cha-cha! Boom-cha-cha! Ta-ra-ri-ra-ra-ri~
At the same time, soldiers carrying instruments poured out through the gates in a noisy flood. It was the Imperial Army's military band.
Why on earth would a military band come outside the gates to perform? The question had barely formed when a procession of people dressed like the household servants of some wealthy estate followed after them, all heading straight this way.
N-no way…
Come on. No. The Special Tax Collector couldn't possibly be crazy enough to pull a stunt like this. Surely some high-ranking noble was simply heading out for a flower-viewing excursion.
Wait a second—even a high-ranking noble wouldn't be allowed to commandeer a military band for private use like that, would they?
The doubt had barely crossed her mind when, sure enough, Special Tax Collector Rohan appeared under the escort of the guard detail.
In that instant, Rhea felt the world go dark before her eyes.
His own little restaurant, spread across the open field.
Add warm sunlight, a cool breeze, and the gentle music of a military band, and it was nothing short of paradise.
There was only one thing spoiling the view: the non-human chieftains seated on the ground right in front of him.
They were sucking in disbelieving breaths, their faces flushed red and purple with barely contained rage as they stared at him.
Halfway there already.
His plan seemed to be working perfectly, and that put him in an excellent mood. After all, they were all stuck sitting on the dirt while he—late as he was—had a chair and a full table set just for himself, enjoying a banquet alone. Any sane person would be furious.
Rohan sliced into the veal steak that had arrived as the main course, a thin smile playing at his lips. It wasn't his money—it was the Treasury's—but spending big had clearly been worth it.
"Huh?! A-are you smiling?!"
True to the temper of a foul-mouthed dwarf, the short, bushy-bearded fellow glared daggers at him while fingering his warhammer.
So that one's Bromgar of the Iron Wolf Tribe?
Rohan gave him a brief once-over from head to toe, snorted, and went right back to his meal. He ignored whatever muttering they did and cleaned his plate all the way through dessert. Only when tea and sweets arrived as the final course did he finally shift his gaze toward them and open his mouth.
"Greetings. I am Rohan Blackwood, Special Tax Collector and 1st Grade Management Officer of the Ministry of Finance."
"……"
"I trust you all know perfectly well why I called you here. To set foot on Imperial soil and then dare to fall behind on your taxes… your guts must be hanging clean outside your bellies. Ah—do your kind even have guts?"
Just as he had prepared, he laced his mockery with racially charged barbs. As expected, a freezing silence settled over them, and a thick killing intent coiled around his body.
Whether it was because of the guards standing behind him or not, they only ground their teeth and glared, unable to do more.
"4th Grade Senior Secretariat Rhea. How much poll tax have these people defaulted on in total?"
"W-well, it's ten copper coins per person per month, so…"
"What? Ten copper coins? You're telling me these creatures made me come all the way out here over a pittance like that?"
"S-sir?! Ah. Um. Y-yes. That's correct…?"
"What are the guards doing just standing there?!"
At his barked order, the guards scrambled to surround the chieftains. Panic plain on their faces, the non-humans milled about in confusion, unsure what to do.
Seizing the momentum, Rohan shoved back his chair, shot to his feet, veins bulging in his neck, and roared at them.
"If you do not pay your delinquent poll tax immediately—twelve copper coins per head, interest included—I will impose the full penalty of Imperial law upon you!"
Perfect. He had even arbitrarily jacked up the poll tax by tacking on interest. Not a single flaw in the whole performance.
Now all he needed was for them to start resisting. Then he and the guards could quietly slip away, and it would be over.
Come on. Draw your weapons already! Shove me around, hit me—resist with your bodies!
But what was this?
Contrary to every expectation, the moment his words ended, bright smiles bloomed across their faces.
Huh? Had they all lost their minds?
"Chwiik! Tax collector! Good man! We misunderstood! Chwik! Sorry!"
"Keh-heh! Now that's more like it! Twelve copper coins a head! No takin' it back later, you hear?!"
"Hmph! For all appearances, you turn out to be a wise human who knows right from wrong."
"Oh my! Thank you! Thank you so much!"
In what universe did the current him look like a kind and wise man?
Anyone with eyes could see he was a textbook corrupt official—an arrogant, race-supremacist, villainous noble.
Had these people all taken medicine they shouldn't have, or failed to take medicine they desperately needed?
This… isn't how it was supposed to go.
He was so flabbergasted that the words stuck clean in his throat.
Maybe he should have charged even higher interest.