As Expected! You Have to Rob the Rich!

"As expected! You have to rob the rich!"

Now, how much in reparations should he squeeze out of them? The problem was, Haneul had no idea what an appropriate amount even looked like.

"You said gold, so would ducats do?"

"Gold coins?"

"That's right."

Gold coins weren't a bad deal, honestly.

"How much are we talking?"

"How about one million?"

Huh. Was that a lot? Well, these people were loaded, so it'd probably be fine.

"Do you happen to have any on you?"

"Here it is."

"What?"

Seriously…? He'd expected something impressive when the man said gold coins, but this was barely the size of a single finger joint—and the thickness was what, paper-thin?

"A million of these wouldn't amount to much."

"Gasp…."

"What are you so shocked about? A million of these wouldn't even be half of what we make in gold in a single month."

"Dear heavens…."

The Doge was truly stunned. One million ducats—varying from year to year, admittedly—amounted to some twenty to forty percent of his city's entire annual revenue.

No wonder they sold gunpowder so freely and fired cannon shells without end….

He knew it as well as anyone. War, in the end, was money. That was precisely how Venice, whose territory was pitifully small compared to its neighbors, had thrived at the heart of Europe for so long.

How much should we offer….

Just as he was sinking into deliberation—

"Shouldn't it be more like thirty million?"

"I beg your pardon?"

The Doge, flabbergasted, asked again.

Thirty million? Didn't that mean scraping together ten years' worth of the city's profits?

To raise that kind of money right away, they would have had to sell the city itself.

"If you don't have the money, then you'll have to hand over land, just like Portugal did."

"Ah…."

Portugal suddenly sprang to mind from a few years back. Portugal had been a nation of staggering wealth as well, yet unable to pay its reparations, it had helplessly watched its territory be taken.

But we don't exactly have much land to give….

"Come to think of it, you don't have any land we want, do you?"

"No!"

Truthfully, Daehan had little reason to maintain a port deep in the Mediterranean in the first place.

"It's settled, then. Thirty million. Or would you prefer a naval blockade?"

"A… naval blockade?"

"We simply make sure no ship can sail your waters. For a thousand years, ten thousand, whatever."

For Venice, that would be nothing short of catastrophe.

They lived off trade, off the fees of shuttling goods between continents. For them, a blockade was the equivalent of a death sentence.

Worse still, though they possessed some two thousand ships, every warship in their fleet had sunk in the battle just passed. They had no strength ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠left to fight at all.

"Could you not… see fit to lower the amount?"

"Absolutely not! You did something far too despicable!"

"Ah!…."

He truly had no words. Looking back, hadn't they raised the white flag and then attacked anyway?

It was a mercy that they hadn't opened fire when he marched down to the riverside under that white flag himself.

If we emptied every noble's purse, it might just be possible…. But how does he know to name exactly that figure?

How would anyone know? Haneul was just blurting out whatever number popped into his head.

Haneul had nothing but telekinesis—no other powers whatsoever.

"The amount is simply too great…. Could you grant us time?"

"How much?"

The Doge calculated rapidly in his head.

Paying it in one lump sum might genuinely bankrupt the city. They would need to preserve at least some breathing room and pay in installments.

He had to be fast and precise; steam was practically rising from his skull.

"What if we prepared twenty million by the end of this year, and paid one million each year thereafter?"

"Hm? Installments?"

"Split payments, I mean."

"Right. That comes with interest. One million two hundred thousand."

A chill ran down the Doge's spine. Twenty thousand was exactly the sum he personally embezzled each year to maintain his grip on power.

Is this being an angel—or a demon?

He was beginning to see Haneul as something beyond human entirely.

"Very well…."

"Good. Even though our ships took a bit of damage, not a single one of our people was hurt—so consider that a mercy!"

"I beg your pardon?"

He had no choice but to ask again, dumbfounded. Not a single person hurt? Could that possibly be true?

"Well, a few people got scraped and cut, but we treated them right away, so it counts as nobody getting hurt."

"Heavens…."

He wanted desperately to believe that he was the one who had lost his mind.

Sunken ships and dead men. Astronomical sums of money and years of time that would go into rebuilding. What on earth had they done? None of it felt real.

What is that thing? Did they sheathe wood in iron plates?

Only now, looking back at the ships, did he see it—the unmistakable gleam and weight of metal.

How does one even build such a vessel? And how were the iron plates joined?

He wished, with all his heart, that all of it had been a lie. That he would wake tomorrow and it would be as if none of it had ever happened.

His talks concluded, the Doge returned home and went straight to bed.

This has to be a dream.

The next morning—

"Ha…. It wasn't a dream."

Gazing out the window at the city, still collapsed and shattered, the Doge heaved a long sigh.

Then, quietly, he summoned his guards and ordered every noble and powerful family in Venice—without a single ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠exception—to assemble in the square.

There was something urgent he had to announce.

"Is everyone here?"

"Summoning us at the crack of dawn—what insolence is this!"

"Quite so. You didn't even issue a formal convocation."

The guards had already been given their orders; now all he had to do was speak.

"We owe them thirty million ducats in reparations."

"What? On whose authority!?"

"Do you have any idea how enormous a sum that is!"

Watching the nobles rage, as expected, the Doge wore a cold sneer. These were the very men who had hidden and merely watched when he had staked his life to carry the white flag down to the riverbank.

"Which is why I believe there is a spy among us."

"What are you talking about, all of a sudden?"

As the assembly reacted to what sounded like sheer lunacy, he found himself thinking back to the night before. Hadn't it all been impossibly strange, the entire conversation?

"How could they possibly know the absolute maximum reparation we could pay?"

"What?"

"Are you asking us?"

"Ha! Absurd."

Leonardo Loredan thought, just as expected—the nobles were dodging blame.

And then he raised one more suspicious point.

"They even knew the sums we divert for private use?"

"What?"

"What nonsense is this!"

Watching the nobles flare up in anger, he only grew more certain.

They knew the insiders' secrets far too well.

Convinced there was a spy in their midst, he narrowed his eyes.

"So I have ordered searches of every estate, on the theory that one of us maintains deep ties with them. And as of now, all deposits are frozen. We must pay reparations, after all."

"Doge! This is not a seat we installed you in so you could act unilaterally!"

True, he had been chosen by vote—but surely it was too late for them to repudiate that now?

"Then shall you go and renegotiate in my place?"

"You already went yourself—what more is there to say!"

He found the interest demand suspicious as well.

It had always been this way. This was the man who opposed his every move at every turn.

After long reflection, the Doge broke into a sly grin. In the end, weren't they all suspects? He could throw them all in prison first and sort it out later.

While he was at it, it occurred to him that searching their estates and confiscating the nobles' fortunes to add to the reparation fund would be rather convenient.

"Throw them all in prison."

"No! Doge!"

"What is the meaning of this!"

"Let us reason together!"

They called for dialogue—yet hadn't they been the ones who refused to listen to a single word of his?

"It cannot be helped, if Venice is to survive."

The Doge believed he was right. What had been started had to be seen through to the end.

Squeezing the noble houses dry looked far easier than waging another war against those people.

Krrrrrrrr.

Mm. As expected, the scent of industrialization comes hand in hand with fine dust.

"Are you sure you're all right, ma'am?"

"Yeah. I'm perfectly fine."

"Wow…. The ship looks like that, though…."

What Mose was looking at was the ship's side, crumpled almost beyond recognition.

Whether the explosions had thrown iron balls or shells at it, or something had pounded it with an enormous hammer, the hull was dented in swollen, lumpy patches all over.

"I'm just built sturdy, that's all."

"Oh my…."

"Hey! If you look at me like I'm that pathetic, it genuinely hurts my feelings, you know!"

"It doesn't, though."

It doesn't? Don't curse me with your face, that actually stings….

"By the way, how are thirty million gold coins even supposed to be calculated? It seemed like far too much to me?"

"Huh? Too much?"

"Yes. A lot, right?"

Oh? Now that she mentioned it, though? They were actually paying it.

"I dunno—I figured if they begged, I'd knock the price down, but they just offered to pay, so I assumed they could afford it?"

"Huh? Those looked like pure gold, though?"

"Really?"

They had seemed awfully light. Couldn't be worth much, surely?

"Hmm, glancing at them, I'd say they're worth well over two million nyang in gold, for thirty million coins."

"Gasp…."

Whoa? That's insane, then?

"As expected!"

"What is it, all of a sudden? Your eyes are sparkling way too much. It's unsettling."

How do eyes even sparkle? It's not like she had light bulbs installed in them.

"As expected, robbing the rich is how you make real money!"

"Hm? Aren't you the leader of a bandit gang, by any chance?"

Huh? How did she know?

Come to think of it, when the kids joined up with her, they must have laundered their identities a bit.

The Daehan Company crew were, in truth, bandits. Pirates, mountain raiders, horse thieves, road bandits, sea raiders—name a flavor of robbery they hadn't tried?

Then again, the Papacy must have a splitting headache about now, too.

From the look of them, they were flush with money. Plenty of alms flowed through their coffers, which was probably why they'd been listened to at all—and now one of their great money taps had been utterly destroyed.

Before long, a notice appeared nailed to the door of All Saints' Church in Wittenberg.

Its contents spread rapidly across Europe.

The notice proclaimed a life of true repentance, declaring that the authority to forgive sin belonged to God alone, and that only through genuine repentance could one receive God's forgiveness.

"What! Indulgences are useless?"

"It says sincere repentance of the heart is what matters!"

It further stated that money was unnecessary, that salvation came through the merits of Christ alone, and that to enter the kingdom of heaven, one must endure great hardship and suffering.

"So then, does that mean we're simply to accept whatever suffering is given us and overcome it?"

"Isn't that what it means to repent?"

"It's telling us to pray devoutly, no doubt."

And in smaller print, it declared that mission work among other faiths should be carried out not through coercion and persecution, but on the foundation of Christ's love.

"The inquisitors do seem terribly cruel when you see them."

"And church offices are bought and sold for money, besides."

Since the wealthy and the well-born claimed the clergy's posts, these men lived not as religious leaders but as worldly aristocrats—collecting artworks and wallowing in lives of indulgence.

"But the church rakes in all that money—where does it go?"

"Who knows?"

"Why won't they help the people starving to death right there on the roadside?"

The church of that era, awash in tithes and obsessed with expanding its power, had no interest whatsoever in genuine mission.

"Oh, and did you hear the news? They say there's Holy Water at the port."

"You mean salt water?"

Holy Water, after all, was clean water with salt added, blessed by a priest.

"No, not that. The real thing, they say—drink it, and every wound and illness vanishes."

"Does such a thing exist?"

The man found his friend's words a bit hard to believe. He had never seen Holy Water that healed wounds.

He'd heard that the truly rich or noble drank it regularly to keep themselves healthy, but everyone grew old, fell ill, and died regardless—so he doubted it worked at all.

"Yes, and word has it a beggar recently drank it, vomited up black water, and rose from where he lay."

"Oh, come now—that's just rich men's boasting."

Even half-thinking about it, how could anyone ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠believe such a thing? How was it any different from God opening the eyes of the blind?

"Then do they sell it too?"

"No, not that either. They say an angel goes about, and whoever catches her eye receives her grace."

This was presumably a reference to Haneul, wandering the city.

"An angel?"

"Yes. Setting aside how beautiful she is, they say there's something in her presence, her fragrance? Something like that."

"I'd like to see it for myself someday…."

"The Papacy calls it the city of the devil, though. No telling which of them speaks the truth…."

Rumors of the Daehan port spread quickly across Europe.

"Could God truly dwell in such a place?"

"Hey! Watch what you say! If an inquisitor hears you, you'll be dragged off this instant!"

Some whispered that it might really be a miracle of God, and the inquisitors' activities grew only more brutal in response.

Faced with the church's extravagance and the inquisitors' cruelty, the people began, little by little, to question the church itself.

What was more, in stark contrast to the sooty, gloomy atmosphere of Europe, the Daehan port—where electric lights turned even night into bright day—looked, if anything, like a city of angels.

Doubt spread among the people day by day, and thus, the first ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠embers of the Reformation began to glow.