Chapter 26

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Translator: Wjin

Chapter: 026

Chapter Title: The Jews (3)

-----------------------------------------------------------------

"Cyrus, huh."

I let out a chuckle and propped my chin crookedly on the armrest of the throne.

'So that's what he had to say.'

Cyrus II.

The great king of Persia who freed the Jews from captivity in Babylon, sent them back to Jerusalem, and allowed them to rebuild their temple.

To the Jews, he was no different from the Messiah himself—the only pagan monarch praised in the Old Testament as the "anointed one."

"High praise, but I'm no such merciful saint. I just can't stand seeing inefficiency right in front of my eyes."

Half the achievements of the 21st century I came from could be credited to Jews without exaggeration.

Albert Einstein, who formulated the theory of relativity, was a Jew. Fritz Haber, the chemist who turned air into bread and saved humanity from starvation, was a Jew.

'Even Einstein and Haber were ultimately abandoned by their homeland just for being Jewish.'

The world was crawling with Jewish engineers, doctors, and craftsmen.

To let that immense pool of talent rot, kill them, or drive them away—all for the crime of being a different people?

As a chemist and as a king, it was an unforgivable waste of human resources. And these people even had money to boot.

Any fool who dreams of running a nation and kicks away a gift that falls right into his lap? That's not deep faith—that's just stupidity.

Abraham's long white beard trembled slightly at my utterly dry, calculating response, as if he'd been caught off guard.

But he soon steeled himself and rummaged in his robes, pulling something out.

A worn, thick ledger bound in black leather.

The well-handled cover gleamed faintly, exuding a musty old scent laced with an indescribable weight.

It embodied the centuries of hardship endured by the Jews in the ghetto.

"Your Highness."

Abraham knelt on the floor and held the ledger aloft with both hands.

"This is... the emergency fund our Bohemian Jewish community has secretly amassed over the past decades to prepare for any crisis."

The old man's voice quavered faintly, but the gravity within it was anything but light.

"Separate from the official taxes we offer to the crown, this is the hidden asset we've stashed away to survive—what shames us to admit, but it's our very blood and flesh. We offer it all to you: the secret accounts listed here, the IOUs, and the locations of our concealed jewels."

"This? To me?"

"Yes, exactly."

"Why? Don't you Jews value money more than your lives?"

Abraham bowed his head deeply at my question.

"Because Your Highness has shown our people hope. And..."

He swallowed dryly.

"We have eyes and ears. We know full well the dire straits Your Highness faces."

"Hm."

I didn't interrupt him.

Taking it as tacit permission, Abraham glanced at my expression and continued cautiously.

"The Pope has excommunicated you, and the Emperor will raise a crusade. Every power in the world seeks your death."

His sharp eyes wavered.

"If Your Highness falls... so do we. If Emperor Sigismund returns, he'll slaughter us Jews and seize our wealth just like he did in Bohemia twenty years ago. No—this time, he'll wipe us out entirely on charges of aiding an excommunicated king."

"And?"

"...We're sick of it. Sick of running, hiding, begging pathetically for our lives!"

His voice brimmed with tearful rage.

"If that's to be our fate... then we'll stake it all on you. You've granted us the dignity of humanity, so we offer you everything we have. Please, use this money to arm your army, fortify your walls—be our shield!"

What Abraham offered me now.

It looked like a mere stack of papers, but in truth, it was the desperate lifeline clutched by those on the brink, grasping at any straw.

I descended the steps slowly and stood before Abraham.

Thud, thud.

He held his breath entirely, his hands trembling as he kept the ledger raised high.

I took the ledger from him.

It was heavy.

I could feel the sweat, blood, and tears of an entire people who had scraped together every coin just to survive amid stones and spittle for centuries.

Flip—

Opening it revealed pages crammed with tiny Hebrew script and numbers.

Even a quick skim made ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my jaw drop.

The annual budget of the Kingdom of Bohemia? No, it was an astronomical sum that could buy a small nation outright.

With this, I could hire several regiments of Swiss mercenaries on the spot. Repair the crumbled walls, cast hundreds of cannons, and still have plenty left.

Abraham pressed his forehead to the floor, barely daring to breathe as he awaited my judgment.

Waiting desperately for me to tuck the ledger away and say, "Very well, I'll protect you"—for that one word of reassurance.

'Protection fee, huh...'

It was certainly a sweet temptation. With war against Sigismund looming, more war funds were always better.

But.

'This isn't what I want.'

I closed the ledger without a second thought.

Thwap!

And tossed it back onto his chest.

"Take it back."

"...Pardon?"

Abraham's head snapped up. His eyes shook like there was an earthquake.

"Y-Your Highness... Is it not enough? Th-there's more! If we dig deeper into our hiding spots...!"

"No. There's more than enough money."

I clasped my hands behind my back and looked down at him.

He cringed, terrified I'd hurl the ledger away or berate him for shortfall.

"Abraham, don't misunderstand. I'm no thug squeezing you dry to fill my belly."

"Th-then... why...?"

I chuckled.

"I'm not idiot enough to gut the goose that lays the golden eggs."

What would I even do with this money? At best, pay mercenaries' wages and buy weapons until it's gone.

Money is like stagnant water—it vanishes when spent. But if this money stays in the hands of 'free Jews'?

It's no longer just money; it becomes circulating capital.

"I don't want poor Jews. I want rich Jews."

No, not just Jews—I wanted all the people of Bohemia to grow wealthy in the end.

The fastest path to a developed nation is raising national ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠income to create a fat middle class that can pay taxes.

I stared straight into the old man's frozen eyes and tapped the returned ledger with a finger.

"In exchange, there's something you need to do with this money."

A cold smile crept across my lips.

A thoroughly capitalist grin.

The next morning.

The king's third edict went up all over Prague.

Like the previous ones, its contents were beyond radical—they were shocking.

If the prior edicts had been religious and political bombshells, this one struck straight at the people's livelihoods, a truly existential blow.

People milled about the recruitment posts, half-doubting, half-curious.

"Silver every day? No way that's real."

"Usually, you go to a lord's worksite and barely get scraps to eat while taking a beating."

"Paying money instead of forced labor? And three meals to boot?"

"But what's a steelworks?"

In an era where state-sponsored wage labor was virtually unheard of, commoners were bound to lords' or the king's lands, providing free corvée labor as a matter of course.

Paying money for it? And same-day pay, no risk of getting stiffed?

Conditions too groundbreaking only bred suspicion.

But the doubts didn't last.

Jews appeared in the town square's center, setting down hefty chests with a thud.

Not their secret funds, of course—the confiscated church coffers from last time.

Clank!

The lids flew open, revealing piles of silver coins gleaming in the morning sun.

"Advance pay for everyone who signs up today!"

Janos bellowed from atop a chest, foot planted boldly for all to see.

"Anybody who can swing a hammer or haul stone, get in here! First come, first served!"

In an instant, the square erupted into chaos.

"M-me! I built walls back in my prime!"

"Me too! I'm going!"

"Honey, pack up! We're heading to Sternberg!"

Refugees poured from alley shadows, apprentice smiths dashed out apron-clad from idle forges.

Thugs ditched their knives for shovels, beggars under bridges tossed begging bowls and lined up.

Prague's public ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠safety improved miraculously in a flash.

Even guild masters lost their minds.

"Our entire carpenters' guild is in! We'll supply the materials!"

"Outta the way, you lumberheads! Masons first!"

These were the same folk who'd cursed Jews yesterday, but money flipped loyalties fastest.

Money drew money, people drew people.

It was a frenzy of a job fair.

Prague's unemployment rate?

Dropped to 0% that day.

Every able-bodied man loaded onto wagons.

With massive capital pumping like a heart, Bohemia’s stalled economy began pounding wildly.

Carts laden with materials, artisans with tools slung over shoulders, families with bundles.

Like a scene from Exodus, a vast throng surged toward the promised land... no, the land of daily wages: Sternberg.

I watched the spectacle from the ramparts.

An endless procession.

Leading it was Abraham, the newly appointed royal treasurer, riding tall and commanding.

His stern shouts echoed through the column.

"You there, wagon! Wheels loose? That's no pile of rocks—it's the bloodline to rebuild the kingdom! Lose one, and it'll come out of your pay!"

"No rushing! Keep order! His Highness rewards not the first, but those who do their full share!"

"Record it! Every nail, every plank—in the ledger! Anyone embezzling His Highness's grace, I'll chase to hell and collect interest myself!"

Hard to believe this was the old man who'd worn a yellow badge yesterday, flinching at Christian shadows.

I smiled in satisfaction at the sight.

'Money's best left to the Jews.'

For this hiring, I hadn't touched Abraham's secret funds—only the corrupt church and monastery hauls.

Nobles and priests knew how to spend money, not grow it.

But Abraham and the Jews? They'd staked their lives on the weight of a single silver coin.

They'd sooner cut off their fingers than let money leak from my vaults.

So I trusted them to manage this fortune cleanly, without a drop spilled.

I tapped the rampart railing.

"The stage is set."

Labor secured. Capital injected.

All that's left is execution.

The moment that horde reaches Sternberg.

This medieval Europe will usher in an era of steel, ablaze with blast furnace flames.