The Ruler Of Judgement

TheTax Day

The next day, Magnus did not went to forest as William told him that tax collectors will come today. He stayed home to help with the tax collectors. Their tiny village, Herbew, was under the control of Baron Pulkit from the nearby town. With only fifty people, Herbew was like many other villages. Most villagers farmed, while some hunted. William, the village chief, worked tirelessly for the village, earning a meager 12 gold a year from the Baron. This sum covered village expenses and his salary. One gold could feed a family of four for a month, and William spent it wisely. Despite repeated requests, the Baron wouldn't increase their allowance. William even tried to meet the Baron, but apparently, the nobleman felt a village chief of fifty people wasn't worthy of his time.

A year in Fantasia world had twelve 30-day months, named after the weather: Early Spring, Spring, Late Spring, Early Summer, Summer, Late Summer, Early Autumn, Autumn, Late Autumn, Early Winter, Winter, and Late Winter. There were also twenty-four hours in a day.

Today was the fourth day of Summer. The village had already finished harvesting their crops in Early Summer. Every Summer, tax collectors arrived to collect their share. William, informed by a horse-drawn message two days prior, awaited them at the village entrance. Around noon, twelve ordinary carts and a luxurious carriage pulled up. A middle-aged soldier, Sir Quinton, whom William knew from previous tax collections, dismounted and was greeted respectfully. William then led the group to the village hall, the only place large enough to accommodate them. Located in the village center, the hall also housed the storehouse for harvested crops.

While going towards hall, William was curious and worried about the occupant of the fancy carriage. He asked, "Sir Quinton, I hope your journey was pleasant. May I ask who graces us with their presence?"

Quinton replied with a smile. "The journey was uneventful. That is Young Lord Norse Pulkit, the Baron's only son and heir. Treat him accordingly."

William's worry deepened. Why would such a high-ranking person visit their remote village? He cautiously inquired, "Sir Quinton, forgive me for asking, but why has the Young Lord come to such a humble village? We wouldn't be able to provide the hospitality he deserves."

"The Baron ordered the Young Lord to visit several villages in the territory to learn about the land," Quinton explained. "Consider yourselves fortunate to have warranted a visit from the Young Lord."

Being fortunate was debatable. Pulkit territory had over fifty villages, and Herbew, being remote with no neighbors, required a special trip. William, however, knew better than to argue. Nobles were generally arrogant and treated commoners poorly. He just hoped things wouldn't go south.

With a heavy heart, they reached the hall. Soldiers began dismounting, while the villagers, including Magnus, stood ready to serve. A young boy in expensive clothes emerged from the carriage, followed by an older man, presumably the butler. Upon seeing the village and their reception area, Norse began loudly complaining to his butler, "Father must be losing his mind! Sending me to such a backward place!"

William bowed deeply. "Greetings, Young Lord. I am the village chief of this village."

Norse haughtily inquired, "What's your name?"

"William, Young Lord," he replied.

Norse continued his complaints, this time directed at William. "You can't even hold a proper reception for your lord? What exactly are you doing with the allowance you're given?"

William couldn't explain that the meager sum barely kept the village running, let alone host lavish events, especially not in front of the Young Lord. Thankfully, the butler intervened.

"Lord Norse," he said, "you must be tired from the journey. Why don't you get some rest?"

William chimed in, "Yes, Young Lord. We've done our best to prepare for your stay. Please, get some rest."

Without a word, Norse retreated to the tent the soldiers had pitched for him. Soldiers, accustomed to staying in the wilderness or cramped village quarters, carried their own tents and supplies. Norse, however, enjoyed the highest quality available.

Magnus fumed at the way his grandfather was being treated. However, he remembered his grandfather's warning: the entire village's well-being depended on keeping the peace. William had instilled in him and the other children the importance of avoiding trouble and respecting any noble they encountered. Nobles could kill commoners with impunity for disrespect. William had shared horrifying stories that left a deep fear in Magnus and other children.

For the first time, Magnus grasped the world's unfairness. A noble could decide a village's fate on a whim. Perhaps due to his newfound power or the mysterious man's memories, bowing to Norse felt wrong. The system's consoling words echoed in his mind, "Don't worry, host. When you're powerful enough, they'll have to bow to you. Just wait and become strong. Even the King himself will have to respect you if you are powerful enough. You're looked down upon because you're a commoner now. Ignore it for now."

Magnus felt a weight lift from his heart. He vowed to become so powerful that no one would dare disrespect him or his grandfather again.

After the soldiers retired, most villagers, including Magnus, returned home. A few remained to assist if needed. William, as chief, stayed behind.

Three hours later, Magnus returned to the hall and saw William and the soldiers loading sacks of wheat – their tax payment – onto the carts. Wheat was their primary crop, used to make the coarse bread that was their village's staple food.

Magnus helped move the sacks. The storehouse emptied quickly; there were sixty in total. Herbew collectively harvested an average of 100 sacks, a community effort involving all adults. Half, roughly 50 sacks, went to taxes. The village could survive on 30 sacks for a year. The remaining 20 were sold to merchants, their only source of income.

The tax rate was exorbitant, but commoners had no say in the matter. The ruling noble set the rate at his whim. Failure to pay meant becoming slaves. When Magnus first learned about s*****y, he was horrified. That's why he'd initially asked the system if following its instructions would make him a slave.

At the tender age of fourteen, Magnus grappled with the world's injustices. The idea of a world free from such cruelty sprouted in his mind for the first time.

"Focus on gaining power first, host," the system advised. "Once you're strong enough, you can change the world as you wish."

Magnus agreed, deciding to worry about justice later.

The system mused to itself, "It is his destiny after all. Every mage with the Judgement attribute strives to fulfill the lofty goal of eradicating injustice. The previous master died trying. It also benefits him, as he's been exposed to the world's ugliness early on."

Perhaps the goal was too ambitious for a common village boy, but it was his goal nonetheless. Little did he know, fate was slowly weaving a path that would change the entire world of Fantasia in the future.