After nearly a quarter of an hour had passed the village was assembled again.

Though the atmosphere was drastically different than it had been before.

Kalen looked around himself at the villagers. He had shifted locations from beneath the tavern’s shade to the edge of the crowded street. He noticed that most of the villagers who had gone out searching for the village’s required tribute wore dour expressions.

In fact, a majority of those who were gathered didn’t appear to be in good spirits, but who could blame them?

The church had founded Yurth before their grandparent’s parents’ time, and for all of that history, they hadn’t been forced to pay a tax of any kind.

Kalen supposed it would be a hard thing to accept all of a sudden, but wasn’t sure of the specific requirements.

Willowhearth hadn’t been beholden to any similar convention, so while he knew that Yurth would be forced to pay a portion of their harvest, Kalen didn’t know the consequences of that for the village.

But he couldn’t imagine they would be too disastrous, after all, the Publicani didn’t seem like he wanted to bother the village too much, though it did seem to Kalen as he half-listened to the gathering that the man was more forceful with the process than he needed to be.

Kalen’s mind wandered to what the Publicani had said. His statement that Kalen would make an addition to their group confused him as well as worried him. He still had plans that required him to travel elsewhere, after all. For Kalen right now, nothing was more important than seeing Willowhearth again, well, besides Layla’s safety.

‘Well, if it comes to that, I’ll just have to refuse them.’

Though the position Kalen imagined he would have in their retinue dwarfed the guard job in his village that he had been chasing much of his life, his priorities had since changed after the attack.

He didn’t care about positions or jobs until he saw his home again, and even then, it had never been about the status to begin with.

‘Though I wonder if those two guys who made contact with me are going to start feeling ill? Eh, it was pretty quick, so probably not.’

Kalen held onto the little hand of his sister through his gloves as the village elder finally approached the horsemen.

“My lord, we have brought you the tribute, as required.”

The elder’s shaky voice sounded out. He kneeled, motioning to the four sealed barrels that had been gathered by the villagers.

The raised figure of the Publicani moved forward as his horse approached the barrels.

“So then, this is your tribute? What amounts to twenty percent of this year’s harvest?”

The Publicani asked like he wanted the elder to confirm. The elder nodded vehemently.

“Yes my lord, it’s all here.”

The Publicani didn’t say anything for a moment.

Instead he swayed to the side, taking in the sight of the barrels without word.

A frown started to form on his face.

The elder looked up, catching his eye and stammering.

“W-We thank you for your benevolence in accepting our tribute! Our humble village is grateful to have a way to pay back our Emperor for our use of his majesty’s land!”

The Publicani grabbed his horse's reins, inching closer to the elder and the barrels while keeping a silent expression.

Only the slow clops of the horse’s hooves as they got closer replied to the old man.

“M-my lord?!”

The Publicani stopped next to the stacked barrels.

Withdrawing his saber from its sheath, he raised it high above his head–

Whoa!

–and slashed downwards. In a single, neat swing that cleaved a chunk from one of the barrels.

A wave of shock ran through the crowd. Kalen’s eyes, which had been unfocused before, were brought back to clarity as they caught the ending motion of the Publicani’s swing.

The level of skill in the swing astounded Kalen, but his eyes could still follow it. Which meant that although the sword arc had been executed extremely well…

‘...he’s still far below Old Marshall.’

A deluge of fruit poured out from the barrel where the Publicani had struck it. The face of the man hardened as he saw the state of the produce within.

Instantly, his silence was broken. He shouted at the villagers from behind his helmet.

“Grateful! Grateful are you? So highly do you think of the emperor that you would repay him in spoiled fruit and rotten mush!”

The hoof of the Imperial’s horse grinded into the rotten produce as if to illustrate his point.

The elder burst into panic.

“N-no! We would never! There has to be something else going on here, I checked those barrels myself!”

To Kalen, the strained voice of the elder sounded genuine, but the mentality of the crowd was strong. The atmosphere in the street was agitated, and there was a rising feeling that the villagers were about to start pointing fingers…

But the Publicani held up a hand before it got to that point.

“Silence!”

Which settled the villagers’ frantics.

“Even if you are speaking the truth, it would appear Yurth is still rife with other issues.”

He motioned for two of his men to come forward. They both handed him two bundles of rolled-parchment, one dusty and ancient-looking while the other still had retained auburn color of its page.

The Publicani unfurled the cleaner one first. His eyes skimmed over their contents before closing with solemn acceptance.

“Villagers of Yurth! It would seem that even if everything you had brought as today's tribute were in good measure, your tribute would still come up short!”

“What?!”

“Outrageous!”

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“How can that be?”

The Publicani waved his arms down like he was smothering a fire.

“I know. It seems inconceivable, but I have in my hands proof of your elder’s corruption!”

“What?!”

The face of the elder shot up.

“This here is a trade log, detailing every interaction your elder, and his family before him, has had with merchants from outside the village.”

Multiple heads snapped to the kneeling man.

“It is proof of your elder’s treachery against his own village, and it states here that going as far back as three generations, his family has kept a certain percentage of the village harvest to sell without anyone knowing.”

“That’s. Not. True!”

The village elder suddenly stood up, his eyes burning with indignant fury. The sudden motion, and so close to the Publican caused the man’s horse to rear.

“How dare–!”

The Publican withdrew his saber. Kalen and the crowd’s eyes started to widen as they beheld how much the situation was escalating. He was about to wince, anticipating the strike against the elder, but the sound never came.

Kalen opened his eyes.

The Publicani had put down his weapon.

“No, I will not stoop to your level.”

The Publicani pushed his saber back in the sheath.

He silently motioned back, causing several of his retinue to come forward on their horses and surround the old man while he continued to speak.

“Now, even if your misfortune has been caused by the treachery of a single man…”

The Publicani pointed to the elder.

“...Your village still has a duty to the emperor, and I have a tribute to collect. Since we can’t gather the necessary funds in the conventional way, we will have to find alternate routes.”

The gathered crowd looked at one another, most nodding as if they found that idea an acceptable compromise. One person spoke out from the street.

“What do you propose?”

Kalen turned and his eyes widened.

It was Breila, hunched over and bearing a gray complexion. She was leaning against the side of a building with Ayana supporting her other arm.

‘She looks terrible! Why is she out here?’

The Publicani smiled.

“What I propose is simple: starting with your elder here, we will take several of your people as slaves to be sold off to Imperial markets. Their estimated price will, of course, cover the fee of the tribute.”

“What!?”

“That’s terrible!”

“Illegal!”

The Publicani waved his arms through the air. Kalen saw the horsemen around the elder bend down to tightly grab onto the elder before he could move.

“Now, now, it isn’t that bad…”

The Publicani’s voice could hardly be heard through the shouting.

“Alright, alright…”

The villagers were only getting more rowdy. Of course they were, as no one wanted to have their fellow villagers sold into slavery.

“You can’t do this!”

“Why should we have to suffer for one man’s crimes!?”

After failing to quiet the street for a minute or so, an annoyed expression finally crept onto the Publicani and his men’s faces. They all unsheathed their blades in a fluid motion.

The crowd quieted down.

“Everyone shut up!”

He had seemingly abandoned his formal way of speech.

“We will be taking the required tribute today, whether in slaves to sell at auction, or in another manner. There is still a demand for corpses on the market, after all!”

The Publicani waved his blade around.

“Now, you can try to run from us, but in reality, those among you who will be sold have already been preselected. Let me read them off…”

The Publicani set aside the clean-looking scroll to unravel the second one.

“The elder, Hosan. The shepard’s wife, Tevla. Her daughter, Samantha. And, hm, let’s see here…”

A spine-numbing wail erupted from one side of the street. Kalen and everyone else’s focus snapped to a man comforting his collapsed wife. The man, who Kalen guessed couldn’t have been ten years older than himself, begged the Publicani.

“My lord, please! Don’t take my wife and daughter, there’s got to be another way we can pay?!”

The Publicani shook his head.

“No…the requirements are quite rigid on the slaves we need to take for the tribute to be settled.”

The man despaired. Seeing this the Publicani formed a grin, putting a finger on his chin like he was considering something.

“In fact, I need another male in this line in order for this to fit the tribute. I think you’ll do, don’t you?”

The man’s face went white. His wife, who had stopped crying suddenly spoke up.

“My lord, what about them? They’re not from Yurth, and I’m sure they’d fetch better prices than we would!”

Like parting the sea, a ravine suddenly formed in the crowd from the direction of the woman’s pointing finger. One that happened to lead directly to Kalen and his sister.

The Publicani didn’t hesitate for a moment as he glanced at the familiar head of purple hair standing next to a little girl. He nodded.

“That’s fine by me, less hassle if we take them, right Gellius?”

The Publicani looked to his attendant.

Three men on horseback suddenly appeared before Kalen, he grabbed his sister closer to himself and positioned her behind him. Every muscle in his body tensed, preparing to run off again.

‘Three men on horseback. They’re not like those beasts. I don’t know if I’ll be able to outrun them with Layla.’

But he might at least be able to buy some time for Layla to hide herself, Kalen thought. His optimism dulled as he saw the long curves of the blades that each man on horseback had withdrawn.

“Settle down boy. Er, Kalen. You can’t outrun their horses, and when they catch you, the last thing you’ll have to be worried about is your sister.”

Kalen’s eyes flashed. He hadn’t mentioned Layla when the Publicani had searched him earlier, nor had the man asked about her, but his reactions now gave their relationship away.

Kalen hesitated for a second, but decided to do as the man said. He had no choice right now. He couldn’t protect Layla while he was dead, so he would have to do his best while he was in chains.

“Kally?”

Kalen turned toward her.

“It’s alright Layla, we’re just going to follow this man for a bit.”

Kalen choked out those words. It felt as if he was signing away Layla’s future with those words. After their mother had given everything to protect her, Kalen had abandoned her.

Kalen looked up grimly. As they were escorted toward the center of the street to where the wagon sat, he glanced briefly at the corner of the street to Ayana and Breila. Kalen hoped his eyes could express his thanks to the two women when his voice couldn’t, as speaking even for a moment risked associating them with a future slave, which Kalen couldn’t afford to do to the saviors of his sister and himself.

As Kalen got on the wagon, he saw the vision of WIllowhearth finally fade from his mind.

Seeing the two jump on the wagon alongside the elder, the Publicani resumed his work. He turned to the crowd again.

“Well, now, we’re almost there, but I’m afraid your tribute is still a bit short. I’m in need of another female to fill the remaining space on the wagon. Any takers? Or should I read my next name off of this list?”

From where Kalen sat he was finally able to see that the Publicani was reading off of the village’s citizen registry, a practice that Yurth and Willowhearth both shared. If he was right, the name of nearly every person who had ever lived in the village was there, from the founding day of the village until now.

‘Likely another thing he had his men gather from the elder’s house.’

“I’ll do it!”

‘What?’

“I’ll join the wagon!”

Kalen’s inner dialogue was broken by the shout of a familiar voice. The Publicani responded with a delighted tone to the unexpected volunteer.

“Wonderful! Well then, climb aboard and we’ll be off!”

The Publicani waved his hands to the village. Kalen widened his eyes as a shadow moved through the crowd of people and came to the wagon. Ayana sat down on the bench across from him.

‘Why? Why is she here?’

The Publicani called out as he took the reins of his horse in hand.

“Farewell, Village of Yurth! It’s been a pleasure. The Emperor will greatly appreciate your tribute!”

Faint cries responded back. Nothing positive had come from his visit.

However, Publicani’s voice was drowned out by a ringing in Kalen’s ears. The boy’s gaze was locked on solely to Ayana, who was waving off to her mother.

A drop of sweat rolled down Kalen’s face and crested his browline.

‘Why did she do this?’