The knight by the name of Piston Cavalle wasn't a man one would use to describe the word honor.

Although he had been rewarded with such title by the duke due to ahis prowess in battle and his demeanor, he wasn't one that would put others first than himself. No, much to the contrary. After his ascent in power, the knight had been using the name of his lord to put himself above the law.

The knight had been awarded a manor of his own and a couple of servants, an extravagant place for anyone that could just barely afford to live as tenants in a farm or a slum-house outside of the city's walls. He had his own stable, with horses plenty, and even a personal squadron stationed a quarter mile from his ranch.

It was the living of a rich man who wouldn't look down to the poor folk, in fear he'd throw up in disgust. People knew, and hated just as much, that this absurdly wealthy man was such not because of his acts. It was simply a demonstration from the Alleeba Family, a way to say 'Even our knights live better than the barons of other regions.'

"Sir Piston, the monthly report has come in. Do you wish for me to read it out loud?"

An elderly man stood at the side of the Knight's desk. He was a gentleman in all regard, one with a white lushy beard and equal-colored hair. His robes were simple, but demonstrated elegance when worn on him. He held a bundle of paperwork on one hand, while the other was placed on his side. This was Piston's right hand, the aide called Arberard.

"Read the important parts. Leave unnecessary shit out of it."

On the other end of the desk, a shirtless man dried up his hair with a white towel. Only a pair of delicate trousers covered his legs, which rested without a care upon the same busy desk.

This man's body was visibly swollen— his muscles were something that a mere commoner would never reach by the normal diet of two pieces of bread a day. Only an unmeasured diet of pure meat would make a man look like this, something not everyone in this world could afford.

"Yes sir. To begin with, it is my pleasure to announce that we have reclaimed 12 hectares of land from our last month's debt collection. The families who could not afford the debt payment have been expropriated accordingly and put to work under regular conditions."

The knight took the towel off his face, and tossed it to a side for a servant to grab before it fell down.

He smiled at Arberard, and muttered the words "Excellent." under his breath. The servant couldn't help but notice the sinister smile appearing on his master's face, and simply sighed lowly as he continued to read the papers and make out the important parts.

The reason for his master's happiness was evident— such a thing represented more gold for them.

The Kingdom of Kulkus, a thriving state situated at the very center of the Tavantha continent, had for a long time worked under the jurisdiction of a singular entity. The king was the one and only to make up the laws, and these laws were absolute and irreversible by any other than the king himself.

The Royal Knights served under the monarchy, and were the ones to see the laws of the king be followed, and impart punishment otherwise— dictated by the accompanied judgement of the Feriphian Church.

"I must say, this little drop in prices might have been a pain in the ass at first, but now it's all starting to go smoothly for us."

For many years, this was the rule. This, however, changed when the king, at his advanced age, decided to appoint a handful of department-heads to manage the country beside him.

For instance, the laws about land ownership had drastically changed.

The land in which farmers worked had always been a property of the nobility. Commoners were not, under any circumstances, able to own farming land of any kind. Even owning property in the likes of housing inside the walls was a right owned only by people of the middle class, which could afford the high tax rates and the opportunity of expropiation if deemed necessary by the according noble.

However, since recently, the assembly had changed that law.

Due to the closing of their trading routes with the Neire Empire on the west, and subsequently the Dranquianstone city-state, the noblemen were closed to many opportunities of producing gold with their farms.

It was at this moment that they had started to search for alternative means of producing coin besides agriculture. The already-exploited coal industry of Goldblack sky-rocketed and their trading routes with the elven countries deepened. This didn't put the farming lands of, for example, Pontya, into a good position.

There started to be an overproduction of their grain, which could not be exported. The warehouses started to fill up, and the "exclusive" crops that were sold to the Empire in inflated prices quickly lost their charm, and an entire season of harvest was lost.

It was at this moment that the royal family took the crisis to their advantage.

"The Royal assembly might have bought back a lot of Goldblack's land, but they never counted with it's people's stupidity. Kek, it's easy enough that even that swine of Miel could have done it himself."

The crown managed to buy back from the nobles a great deal of land, and distributed it evenly among the farmers. This was done by the head of the production facility, a former commoner before coming into the Assembly.

The tax rates for the land given to the farmer was of 65% monthly, however, it was much more permissive than the four-fifths policy dictated by the nobles, which sometimes was even higher. This also allowed for the farmer's to do as they pleased with their land and rip a good part of the benefits.

"It is also fair to announce, sir, than with this, your house has solely reclaimed back 1.5% of the land bought by the crown. The duke will be greatly pleased, I hope he will put it to good use in the coming winter." Arberard smiled as he read the papers.

"The duke can eat shit grabbed from the farmland's cows if he wants, as long as he gives me my gold for the job. Costed me a rough living for a year and a half. It was their own stupidity who plunged them into this. How would you think the routes would stay closed forever and sell your land in a rush?"

It wasn't until the buyback of the farming land was completed that an opening of three new trade routes was announced by the crown themselves. One with the Majicracy of Wenders, at the northeast, another one with the theocracy of Agaría at the northwest, and the last one with the elves of Elvnhart at the east.

While the royal family laughed at their new 65% income from over six hundred thousand new hectares of land, the nobles started to cry out to the heavens in unearthly rage.

"Well... To be fair, it had already been 5 years in crisis. The price of the grain plummeted so much it wasn't even affordable to harvest. The nobles were desperate and saw the opportunity as a bail-out. They couldn't have known the proud king who never gave quarter to the commoners would suddenly hand over 1/20th of the country's farmland to the lower class."

"Psht, with a fucking commoner up the king's ass, how wouldn't that happen?"

However, uneducated people were still uneducated. After five more years, they started seeing problems in their mismanagement. The nobles and their knights, much closer to the people, started to offer their help.

The main lending hand, loans without any kind of interest rate. The only thing they needed was to sign a contract that embedded 1/100th of their magical energy into the sign.

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"And then these brainless farmers." Piston scoffed. "The contract clearly stated that in case of a 12-month lateness in payment, their owning papers would be the collateral! Even the ones that could read, didn't!"

It had been a year and a half effort, but many of the nobles had reclaimed up to 20% of their land. Still, many of the nobles may never be able to reclaim most of it, since 40% of new land-owners refused any help from them.

Still, the tension between nobility and the crown had greatly risen in the last few years. The advantage of the crown, however, was that they had put the commoners on their side with that move.

"Well, putting that aside, the justs of the city have also seen an increase in productivity. It seems that allowing the use of magic increased the fervor of the nettings. We've also acquired a hefty sum from this. Our balance this month is up 60 gold coins."

"Ah... That sounds excellent. You've done a good job, Arberard. Well, then. I'm very eager to hear about our deal with the army. What about the contact with Miel's—"

Just when he was about to finish his sentence, an image appeared in the corner of his eye. Piston looked at the faraway window, besides the door to the living room, and squinted his eyes after feeling a very familiar and powerful presence.

"Hey... We can leave this for later, aight Arberard?" Piston stood up with a grin, and graced past the old man. He grabbed a coat from the perch besides the door, and opened the door while putting it on.

He looked several yards ahead of himself while he stepped down the flight of stairs in his front porch, and combed his hair backwards with his hands. Although bare-foot, the cobbled path ahead of him didn't bother him in the slightest. He said hi to his gardener trimming the flowers, and arrived at the gates with a gallant smile.

At the other side of the gates was a woman talking to the guards, who very worriedly were telling her it was prohibited to enter without their master's direct permission. Even before Piston had arrived at the gate, this woman was already looking at him as if she had sensed he was coming.

"Good men, good men! No need to worry about the lady. Please, open the gates, she's a guest of mine!"

"We're terribly sorry for the inconvenience."

The woman sighed lightly trough her nose while the men opened the door, and felt extreme repulsion as she saw the knight sizing her up from feet to her head.

"Dear Valta... I see my regal self sends even the nobles from other regions to this humble stay. Please, do go in. I'll serve you something to drink and eat, you must have made a long travel!"

The woman didn't answer the man's words. The only thing he got in retort was a sharp and expressionless gaze that pierced him like an arrow

"... Why are you dressed like that, Miss Valta? The daughter of a duke in such attire... You look..." Piston raised his lip with disgust. "Like a common woman."

The woman named Valta didn't even flinch at that statement, as she raised her arms to let the knight have a good look at her clothes.

A robe of sorts started at the middle of her neck, flowing down over her shoulders and reaching her midriff. Below this garment, a scabbard belt latched with pockets covered her chest and wrapped at her back, containing different items inside them, pressing tightly onto the cotton shirt she wore.

Another belt went around her waist and let a shortsword hang from an ornate sheathe, and at the other side, several attached pockets that carried from potions to first aid items. Both these belts were in a similar fashion to the gauntlets that extended to her elbows, and the greaves that covered up until below her knees.

She reached behind her satchel to a packet she had tied up, and grabbed a small parcel to hand over to him.

"What is this...?" Piston furrowed his brow.

"Open it." She stated coldly, and resumed a neutral stance.

As expected of the Lockhart's daughter... She's just a stone wall, isn't she?

Piston shook the thought off his mind, and focused back to the package. He untied the first few cords around it, and then had a small thought to himself— would it be rude if I used a detection spell before opening it?

However, he didn't do it. Not because he had indeed thought it would be rude, but because his senses caught a rather hefty aura to his attention. When he looked up, he saw the figure of a man on top a mule travelling the path to his gate.

He quickly hid the package, and called a servant to get it. "To my desk." He said, at the sime time that the man on the mule had started to get down.

The guards looked at their patron, and even the woman Valta turned around to observe the stranger who had inconveniently arrived. The man was wearing a hood on his head, but his face was plain to see. It was a middle-aged man with black hair, black eyebrows, and black eyes.

"Who is that?" Piston asked.

"..."

But Valta's guess was as good as his. She didn't have a clue.

The man smiled as he rummaged trough the satchels and bags on the mule's sides, and eventually acted as if he had found something. He grabbed from it's insides a small basket full of thick glass bottles, and carried them towards the house of the knight.

"Good day!" The man said, and dropped the basket besides the gate.

Is it just a pesky journeyman? My senses must be getting dull. There's no way a filthy farmer could have such aura belonging to a trained soldier.

"Good day..."

Piston answered with a rather annoyed and lost visage, while Valta simply nodded. The man grabbed a pouch from his side, and together with a few bottles of milk, was about to hand it over to Piston before his hands quickly retracted.

"I'm sorry, hehe, I made assumptions. Are you Sir Piston, by any chance? This is quite the lovely house, so I assumed you were the one."

Piston squinted his eyes, and then nodded.

"Ah, it's okay then. Then, take. The farm has recently bought some cows and, well, you were generous enough to let us borrow five entire pieces of gold. So besides the payment, this is the least I could do."

Piston received the bottles of milk and handed them over to the guards besides the door, and then proceeded to grab the pouch on the man's hand. He opened it with disdain and no heed, until having removed the binds.

"This... Four silver coins." Piston sighed.

"Yes..." The man humbly lowered his head while covering it further with his hood. "It's not part of the payment, I know it's not much. It's but a gift, so giving the name of our farm is unnecessary."

"Hmph."

Piston shook it aside, and threw the bag to one of the guards, who accepted it dearly.

"Oh, and one more thing! Haha, I've been thinking of this for a good while, I thought it would be a good gift. But of course, there's no way a gentleman such as yourself would open these crates in front of a lady! You'll see what I'm saying when you open them, you'll see."

The hooded man took a pair of very tightly-closed crates, and unloaded them down one by one. He placed them in front of the guards after cleaning the sweat off his forehead, the bigger one below the smaller one.

"What are these?"

"Ah... If it's not much a bother..." The hooded man tried to get close to the knight, but the guards inmediately closed his path. Piston told them to hold off, and the man got closer to whisper in the Knight's ear.

"Between you and me, I know sometimes us men need a little help down there, no?"

"Aha..." Piston placed his hand on his chin.

"Well, I got these potions, Sir, from the Black Cauldron back at Pontya, and, huff. They're the stuff. My wife has never been happier, sir Piston."

"Interesting." Piston nodded.

The man retired himself from Piston's side and looked at Valta with a chuckle. He bowed slightly, and then took a step back.

"I won't lie, I only thought this may gain me some favour next time I came ask for something. I think honesty is better than nothing."

"I'll remember this." Piston smiled, and told the guards to hurl the boxes inside the house.

"Well, with this, I bid farewell. Miss, Sir Piston, it was a pleasure."

The man jumped onto his much-lighter mule, and turned around with a nod and a salute.

"Right, who are you?"

"Me? No need to remember my name, good sir. I'm but a simple farmer!"

With those words, he traced into the distance, while Valta sighed and walked a few feet in front of Piston.

"I delivered the message."

She said, and with the same indifference as the farmer from before, she went into the opposite direction, and walked away from Piston's sight.

What a weird coincidence.

He thought, and returned to his office. Upon arrival, he finished to undo the wrappings on the package while his guards tried to open the heavily-bolted crates in the room next to the living room. As soon as he finished opening it and took a peek inside, his eyes widened considerably.

"What... What does this mean..."

A cold chill ran down his spine, his eyes set upon the glass encasing inside the parcel, which saved inside it a letter and several pieces of gold.

He opened it, and counted them. There were 30 in total. He rushed to open the letter, breaking the seal, and rustling the paper, only to find a short, lazily-written letter with a one-word signature at the end of the paper.

"Eat shit, Piston.

Signed, Miel."

Piston tore the letter in half, and held his nosebridge in extreme discontent. Arberard by his side could only observe with worried eyes as his master was about to break the desk with his grip, and throw the coins into the wooden floor.

"Huff... No, it's okay." Piston gave a self-convincing smile, and exhaled in order to calm himself. "We've worked before without their support, nothing says we can't do it now. The Captain's short-sightedness doesn't mean his uncle is the same. We'll work this out... Next time I meet with Panal, I'll—"

"Sir Piston!!"

A screech came from the other room, and the knight immediately knew something was amiss. He ran to the room where the screams were coming from and, flustered, attended to his soldiers with a "What is it?!" From his mouth.

However, he didn't have to await for their answers, the foul smell had already reached his nose. He looked down into the crates, and saw five horrible, blood-drenched spheres looking up at him.

Five familiar faces looked up at him with blank eyes and dislocated jaws, three in one box and two in the other.

It was the heads of his debt collectors— severed and placed in a box