Chapter 9

“Uh…that girl we just passed was being chased by a Beastman,” Dimoiya said. “Is she going to be eaten? She’s not going to be eaten, right?”

Frianne looked over her shoulder through the carriage’s rear window, spotting a girl jogging along the shoulder of the road. A few dozen metres behind her was a hulking Pig Beastman that must have been five times her size. Besides the two, there were no other travellers or patrols to be seen.

It would have made for a nightmarish scene in the Empire, one that would have become a topic of fearful discussion and the source of countless rumours for years.

“They’re apprentice Rangers,” Ludmila told them.

“I wasn’t aware that Rangers had apprentices,” Rangobart said.

“You probably just never noticed,” Ludmila said. “If a local forester is raising their son to become the next forester, then his son is basically an apprentice Ranger, yes? I suppose they can’t officially call them apprentices since there is no Ranger Guild in any Human countries that I know of.”

“What are they doing?”

“Training. They’re on the last leg of the lake circuit.”

“Lake circuit?” Dimoiya frowned, “But your lake is huge!”

“It’s a hundred-fifty-kilometre circuit,” Ludmila said. “There is a climb up the ravine past the southern shore of the lake before they come back to the harbour using this road. Apprentices at their level are expected to complete the entire trip in twenty-four hours fully equipped.”

Frianne looked up the road to the two apprentices, who had receded to become specks in the distance.

“Is that possible?” Frianne said, “That girl can’t have been older than twelve.”

“That girl is much faster than the Orc jogging behind her,” Ludmila said. “In fact, she’s two days late because of that Orc. As far as I’ve seen, only a few types of Beastman have better long-distance endurance than Humans. Physically fit Humans, at least. Jelena has been training to be a Ranger for over a year, so her physical conditioning is far beyond what you’d find in the average civilian. Completing the lake circuit within twenty-four hours amounts to a leisurely jog for her.”

“That was an Orc?” Frianne said, “I didn’t know any existed west of the Great Steppe.”

“I didn’t even know what an Orc was before last summer,” Ludmila said. “The demonic disturbance in the Abelion Wilderness displaced many previously unknown tribal populations. The Orc that you saw back there is from a tribe currently staying in the forest west of Warden’s Vale.”

The carriage leaned slightly as it rapidly descended the bend leading to the dam. They were on their way back to the village for a brief rest before dinner, after which Ludmila had to attend a meeting with the staff of one of her companies.

“What is the point of such extreme training?” Frianne asked, “I highly doubt that forestry demands that level of performance.”

“I think that it’s normal for career Rangers,” Ludmila said. “Especially on the frontier. Patrols have to report raids as quickly as possible. Every extra day required to carry out such a task is an extra day that it takes for a security response to arrive.”

“But the Sorcerous Kingdom has ample security to deal with any threat.”

“Threats still need to be identified, reported, and intercepted.”

“So they’re recruits for the Royal Army of the Sorcerous Kingdom?”

“That’s right. The first semester of the military academy here started this spring. There are only two dozen students right now, but the eventual goal is to have students from across the Sorcerous Kingdom with programs for the various roles that the Royal Army needs filled.”

“I wasn’t aware that the Sorcerous Kingdom had any such needs,” Frianne said.

“If all that the army did was kill things and all of those things conveniently lined up, waiting to be killed, then we wouldn’t need an army at all. One of His Majesty’s more powerful servants would be sufficient for the task. The Royal Army not only needs personnel for field reconnaissance, but also the same officers that one might find in any other army. The ratio between different departments will obviously be different since our soldiers are mostly Undead.”

A low rumble filled the carriage as they came off of the dam and onto the unmarked path leading through the Citadel District. Minutes later, they slowed to a stop at the vehicle lot outside of the village square.

“I’ll see everyone in a few hours for dinner at the restaurant,” Ludmila said after they disembarked. “Does anyone have any questions before I get going?”

“How do you know when you have a letter?” Dimoiya asked.

“A letter…as in a message or parcel waiting at the post office?”

“Yeah,” Dimoiya nodded. “I sent something to the Imperial Ministry of Foreign Affairs yesterday.”

“I doubt you’ll receive any reply,” Frianne said. “The people at the Foreign Affairs office might still be cowering under their desks because of your report…how do parcels from the Vampire Post in Arwintar get delivered, anyway?”

“It isn’t a very busy branch,” Ludmila said, “so they haven’t yet hired any locals to help out. A Vampire Bride probably just delivered Dimoiya’s report in person.”

Maybe what I said wasn’t that far off from the truth.

The Sorcerous Kingdom’s Undead might have become a common sight on the frontier patrol routes where they had been introduced, but the Empire kept them out of sight in Arwintar. Even the ones dispatched to guard the Emperor were hidden away in an empty room in the palace basement. Frianne could only hope that any observers mistook the Vampire for a beautiful woman randomly walking around the First-class District for no particular reason.

With no other questions, Ludmila left them to attend to her business. Frianne scanned the village square, wondering what to do.

“Where are you going to go, Prez?” Dimoiya asked.

“I’m not sure,” Frianne answered. “I should really get what we saw down on paper, but I’m craving something sweet right now.”

“Maybe the restaurant has cakes,” Dimoiya said.

They made it halfway across the square before she realised Rangobart was following them. Frianne stopped and looked over her shoulder.

“You’re following us?”

“Hm? Oh, I was in the middle of a conversation, so I just moved when I saw everyone else moving.”

“A conversation?” Dimoiya looked around, “With whom?”

“Isabella – that Necromancer from the village – messaged me. I think she wanted to go out for dinner, but I told her we’re attending that dinner meeting with Lady Zahradnik’s metalworking company.”

“You don’t need to come with us if you don’t want to,” Frianne said.

“I’m here to learn how this territory is run,” Rangobart said. “Besides, I have the feeling that accepting one invitation will start something crazy. The use of Message spells doesn’t appear to be a taboo in the Sorcerous Kingdom. I have no desire to find out what happens if all those women from today discover that one of them managed to get me to go out for dinner with her via Message spell.”

“You wouldn’t have that problem if you weren’t such a Rangobart,” Dimoiya said.

“…I’m beginning to wonder whether that isn’t actually an insult.”

“Rangobart is Rangobart.”

The sound of a busy kitchen greeted them as they walked in through the restaurant’s front door. Dimoiya rang a bell placed on the front counter and a young woman wearing a slightly dirty apron came out from the back.

“Good afternoon,” she smiled in greeting. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Do you have anything sweet?” Frianne asked, “A drink, perhaps? Or maybe some fruit…”

“How about a Summerberry Smoothie?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a cold drink made using summer berries harvested from around here.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Frianne said. “I’d like one.”

“Dimoiya wants one, too!”

The woman at the counter looked past them to Rangobart. Rangobart nodded quietly.

“Just a moment, please,” the woman said.

The woman reappeared a few minutes later, carrying a tray with three tall metal cups filled to the brim with a light purplish liquid. Dimoiya sniffed hers before taking a sip.

“It’s cold!” She exclaimed, “It’s sweet! Is there crushed ice in this?”

“Yes, Miss. We’re glad to see that you enjoy it.”

“How much do we owe you?” Frianne asked.

“They’re a copper each. Oh, make sure you return the cup.”

They walked back outside with their drinks, sitting down around a shaded table in the square. The ‘Summerberry Smoothy’ was exactly as advertised, full of cold, fruity sweetness with just a hint of tanginess. She was surprised to look down and find out that she had drained half of the huge cup before they reached the table.

“Aren’t these too cheap?” Frianne said, “A drink like this would be at least a silver in Arwintar.”

“It seems about right,” Rangobart said. “Food on the Azerlisian Frontier is usually cheap. Seafood on the Golden Strand is a tenth what it would be in Arwintar – at least if you buy it from a stand.”

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“So the people are rich here,” Dimoiya said, “and everything is cheap?”

“The Farmers seem to be, at least,” Rangobart said. “A hundred hectares with the stated yields is far too much for a single tenant. Each one of them probably has a discretionary income comparable to a Baron with a title on choice farmland with access to a major river.”

“That depends on their contract,” Frianne said. “Rents in Re-Estize vary drastically. I’ve seen anywhere between a quarter and four-fifths in the reports.”

“Four-fifths?” Rangobart frowned, “How do their tenants survive that in bad years?” Don’t tell me that every tenancy in Re-Estize is a hundred hectares…”

“No, they’re roughly equivalent to tenancies in the Empire.”

The people all seemed relatively happy, so it was safe to assume that Ludmila didn’t have anything absurd like a crop share of four-fifths for her tenancies. That left her tenants, as her juniors asserted, rich.

“Things still don’t add up,” Rangobart muttered. “Just because one group is wealthy doesn’t mean that everyone is just as wealthy. Aside from food, the prices in the shops here are nearly identical to what I saw in Corelyn Harbour. I suppose you have the Alchemists in the ‘wealthy’ group, too. The Second Army Group went through an insane number of consumables in the Blister Campaign, and Master LeNez mentioned that the Imperial Army is still snapping up everything that they can.”

Frianne pondered the conundrum. Assuming that they weren’t missing some crucial pieces of information, Rangobart was correct. Things just didn’t add up in Warden’s Vale. Ludmila purposely limited her territorial exports and her population was tiny. That being the case, demand would dry up relatively quickly, leaving many citizens far poorer than others.

If the same scenario occurred in the Empire, the disparity would be chafing. There was no way that the Guilds would accept that their highly skilled members were somehow worth less than a Farmer.

“Come to think of it,” Frianne said, “has anyone noticed any guild activity here?”

“No, I haven’t,” a furrow appeared on Rangobart’s brow.

“I haven’t, either,” Dimoiya said. “That’s super weird. I know everyone calls the settlements villages here, but they’re basically towns, right?”

“Are you implying that things are just as they seem?” Rangobart asked, “That some people are just sitting on huge piles of gold while others simply settle for what they have because the Guilds aren’t present to set fair prices for their members?”

“Maybe,” Frianne said. “Zahradnik also mentioned that she consolidated her industries into a set of chartered companies, so these people should at least push higher prices with their collective bargaining power. Unless…”

She sent a tentative glance in the direction of Ludmila’s temporary manor.

“So you’re saying that they’re scared Ludmila will squish them because she controls everything,” Dimoiya said in a low voice. “Does that mean everyone here is just pretending to be happy? Maybe she threatens to feed them to her Dragon.”

“I somehow don’t think that’s the case,” Rangobart said. “She’s gone to unprecedented lengths to ensure that everyone enjoys a similar basic standard of living. Everything screams efficiency. Demand for firewood is nonexistent between magical lighting, magical temperature control, and these restaurants doing all of the cooking. Preservation items prevent food wastage, which is another major cost for commoners. It stands to reason that the cost of living is so minuscule here that people can live comfortably as they are.”

“But…”

There had to be more to it. It was strange to think that people would just rest on their laurels like that. Everyone had at least some ambition.

“Zahradnik invited us to attend a company dinner with her smiths,” Frianne said. “I’m sure there’s some takeaway in mind. That woman may seem straightforward, but there are unfathomable layers to everything she does.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like General Ray,” Rangobart said.

Frianne purchased another Summerberry Smoothie before returning to her lodgings. She made it three pages into her report before passing out and didn’t wake until Wiluvien appeared to see why she was late. The dinner was already well underway by the time she arrived.

“What did I miss?” Frianne asked as she joined Dimoiya and Rangobart at their table.

“They just served the first course,” Rangobart said. “I’m still a bit confused about this meeting. There are six children for every adult.”

Frianne looked around the restaurant. Reserving an entire restaurant for a dinner meeting happened occasionally in the Empire with the multitude of powerful interest groups in the country. This not only included the aristocratic factions, but also Merchant and guild concerns and the occasional function hosted by one department or the other in the Imperial Administration. Never once, however, had she seen a meeting filled with children.

Even the meals are for children. Well, it’s still all crab…

She took a toothpick and stabbed it into a crab ball, dipping it into one of the colourful sauces arrayed at the centre of the table.

“Do either of you know what this meeting will cover?” Frianne asked.

“I have no idea,” Rangobart said. “Will the children even have the patience for a meeting?”

The children looked like they were preoccupied with their food while Ludmila was speaking to the adults at the front-centre table. She looked over at Frianne’s table and went to speak to them.

“Apologies for the late arrival,” Frianne said.

“It’s not a problem,” Ludmila replied. “As you can see, this dinner meeting is more dinner than meeting. You may join us at our table, if you’d like.”

The restaurant staff joined another table to Ludmila’s and the smiths seated there shuffled around to make room. Frianne took a seat beside Ludmila and smiled as they were introduced to everyone at the table. All of the men were from the city of E-Rantel – or at least they had ended up in the city following the Battle of Katze Plains.

Only a single master Blacksmith numbered among them – a middle-aged man who went by the name of Ostrik Kovalev – who worked in the harbour’s foundry in the Citadel District. The rest were journeymen: each overseeing their respective workshops in the farming villages. All of them looked like they felt terribly out of place sitting at the same table with a group of Nobles.

“I can’t recall if you’ve mentioned it before,” Frianne said, “but does this company have a name?”

“While we do keep official records,” Ludmila said, “this company doesn’t have an official name. I’m sure the members will settle on something that everyone finds satisfactory at some point.”

“Then, could you provide an overview of how it functions? Different workshops in different locations come together as members of the Blacksmith Guild, but I’ve never heard of different workshops in different locations belonging to the same company. Additionally, I believe you mentioned something about shareholders when we were at the clothing outlet this morning…?”

“This company is similarly structured,” Ludmila nodded.

“Is it something like a substitute for the Blacksmith Guild?” Frianne asked, “I noticed that there weren’t any branches for any guild in the harbour.”

Ludmila cradled the cup on the table in front of her, her index finger tapping lightly against the rim.

“I can see how one might make that assumption,” she said, “but it’s a lot more complicated than that. It’s true that frontier territories usually don’t have guild branches, but most people assume that this is due to their undeveloped, sparsely populated state.”

“It isn’t?”

“It isn’t,” Ludmila said. “The actual reason is that frontier territories cannot afford to have the guild interfering in their affairs.”

Frianne frowned as she struggled to wrap her head around Ludmila’s words.

“I’m not sure I understand why that would be,” Frianne said.

“The Guilds are regulatory bodies that attempt to impose certain measures throughout their membership,” Ludmila said. “They set quality standards and prices, as well as use their collective power to influence markets and government policy. Everything is presumably done to protect the interests of their members.”

“…and that’s a bad thing?”

“‘Bad’ is an understatement. It would be better to say that it’s fatal. Frontier communities are a collaborative effort. What is necessary supersedes what is fair. For example, the Blacksmith Guild will tell its members to sell spears at a set price that they consider fair market value. We need those spears to keep everyone from dying, but they don’t care. Thus, all we can do is painstakingly maintain our old equipment and pray that it doesn’t break.”

“Surely, the Guilds aren’t that unreasonable…”

Across the table from Ludmila, Smith Kovalev cleared his throat.

“This is a discussion we’ve had in the past,” he said. “As someone who has travelled extensively, I’ll say that the Guilds do differ from place to place depending on what their circumstances are. In the Empire, for example, the Guilds have to deal with the realities of an environment run by big government institutions. That’s not strictly good or bad, but the Empire is on the heavy-handed side of things when it comes to negotiations.”

“That’s an interesting perspective,” Frianne said. “The tendency of the Guilds to push for unreasonable things is perhaps one of the only things that the Imperial Administration and the aristocratic establishment can find common ground on. How different would you say the Guilds are elsewhere?”

“It depends on how strong the local government is and how cooperative – or lenient – they are. In Re-Estize, the Nobles are pushy when it comes to their fiefs’ interests, but they aren’t monolithic like the Imperial Administration. Karnassus is similar to Re-Estize, with each city-state having a unique relationship with its local guilds. The further east you go, however, the more powerful the Guilds become. In some places, like the Sapphire Coast and the trade cities on the Great Steppe, they are practically the ones running things. Anyone who picks a fight with the Merchant Guild in those places doesn’t survive for long.”

Such a scenario was something that the Imperial Administration was extremely wary of. Much like the Temples, the Guilds were rivals for power. They were more fragmented, however, so they weren’t considered as great of a threat.

“From our discussions in the past,” Ludmila said, “I’ve determined that the Guilds share the same broad fundamental framework as any other institution. In their case, they create policy and issue mandates through a mostly economic lens and their social outlook tends to be limited to the needs of their members. As they grow larger, they by necessity become more bureaucratic and in turn become less capable of serving the interests of small communities. By all appearances, small communities suffer from the intervention of the Guilds because communities that make up a tiny portion of the economy essentially have no voice.”

“But shouldn’t that still be fine when we consider the case of the Sorcerous Kingdom?” Rangobart asked, “Security is not an issue and the realm is so well-connected that the entire Duchy of E-Rantel could function as a single, unified economy.”

“That may be true,” Ludmila said, “but security isn’t the only factor that must be considered. My concerns are primarily social and economic. Let’s examine this from a functional perspective. A guild is an institution that establishes itself to address the challenges faced by its members. On paper, it should always do so, but some members become more important than others as the guild and the economy that it is attached to grows. At a local level, the members that bring in the most business tend to be the most important. At a regional level, the guild branches in cities have more influence than those in towns.

“Once they become powerful enough, guilds become cartels that dictate the economy according to the interests of their members. These dynamics also apply to associations of guilds, such as the Merchant Guild. An area with a strong metalworking industry may be dominated by their metalworking guilds. As a result, the entire region may end up warping to accommodate their policies. I’m sure that every Noble has experienced this, and that’s why aristocrats traditionally have a poor relationship with the Guilds.”

Frianne, Dimoiya, and Rangobart nodded along with Ludmila’s words. Not every Noble had an antagonistic relationship with the Guilds, but every properly raised Noble understood that the Guilds tended to only look out for themselves. An organisation that represented Blacksmiths would naturally promote policies that favoured Blacksmiths and their members would naturally support those policies out of rational self-interest.

“One might argue that it is only when different interests are allowed to represent themselves that everyone’s interests are best served,” Frianne said, “and that a settlement between all of the competing forces achieves as close to the ideal equilibrium in any given region as one can get. If, for instance, metalworkers represent fifty per cent of the non-rural industry in a region, would the region not be served best by further promoting those industries? That tends to be the case anywhere that takes advantage of industrial specialisation. Economic and logistical realities dictate what industries work best where.”

“It is the most common approach to industrial development,” Ludmila nodded. “At first, it is seen as the most ‘efficient’ way to do things. As time goes on, however, it becomes the established norm for that region. I don’t think I’ve ever seen or read of a case where those industries stop promoting their interests in favour of the greater good. If it does happen, it is always the cause of some external factor that either forces compromise through competition or regulation.”

“You make it sound as if they’re, well…guilds.”

“I’m not saying that this is done out of malice,” Ludmila said. “But the moment it becomes an issue of one’s continued livelihood or the future of their families, the members of a guild will always vote in favour of measures that protect them. For the most part, people do not see growth as a problem: only situations that threaten to scale back that growth regardless of whether it was prudent or not in the first place. This is an issue that is prevalent in the Empire. The expansion of the imperial frontier brings economic prosperity to the Empire. As a whole, the Empire is driven to continually expand because, if it ever stops, its economy will collapse. While this collapse occurs, the Guilds will continue to try and protect their members, and they will do so by implementing measures that cannibalise the rest of the economy.”

“So you propose that this same problem will happen in the Sorcerous Kingdom,” Rangobart said.

“It seems inevitable if we continue following the old way of doing things,” Ludmila said. “Because it is a system that takes on a life of its own, the only way to stop it is to not use it in the first place. The Sorcerous Kingdom is in a unique position where it can afford to explore other avenues of industrial development and the institutions that contribute to the problem haven’t entrenched themselves in Warden’s Vale. It is the perfect place to develop a working alternative: one that is suited for the world that the Sorcerous Kingdom will create.”