Chapter 37

The footman at the gate of Gran Manor greeted Nemel and Dame Verilyn with a smile, escorting them into the manor and announcing their arrival at the hall. Her mother rose from the main table, the skirts of her red silken robe swirling at her feet.

“Nemel!” Baroness Gran embraced her tightly, “Thank the gods you’re alright! I’ve been worried sick since you left me with that strange Message.”

“Oh…” Nemel replied in a squished voice, “sorry. But if you were that worried, why didn’t you Message me back?”

“I thought you might be on some…army thing. Anyway, it’s a good thing that you’re safe. Is everything alright?”

“...actually, there’s something I need to talk to you and father about.”

Her mother gave Dame Verilyn a glance before leaving the hall to get Baron Gran, who was working in the manor laboratory. They seated themselves at the table after a quick set of introductions. Nemel took a deep breath, gathering her resolve.

“Lord father, lady mother, I’m leaving the Empire.”

“What!”

Nemel, her mother and Dame Verilyn all flinched at Baron Gran’s outburst.

“Nemel,” her mother said, “Your lord father will lose all of his hair if you keep making dramatic statements like that.”

“‘Keep’?” Dame Verilyn asked curiously.

“She suddenly announced that she was joining the army like that, too,” her mother leaned over as if to share some bit of gossip. “My Nemel could have chosen a safe and stable career in any department of the Empire or just worked in the family business, but she chose that dreadful path.”

“I told you, my lady mother,” Nemel told her parents for what was probably the fiftieth time, “being a mage in the Imperial Air Service is very safe – safer than being in the city, even.”

“That’s just what they want you to think,” her mother replied. “You’re called a ‘War Wizard’ for a reason, you know. You say you’re safe up there but I just know that you’re going to end up in the clutches of a Dragon one day.”

Too late.

Her mother had said that a few times, but how it happened probably wasn’t what she had in mind. Nemel glanced at her father, whose increasingly grim expression prompted her to explain what she could of what had happened. She left out anything too exciting lest he leap over the table and attempt to strangle Dame Verilyn. Or maybe zap her with a Lighting Bolt.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Nemel?”

Nemel shifted uncomfortably at her mother’s question. She had been asked the exact same thing when she decided to join the army, which was barely two seasons ago. Changing her course so quickly probably didn’t look very convincing.

“I…I’m tired,” Nemel looked down at the table. “I don't know how you do it. Just trying to live in the Empire makes me tired. Everyone uses everyone and not in a good way. No one cares. They’re just out to get as much as they can for themselves – people will even turn against their own families if it gets them what they want. The Empire is all about itself. I thought…I thought maybe I could get by just minding my own business but I can’t even do that! They come after you if they think you can be used and I care too much about what goes on around me. Just living here feels like it hurts my soul.”

Maybe it sounded overly dramatic, but she did feel that way. As much as she cared about what went on around her, she wasn’t an amazing person that could change the world like Lady Frianne or Lady Zahradnik. She wasn’t resilient and opportunistic like Dimoiya. For Nemel, the Empire was a place where she could only helplessly watch while people were ground to dust by the wheels of progress.

The Imperial Magic Academy tried to instil a sense of collective pride into its students. A bright future was painted for the Empire’s citizens and many allowed themselves to dream the dream that they were told to dream. Noble scions understood things for what they were and many embraced their reality, but Nemel couldn’t. At least working for Dame Verilyn was a chance to make the world a better place for everyone, if only just a little part of it.

“What about tenants?”

“Eh?”

“This land you’re going to is an undeveloped frontier,” her father said. “You’re just a Noble – who is going to work in this territory?”

“That’s, erm…Dame Verilyn said something about Goblins?”

“Do the Goblins there know how to farm? Manage copses? Smith? Weave? Trade?”

Nemel and Dame Verilyn stared blankly at Baron Gran. Her father sighed.

“Since you’re here,” he said, “you should collect some tenants. Hold on while I get our census records.”

Her father left and returned shortly after with a large, half-filled binder.

“You shouldn’t just take anyone,” he told her. “Our tenants are most likely to be loyal to you and they should have spares enough to get that territory of yours started.”

“You’re…you don’t have a problem with me going?”

“You’re sixteen, Nemel.” Her father said, “Old enough to be married for two years now. It wouldn’t be right to treat you like a child. I don’t know what you’ve been through but you seem to have gotten a good look at the world around us. What you said has a lot more substance than the army spiel you gave us last summer.”

“What about the Goblins?” Nemel asked.

“What about them?” Her father frowned.

“Aren’t you scared something will happen to me?”

“Believe it or not,” her father said, “our family came from a place where Humans lived with all sorts of other races. The world was a different place back then…well, Humans can get along just fine with other races out in the world right now as well. Karnassus and Argland have Human citizens and Roble trades with Demis, too. If anything, it’s the Human countries around the Theocracy that are abnormal, including the Empire. If you have Goblins or whatever living as your subjects, you have to take care of them all the same. As a Noble, you’ll have to make considerations for all of the races that live under you.”

“I didn’t know you thought that way…”

“There was no reason for you to believe that I thought that way. Now, you should get started on that list…it might take a while to track some of them down.”

Nemel flipped the binder towards herself, opening it and reaching out for a blank sheet of paper. Dame Verilyn shifted closer.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“Finding the people that we need to start a hamlet,” Nemel answered. “If it’s pure wilderness, we’ll need to start out with industries that will help start land development.”

She flipped to the relevant section of the registry, going through the family lists.

“Oh, I’ve seen something like this before.”

“You have?” Nemel looked up at Dame Verilyn.

“It’s something that Lady Zahradnik does every time she wants to move people around,” Dame Verilyn nodded. “There were some basic guidelines that helped narrow things down. Let’s see...first is family names. Originally, many people took their family names from professions that they were successful in. Someone named ‘Smith’ comes from a line of Smiths, for instance. Smith Kovalev in Warden's Vale is an example of this. His name means ‘Son of the Blacksmith’ in a language group that Lady Zahradnik is familiar with.”

Nemel looked for a family with a spare, following what Dame Verilyn had mentioned.

“Well, we’re looking for woodcutters to clear land…what if they’re named after trees or other plants?”

“Lady Zahradnik has a whole bunch of those,” Dame Verilyn nodded. “Oh – sometimes you have Ranger blood mixed into those as well. I have a lot of forest to manage so we’ll need plenty. Ah, Lord Gran, do you have older registries? The longer the lineage, the better. Especially if they’ve come from a long line of successful generations that have been breeding with other successful lineages of the same vocation.”

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“What you’re doing sounds like what House Gran has done all these years,” Nemel’s mother murmured.

“We have?” Nemel frowned.

“How else do you think we keep producing Third-tier Wizards?” Her mother said, “Our traditions are treated as superstitions in the Empire but the results speak for themselves. People just dance around trying to discredit us however they can because it doesn’t fit with the way they’ve been taught to see the world. It’s impossible to do it with the common folk though. The Temples try to get as far away from the teachings of the Theocracy as they can and they have far more sway than we do.”

“Baroness Zahradnik is a follower of The Six.”

“That’s not surprising. With what you’ve mentioned and her southern name, I assumed that she was.”

They continued making their list and her parents joined in as well. A half-hour later, she started working on a different group of names.

“What’s this list for?” Dame Verilyn asked.

“For when we need them,” Nemel answered. “We don’t need farmers and such for now because there’s no land for them to work on until we clear some fields. Tenant families usually teach all of their kids the basics of their profession but they’ll mostly focus on the child who will inherit the tenancy. Every vocation needs training, so we can train our future tenants by subsidising their education. If they’re being paid for, their parents won’t have to pick and choose whom to sink their resources into and we’ll have a journeyman ready to work for us in a few years. The parents shouldn’t object because most people want to see their children succeed. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“But who pays for it?”

“You do?”

Dame Verilyn peered at her suspiciously. The fact that she was a Frost Dragon had entirely slipped Nemel’s mind.

“Y-you’ll get it back!” She said hurriedly, “We’ll be drawing up contracts of indenture for them so it’ll work just like apprenticeships with the trade guilds. They’ll slowly pay off what they owe once they start working and, after that, they’ll be tenants who contribute to your demesne incomes!”

“…are you sure that it will work that way?”

“Th-that’s how it always works? Unless they die or something, but what are the chances of that?”

Nemel wasn’t sure what else she could say. It was so common sense that no one in the Empire or anywhere else that she knew of challenged it.

“Well, alright…wait. Isn’t indentured servitude slavery?”

“Technically it falls under imperial slavery laws, yes. They’re not bad laws though…”

“Then it won’t work.”

“But why?!”

“Because slavery is illegal in the Sorcerous Kingdom. Lady Zahradnik will skin me if I start importing slaves.”

Eh…

But wasn’t it perfectly normal? Every apprentice signed a contract of indenture as per guild regulations.

“Then how do apprentices pay their way in the Sorcerous Kingdom?” Nemel asked.

“In Warden’s Vale,” Dame Verilyn answered, “House Zahradnik pays for universal education and training. The graduates go where she needs them to go after that. There are a dozen chartered institutions and companies that are hungry for skilled labour in her territory.”

How rich was Lady Zahradnik? In what world did a minor Noble have the administrative and professional apparatus necessary to manage everything that Dame Verilyn described? She held the title of Baroness but undertook a slew of ventures that were normally considered the realm of Kings, Emperors and major religious organisations.

“So it’s like a scholarship,” Baron Gran said.

“What’s that?”

“If the Empire identifies a talented individual, they offer them a scholarship that pays for their education and training. In return, the graduate works for the government.”

“So Nemel will start a scholarship…fund?” Her mother said.

“More like an indenture fund,” Baron Gran snorted. “Permanent indenture. You take it and you’re stuck for life.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that,” Dame Verilyn said. “Maybe I can add additional payments to it somehow…”

“That’s evil!” Nemel shouted.

She fumed silently at Dame Verilyn. People needed education and training to live a decent life. Why was she trying to stack debts on top of them for that?

“Just to be safe,” Baron Gran said, “you should base that ‘fund’ in the Empire. Companies do it all the time so no one will pay any attention to it here. We have endless amounts of spares so it can serve as a source of tenants that fit your criteria. People in the Empire are encouraged to treat that bloodline stuff as superstition from a bygone era so you’ll have no serious competitors.”

“You could charter a new service with it,” Nemel’s mother said. “Sages and Bards can be hired to conduct research for you and you can fund the training for highly promising spares. If Lady Zahradnik is a follower of The Six, she’ll gladly take them for her frontier development. An…indenture agency? No, that sounds like the Slave Markets.”

“The Eternal Winter Agency?” Dame Verilyn suggested.

How did it turn into this? She went from being scared of her parents’ reaction to her decision to starting up some sort of spare agency with a dire-sounding name.

The concept wasn’t bad, though. The Empire had millions of spares and most of them would live and die in poverty. Nemel could at least provide a few with opportunities that they wouldn’t otherwise have. It was already far more than she could have ever accomplished as a War Wizard in the Imperial Air Service.

Over the next week, they travelled around Gran Barony and Arwintar, tracking down the families and spares on her list. The ones out in the countryside were shocked upon being informed of their candidacy but readily agreed to her proposal. Of the ones in Arwintar that survived, the few who had found stable employment refused to move. The ones eking out a living in the slums cried in relief and gratitude when Nemel explained what was going on, which made her cry too.

One night, as they were enjoying a late dinner in the second-class market districts, Dame Verilyn shared something odd with Nemel.

“Hmm…after seeing all these ‘spares’ and how they come about,” Dame Verilyn said, “I think I get it, now. How clever.”

“Get what?” Nemel asked.

“The merit inherent to the Empire’s ‘meritocracy’,” the Frost Dragon told her. “What the Baharuth Empire is ultimately trying to achieve. In nature, those fit to survive will breed and pass on their legacy. The Empire, however, manipulates those survival criteria and exploits the attraction to ‘success’ to breed a population that is both productive, weak and easy to manage.

“They are trying to turn themselves into desirable minions…or perhaps desirable livestock? A survival strategy that secures the protection of the powerful by cultivating qualities that prospective masters might desire. That’s why the Emperor suddenly capitulated to the Sorcerous Kingdom: he had found the ideal overlord and offered up the fruit of their efforts: a self-sustaining, easy-to-police and highly productive minion state that could never present a threat to beings of true power. No wonder everyone calls him a genius.”

Nemel’s mouth fell open in mute horror. That couldn’t be right, could it? Could it?

With Zu Chiru’s schedule, they had a total of two weeks to prepare everyone for the move so there was more than enough time to be thorough. On their last day in Arwintar, as they went around picking everyone up, Nemel called for the wagons to halt.

“What’s the matter?” Dame Verilyn asked.

“We’re passing by a friend’s place,” Nemel answered. “I have no idea when I’ll be in Arwintar again, so it’ll be good to pay them a visit while I can.”

Dame Verilyn followed her down a street packed with the drab, crowded and ubiquitous housing common to the city’s third class districts. They stopped three blocks in from the street, where Nemel knocked on the door of an unremarkable building.

“Hello? Mrs Testania? It’s me, Nemel.”

She knocked on the door again. It was early morning, so she should’ve been in…

“There’s no one inside,” Dame Verilyn said.

“That can’t be right,” Nemel furrowed her brow. “She’s always at home this early.”

Dame Verilyn looked up and down the street before raising a fist. The entire row of buildings seemed to shudder as she thumped the doorframe. She listened intently before giving Nemel a look.

“There is one person inside,” she said, “but they show no sign of being alive.”

Nemel’s stomach sank at the implications of her words.

They finally found a First Legion patrol thirty minutes later and waited outside the Testania residence as they investigated her report. The patrol’s Cleric came out shortly after and shook her head.

"She’s been dead for at least two weeks, Miss Gran,” the Cleric said. “I’m sorry.”

A tear trickled down Nemel’s cheek.

“Do…do you know how? She was sick – it was some disease that regular priests couldn’t cure. Did she die from that?”

“I don’t know whether it was because of some disease or not, but she died in bed and looked severely malnourished.”

“She starved? But that’s impossible! Jet sends her money every…”

Her teary eyes widened and she raised a hand to her ear, casting a Message spell.

『Jet? Jet!』

No response. The spell didn’t even connect with her target. With the Sixth Legion done with whatever it was doing, she thought that he would be on his way back, if not already at home.

Once realisation fully sunk in, a painful sob wracked her body. She turned to clutch at Dame Verilyn’s breast.

I hate this place.

Amidst her tears, the final chain that bound Nemel Gran to the Empire snapped. The one person that she had joined the army for; the one that she might have stayed for – if he had asked – was gone.

I hate this place.

She hated the Empire. She hated how selfish it was; how it selfishly used people and how it created people that were the same. She hated how it relentlessly crushed people underfoot with uncaring steps towards a vision of limitless greed. How it packaged everything that it desired in a shiny wrapper of hollow righteousness and pretty imagery.

It was a place where the image of a nation was held up; where the people were told that it was good and that they should be proud of it. They were told to do what it wanted – to sacrifice their lives for its benefit…and the vast majority could do nothing but comply because absolute authority belonged to the architects of that vision. As the years and generations went by, society warped and twisted until the very soul of the Empire became a toxic abomination that put Green Dragons to shame.

The things that mattered to Nemel were not reliant on the existence of the Empire. If anything, she would scream to those she cared about – scream for them to flee before it twisted them as well. Perhaps change would come one day but there were already better places in the world to live.

After weeping herself dry, Nemel looked up at Dame Verilyn.

“Let’s go home.”