Chapter 85 - 81: The Engine of Desire Roars Again
Chapter 85: Chapter 81: The Engine of Desire Roars Again
Since the land still needed to be cleared during the day, the assembly was scheduled for early morning.
The sun had not yet fully risen, and the gray-blue dawn light cast long shadows.
The plaza was divided by an invisible line.
On the east side were the "old townsfolk" of Newly Town. Though their clothes were patched, they were clean. Spirited, they gathered in twos and threes, murmuring amongst themselves as their gazes occasionally shifted to the high platform with curiosity and anticipation.
On the west side were over eleven hundred newly arrived serfs. They were huddled together like rain-soaked livestock, the air thick with the sour, rancid smell emanating from their bodies.
Every head was bowed, their eyes vacant. Though they outnumbered the others ten to one, they were utterly devoid of spirit.
Velin ascended the high platform, and the entire plaza fell silent.
He wore a well-tailored black coat, his gaze resting on the numb crowd to the west.
"I know what you’re thinking. You’re worried I’ll use a whip, that I’ll send overseers to drive you to work."
A faint stir rippled through the crowd of serfs. Some bowed their heads even lower.
"I will not."
Velin paused.
"Because your efficiency doesn’t even warrant assigning you overseers."
The words held no emotion, merely a statement of fact.
But it was more insulting than any lash of a whip.
The serfs grew restless. Some raised their heads, humiliation and anger flashing in their eyes, only to be swiftly extinguished by fear.
They dared not object.
Velin ignored their reactions, turning to Walker beside him.
"There are two matters to announce today. First."
Walker took a step forward and unfurled a sheet of parchment.
"By order of Lord Velin Klein, I hereby announce the ’Newly Town Citizenship Buyback Act.’"
His voice was gruff and booming.
"First, all serfs from Shiyan Town, as of today, your status is converted to ’Contract Worker.’ You are no longer the private property of the lord, but neither are you freemen."
The crowd was utterly bewildered.
"Second, everything you have received will be recorded as Points, which will constitute your debt. This includes the coarse clothes on your back and the wooden bowl for your meals—sixty Points; your spot in the communal bunk—one hundred Points; and the land-clearing tools issued to you—two hundred and forty Points."
"Third, ’Contract Workers’ can earn Points by completing tasks posted by the Cooperative Guild. Once you have accumulated enough Points, you can exchange them at the Cooperative Guild for a ’Certificate of Citizenship for Newly Town’ and become a true citizen of Newly Town—a freeman!"
The moment Walker finished speaking, several guards worked together to erect a huge wooden plank on the side of the high platform.
The plank was densely covered with names written in black charcoal.
The number four hundred Points meant nothing to the serfs who had just arrived in Newly Town.
"In terms of Golden Suns, each of you owes the Lord a debt of nearly two Golden Suns."
The crowd erupted.
A yeoman farmer, in a year with favorable weather, could save at most two to four Golden Suns after a year of hard labor—and that was without spending a single coin.
A debt of two Golden Suns was an astronomical sum to serfs who had nothing to their name.
This meant they would have to work for the lord for several years, perhaps even a decade or more, without compensation.
’How is this any different from being a serf?’
No, this was crueler than serfdom. At least as serfs, they were guaranteed a meal from the lord, and the lord would see to them if they fell ill.
But now they were saddled with a seemingly insurmountable debt and had to earn their own food on top of it.
Stifled sobs rose from the crowd, quickly merging into a single, sorrowful wail of despair.
’They felt like they had fallen into an even deeper trap.’
On the east side of the platform, the old townsfolk fell silent as well, their expressions complex as they watched the despairing serfs.
Just then, Velin raised his hand.
A figure emerged from the crowd on the east side and stepped onto the high platform.
It was Tumo.
He wore a brand-new, navy-blue work jacket. His back was ramrod straight, his face held a healthy flush, and his eyes held something those below the platform had long since lost.
After ascending the platform, Tumo first gave Velin a deep bow, then spun around to face the wailing crowd.
"Crying! What are you crying for!"
Tumo’s voice was full of vigor.
"Will your tears make this debt disappear? Will crying put a full meal in front of your wives and kids?!"
His roar actually managed to silence the wailing. Everyone stared, stunned, at the man on the platform.
"A little over a month ago, I, Tumo, was just like you. No, I was damn well worse off than you! My son was so sick he was knocking on death’s door!"
He jabbed a thumb at his own chest. "Then the Lord came, and with him, Points! I and my four friends, we worked for five days and five nights without sleep and earned eight hundred and fifty Points!"
"I traded them for a jar of sugar. Everyone called me a fool, laughed at me for nearly killing myself over a sweet treat."
Tumo’s gaze swept over the old townsfolk, and those who had once mocked him now lowered their heads in shame.
"But with that jar of sugar, I traded for an ox! I even hired twenty freemen to work for me! And now, I, Tumo, have my own land-clearing crew!"
He pointed to the exchange post on the other side of the plaza, its shelves laden with all manner of goods.
"You see all that stuff? As long as you have Points, you can trade for it! You see that debt? As long as you work your asses off, you can pay it back!"
"What the Lord has given you isn’t an endless debt, it’s a price tag! Freedom has a price here! It’s not like other places, where you can work yourself to death for some noble, and you’ll still be nothing more than a piece of breathing livestock!"
Tumo’s words had their intended effect; the crying stopped.
The serfs looked at the radiant Tumo on the platform, then at the dazzling array of goods in the distance.
In their dead, ash-gray eyes, something ignited—a tiny spark, but it burned with surprising heat.
Seeing that the iron was hot, Velin announced the second matter.
"The Cooperative Guild’s exchange list is updated as of today."
Another wooden plank was erected, displaying a dazzling array of new items.
In addition to more food and tools, one brand-new exchange option was marked conspicuously in red paint.
"Literacy Night School Enrollment: One hundred Points per person."
After the clerk made the announcement, no one could believe it at first.
’Literacy? That’s a skill reserved for the gentry!’
Before the crowd could even recover from their shock, Tumo’s eyes lit up with a fiery intensity.
Forgetting he was still on the platform, he rushed over to the clerk and pointed at the line of text.
"Me! I’m signing up! My son, too! We all want to learn to read!"
The crowd was in an uproar once more.
Many others pushed forward, scrambling to get in line.
Velin watched the chaotic but vibrant scene unfolding below, a smile playing on his lips as he decided to add one last bit of fuel to the fire.
"And finally, regarding the citizenship exchange."
"The Points leaderboard will be updated daily and posted in the plaza."
"As for the price to redeem your citizenship... the first one hundred people to do so can regain their status as freemen for only three hundred Points."
"After that, the price will revert to four hundred Points."
The moment he said this, a ladle of boiling oil was poured over the newly kindled flames of hope.
They looked at the companions beside them, and the expressions in their eyes began to change.
Velin could faintly hear a familiar sound once more.
It was the rumbling roar of the engine of desire.