Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 310: Chapter 11 Politics

“Politics!”

Upon hearing the friar utter that word, Winters completely lost interest in the conversation.

“Bloody politics,” the garrison lieutenant said nastily as he tossed his boots, which landed with a thud thud on the floor, “As if there’s any damn politics in this tiny speck of land!”

“Where there are people, there is politics. Even within this very small room, there is politics.” Friar Reed stroked his beard and said with a smile, “In Wolfton, you represent military authority, and I am a missionary sent by the Catholic Church to the grassroots. Isn’t that politics? Since there’s politics between you and me, of course there is also politics in Wolf Town.”

Winters subconsciously wanted to argue, but he felt there was some truth in the other’s words.

“So an old charlatan is giving me a lesson in politics? Laughable.” Winters disdained and started making his bed, getting ready to sleep.

He didn’t notice that his attitude had unconsciously softened a lot compared to when Friar Reed had first entered the bedroom.

“Young man, I have to correct one of your views.” Such sarcasm clearly didn’t dent the friar’s thick skin, the old man said with a cheery smile, “Although I am a charlatan, I am your charlatan.”

“Since when did you become ‘my’ charlatan?” Winters retorted.

The old cleric replied matter-of-factly, “Of course, when you hired me. Isn’t it you who pays me my salary?”

“You have the nerve to say that? Have you even done a bit of a scribe’s work?” Winters crossed his arms and sat boldly on the bed, deliberately using a respectful term sarcastically, “The Mayor Mitchell wouldn’t dare trouble you, the living Saint. Aren’t all the clerical tasks still being done by Panveche? You eat at Mitchell’s, live at Mitchell’s, and still get a salary for nothing. Frankly, I’d like to swap places with you.”

“Some serve as scribes because that’s all they can do, while I do not serve as a scribe for the exact opposite reason.” The old beggar friar was in no way ashamed of shirking work, he said with utter sincerity, “If I were to do scribe’s work, it would mean someone is wasting your resources, and of course, I cannot allow that to happen.”

“You really have the gall to say that!” Winters was stunned.

The old man replied unhurriedly, “Lieutenant, sir, power requires the aid of knowledge to function. Why do officials of the Empire in the Far East hire scholars as staff? Why do the noble lords here employ clerics as advisors? It’s the same principle. For you, my value does not lie in menial tasks like copying and accounting, but in providing the knowledge you lack.”

“What knowledge?”

“Political knowledge.”

Winters sighed, “Friar Reed, it’s getting late. Please go back and rest.”

“Let me ask you a question, Garrison Officer,” said the friar, with no intention of leaving, “Do you know why the highlanders call this place Newly Reclaimed Land?”

Winters thought for a moment and guessed based on the literal meaning, “Because it is newly reclaimed land?”

“Newly reclaimed?” The friar chuckled softly, looking straight into the lieutenant’s eyes, “Then what about the original owners?”

The old man’s eyes were dark and profound, hiding who knows how many secrets.

“How would I know?” As for the history of Paratu, Winters’s knowledge was not deep, “Ownerless land, presumably.”

The old cleric burst into laughter, bending over backwards as if he had heard the funniest joke.

“Young fellow, I’ll tell you, from the great ocean to the east to the vast desert to the west, there is no ownerless land under the heavens. There is land without people but not a single inch of land without an owner.” Friar Reed wiped away the tears from laughing with his palm, “The Newly Reclaimed Land of the highlanders was, if we go back thirty years, the grazing grounds of the Herders. The Blackwater River that divides Wolfton and its neighboring towns is what the Herders call ‘Dakta’, meaning the river with nine bends.”

Winters sat up straight from his half-reclining position, “So… what does this have to do with Wolf Town today?”

“It’s related, of course it’s related. Everything today has its reasons found in the past. To understand the ‘politics’ of this place, you must know its history.” Friar Reed asked an unrelated question, “You’ve visited the villages under Wolfton’s jurisdiction, haven’t you?”

“I have, I’ve been to every village.”

“Then have you paid attention to their land?”

Winters didn’t understand what the other was getting at, “Land? What do you mean?”

“I’m asking if you’ve noticed the abundance, or lack thereof, of farmland in each village.” The friar smiled a little, “In other words, the abundance or lack of wealth.”

“Nanxin and Beixin villages seem a bit worse off.” Winters recalled his observations from each village and answered, “The villages east and west of the river are better, and Dusa Village is the most prosperous.”

“Wrong!” The old man produced a vine stick from nowhere and rapped Winters on the head, “The most prosperous places are right where we’re sitting—the Mitchells’, the Wilkes’, the Buntings’… these estate owners! Then comes Dusa Village. Next are the villages east and west of the river, and the poorest are the Protestant villages.”

In the moment he was struck by the vine stick, Winters felt as though he was back in the military academy classroom. He covered his head and asked, “So what? Isn’t it normal to have the rich and the poor?”

Friar Reed asked indifferently, “Haven’t you noticed anything wrong?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Thwack,” the friar gave Winters’s head another rap with the vine stick, “Think hard, what do the estate owners grow in their fields? What is grown in Dusa Village? What about the other villages?”

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