Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 311: Chapter 11 Politics_2

“How would I know? I can’t even tell wheat seedlings from weeds!” If the other person wasn’t a man over ninety, Winters really wanted to snatch the vine stick and give him a thrashing in return.

“[Celican] A man who does not work with his four limbs will never differentiate the five grains.” The mendicant monk muttered something in a language Winters did not understand, no longer attempting to guide Winters to think but instead directly imparted, “The big landlords grow crops like tobacco and sugar beet that can be sold for money, and only a little of their land is used for growing food. Why? Because they are not lacking in food. How much can they eat with their open mouths? The estate owners occupy the best and most land in Wolfton, yet they have the fewest people, so most of their arable land is used for growing cash crops.”

The old man caught his breath and continued, “And Dusa Village, Dusa Village has fewer people than the other villages, but their land is second only to the estate owners, even more so than the other four villages combined, so much that they can apply the three-field system. Do you know what the three-field system is?”

Winters, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, shook his head.

“The three-field system is crop rotation, dividing the arable land into three equal parts; one for growing staples, one for supplementary crops, and one left fallow as pasture, rotating each year.” The old friar thought for a moment and asked, “You’ve seen the communal pasture in Dusa Village, haven’t you?”

“I have.”

“That’s this year’s fallow land, which has become the village’s communal pasture. That’s why the Dusacks can afford horses and use oats to feed pigs, because they are not short of arable land.”

“What about the other four villages?”

The mendicant monk sneered, “The other four villages? They have to rent draught horse ploughs from Dusa Village every year because they use all their land to grow food and can’t afford big livestock. The villages to the east and west of the river just about make do with their land.

These two Protestant villages have the most people but the least land; even if they plant every inch with food, it is not enough to eat. Aren’t all of Mitchell’s laborers Protestants? If they could be tenant farmers, which farmer would want to come here to work as a hired hand?”

“The more people, the less arable land?” Winters frowned deeply, “How can that be? Why not reclaim more land? I clearly saw a lot of wasteland!”

“Do you think the wasteland here can be reclaimed whenever one wishes?” The friar’s smile grew colder, “I already told you, every inch of land, every tree, every river… even the rabbits in the forest, the fish in the river, the birds in the sky all have their owners!”

“Whose?”

The mendicant monk pointed his vine stick at Winters’ nose, “Yours.”

Winters was at first puzzled, then surprised, and finally displeased, “Do you find this amusing?”

“Or perhaps I should put it another way,” the old friar’s hand rested on the vine stick, “you are part of the true owner of this land.”

Winters finally caught on, “You mean… the army? The Parlatu Army?”

“You’re not too foolish,” the old monk tapped the junior officer’s shoulder with the vine stick. “Of course, it’s the military. Otherwise, what right would a mere hundred-household captain have to hold the power of life and death in Wolfton? Do you think you’re here to manage public safety? No! You represent the authority of the true owners of this land.”

“Wait a minute… the power of life and death?” The young Venetian was confused, “I don’t have an easy job; I was banished here! Wasn’t the position of Garrison Officer in Wolf Town vacant for over a decade before me?”

“The vacancy was because Wolfton is not wealthy, not because the Garrison Officer’s position is not lucrative. In the system you belong to, you were sent here as a punishment. But to the people here, you are a lord descended from heaven.

The Parlatu Army’s status in the New Reclamation Area is almost equivalent to that of a feudal lord; here, you are half a lord. That’s why the landlords and Dusack welcome you, the villagers from east and west of the river respect you, and the Protestants simply do not trust you.”

“Why don’t they trust me?”

The mendicant monk’s face bore a mocking smile, “The Protestants have people, and Wolfton has wasteland. What’s stopping them from reclaiming it?”

“Uh… me?” The answer was obvious, but Winters did not understand, “Why?”

Monk Reed sneered, “Because if they occupy even a little more land, you will go with the Dusans to chop off their heads—don’t worry, the Dusans would be very willing to do such a thing. If you are defeated by them, another squad of soldiers will come from the county seat. If one squad isn’t enough, then ten squads, a hundred squads will come, until they are annihilated.

So, they fear you, they are terrified of you, they are afraid you’ll find the small piece of land they’ve cultivated in secret, they are afraid you’ll find the fish bones and rabbit bones in their homes. You are the Knight of Wolfton, while they are merely despicable farmers, sneaking around hunting and farming on your land. How could they not fear you?”

“I still don’t get it,” Winters was still puzzled in some areas, “Does Paratu law prohibit hunting and fishing, or forbidding clearing new land on one’s own?”

“Paratu law doesn’t prohibit it, but the laws of the Newly Reclaimed Land do not allow it.”

“Why?”

“No reason.” The old mendicant monk had already realized that the young lieutenant’s political acumen was notably lacking: “This land is the spoils of war for the Paratu Army, which holds all rights from the heavens above to the earth below.”

“And then?”

“Then, the best land was sold to the wealthy to repay debts, giving rise to these estate owners. As rewards for fighting and compensation for generations of military service, the Dusacks also received land, resulting in Dusa Village. There were also some poor and tenant farmers dreaming of becoming independent farmers, and with their meager savings, they could only afford a small piece of land. The villages on the east and west sides of the river are made up of these people.”

“What about the villages of Nanxin and Beixin?”

“Those Protestants were originally from the Empire, having fled here gradually over the past decade from the north.” The old monk’s smile was telling: “The Empire disfavored the Protestants, while the Kingdom of Galloping Horses was in need of people to settle frontiers. So every time the Catholic Church repressed them up north, the number of Protestants in the New Reclamation Area increased. But the Protestants here arrived late. The land prices in Wolfton were already not as cheap as in the early days, let alone with other buyers in the mix.”@@novelbin@@

“Who?”

“What do you think?” The mendicant monk’s eyes sparkled with intensity: “The Dusans are under the land assignment system; they have no worries about land. Small independent farmers can only support their own families; they have no extra money to buy land. So who else could it be? So who has the money?”

Winters fell silent, then after some thought, he said, “To suppress land clearance just to sell land for money seems more damaging than beneficial. Why would the Paratu People come up with such a system?”

“More damaging than beneficial?” Brother Reed couldn’t help but laugh: “My boy, you truly don’t understand how powerful this system is. Out of all your republics, the Kingdom of Galloping Horses has the least population, yet it has the most territory, and it’s always growing. What do you think that’s due to?”

“You can’t be telling me it’s just down to making money by selling land?”

“Of course it’s not that simple.” The old monk tapped Winters’ head with a vine stick, chiding as if in frustration: “I’m asking you, what do you think is the deadliest weapon in this world?”

“Uh.” Winters tentatively answered, “The sword?”

“Wrong! The deadliest weapon in the world is called ‘mobilization.’ A sword is a person’s weapon, no matter how sharp, it can only kill one person at a time. Mobilization is a weapon of slaughter between nations, capable of raising a country or destroying one.” The old monk sighed, “Ah, I’m talking, but you won’t understand. Let me put it in terms you might understand.”

“Please go ahead.” Winters sat with his knees together, respectfully attentive.

“Searching the mountains requires manpower, and just your few dozen Dusacks won’t be enough. The Dusacks are your most reliable manpower, but they are simply too few in number. You must mobilize the other four villages.”

Winters said with bitterness, “The villages of Nanxin and Beixin are unwilling to send militia. The Protestants are particularly hostile toward me, and I don’t know why.”

“You’re always mingling with the Dusans; it’d be strange if they showed you a good face. Who do you think the Emperor’s Dusacks are meant to fight? Who do you think drove them from their homelands?” A subtle smile appeared on the old monk’s face: “But I will help you with that issue.”

Winters was quite surprised, “Aren’t you a member of the Catholic Church? Caman thinks it’d be dangerous for you to go to the Protestants.”

“Politics! My boy! Politics!” The mendicant monk tapped the lieutenant’s head twice with his stick: “The essence of politics is not to turn the other party into one of your own but to make them think you are one of them, understand? Tomorrow, come with me to the Protestant village.”

Having said that, the old monk left Winters’ room without looking back, leaning on his vine stick.

“Please, take care,” Winters said as he rose to see him out.

Long after the old man had left, Winters closed the door before it dawned on him: “[Venetian swear word]! When did I start to really take this old charlatan for a teacher?”

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