Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 125 Politics
"politics!"

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

"Politics bullshit!" The garrison lieutenant threw down his boots with a rude shrug, the soles thudding twice on the floor. "What politics could a tiny place like this have?"

“Where there are people, there is politics. Even in this small house, there is politics.” Brother Reed stroked his beard and smiled. “You represent the military’s authority in Wolftown, and I am a preacher sent by the Catholic Church to the grassroots. Isn’t that politics? Since there is politics between you and me, then there is naturally politics in Wolftown as well.”

Winters instinctively wanted to refute, but then he felt that what the other person said made some sense.

"So some old charlatan is giving me a political lecture? Ridiculous." Winters scoffed and started making his bed to go to sleep.

He didn't notice that his attitude had softened considerably since Brother Reid had first entered the bedroom.

“Young man, I need to correct one of your misconceptions.” This level of sarcasm obviously did not sting the mendicant monk’s face. The old man smiled and said, “Although I am a charlatan, I am your charlatan.”

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

The old monk replied matter-of-factly, "Of course, it was you who paid me when you hired me, wasn't it?"

"How dare you say that? Have you ever done even the slightest copying work?" Winters sat down on the bed with his arms crossed, deliberately using a respectful title to mock, "Mayor Mitchell wouldn't dare trouble you, a living saint. Isn't it Panwich who does the paperwork? You eat at Mitchell's house, live at Mitchell's house, and even get a salary for nothing. To be honest, I'd like to switch seats with you."

“Some people become scribes because all they know is how to copy, but I don’t do copying work for the exact opposite reason.” The old mendicant monk was not ashamed of shirking his work at all. He said with utmost sincerity, “If I were to do copying work, it would be as if someone was wasting your resources, and of course I cannot allow that to happen.”

"How could you say such shameless things!" Winters was shocked.

The old man said slowly, “Lieutenant, power needs the assistance of knowledge to function. Why do officials in the Far East empire hire scholars as advisors? Why do your noble lords hire priests as consultants? It’s all the same principle. For you, my value lies not in chores like copying and accounting, but in providing you with knowledge that you don’t have.”

"What knowledge?"

"Political knowledge".

Winters sighed, "Brother Reid, it's getting late, please go back and rest."

"Let me ask you a question, Your Excellency the Garrison Commander," the old monk said, showing no intention of leaving. "Do you know why the people of the plateau call this place 'Newly Reclaimed Land'?"

Winters thought for a moment, and based on the literal meaning, he deduced: "Because it's newly reclaimed land?"

"Newly cultivated?" The mendicant chuckled, looking directly into the lieutenant's eyes. "And what about the original owner?"

The old man's eyes were dark and deep, concealing countless secrets.

“How would I know?” Winters didn’t know much about the history of Plato: “It’s unclaimed land.”

The old monk burst into laughter, laughing so hard he was doubled over, as if he had heard the funniest joke ever.

“Little fellow, let me tell you, from the ocean in the east to the vast sea in the west, there is no land without an owner under the heavens. There is land without people. But there is not an inch of land without an owner.” Brother Reid wiped away the tears of laughter with his palm: “The newly reclaimed land of the Highlanders was the grassland of the Hed people thirty years ago. The Blackwater River that divides Wolf Village and the neighboring town is what the Hed people call ‘Da Kao,’ which means a river with nine bends.”

Winters straightened from a reclining position to a sitting position: "So... what does all this have to do with Wolf Town now?"

“Yes, of course it’s related. Everything we have today can be traced back to the past. Only by knowing the history of this place can you understand its ‘politics’.” Brother Reid asked an unrelated question: “You’ve been to the villages under Wolf Village’s jurisdiction, haven’t you?”

"I've been there. I've been to every single village."

Have you paid attention to their land?

Winters didn't understand what the other person was trying to ask: "Land? What do you mean?"

“I asked you if you had paid attention to the amount of arable land in each village.” The mendicant monk smiled: “In other words, the amount of wealth.”

“Nanxin and Beixin villages seem to be in a worse state,” Winters recalled his observations in the villages, and replied, “Hedong and Hexi villages are better, while Dusa village is the richest.”

“Wrong!” The old man pulled out a rattan cane from somewhere and smacked Winters on the head. “The richest place is where we are sitting right now, the Mitchell family, the Wilkes family, the Benting family… these plantation owners! Next is Dusa Village. Then it’s east of the river, west of the river, and the poorest are the Protestant villages.”

The moment Winters was struck by the cane, he felt as if he were back in a military academy classroom. He clutched his head and asked, "So what? Isn't it normal for there to be both rich and poor?"

Brother Reid asked casually, "Didn't you notice anything amiss?"

"What's wrong?"

"Smack!" The old monk struck Winters on the head with a rattan cane again: "Think carefully, what is planted in the manor lord's fields? What is planted in the fields of Dusa Village? What is planted in the fields of the other villages?"

"How would I know? I can't even tell the difference between wheat seedlings and weeds!" If the other person hadn't been a man over ninety years old, Winters would have really wanted to snatch the cane and beat him up.

"[Selica language] Lacking physical labor and unable to distinguish the five grains." The mendicant monk muttered this in a language Winters couldn't understand, no longer trying to guide Winters' thinking, but directly instilling: "Landlords grow tobacco and sugar beets, crops that can be sold for money, with only a small amount of arable land for growing grain. Why? Because they don't lack food; how much can one mouth eat if they eat freely? The plantation owners occupy the best and most abundant land in Wolf Village, but have the fewest people, so most of their arable land is used to grow cash crops."

The old man took a breath and continued, "As for Dusa Village, Dusa Village has fewer people than the other villages, but their land is second only to the manor lords, more than the other four villages combined, even enough to qualify for the three-field system. Do you know what the three-field system is?"

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

"The three-field system is essentially crop rotation, dividing arable land into three equal parts: one part for staple crops, one part for supplementary crops, and one part fallow as pasture, rotating annually." The old monk thought for a moment and then asked, "Have you seen the communal pasture in Dusa Village?"

"I've seen it."

“That land was left fallow this year and used as a communal pasture for the village. That’s why Dusak can afford to raise horses and feed pigs with oats, because they don’t lack arable land.”

"What about the other four villages?"

The mendicant monk sneered, “The other four villages? Those four villages have to rent horse-drawn plows from Dusa Village every year because they use all their farmland to grow grain and can’t afford to raise large livestock. The farmland in the villages east and west of the river is barely enough.”

Those two Protestant villages had the largest population but the least arable land; even if every inch were planted with grain, it wouldn't be enough to feed them. Aren't all the farmhands in the Mitchell family Protestants? If they could be self-sufficient farmers, what farmer would want to be a hired hand?

"The more people there are, the less arable land there is?" Winters frowned. "How can this be? Why don't we cultivate the wasteland? I've clearly seen plenty of barren land!" "Do you think we can just cultivate the wasteland here as we please?" The old monk's smile grew even colder. "I've already told you, every inch of land, every tree, every river... even the rabbits in the forest, the fish in the river, and the birds in the sky all belong to someone!"

"who?"

The mendicant pointed his cane at Winters' nose: "Yours."

Winters was first bewildered, then surprised, and finally displeased: "Do you find this amusing?"

“Or let me put it another way,” the old monk said, leaning on his cane, “you are part of the true masters of this land.”

Winters was finally brought to his senses: "You mean... the Army? The Plato Army?"

“You’re not entirely stupid.” The old monk patted the lieutenant on the shoulder with his cane. “Of course it’s the military. Otherwise, how could a mere centurion like you wield the power of life and death in Wolf Village? Do you think you’re here to maintain order? No! You represent the authority of the true owners of this land.”

"Wait a minute... the power of life and death?" The young Veneta was confused. "I don't hold any lucrative position. I was sent here! Wasn't the position of garrison commander of Wolf Town vacant for more than ten years before me?"

"The vacancy is because Wolf Village is not wealthy, not because the position of the garrison officer is not lucrative. In your system, being sent here is like being exiled. But to the people here, you are a master who has fallen from the sky."

In the newly reclaimed areas, the Plattite army held a position almost equivalent to that of feudal lords; here, you were practically a lord yourself. Therefore, the landowners and Dussacs welcomed you, the villages east and west of the river revered you, and the Protestants completely distrusted you.

Why don't you trust me?

The mendicant monk had a half-smile on his face: "The Protestants have people, and Wolf Village has wasteland. What's stopping them from clearing it?"

“Uh…it’s me?” The answer was obvious, but Winters didn’t understand: “Why?”

Brother Reed sneered, “Because if they take even a single inch more land, you’ll lead the Dussians over and chop their heads off—don’t worry, the Dussians will be more than happy to do it. If you’re defeated by them, another corps of soldiers will come from the county seat. One corps isn’t enough, ten more, a hundred more, until they’re all wiped out.”

So they're afraid of you, terrified of you. They're afraid you'll discover the scraps of land they've illegally cultivated, afraid you'll find the fish and rabbit bones in their homes. You are the knight lord of Wolf Village, and they are despicable farmers poaching and illegally cultivating your land. How could they not be afraid of you?

“I still don’t understand.” Winters still couldn’t figure it out in some ways: “Does the laws of Plato even prohibit hunting and fishing? And prohibit unauthorized land clearing?”

"Palatu's laws do not prohibit it, but the laws of newly reclaimed lands do not allow it."

"why?"

"For no reason." The old mendicant monk had already realized that the lieutenant before him had a severe lack of political talent: "This land is the spoils of the Paratul army, which has all the rights from the sky to the ground."

"and then?"

"Then the best land was sold to the rich to pay off the loans, and that's how these landowners came to be. As a reward for fighting and compensation for generations of service, Dusac was also allocated land, and that's how the village of Dusac came to be. There were also some poor people and tenant farmers who dreamed of becoming self-sufficient farmers, and they only had enough money to buy a small piece of land. The villages east and west of the river were made up of these people."

"What about the villages of Nanxin and Beixin?"

“Those Protestants were originally from the Empire, and they fled here from the north over the last ten years.” The old monk smiled. “The Empire doesn’t like Protestants, and the Kingdom of Galloping Horses is short of people to fill its borders. So every time the Catholic Church instigates a power struggle in the north, there are more Protestants in the newly reclaimed land. However, the Protestants here came late, and the land prices in Wolf Village are not as cheap as they used to be, not to mention there are other buyers.”

"Who?"

"What do you think?" The old mendicant monk's eyes shone brightly. "The Dusa people practice land allocation, so they don't worry about land. Small self-sufficient farmers can only support their own families; they don't have extra money to buy land. So who could it be? So who has the money?"

Winters fell silent for a moment, then said, "Suppressing land reclamation for the sake of selling land and making money is more harmful than beneficial. How could the Paratians have come up with such a system?"

"The disadvantages outweigh the advantages?" Brother Reid chuckled. "Boy, you really don't understand the power of this system at all. Among your republics, the Kingdom of Galloping Horses has the smallest population, yet its territory is the largest, and it's only growing. What do you think that's the secret to that?"

"Are you suggesting we make money solely by selling land?"

"Of course it's not that simple." The old monk tapped Winters on the head with his cane again, saying with exasperation, "I'm asking you, what do you think is the weapon that kills the most people in the world?"

“Uh,” Winters answered tentatively, “a sword?”

“Wrong! The weapon that kills the most people in this world is called ‘mobilization.’ A sword is a man’s weapon; no matter how sharp it is, it can only kill one person. Mobilization is a weapon used by nations to kill each other; it can make or break a nation.” The old cultivator sighed, “Alas, you wouldn’t understand even if I explained it to you. Let me tell you something you can understand.”

“Please speak,” Winters said, sitting respectfully with his knees together.

“Searching the mountains requires manpower, and your few dozen Dusacs are not enough. Dusacs are your most reliable manpower, but their numbers are too few. We need to mobilize the other four villages.”

Winters said bitterly, "South New Village and North New Village are unwilling to send militia, and the Protestants are particularly hostile towards me, I don't know why."

“You’re always hanging out with the Dusaks, it’s no wonder they treat you badly. Who do you think the Emperor’s Dusaks are dealing with? Who do you think drove them out of their homeland?” The old monk’s smile was quite subtle. “But I will help you solve the problem over there.”

Winters was quite surprised: "Aren't you a Catholic? Kaman thinks it would be dangerous for you to go to the Protestant side."

"Politics! Kid! Politics!" The mendicant friar tapped the lieutenant on the head twice more with his stick. "The point of politics isn't to turn the other person into your person, but to make them think you're their person, understand? Come with me to the Protestant village tomorrow."

After saying that, the old monk leaned on his cane and left Winters' room without looking back.

"Please take care." Winters stood up and watched him go.

The old man had been gone for a while when Winters finally realized what was happening after closing the door: "[Veneta swears]! When did I ever actually take this old charlatan for a teacher?"

The word "mobilization" didn't appear in the main universe until the French Revolution, but let it be born earlier in the universe of the book.

P.S.: Damn it, I was out of it and messed up the chapter number again. This chapter is Chapter Twelve.

Thank you to all the readers who voted for the book before, thank you to reader "Social Justice Old Wang" for the monthly ticket, and thank you to readers 20180309221323285, Tian Jingtou, Jiang Xue Diao Weng, Ni de Sheng Huo Li Duo Duo, reader 161120205936216, Ami, Kanfu Shenyuan, and Social Justice Old Wang.

Thank you everyone: Yellow Rabbit from the Flower Country, Book Friend 20200822165222737, Calm Gray, and Uncle with Ideals in His Thirties.



(End of this chapter)