"I think that we have to give it up..."
"I understand your anger," Barou said slowly. "Believe me, I feel it too. But we can't ignore where they came from."
He looked toward the east, past the trees, past the faraway hills — toward the capital.
"Thalen might be a small noble, but the city behind him is extremely powerful. He probably comes from Luxia, the capital of the country. Last time I checked, they still have a military might of thousands of soldiers. Tell me, can we take on them all?"
"And The Church of Light may have been quiet, but they are not weak. Sister Lysaria is no mere acolyte — her robes mark her as a Vestal of the Inner Flame. That's not a title given lightly."
He paused.
"If we refuse… what will happen next? An embargo? A raid? The Church declaring us heretical?"
A long silence fell.
Even Gnord stayed quiet.
For all their defiance, the truth was clear: Elowen was still a village, and those who had come were backed by a kingdom with armies and a church with reach.
Then, a voice broke the quiet.
Not loud.
Not afraid.
"Then let's ask the one who made all of this possible."
It was Lila, standing just outside the circle, her hands clasped behind her back.
"If the harvest was a blessing," she said, stepping forward, "then we should ask the messenger what the divine intends. You all said it yourselves — he brought the water, helped plant the fields, healed the wounded. Maybe it's time we let Riku decide what comes next."
Heads turned.
Murmurs followed.
And slowly, … the others nodded with a light of hope igniting in his eyes.
Barou exhaled, the tightness in his shoulders easing just a little.
"Very well," he said. "We'll speak to Riku."
--------------------------
The sky had deepened to a soft blue, tinged with gold, as the villagers gathered their courage.
Following Lila's suggestion, Barou, Gnord, and a few others made their way to the inn — steps slow, the silence between them thick with worry.
As they reached the wooden porch, they found Riku hunched over a low table outside, quill in hand, completely absorbed.
He didn't even notice them at first.
Sheets of parchment were spread before him — diagrams of gears, layered mana inscriptions, crude frost-rune circles, and a hand-drawn sketch of what looked like a chest with a crank and a coil embedded into its side. At one corner, in careful handwriting, were the words:
"Coolbox Mk I: Experimental Cold Chamber"
He muttered softly to himself.
"How nice it would be to have some ice cream and cold drinks. I am sure that everyone in the village would love it too."
Barou cleared his throat.
Riku blinked, finally looking up. "Oh—hey."
He blinked again, actually taking in their faces.
"You all look like you just came back from a funeral."
"Not yet," Gnord said grimly. "But tomorrow might be close."
Riku raised a brow.
They told him everything — about Thalen, about the demand for eighty percent of their harvest and water, about the claim that it was all for the Church and kingdom, and how no one knew what to do.
Riku listened quietly, arms crossed now, no longer sketching.
When they finished, a silence hung over them.
And then, Riku chuckled.
Not unkindly.
Just… amused.
"You came all this way to tell me that?" he said, standing up and stretching. "You should've just called me when they came tomorrow morning."
"You're not worried?" Lila asked, frowning.
"Should I be?" Riku grinned. "They want to play games with papers and numbers. Lucky for us... I've played a few games in my time."
Gnord narrowed his eyes. "You've got something planned?"
"Hmm, I don't need to necessarily plan anything, but I don't want to attract trouble. I guess we will just go with the flow"
Barou looked hesitant. "They're serious. Thalen comes from Luxia. They have a huge military. The Church is watching too."
"I heard," Riku said casually. "So tomorrow, let them come."
He rolled up his parchment, tucked it under his arm, and gave Lila a wink.
"We'll serve them a warm welcome… and a cold reality."
--------------------------
The next morning, three carts rolled into the square, this time accompanied by a retinue of uniformed scribes, a pair of young temple acolytes, and a small contingent of local guards — none of whom looked eager to be here.
Thalen Durei, the tax registrar, rode in the lead cart, dressed in an immaculate dark-blue coat stitched with silver lining. Sister Lysaria, calm as ever, rode behind on a white mule, her golden sash glinting in the early light.
Villagers lined the paths once again, silent this time — anxious, watching.
At the center of the square, beside a canvas-draped table, stood Riku.
Unhurried. Unarmed.
Waiting.
Thalen stepped down, his face smiling but at the same time taunting the villagers. He gestured sharply, and the guards began unloading crates marked for grain storage.
"We'll begin collection now," he announced. "All surplus above the required village ration is to be loaded onto these carts under code F-Sixteen and temple decree 28-C. Compliance is expected."
"Wait, I have something to say." Riku said, coming forward.
"Save it. Today, you have to give me everything you have." Thalen said, greed clearly oozing from his eyes and mouth
Riku didn't move. "According to the kingdom tithe law, the maximum levy under 'Article Nine, Section Four' of the Grand Agrarian Decree is thirty percent for first-cycle villages, with no royal charter."
Thalen paused mid-step.
He turned, slow and theatrical. "That law has been amended."
"I'd love to see the amendment," Riku said, folding his arms. "Because the 30% clause was ratified by King Harus III himself after the Black Famine. Furthermore, villages with less than 1000 people were exempt from taxes. As you can see, we are clearly less than 1000 people."
"And unless His Lordship Harus III has publicly revoked it, or someone has taken over the throne to change it, it stands. Tell me, Sir Thalen, did you receive any such news? "
Murmurs rippled through the villagers. Barou blinked. Gnord whistled low under his breath.
Thalen narrowed his eyes. "You're just a traveler. What do you know of high law?"
"I was once a scribe," Riku lied easily, "for a noble house that played with taxes like chess pieces. I've read enough scrolls to spot a scam when I see one."
Thalen's jaw tightened. "This comes directly from Luxia."
"Then surely you can show us a copy bearing the royal seal," Riku said, eyes unblinking. "Or even a signature from the Lord Chamberlain's Office. Oh? No? Shall we discuss your little tax collection exercise with the Lord Chamberlain?"
Hearing Riku's words, Thalen froze.