Chapter 495: But there are also castles that haven't collapsed standing on the ruins

The country roads on the valley plains remained muddy in late winter.

A covered wagon traveled on the muddy road, the wheels bumping on the semi-melted frozen soil, making a teeth-aching creak.

But this was still much better than walking.

Raman sat at the back of the bumpy wagon, his legs dangling in mid-air.

Dust and fine wheat straw covered his old military uniform, which had been washed to a color that was no longer its original, making him look like a scarecrow stuck in a wheat field.

He used his rough thumb to repeatedly rub a cold bronze medal, his face occasionally showing a smile, occasionally falling into confusion.

Engraved on that medal were two words he had only just learned, namely "Principality" and "Guardian," and the royal emblem in the middle was the affirmation and reward for their merit.

He had never thought that he, who couldn't do anything right, could one day receive the Grand Duke's affirmation and wear a medal awarded by the royal family.

He seemed... to have really helped that Grand Duke.

But what to do after this?

On the fifth morning of the 1054th year of the Aus Era, an unknown Campbell soldier was sitting in a wagon thinking about his future.

Edward's Principality stood at the crossroads of fate, and Raman also stood at the crossroads of his life; he pondered whether to stay in the army, or listen to his comrade's idea to settle in Thunder City, or find a logging site to continue dealing with wood.

The atmosphere inside the covered wagon was the exact opposite of Raman's contemplation, appearing relaxed and noisy; most soldiers didn't want to worry about such distant things.

The war is over, they are the victors, and they will be home soon.

The soldiers huddled together, chatting excitedly about plans after the war, the topics being nothing more than women, wine, and that severance pay about to be received.

This money hadn't arrived yet, but they had already thought about where to spend it.

The only exception was a soldier wearing glasses; he wasn't tall, looked scholarly, and was a citizen of Thunder City.

At this moment, he was holding a wrinkled copy of "Thunder City Daily," which was the newspaper from the day before yesterday, only delivered to his hands yesterday.

"Listen to this! The newspaper says the Grand Duke originally wanted to strip all rebellious nobles of their titles, but was jointly blocked by the King of the Kingdom of Lei En and the regional Bishop! Damn Kingdom of Lei En, I knew they were playing tricks behind our backs! The ones we killed by the Rushing River the other day included their people!"

Not many people in the wagon took his words. The few who did only followed with a "served them right" or "dog-son Theoden."

Although they defended the Principality's reforms, strictly speaking, they couldn't be considered reformers, not even Edward's supporters, just happened to catch the Grand Duke's wagon.

As for how the lords' titles changed, that didn't concern them in the first place.

Even in Thunder City, where the fire of industrialization was burning, the nation and the people were an abstract concept far ahead of the era, just born in the textile workers' curses at the King.

The young man holding the newspaper wasn't a textile worker, but his family clearly also benefited from them to some extent.

It was precisely because of this that he, holding the "Dingding rifle" like Raman, had a light of pride on his face.

"But! Facing the threats of the King and the Church, our Grand Duke didn't retreat, but bypassed to the blind spot of sacred law! He announced the establishment of a 'Post-War Compensation Committee,' liquidating the property and land of those traitors to compensate families and individuals who suffered losses in the civil war, and rewarding those heroes who paid sweat and sacrifice to defend the Principality!"

"In short—"

"The Grand Duke is going to share the spoils of war with us!"

The wagon was silent for a moment, and this time people rarely turned their gaze to him, but soon burst into laughter.

"Share the spoils of war with us? Haha!"

"Kid, is this your first day as a soldier? I've heard this eight hundred times."

"Our centurion dreams of getting a knight's title, ever since Prince Kelin returned his salute last time, he really thinks he's a noble!"

Facing everyone's ridicule, the young man with glasses flushed red, gesturing with his index finger in the bumpy wagon, arguing excitedly.

"This time is different! Thunder City's industrialization has reached the most critical stage, otherwise the nobles' opposition wouldn't be so intense! Even those living in the past can see it, our Grand Duke must be able to see it too!"

"If! That adult doesn't share the fruits of victory with us civilians who support him, then it will definitely be taken by another group of nobles! He must rely on our strength to fight against those who are still living in the past!"

This civil war cleared the power of conservative forces within the Principality, but it wouldn't make the old thoughts die out just like that.

It's like soil.

Whether nobles or serfs, they are all crops grown on that soil. It's just that one is a root bud buried in the dust, and the other is a fruit ear growing on the branch.

This is the same logic as serfs not becoming decent citizens because they sat on a steam engine. At most, they become a piece of farm tool that seems more decent, and then use old production relations and more advanced production methods to produce new products that no one has seen before.

They will be the same as before, the only thing they can look forward to is the lord's servants and stewards, that conscience that may or may not exist.

Therefore, the fruits of victory he spoke of were not just money and honor, but also things that civilians didn't even dare to think about before.

And that was the thing that touched the soul of the Principality!

"What if that adult doesn't?" a rude soldier asked with a smile, a wheat straw in his mouth, "Kid, I don't understand what you're saying at all. And what's the use of sharing benefits with us? What if he doesn't?"

The young man pushed the glasses on the bridge of his nose, his expression extremely serious.

"If he doesn't, then we all lose, and it's a double loss."

The Grand Duke will lose everything after winning everything, including those who are enterprising around him.

And those who happened to catch a free ride were the same.

They will carry the "Luokesai 1053-year rifle" given to them by the Prince, and after twenty years of prosperity, return to the position before 1053.

However, he was still very optimistic, although he said some alarmist words, but in the end, he turned the topic to an optimistic future.

"But our Grand Duke is a sensible person, the Campbell royal family has an excellent heritage, and has never neglected the cultivation of descendants! He will not be carried away by a military victory, he knows very well that the real enemy has just set their sights on him!"

And that enemy is the King of Lei En!

Or rather, all conservative forces led by the King and the Church that are unintentionally clashing with the Principality's reformist forces!

The soldiers in the wagon smiled and shook their heads, no longer arguing with this little glasses. Everyone knew he had read books, but so what?

This guy must have never touched a woman's hand, and must have never tasted beer, let's take him to see the world after going back.

"Alright, bookworm."

"You take yourself too seriously, and you take the words in books and newspapers too seriously."

This is ultimately just a civil war between royal families, they don't think it has anything to do with the fate of ordinary people.

They only rejoice that everything is finally over.

Perhaps before long, even "Thunder City Daily" won't mention this shameful war again, and they naturally won't mention it either.

The young man clearly wasn't convinced, shouting in the wagon.

"Laugh at me as much as you want, time will prove me!"

The discussion gradually subsided and soon returned to more exciting topics.

Raman also felt that this analysis was a bit too detached from the ground. What industrialization, what winning or losing, he couldn't understand at all, and couldn't see any possibility of the Grand Duke losing.

Not to mention winning or losing, wouldn't he be working in a factory anyway, could working with dignity stop the nobles from coming back?

This seems illogical.

Nobles, although more decent than factory owners, are not more noble than factory owners.

When the farmers in the Twilight Saint Saint Xingsheng ate all the bark at their door, the citizens of Thunder City could at least eat their fill.

Anyone with a normal brain knows how to choose, as long as the whispers of chaos don't break their brains.

However, after hearing about the things in the newspaper, Raman's heart also had a hint of expectation that wasn't there before.

What if that "little glasses" of the 100th company of the 7th thousand-man team guessed right?

He subconsciously gripped the medal that had been warmed by his body, and his calm mood also became hot.

Although he didn't know what the fruits of victory were, it would be good to get a little more severance pay.

The morning sun gradually turned into a dim yellow, the clouds on the horizon were like baked orange bread, evoking homesickness in people's hearts.

Looking at the pastoral scenery along the way, Raman, who was about to fall asleep in the bumps, suddenly missed home, wondering how his not-so-old father was doing now.

His thoughts drifted far away, until the wheels made a creak.

He jumped out of the wagon subconsciously, his boots stepping on the frozen hard ground, tightening the Prince's rifle on his body.

"What place is this?" As before, he only remembered to ask this question after getting off the wagon.

"Baron Lukeville's manor." An old soldier jumped off the wagon and dusted the mud off his trousers; this guy was paying attention to his image for the first time.

As soon as the words fell, the centurion's loud shout came from afar.

"Get off, boys. We'll rest here tonight."

The tarpaulin was lifted, and the soldiers filed out.

Their shadows were stretched long by the setting sun, lined up in neat square formations on the edge of the wheat field, marching to the gate of the manor following the centurion's order.

The setting sun also stretched the shadow of the manor's iron gate, covering the faces of the front-row soldiers, and also making Raman's mood tense.

The centurion straightened his collar and the military saber at his waist, stepped forward alone, and stood under the half-open iron gate at the entrance of the manor.

An old steward waited there early, wearing a black formal suit, his face gloomy like dead wood, but his back was like the dwarf pine at the door.

Raman couldn't hear their conversation, but could feel that the atmosphere at the door was not pleasant.

The servants in the manor began to gather behind the steward, holding pitchforks, sickles, and even a few old flintlock rifles in their hands.

There were men, women, and even children.

"Saint Xisi above..."

Raman heard the prayer beside him, and the old soldier who followed him off the wagon also lost his excitement, leaving only nervousness—

He had thought he could move into the noble's manor for two nights, whistle at the rescued beautiful maid, and if he couldn't touch her, it would be good to feast his eyes, but now it seemed they might have to fight a battle.

The air was unusually tense.

The faces of the centurion and the steward were getting uglier.

The adjutant frowned, temporarily handing over command to the drummer, stepping forward to his superior's side, and also participating in the negotiation.

Just as the conflict was about to break out, the door of the main house suddenly opened, and a figure suddenly appeared in the shadow stretched by the setting sun.

"What are you doing?"

Hearing the voice from behind. The servants at the manor gate clearly showed fear. Especially the steward, who turned around in a hurry and lowered his head in fear.

"Madam."

It was the Baroness, wearing a gray-white long dress, with a thin shawl over her shoulders, her eyes unusually calm.

Behind her followed several children, their expressions timid, holding each other's hands tightly.

Like the children of civilians, some of them were terrified, some were strong, and some were curious, looking around because they were too young to know what had happened.

"Don't make meaningless resistance, enough people have died for this stupid war, no one should sacrifice for it anymore."

She said softly, her voice not high, but clearly transmitted to everyone's ears, and also made the tense atmosphere dissipate.

Her husband, although loyal to Earl Derrick, her children were not stupid enough to decide who to be loyal to.

If this Principality really couldn't accommodate them, she could also take them back to her maiden home, although the days ahead might be difficult, everything would be much better after they grew up.

The only pity was those servants.

Only cattle and sheep will be bound to the land under their feet, the noble's power, although derived from the land, will never be bound by the land.

However, the simple Raman still felt a hint of respect for this beautiful lady.

Although he knew she might be speaking under pressure, she could actually have said nothing and sat on the carriage that came to pick her up.

On the Aus Continent, wars between nobles have always been lenient to each other, so even if they know there is no chance of winning, most people will never surrender before the castle collapses, but use the blood of civilians to consume the power of civilians...

The lady said something to the children again, then instructed the accompanying maid a few words, and took them to the carriage parked at the door.

The servants watched the carriage leave in a daze, and then cast their hateful gazes at the Grand Duke's soldiers.

In their view, it was these people who destroyed their lives, ruined everything they had, and pushed them into the abyss.

In fact, they weren't wrong.

They could no longer use the glory of Baron Lukeville to order the serfs on the manor's territory at will.

The quest's goal had been reached, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief, rejoicing that an unnecessary casualty had been avoided.

However, the centurion was clearly still unsatisfied, still negotiating with the steward. He lowered his voice, using a restrained tone.

"... We are just staying for a few nights, just lend us the servant's dormitory. We will stay here for at most a week, and we will leave when the time comes."

The old steward looked at him expressionlessly, responding coldly: "According to the laws of the Principality, this manor currently still belongs to the Lukeville family. You have no right to enter."

"It won't be soon!" The centurion's adjutant couldn't help but retort, but this only earned a colder look from the steward.

This old guy who was about to enter the earth had a sneer at the corner of his mouth, he seemed to be deliberately provoking, trying to practice the loyalty that had lasted for hundreds of years.

Rather than disappearing into obscurity, he hoped these people would open fire, letting his blood splash on the crown on Edward's head.

Raman watched as their centurion, who was as proud as a rooster, seemed to have met his match this time.

"Very well."

He glared at the steward fiercely, dropped a harsh word of unknown meaning, and stopped wasting his breath, taking his angry adjutants away.

He waved his hand before returning to the team, taking the exhausted boys away from the manor gate and walking toward the village next to the manor.

Coming from the fields, he knew the villages of Campbell like the back of his hand.

Every village had a public granary, and next to the granary, there must be a simple dormitory prepared for those serfs who couldn't return home during the busy farming season.

It is winter now, and the serfs all live in their own homes, and the granary dormitory at most houses two guards.

At worst, they could live there, no one could stop them anyway.

Walking on the muddy road leading to the village, many boys were very disappointed, regretting not being able to take a look at the Baron's manor.

Raman moved to the side of the comrade wearing glasses; he knew this "little glasses" had many ideas, perhaps he knew something.

"What was that about just now?" Raman asked in a low voice.

The soldier pushed the glasses on the bridge of his nose and also lowered his voice, analyzing with bright eyes.

"That should be a Baron who was involved in the civil war, and... probably our opponent."

"So that's it." Raman nodded belatedly, a look of realization on his face.

That "little glasses" continued.

"Her husband is probably captured at Gladstone Castle, and now he is locked in the Grand Duke's dungeon. As for his family, they will probably be under house arrest somewhere near Campbell Castle, waiting for the trial to end before deciding whether to stay or go."

Raman thought for a while, his gaze falling on the village ahead.

"In other words, the people there..."

"They were our opponents before." The soldier wearing glasses also looked at the village not far away and said casually, "Maybe we've already met."

Is it those people by the Rushing River?

Thinking of the reed marshes stained red with blood, Raman was dazed for a while, and many nameless faces floated in his mind.

He suddenly thought of another thing.

"So now we are going to... punish them?"

"Don't think too much," the soldier wearing glasses smiled, "We are at most staying for a few days, waiting for the Grand Duke's people to come and take over the Baron's manor."

He seemed to see through Raman's thoughts and continued: "Actually, compared to those servants with clear positions just now, I prefer to live with these serfs who have no position. At least we don't have to worry about them poisoning us in the middle of the night, maybe we can hire them to help hunt some game, anyway, that forest has no owner for the time being... why, are you afraid of them?"

Raman shook his head.

Although he didn't have as many schemes as this guy, being able to see who would stab in the back and who wouldn't, he really hadn't had the thought of being afraid.

He was just terrified by the "very well" that the centurion finally dropped.

In the war between nobles and nobles, it is common for soldiers to plunder the villages of defeated "enemies."

Perhaps it was because he had been away from the Baron's villages for too long, and his edges had long been polished by the "decaying" Thunder City, he always felt that people shouldn't be treated like livestock.

They are all Campbell people.

Just as that beautiful lady said, this civil war has ended, and no one should die for the ambitions of big shots anymore...

Raman's worry was clearly unnecessary.

Their lord was not a Baron, and his centurion and adjutant also came from the same place as him.

With more medals on their chests, their bottom line would only be higher than his.

The soldiers, carrying the wagons transporting supplies, drove into the village under the jurisdiction of Baron Lukeville's manor and moved into the temporary dormitories used by farmers only during the busy farming season.

The rows of long houses next to the granary were simple, but at least they could block the wind and snow. The straw stacks were not as soft as beds, but they were better than sleeping bags on the march.

A young man from Thunder City brought a pile of dry straw and threw it on the ground as a mattress, joking with bitterness.

"This place is okay, it's more spacious than the factory dormitory I worked in before."

Someone next to him said with a smile.

"Then do you want to move here?"

"I'm just saying." He smiled awkwardly and turned the topic away.

He wasn't stupid.

The only thoughts Thunder City citizens had about the countryside were probably the grapes of Silver Pine Town and the game poached by farmers in the village.

Pastoral songs sound poetic, but if he were to trade beer for it, he would still choose to be that "sardine in a can."

Saying one thing and meaning another is human nature.

Not just the grunts of the 7th thousand-man team, but also their centurion.

The "harsh words" dropped by that arrogant man seemed to be just "use the stored grain in your master's granary for dinner tonight."

However, when that majestic man opened the granary and saw the mountain of grain, he was silent for a long time and sighed.

There was too much grain.

By the time they left here, that old steward probably wouldn't even realize that the stored grain in the granary had become less...

The soldiers began to light fires to cook.

Thick smoke rose, and the villagers also noticed these uninvited guests.

A few bold young men walked over, holding vegetables and pumpkins in their hands, asking if they needed them with courage.

Raman was surprised to find that the copper coins that were almost worthless in Thunder City actually still had a market here?

And the purchasing power was not weak!

Looking at the centurion who bought a large pile of vegetables and pumpkins with a few copper coins, and those villagers who left happily, he called it incredible in his heart.

In fact, this was quite normal.

The serfs' time was not worth much to begin with, and this winter, the merchant caravans that came to purchase grain in the past didn't come because of the civil war.

They painstakingly scraped these vegetables and pumpkins from the "inter-field," and no merchant would risk being involved in the war to come here to purchase them, and they naturally didn't dare to risk being drafted to run to a town dozens of miles away to earn those few copper coins.

The surplus stock in winter would rot in spring anyway, so it was better to deal with these soldiers of the Grand Duke cheaply.

They knew very well that these guys had severance pay, unlike them who were so poor they couldn't even hear a clatter.

Just as little glasses said, these villagers, unlike those stubborn servants, had no position.

Thus, the monotonous wheat porridge in the pot soon turned into golden pumpkin porridge.

The aroma of stewing mixed with the smell of firewood permeated around the granary, and many young soldiers couldn't help but swallow their saliva, thinking of the pumpkin soup in their hometowns.

Amidst this rare peace, a haggard woman wandered into everyone's sight.

Her hair was withered yellow, her face haggard, like a lonely ghost wandering in the graveyard, initially scaring a few boys, thinking it was an undead wandering over.

Until she spoke, asking in a trembling voice.

"Sir... have you seen a man named Serf? He also became a soldier, and was taken away by the lord in the autumn..."

Those few boys who were startled had subtle expressions, they looked at each other awkwardly, and shook their heads one after another, saying they hadn't seen him.

"... I don't know, this is my first time being drafted, go ask the old soldiers over there, they might know more names."

They actually knew better than anyone which side the soldiers taken away by Baron Lukeville were standing on, and what happened on that side.

However, no one had the courage to tell this poor lady the truth.

And what if he was still alive?

This probability is very small, but it's not impossible, the real number of people who died in battle among the 300,000 army might only be one or two out of ten.

The first hundred-man team might be wiped out, but the ones behind might not have even seen the enemy before running away with the defeated army.

However—

They also knew in their hearts that the defeated rebel army had long since hidden in their own homes. Now even the victors were going home, those who hadn't reunited with their families probably wouldn't come back.

The woman showed a look of disappointment, but didn't give up, still searching in the camp, like a ghost that wouldn't let go.

The morale that was still quite enthusiastic was stirred up by this widow. Some old soldiers drank pumpkin soup silently, not even telling dirty jokes about the Baroness.

In the end, the centurion who was as proud as a rooster couldn't stand it anymore, walked to the woman and said a few truths.

Someone had to tell her the truth.

The winter in the Campbell Principality is not as cold as the Twilight Saint Saint Xingsheng, but if you catch a cold and can't get treatment, you will die.

Raman didn't hear clearly what the officer said.

He only saw the woman cover her mouth with her hand abruptly, as if to block the sorrow that was about to overflow.

Her shoulders trembled violently, and in the end, she didn't cry out, just left stumbling, just like when she came in a daze.

Raman felt a bit blocked in his heart.

He quickly finished the pumpkin porridge, washed the bowl by the well, and walked to the side of the granary to patrol, trying to digest the complex taste in his heart.

It was also at this time that he saw a thin little boy, clutching the wooden fence outside the granary, stretching his neck to look inside.

The child was looking at the campfire in the granary, seemingly looking for something.

"What are you looking for?" Raman walked over and asked.

"My father." The boy's voice was very small, with a shy timidity.

"You probably came to the wrong place, child." Raman reminded gently, "We are the Grand Duke's soldiers, you should go find the servants in the manor, they might know."

"My father is also the Grand Duke's soldier, sir, and he is just like you." Looking at Raman's eyes, the boy shook his head and continued innocently, "And, I went to the manor to ask, they drove me away, told me to go home and wait, said the Grand Duke would send my father back."

Although after seeing that widow, Raman had made enough preparations, he was still touched by that "just like you."

He put the "Prince's rifle" on his shoulder gently, placed it aside, and squatted in front of the boy, so he didn't have to clutch the fence to talk to himself.

"What is your name?"

The boy came down from the fence, patted the dust on his hands, and said in one breath, fearing to miss any details.

"Phil! My name is Phil! My father's name is Serf, he lives in the south of this village, he is a well-known honest man in the village, he never did a bad thing in his life. He can also make clothes, look, this piece of clothing I'm wearing was made by him!"

This Mr. Serf was clearly not an excellent tailor, the clothes on the boy looked like they were made from a sack, and the delicate face was frozen red.

Raman thought of the widow who left sadly. Her husband seemed to have this name too.

Under the double blow of spirit and body, she might have been a bit confused, even forgetting to take the child who came with her.

That child clearly didn't have any friends either.

Perhaps he had them before, but when the scripts of children playing house changed from brave fighting the Demon King to Grand Duke fighting Earl, he might not have had them anymore.

Because his father was really a rebel.

The "little glasses" growing up in Thunder City didn't understand the situation in the countryside after all. Serfs certainly had no position, but it didn't prevent them from distinguishing between "us" and "them" with this, just like simple kindness and simple evil can coexist.

Perhaps...

He should do something.

When Raman realized it, he had already reached out his hand, rubbed the boy's messy hair, and had a cramped and warm smile on his face.

"So you are Phil, I heard... Serf mention you, he told me, saying you are a brave little guy."

The boy's eyes brightened instantly.

"Really?! You've seen my father!"

"Yes, more than just seen, we were simply... intimate comrades-in-arms."

Raman pointed to a scar on his cheek, which was scratched by a stray bullet by the Rushing River, I don't know whose shot it was before he died.

Perhaps it was his father, perhaps not.

But none of this mattered anymore.

Raman, who was incomparably pious in faith, told the only lie he had ever told in his life.

"That was a tragic battle, blood stained the river water. He died outside Thunder City to cover me... See this scar? If he hadn't pushed me away at that time, that bullet might have already hit my head."

The boy's eyes that had just brightened dimmed again, and his clear pupils were soon filled with sorrow.

Looking at the tears spinning in his eyes, Raman took out the bronze medal that had become cold from his arms.

He reached out his hand, just like when Sir Wesley awarded him, and pinned the "Principality Guardian" medal awarded by the Grand Duke to the boy's tattered collar.

"Our Grand Duke awarded him this medal. He asked me to pass it to you... that was his last words. We came here for this, now my mission is finally completed, and we will go home in a few days."

After pinning the medal, he patted Phil's shoulder again.

"Phil, your father is a hero, Saint Xisi took his soul. He hopes you will be as brave and strong as him, become a man who stands tall... He said he would watch you from heaven, take good care of his woman, that is your mother, for him, don't let him down."

Raman is a natural carpenter.

When seeing a house about to collapse, he instinctively felt he should do something, so he used the nails at hand to fix the beam that was about to break.

Although his craftsmanship couldn't compare to the factories in Thunder City, perhaps he achieved what those cold machines couldn't.

Boiling steam will eventually swallow all old villages, but later people can still choose to plant hope in the land.

The boy finally cried out.

He cried very sadly, but after running out of tears, he still wiped them dry stubbornly, straightening his chest wearing the medal.

Just like that centurion.

"... I will!"

Hearing that strong voice, Raman smiled with relief, rubbed the boy's head again, then picked up the "Prince's rifle" that made him feel honored, got up and returned to the camp.

The north wind in winter was exceptionally cold, but today's sunset was exceptionally warm. This rare warm light didn't just shine on the noble's land, but also on his heart.

On the fifth dusk of the 1054th year of the Aus Era, a carpenter gave the medal awarded to him by the Grand Duke to a child who lost his father in the civil war.

This sentence might not be written in the epic of the Campbell Principality, after all, in the few days after the "Winter Moon Coup" ended, almost every day something big happened.

However, Raman didn't feel it was a pity.

He perhaps helped the Grand Duke again.