A line began to form as soon as the tables were arranged. Vierna’s table stood on the left, Mirelle’s in the center, and Lina’s on the far right. The first family stepped forward.
They were beast-kin: parents with a small child. Soft brown fur covered their cheeks and arms, and their rounded rabbit-like noses gave them a distinctly herbivorous gentleness. Their long ears twitched with every gust of wind. Like the other villagers, they wore worn clothes, their hands stained with dirt after finishing the day’s labour.
“G-good day, Frau,” the father said, his voice small. “Name’s Ruprecht. This here’s my wife… and our little ones.”
“Hello, Herr Ruprecht,” Vierna said as she scanned him with the eye-shaped device. At once, the book flipped open to his entry—his name and family register written in neat script. Ruprecht was listed as a root farmer, like most beast-kin drawn to the soil. That meant his taxes were measured not in coin but in food.
The register showed his burden clearly: two baskets of root vegetables and a sack of dried beans.
“Aye, o’course, Frau… eh…?”
“Crysta.”
Ruprecht nodded and traced a sigil in the air. A storage spell unfolded, and from it he drew the required items—then added another sack of peanuts.
“Herr Ruprecht, the book says only two baskets of vegetables and a sack of dried beans. Why are you giving me another sack of peanuts?”
“Frau Crysta, that’s meant for the tax master. Ye must be new… that’s how he collects from folk like us.”
That’s blatant corruption, Vierna thought. “Herr Ruprecht, let me check with my senior first, all right?”
“’Course, Frau Crysta… aye.”
Vierna left her table and approached Mirelle in the middle, who was busy scanning another villager with her own device.
“Senior, the family over there only owes two baskets of vegetables and a sack of beans, but they also gave me another sack of peanuts.”
Mirelle told the villager before her to wait, then leaned closer to whisper. “That’s Korrn’s tax.”
“Korrn’s tax?”
“Yes. It means Korrn overcharges them. If they don’t pay it, we’re instructed not to scan their items at all. I should’ve told you sooner—I’m sorry.”
A loophole in the system. Vierna made a note of it in her mind. When she met the Arkmarschall, she would report it.
“What should we do then?” she asked.
“Follow the order. Otherwise Korrn will flay you alive.”
“All right, Senior.” Vierna nodded and started to walk to her table.
“Hey, tell Aline too,” Mirelle called out.
Vierna gave a thumbs-up and walked over to Lina’s desk. Lina still looked lost about the process. To clear it up, Vierna demonstrated the whole procedure—scanning the villager with the device, letting the book open to their entry, then passing the device over the items they owed.
The glyphs shimmered faintly as each item was acknowledged, and the book updated the entry on its own. Once Lina nodded that she understood, Vierna leaned closer and quietly told her to return half of Korrn’s tax so the villagers would look on them more favourably. She also told Lina to instruct the villagers to use conjured items to make the bag appear full. Lina agreed with a small nod.
When Vierna returned to her table, Ruprecht was still waiting, shifting nervously.
“Everythin’ all right, Frau Crysta?” he asked, eyes shifting about like he feared trouble nearby.
“Everything is in order, Herr Ruprecht.” Vierna scanned the two baskets of vegetables and the sack of dried beans.
“Herr Ruprecht, do you have another sack?”
“Aye, I do, Frau,” he murmured, pulling one from his storage spell. “But… what’s it for, if I may ask?”
Vierna took a handful of peanuts from the original sack and placed them into the new one he offered.
“Here are your peanuts back, Herr Ruprecht.”
He stared at the half sack, his shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry, Frau Crysta. I ain’t lookin’ for trouble. Please… just take the peanuts.”
“Herr Ruprecht, your tax entry has already been updated. The book cannot be modified once it’s marked. So it’s fine. If there are any problems, you can point them directly to me.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Ruprecht accepted the half sack of peanuts. “Bless you, Frau Crysta. Bless you.”
His voice held such genuine gratitude that it caught Vierna off guard. It was only half a sack of peanuts, after all.
“It’s all right, Herr Ruprecht.”
The beast-kin family left the table smiling. They waved to her as they went. It was the first genuine smile Vierna had seen here, one not forced or fabricated. Even though she had done it with ulterior motive, she was glad she had given the villagers some small relief.
The days went on, Vierna tried her best to cut the Korrn’s tax, and she could see a myriad of expression coming from the villager, some was grateful, other was indifferent thinking that maybe what she did just another publicity stunt by the Reich.
She thought about it. If only a duke could intervene directly, Leopold would never have let this kind of corruption go unpunished.
Vierna remembered a book she had once read on Reich politics. The peerage was rigid by design. At the very top sat the Magierkonklave—thirteen seats whose word could overrule any crown. The seats were drawn from the Kurfürsten, the Prince-Electors.
A Kurfürst ruled not just one duchy but several bound together, a Princedom. Yet there were far more princedoms than seats in the Magierkonklave. To claim one of the thirteen, a Kurfürst needed the favor of another already inside. It wasn’t justice that opened the door, but alliances and backroom bargains.
Beneath them came the Herz?ge, the Dukes, each holding a single duchy. Leopold’s was Silbermark, part of the Princedom of Reuncaste. Below the dukes stood the Grafen, the Counts, and at the lowest rung of autonomy were the Freiherren, the Barons—lords of a handful of villages at most.
Titles overlapped. A man might hold two or three at once. Leopold himself was Arkmarschall in the army, Herzog von Silbermark in rank, and Graf von Einhartturm besides. Rolbart, however, belonged not to his county but to Ranzig, under the Barony of Haustwitch.
Even though Ranzig lay within Silbermark, if Leopold moved against Rolbart directly, he would be bypassing both Count and Baron. That was why the Kurfürst of Reuncaste would be forced to intervene; guarding the rights of lesser lords was his duty. And if a duke ignored even that, the Kurfürst could call upon the Magierkonklave—thirteen voices with power enough to turn the entire Reich against him.
Vierna regretted that the rigid system didn’t allow Leopold to intervene directly in this matter. She let the thought settle and continued with her work. Sometimes she glanced at Lina; by now it seemed she understood what she was supposed to do.
As Vierna pressed on, however, a guard approached her.
“Frau Crysta. I noticed you keep swapping out parts of the tax with something else.”
Sweat pricked at Vierna’s brow. She was sure she had done it with the utmost caution. “What do you mean, Herr?”
“Hans. Pleasure to meet you.”
Vierna studied his face more carefully. She knew him from somewhere.
“Tell me, Herr Hans, have you ever been in Einhartturm?”
“I have. I was there during the Daemon Extermination operation.”
Ah, that’s how I know him, Vierna thought. He was the same Hans who helped me bring that supply cart to the front.
“Why are you here now, Herr Hans?”
“I was part of the force Leopold lent to the Count of Ranzig, and the Count stationed me here in the Barony of Haustwitch. But enough about me—can you explain your actions?”
Vierna held her ground. “I can, Herr Hans.” She pulled out the tax book. “You see here? The entry says a hoe and a sickle. Yet Herr Toviel here also brought a bag of… I’m sorry, Herr Toviel, what exactly is this bag again?”
“It’s a bag of Lunathil, Frau Crysta,” the elf replied.
“And why did you bring this bag of Lunathil, Herr Toviel?”
“Because the previous tax officer wouldn’t update my entry if I only brought what was written there.”
Vierna nodded, then turned back to Hans. “You understand now why I do what I do?”
Hans rubbed his chin. “I do, Frau Crysta. However, I still need to report this to the tax master.”
“Herr Hans, I understand your concern. But this job is for a tax officer like myself to handle. And with no disrespect, Herr Hans, you are essentially just an escort. You’re in no position to lecture me on how to do my job.”
“That may be true, Frau Crysta. However, I will let the tax master decide.”
As Hans started toward the hall, Vierna called after him. “Herr Hans, are you truly fine with doing this sort of thing?”
Hans halted in his tracks. “I’m just doing what I think is right, Frau Crysta.”
“Strange…” Vierna’s voice hardened. “When I was still a student at Arkanpfad Academy, after the Daemon Subjugation, people often spoke of two girls who bravely delivered a supply cart to the front line. They also mentioned two Aschezug recruits who accompanied them. One of them was named Hans, and his description matched you.”
Hans looked at her, his eyes locked on her unwavering gaze, waiting for what she would say next.
“I thought that the same Hans who bravely accompanied two girls with no combat training to the front line would also be brave enough to resist what he clearly knows is corruption.”
“Frau Crysta, that’s inspiring and all. But I am simply doing my job.”
“Your job doesn’t require you to report me. You could turn a blind eye and nothing would happen to you. Or… don’t tell me—you actually enjoy working for Korrn.”
“I most certainly do not,” Hans said. His tone was louder than the composed voice he had used before. Vierna felt a small relief; it seemed Mirelle was right—everyone truly hated Korrn.
“Then, Herr Hans, for the sake of the people of Rolbart, please pretend you didn’t see anything.”
Hans looked at the line of villagers waiting for Vierna to inspect their taxes. By now they knew what she was doing, and their eyes were fixed on him—unflinching, disdainful. Like a mob waiting for a spark to ignite, Hans knew that if he reported her, he would not be spared the backlash. And besides, what reward would he even gain? Korrn was not known to reward his men.
“I saw nothing. You may carry on, Frau Crysta.”
As the words left his mouth, the villagers’ gazes softened, easing the tension. Relief washed over Hans.
“Thank you, Herr Hans.”
Hans gave a salute and went on his way. The day continued. By now, the villagers had begun quietly swapping only the excess tax with conjured goods—temporary items made by magic that would fade after a short while. The sacks owed to the Reich were kept untouched, lined neatly at the back as they always were.
It was the added burden, Korrn’s share, that they dared to lighten, trusting Vierna to look the other way.
Those waiting in line began to smile, relieved that the weight pressing on them had finally eased, even if only a little, thanks to the new tax officer.
When the line finally ended, Korrn stepped out of the hall and looked over the assembly of people. His gaze shifted to the pile of collected taxes.
“That’s it? This is all you bring me? Pathetic. It isn’t nearly enough, you fucking ingrates.”
What Vierna did. Even with ulterior motive, was it good for the village?
