Magic, steel, heavy industry

Chapter 15 Serfs and Free People

"What are you standing there for? Can't you hear me? Give me all the pebbles you're holding."

Carl looked up, a look of surprise immediately appearing on his already dirty face.

He recognized the man; he was a free man named Dean, who used to be a foreman at the mine. Since the mine closed, he had been wandering the streets every day and was a regular at the tavern.

But Carl didn't understand why the other party had approached him.

"This is mine..." Karl blurted out instinctively.

Before he could finish speaking, Dean revealed a fierce expression. "What do you mean 'your'? Just because you picked it up doesn't mean it's yours! A stinking serf, what right do you have to talk to me? Give it to me!"

The man spat in disgust and, without saying a word, reached out to snatch the magic core from Karl's hand.

Karl's heart raced instantly, and his face flushed with anger. But the fact that the other party was a free man made him afraid to make a move. He could only clench his fists tightly and shrink back.

"What are you doing...no...what right do you have to steal my things!"

"Dare to talk back? What kind of lowly serfs are you? Believe me, I'll tell the lord right now and he'll have you hanged!"

Dean's expression became even more ferocious. Because he was full, he was stronger than Carl. With a single push, he shoved Carl to the ground and then stomped hard on Carl's wrist, trying to force him to let go.

At that moment, Karl hesitated.

He was nothing more than a serf. In the eyes of the nobles and free men, he was not even a human being, but merely livestock to be beaten and scolded at will. He dared not resist.

If the other party really tells the lord to hang himself, would the lord agree?

Karl didn't know, but when he thought that the "little stone" in his hand could bring his mother and sister two more loaves of bread and a bowl of meat soup, he subconsciously gritted his teeth and clenched his fist tighter and tighter, not even feeling that his palms were already bleeding from the magic core.

"Are you deaf, you lowly wretch? I told you to let go!"

Dean was furious. He had only wanted to have some fun and maybe get some broth, but a lowly serf dared to defy him. It was an insult to free men!

Of course, most importantly, Dean was also a little scared.

He could do as he pleased before, but the new lord was so foolish as to feed the serfs, which made him uneasy.

He was just saying that; he didn't really want to go to the lord and have him hang the serf.

"If you still won't let go, it seems I really need to teach you a lesson."

Dean rolled up his sleeves and was about to punch Carl in the face when a stronger, darker, rougher hand grabbed his arm.

Carl trembled slightly, and when he realized that the fist hadn't come down, he timidly opened his eyes and saw a bearded, weathered face.

Carl also knew this man; he was the tallest hunter in town, with a long scar running from the corner of his eye to the corner of his mouth, so everyone called him Scarface.

"What are you doing!" Dean hissed, glaring at Scarface. He felt as if his right arm was being clamped by a giant pair of pincers, completely unable to move.

Scarface simply looked at him calmly, without saying a word.

Dean was about to threaten the other party to let go when suddenly, a roar rang out behind the three of them.

"Damn it! Who's causing me trouble!"

……

Below the square, several anxious serfs nervously handed over the magic cores in their hands to Hans, who was in charge of statistics.

They weren't sure if they could really exchange the stones for lunch, so they all secretly raised their eyes and glanced at Viran standing behind the square from time to time.

That lord is watching; surely he won't go back on his word?

"Don't just stand there, name, age."

Suddenly, old Hans' impatient voice rang out.

The serf who was called quickly replied, "Skinny, sir, my name is Skinny, and I am 16 years old."

"What? Is it skinny hide or animal hide? Can you write it?"

"I'm illiterate, and I'm very thin, so everyone calls me Skinny..."

"Alright, go get your lunch. Remember this: it is a gift from the esteemed Lord Vilan."

"I got it!" Skinny ran off happily to collect his lunch.

Meanwhile, old Hans, who was in charge of statistics, rubbed his hair in annoyance and wrote down the information about the thin skin.

Is there not a single serf who can write his own name?

Seeing the speechless expression on Old Hans's face, Vilan couldn't help but chuckle to himself.

It's good to let this guy experience this kind of work more, so he won't keep emphasizing his aristocratic etiquette all the time.

At this moment, Vilan saw Saka run over with a hesitant look on his face and stand in front of him, looking unsure whether he should speak.

"What's wrong? Our talkative Mr. has suddenly stopped talking?" Vilan joked.

Saka clenched his fists, a wronged expression on his face. "Sir, I think I've gotten into trouble..."

Saka was truly aggrieved. The task Vilan had given him was to maintain order and let them collect magic cores properly. However, such a simple task was disrupted after only one morning.

When he finally grabbed the three guys who were fighting, his head was about to explode.

However, his innate intelligence led him to make the right choice: to secretly tell Vilan.

After Vilan heard what had happened, the smile that had been on his lips vanished instantly, leaving only a pure calm.

"My worst fears have come true; I didn't expect it to happen so quickly."

"At least let me get ready first..."

Vilan sighed inwardly.

Yes, this is his biggest headache: the conflict between serfs and freemen, serfs and nobles, and freemen and nobles is bound to erupt.

As a modern person, he naturally believes that everyone should be born equal, but in this world, such a situation simply does not exist.

Serfs were the lowest of the low. In the eyes of the lords, they were merely tools and servants, and even the serfs themselves believed so.

Vilan had considered how to deal with this situation more than once, but there was still one problem he couldn't solve.

He lacks the ability, at least not yet, to break free of his shackles.

Of course, this contradiction isn't entirely without its advantages; for example, it presents a good opportunity to demonstrate the lord's authority.

Viran looked calmly at Saka. "What do you think we should do?"

Saka thought for a moment, then whispered, "Lord Vilan, how about I teach that bastard a lesson?"

"Good idea, but since it's a lesson, he needs to remember it. Bring them over, we'll talk about it later, let's not disturb everyone's lunch."

After finishing speaking, Vilan turned his head away and ignored Saka.

This guy is smart, but correspondingly, the smarter a person is, the more likely they are to slack off. It's time to put some pressure on him.