Chapter 521: Tax Reform 6
TL: Rui88
The material life that this current world cannot provide.
‘Is this the reason my lord works so hard?’ Bernard wondered to himself, but he simply could not imagine it.
“My lord, please forgive my shortsightedness, but I truly cannot imagine what you could possibly not obtain with your current power and wealth…if you were to truly use them.”
He once again raised a new question.
“Oh, Bernard.” Paul’s voice held a hint of pity. “I want to be able to communicate with a friend thousands of miles away with just the flick of a finger. Can this world give me that?”
“I want to browse news from all over the world while I eat, and exchange my views with all sorts of people from different places across the globe. Can this world give me that?”
“I want to record the interesting moments of my life as images, to take them out and savour them again and again in my leisure time. Can this world give me that?”
“Hoho, Bernard, I know what you want to say.” Paul raised a hand to stop his secretary, who was about to speak.
He continued, “Yes, you’re right. Couldn’t I accomplish the things I want by hiring more people, buying more fast horses, even building a few more optical relay stations, and hiring a few more painters? But…”“I want to be able to hear my friend’s voice and for him to hear mine when we talk. I want the news I read to be illustrated with both text and images. I want what I record to be…”
“If I said I wanted to concentrate everything I wish to do into a small, palm-sized box, one that I could operate with a single hand, could this world give me such a little box?”
“That’s impossible!” Hearing Paul’s “fantasy,” Bernard cried out in disbelief. “It’s impossible to create such a box in this world.”
“In this world, right now, Bernard.”
Paul added a modifier to Bernard’s statement. Bernard saw an expression of incredibly strong confidence appear on his face.
“But I believe it will be created sooner or later. A hundred years? Two hundred? Five hundred? A thousand? It’s only a matter of time.”
“And what I want to do is to push this process forward, to make this box… and everything it represents, appear in this world as soon as possible.”
Paul propped his feet up on the desk again, his voice tinged with a wistful tone as he said:
“Yes, to be pessimistic, I might not even see it appear in my lifetime. But a man has to have something to look forward to, doesn’t he? Wouldn’t you agree?”
The lord’s dream struck Bernard as both absurd and real. It was absurd because he didn’t believe such a device could exist, but it was real because of the confidence in his lord’s tone. Recalling Count Grayman’s various past inventions, Bernard couldn’t bring himself to dismiss his words as complete nonsense.
The office was quiet for a few seconds.
“Lord Grayman!” Bernard decided not to continue the previous topic. He took out a document and placed it on Paul’s desk.
“Lord Cecil asked me to give this document to you before he left. He had urgent business and couldn’t report to you in person. This file contains information on candidates for the position of Alda’s envoy to Horn Bay.”
Paul happily picked up the document. “Oh? So soon.”
With the changing situation in Horn Bay, Paul felt an increasing need for a permanent official representative there.
At first, he had considered Ladi Sertia, but taking into account the sensitivity of her identity as a witch at this critical juncture, as well as a small, selfish reason of his own, Paul ultimately ruled Ladi out.
After much reconsideration, he finally decided to choose from among the Northwesterners who were frequently active in Horn Bay…especially the merchants.
He instructed the Director of the Department of Intelligence, Cecil, to select a suitable candidate for him.
The reason he had Cecil do this was because the Department of Intelligence had connections with the merchants from the Northwest Bay who traveled to Horn Bay. They had asked these merchants to gather various kinds of information on Horn Bay within the scope of conventional means and provide it to the Department. Naturally, the identities and life stories of these merchants were on file with the Department of Intelligence, which was why Paul had entrusted the task of selecting an official representative to Cecil.
“So quickly… that fellow Cecil didn’t just find someone at random to fob me off, did he?”
Paul grumbled as he opened the file.
“Friedrich Liszt?”
…
General Fedotov of Collins watched with satisfaction as his own army forced the enemy Eton forces back step by step.
Among the Eton forces, there was a knight dressed in white armour and a white helmet who was very conspicuous. That was the ruler of this country, Grand Duke Cabre. Before the battle began, in accordance with ancient custom, the commanders of both sides had announced their names to each other, so Fedotov was able to recognise him.
At this moment, Grand Duke Cabre was fighting fiercely, brandishing a strangely shaped longsword. Almost none of the Crusader knights around him were his match. But one man’s bravery could not change the tide of the entire battle.
The Etonians fought very bravely, but their soldiers were somewhat green and clearly undertrained. Their coordination with one another was very poor.
Fedotov guessed that this was because Eton’s main force had gone to join up with the Horn Bay Alliance. It seemed the Crusader Army’s overall strategy had been very successful.
The goddess of victory was already beckoning to him.
“Hahaha!” Fedotov couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh.
“General, your great name will surely resound throughout Horn Bay from this day forward.”
His subordinate, Harper, obsequiously offered this flattery.
“My dear Harper,” Fedotov looked at him with some sarcasm, “it seems those witches who defeated you have not shown their faces today.”
“Er…” A flash of embarrassment crossed Harper’s face. “They must have feared your might, General, and fled ahead of time.”
“Hmph!” Fedotov did not doubt that Harper was lying; he believed Harper must have encountered witches.
According to the reports from soldiers who had fled back from the vanguard, that group of witches was led by a burly man wielding a thick iron chain. They seemed to have no fear of casualties, pulling out sharp blades to slash wantonly as they approached the Crusader soldiers. Yet when the Crusaders’ swords struck their thin leather armour, it was as if they had hit a metal plate, and the blades were all chipped.
Now, his main force had advanced and was crushing the Etonians’ hope bit by bit beneath the walls of Hydra.
That group of witches still had not come. The “pious” Fedotov believed it was precisely because the power of the Heavenly Father had blessed him that the witches were forced into hiding, too afraid to appear.
“Harper, open your eyes and watch closely. Even if those witches appear, it will be too late. Our army will surely crush them.”
Fedotov raised his head, full of confidence, and said this to his subordinate.
“General Fedotov!” “General Fedotov!”
A messenger on horseback was riding madly towards him.
For no reason, a bad premonition crept over Fedotov.