In Victoria, titled noble lords each possess their own territories. They govern their lands in their own ways, leading their people with varying approaches. These territories enjoy a degree of autonomy, often legislated through local councils.

To some extent, Victoria resembles a prelude to a tale of ice and fire—the plot has yet to unfold. The noble lords who rule over each county and region hold diverse stances: some are united, some xenophobic, and others, sycophantic.

These flatterers were none other than the former noble lords of Tara. After their nation fell, some clung desperately to their titles—but at what cost?

They now pay higher taxes and offer more gold to Victoria as the price for their survival and status.

Victoria has become the sun in their hearts. Some people, once on their knees, find themselves unable to stand again. So they continue kneeling.

They collude with Victorian officials, drafting laws under the guise of improving life for the Tara people—but who would believe such claims?

In truth, they join hands with the Victorians to oppress their own people—the Taran oppressing the Taran.

—

“Mom, I heard Dad’s coming back today.”

Mandragora rubbed her eyes as she opened the bedroom door. Her mother was busy in the kitchen. Since her injuries had mostly healed, she had found a new job along the streets where Tara people lived. Still, the pay was far less than what she used to earn in the Victorian factory.

Breakfast that morning was thin porridge—something Mandragora had long grown accustomed to. Her own bowl had the most ingredients, while her mother’s was little more than watery soup.

“Yes, they should have caught something big. Then every family can get some meat. Things might finally start looking up.”

Her mother stroked her head with a gentle smile. “Alright, come eat. You won’t be working these next few days, so remember to read and practice your writing at home.”

“…I know.”

Mandragora lowered her head, a faint shadow passing over her expression. What was the point of reading and writing? Could books save the Tara people? Could grammar outmatch the brutal might of Victorian officers? Could memorizing poetry earn mercy from the nobles?

She agreed only because it was her mother’s wish—but she felt no joy in it.

Once her mother left for work, Mandragora was alone in the room. She returned to her bedroom, pulled a collection of Victorian poetry from the shelf, and began to read.

Her thoughts wandered back to her last day working with the Pioneer brother just a few days ago. Though the work was tiring, lifting and moving things all day, she had felt a rare happiness—because there, she had a friend. A brother who listened, who treated her with warmth.

If Mandragora had to describe her young life in her own words, it was a life without sunlight. The Tara people lived in the shadows, in the sewers. Even the infected in Victoria had more rights than the Tara.

She began to miss her Pioneer brother—someone who truly listened to her. And she remembered those sunny afternoons, whispering her thoughts to Senomi.

‘I could bear the darkness if I had never seen the sun.’

Her mother hadn’t prepared any lunch. Most Tara families only had two meals a day—a meager breakfast and a modest dinner, usually consisting of some pasta.

As for school… Tara children weren’t allowed to attend. The only options were to stay home and study alone, or enter the factories early as child laborers to help support their families.

Mandragora was rather thin, and her mother feared she would get hurt working in a factory. So, she insisted Mandragora stay home and continue her studies.

By afternoon, Mandragora had begun to grumble to herself. She pursed her lips. During her days with the Pioneer brother, they would eat lunch together during the break. Now, separated from that brief taste of warmth, her body began to protest in quiet hunger.

A sudden noise from the street startled her. She leaned out the window and spotted four Victorian officers in military uniform standing at the entrance to Tara Street. One of them held a piece of paper and was reading something aloud.

Mandragora couldn’t make out the words from that distance. Grabbing the house key, she locked the door behind her and headed downstairs.

It was still early afternoon—most Tara laborers hadn’t returned from work yet. Only a few elderly residents and several children were gathered on the street.

“——Due to the current economic downturn, the Duke is considering salary adjustments. To survive the winter ahead, we ask for everyone’s cooperation.”

That was all Mandragora managed to hear. She watched silently as the officers posted the notice on the bulletin board before turning and leaving without another word.

The elderly shuffled closer, their faces worn and creased like the bark of old trees. They squinted, sighing and shaking their heads, leaning on their canes as they murmured amongst themselves.

Mandragora rose onto her tiptoes. She couldn’t recognize every word, but she understood enough.

The minimum wage for Tara workers was being reduced again.

The reason behind the change was as absurd as it was cruel. A Sankta envoy and some tourists had recently stayed in Oak Grove County and frequently interacted with the Tara people. The local Earl, eager to gain favor with the true rulers of Victoria, hoped they’d befriend the “real” citizens. If his name spread among them, all the better. Fueled by ambition and resentment, he preemptively posted the notice—broadcasting the Tara people’s lowly status as a silent warning. He wanted outsiders to keep their distance from these so-called “trash.”

In a way, Felix’s arrival had accelerated these events.

Mandragora’s hands curled into fists. As someone who often helped her mother shop, she was all too familiar with the prices in Oak Grove County. The Tara people already lived on the edge—many struggled to eat even once a day. With this wage cut, some would no longer be able to eat at all.

We just want to live ordinary lives. Just enough to eat. That’s all.

Her grip tightened. Why wasn’t that enough? Why did they have to take even this away? The Tara didn’t seek rebellion—they just wanted to survive.

The elders sighed deeply, while some of the sharper children, sensing what this meant for their families, began to cry softly.

Before dinner, word of the new law had spread. As people returned from work and read the posted notice, shock quickly turned into anger.

“Why?! We work so hard, and our wages are already lower than the Victorians—why are they cutting them again?!”

“They reduced our pay last year! We’ve been scraping by ever since! Those Tara nobles with their poisoned tongues—they don’t want us to live!”

“We can’t even afford food anymore… I’ve got a growing child at home—what am I supposed to do?!”

Mandragora stood at her doorway, expressionless. She looked across the street at her people, grinding their teeth and cursing the nobles. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“…Mother.”

“Come home now, I brought you some delicious food.”

Her mother’s voice was just as gentle as always, but the sadness in her eyes could not be hidden. Mandragora, perceptive beyond her years, saw it clearly—but she said nothing. She remained silent.

Back in her room, she stared at the collection of Victorian poetry on her desk and once again felt how utterly absurd everything was.

The next day, her father and the hunting team returned to Oak Grove County. These Tara men—young, strong, and among the bravest in the county—had been away for many years. But their expressions were grim. Upon leaving the team, they’d had a dispute with their employer over wages. The employer insisted on paying only two-thirds of their original salary, claiming it was a new law in Oak Grove County. If they had any objections, they were told to file a complaint at the local police station.

The men were filled with anger. Though some of it faded when they reunited with their families, it surged again when they read the newly posted law at the entrance to the street.

That night at dinner, her mother spoke more than usual. She even brought out a bottle of wine she had been saving for New Year’s and poured a glass for her husband. Her father said very little at first, but after a few drinks, he began to open up, recounting his time hunting in the wild. That night, there was meat on the table—a rare luxury for Tara families.

Mandragora remembered only that her father got drunk. He kept sighing and apologizing to the wall, though she didn’t know who he was apologizing to.

Perhaps… he was apologizing to her. For bringing her into this land of suffering as a Tara, even though life was already unbearably hard for everyone here.

Mandragora returned to bed, clutching her pillow, and cried quietly. She looked at the Victorian poetry collection beside her and felt a wave of disgust. She wanted to tear it all to shreds.

She wanted to become stronger—someone great in the eyes of the Tara people. She wanted to rise up and take revenge for all the pain her people had endured over the years.

On the morning of the third day, the long-awaited strike finally began. The Tara people laid down their tools, took to the streets of the Victorian districts, and marched toward the police station and the noble mansions. They protested the unjust decree. They marched for their survival—for their future!

Mandragora’s father also joined the march. Her mother’s anxiety grew with each passing day. Mandragora herself felt stifled inside her room. The sunlight outside seemed too harsh, almost blinding. She still followed the same routine—getting up each day to read and write—but the Victorian poetry collection had long been set aside, shelved since the summer.

On the fourth day, they marched.

On the fifth day, they marched.

On the sixth day, they marched.

On the seventh night, everyone returned home after another day of marching. They ate a simple meal and went to bed. After listening to her mother’s lullaby, Mandragora curled up under her blanket and slowly drifted into sleep.

On the seventh night, Victorian officers in military uniforms arrived at the entrance of Tara Street. Without warning, they began pouring gasoline in front of every house.

…

Felix had just finished his business trip in Kendall Town. By now, he had developed a habit when visiting a new place—he would always go twice.

The first visit was to send a signal to the players: the pioneers had arrived and would be staying for a few days. This gave nearby players the opportunity to pause their quests and come meet Felix to purchase equipment.

The second visit was for the players who had traveled long distances just to see him—like the professional players from Yanyu Pavilion. These players came with deep pockets and plenty of experience. In Felix’s eyes, they were walking gold mines.

That was also why he temporarily left Kendall. There were no factories there, making it unsuitable for his work. So he had no choice but to return to Oak Grove County.

By dusk, Felix drove to the gates of Oak Grove County. The Victorian Mounted Police stationed there already recognized him. Even the local nobles had instructed them not to provoke messengers like Felix, who wandered these lands. Naturally, they treated him with respect.

But the streets looked a mess. Felix was puzzled. He turned to a mounted officer on duty and asked, “Why does the street look so chaotic? What happened?”

The officer’s face turned grim. “It’s those damned Taran—foul-mouthed and ungrateful! Marching and demonstrating in the streets every day, disturbing the peace in Oak Grove County. Tourists are getting scared off. It’s a curse, truly a curse for Victoria!”

“I see…” Felix replied mildly.

Degenbrecher,seated in the passenger seat, said nothing. The two returned to the same hotel they had stayed at before. Degenbrecher stepped out with Senomi.

“Is it a new law? I overheard some of the troopers muttering about it,” Degenbrecher remarked.

“You’ve got good ears,” Felix said with a nod. “Did you catch what the decree said?”

Degenbrecher recalled, “The wages of the Tara people were cut because the county’s economy is supposedly in trouble.”

“Degenbrecher, do you believe that?”

“I don’t.”

“Well, what a coincidence. Neither do I.”

Degenbrecher grinned. “So, Boss, are you planning to help those Tara people—homeless and barely surviving?”

Later, Felix tucked Senomi in, pulling the quilt gently over her and kissing her on the forehead. Senomi flinched and shrank under the covers, blushing with fear and shyness.

‘Master… isn’t this a little too fast? But I’m ready… please be gentle…’

She lay still for a long while, listening to the fading footsteps. Eventually, she realized her master and Sister Degenbrecher had already left the room. With a pout and an empty feeling in her chest, she sighed.

Felix continued walking and said, “If I had a mobile city, I’d absolutely do it.”

Degenbrecher shook her head, quietly moved. “This is the first time I’ve realized, Boss, that you have such grand ambitions.”

“Ambition…?”

“Boss, do you want to create a pure land like Laterano in this land of suffering?” Degenbrecher asked, pausing briefly before continuing, “Or are you planning to establish a power… or even a nation?”

“Let’s start with power,” Felix replied calmly. “To do that, a mobile city is essential… Once we get to Columbia, you’ll understand just how much technology I still need.”

The two of them sat quietly on the balcony, sipping tea and enjoying the tranquility of the night.

This was the first time Degenbrecher had ever heard Felix speak openly about his goals. All she could say was—this was just like him. What he aimed for was so grand and luminous that some would scoff at it as a wild dream… but many others would come to respect him deeply for it.

As for Degenbrecher—her role was clear. She would become Felix’s Sword, and his shield.

“Huh? Is there a bonfire party tonight?”

Felix narrowed his eyes, noticing a red glow rising in the direction of Tara Street, as if the sunset refused to end.

Degenbrecher immediately stood up, vaulted onto the rooftop in a single fluid motion, and her expression darkened. “Boss, Tara Street is on fire!”

Felix’s eyes widened. He turned swiftly and began equipping his gear. “Degenbrecher, come with me. We need to check the situation.”

Behind them, Degenbrecher gently brushed her fingers across Senomi’s sleeping form, then lowered her gaze and sighed softly.

Perhaps this was a battle… with no enemy.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep