Chapter 198: No Choice

“My wife is pregnant.” Baron Jeffrey Sacker suddenly spoke.

Under the oppressive gaze of Bevan Morton, Jeffrey abruptly said this.

Bevan’s eyes were filled with doubt, not understanding why Jeffrey would suddenly say such a thing.

“My three mistresses are also all pregnant,” Jeffrey continued.

Bevan was stunned, then his expression changed.

“These past few days, I had people visit several villages to inquire about the pregnancy situation among the women there. But as of this year, in those villages, fewer than five percent of women of childbearing age are pregnant.” Jeffrey turned to look at Administrator Piero, who had fallen into thought.

“Administrator Piero, you must have received similar reports from the lower officials, correct?” he asked.

Piero nodded, then added, “So far, in reality, including the women of childbearing age in town, the overall pregnancy rate is only three percent.”

Jeffrey nodded, then looked at the pale-faced Bevan and asked, “Sir Bevan, how many women have become pregnant for you this year?”

“…Five, that I know of,” Bevan replied in a hoarse voice.

“Ha, seems Sir Bevan is still quite vigorous,” Jeffrey couldn’t help but quip, but seeing Bevan’s darkening expression, he quickly added,

“After I discovered this problem a while ago, I sought out a merchant’s daughter in town for a one-night stand. I had people keep an eye on her afterward, and yesterday, they told me she showed signs of pregnancy.”

“Then I had Francis find a few prostitutes, keep them under contract, and continue planting seeds. Some time ago, I received feedback—three of them became pregnant.”

Francis was Jeffrey’s sixteen-year-old illegitimate son, and his eldest one.

“Judging from this information alone, one might think the noble bloodline simply makes us more fertile.” Jeffrey cracked a cold joke, but no one laughed.

Piero didn’t either—the implication behind this was far too grave.

Bevan sat down, then suddenly said, “…It’s a phenomenon that appeared after New Year, after that bell rang.”

As he spoke, he looked toward Piero.

Piero closed his eyes, recalling the information he had received in his administration. After a moment, he finally remembered the timing and nodded at Bevan.

Bevan’s body seemed to lose all strength, slumping back into his chair.

Piero spoke, “By usual precedent, after a period of war, during the return to peace, the population in a territory should experience a boom.”

“For a viscountcy, the population usually only stops booming when it reaches around forty thousand, while for a barony it’s about fifteen thousand. That means, in theory, the population of all York Territory should only begin slowing once it reaches eighty-five thousand.”

“But as of now, it’s been a month and a half, and the number of pregnant women is even less than two years ago.”

Piero was an excellent official—he could give a rough estimate even without being in his office.

Before today, he had been pleased, because it meant the grain harvest from the second half of last year could feed them for three to five years. But now, he realized the seriousness of the matter.

After all, Piero was also a member of the privileged class.

The three of them fell silent.

The Senate was utterly quiet—even the deaf servants could sense something was wrong, their bodies trembling with fear.

“I’ll report the matter of negotiating with the Fishmen to the bishop,” Piero suddenly said. “If the Fishmen really intend to attack York Territory, and with the south already blocked, for the three of us now, this is our only choice.”

“What about the ship?” Jeffrey asked. “Whether it’s approved or not, with Odo Village there and the current blockade, we must develop Lake Salvador’s resources. So, large ships are essential. Also, we can try to establish trade across the lake with the south.”

“I’ll bring that matter to Dean Oscar,” Piero replied. “But the cost of shipbuilding will need to come from the local gentry—Sir Jeffrey, please handle that.”

Jeffrey nodded in agreement.

The two tacitly avoided speaking to Bevan.

After a brief discussion, the three left the Senate. Piero rushed overnight to the Church, while Jeffrey and Bevan circled around to a hidden secret room.

“…Has the Church stripped nobles of their bloodline?” Bevan’s voice was low and hoarse.

“So what if they have, and what if they haven’t?” Jeffrey replied. “We are merely prisoners; the road out is already sealed.”

“Do you want to head west, try leaving through the Northwind Mountains—the domain of Dark Creatures? Or go all the way north, risk crossing the Nation of Werewolves, then the Cross Painted in Blood Theocracy that kills any noble on sight, and then cross the domains of Fishmen and Dark Creatures to reach the northern kingdoms?”

“All dead ends, Bevan. We’re already trapped in a massive cage. I even think this situation was engineered by the Church. Everyone saw the southern nobles building the Great Wall, and back then, no knights were sent to negotiate with them.”

“And the Church has Holy Relics— even with the blockade, they could blast through it.”

“Bevan, you’ve seen the place struck by the Hunting Fang. Power on that level could definitely destroy the Great Wall.”

“We have no choice left.” Jeffrey sighed.

“There’s still the lake route,” Bevan said, though without any hope in his voice.

“Yes, we could take a large ship out—but do you think the Church doesn’t know?” Jeffrey’s voice was calm. “In fact, my proposal to build ships is not only because it’s necessary to develop Lake Salvador, but also to see what the Church thinks about opening the lake route.”

“Whether they’re unconcerned about us leaving by lake or they continue the blockade—neither outcome is good.”

“Why does the Church want to pen us in…” Bevan’s voice was almost dazed. “Without knights, warriors, territory, or even our bloodline, do we really have any reason the Church needs to keep us in York Territory?”

They could keep York Territory’s administration running thanks to their governing experience, but ultimately York was only so big. The three Scholar-Teachers of the Monastery had all served as territorial governors—each could manage a territory four times York’s size.

And the apprentices could serve as officials as well.

“They do need us. Very much so,” Jeffrey said, his tone still calm, but behind it lay abyssal despair.

“The Church is building a new order. We are the old nobles. When the Church’s reach inevitably encounters new nobles, after removing their military threat, the Church can use us as examples—showing that as long as they follow Church rules, they can live, even keep some power.”

“In this way, the Church won’t appear to nobles as pure madmen and enemies like the Theocracy, but as an empire in the Church’s name, bearing new rules.”

“Just like the empires that once unified the continent, bringing new rules to human civilization.”

“Even if the Church claims not to be involved in politics, who would believe it? Refusing to play by existing rules and instead making new ones is itself the act of a ruler—a king, an emperor.”

In the secret room, the silence was suffocating. The two barons struggled in the depths of pain, as though drowning.

“So you’ve decided to bet on the Church?” Bevan asked.

“I have no other choice,” Jeffrey said. “Knight Wolf is still here. Even though Puniel took some conscripted warriors away, the Church’s sharpest sword remains in the territory.”

“Knight Wolf is right beside us, and the southern and western borders are guarded by the lords’ knights. Even if the reason given is to defend against southern nobles, who knows if it’s also to watch us?”

“What about Puniel? Does he know this news?” Bevan pressed.

“He has no choice either,” Jeffrey said. “He has enough warriors and knights now, but his side is already in ruins. Even if he declared independence, so what? Could he feed all those warriors and knights?”

“Besides, those conscripted warriors are in it for glory and gain. They dream of returning to white doves and flower-strewn paths. Their families are still in York Territory.”

“And most importantly—if you were a commoner, accustomed to York’s current life, would you want to live in another noble’s land?”

“What we nobles desire is absolute freedom—the freedom to decide anything. But in York, the commoners are no longer caged by our top-down power. They can at least run freely within the territory, fill their cellars with their own grain from the green fields, and they have a limited freedom.”

“Remember what I said before—noble power comes from a trade offered by commoners? Those conscripted warriors won’t want to make that trade with Puniel.”

“And I think Puniel is probably the first to bet on the Church,” Jeffrey concluded.

“Why?” Bevan asked.

“As supreme commander, he could have pulled a lot of strings. But until now, Puniel hasn’t done anything like that. Even with the apprentices from the Monastery, he’s been teaching them societal knowledge—albeit roughly.” Jeffrey sneered. “And in over half a year, he hasn’t taken a single mistress!”

“So he’s aiming for…?” Bevan frowned.

“The Church’s faith is lofty, and lofty faith can only demand from oneself—not from others,” Jeffrey said. “If those lofty priests managed the territory’s administration, if they had to touch filthy politics—can you imagine it?”

“Likewise, when the Church needs to wage war, they’ll need an excellent, battle-tested general.”

“Temple Warriors led by priests aren’t easily fielded in numbers—currently there are fewer than twenty active Temple Warriors.”

“And with the Church’s moral standards, warriors fighting alongside priests would only have their morale collapse, maybe even turn their spears on the priests.”

“You know it, Bevan—aside from the most iron-willed knights, only warriors full of desire are the strongest.”

“Knight Wolf is strong, but as a commander he can only handle under three hundred warriors, and only for raids. If the Church moves like an empire to attack other nobles, he’s not enough.”

“I see…” Bevan closed his eyes, chest rising and falling. “That brute Puniel sees clearer than us…”

“Puniel is a noble, but also a general and knight. He believes in the strong devouring the weak, so he can accept it quickly,” Jeffrey said. “We, however, deal in politics—believing everything has a price and can be traded.”

“Hah… huu…” Bevan exhaled deeply, forcing himself to calm down.

“What about the Fishmen? They’re another race. Even though the Principality of Corlay once had trade agreements with them, if given the chance, I doubt they’d mind killing us,” he said.

“Trust the bishop. Like Piero said—we three are powerless regarding the Fishmen,” Jeffrey said, standing and patting Bevan’s shoulder.

“Shall we tell Puniel about this?” Bevan asked.

“Though I’d rather not, for now we’re together in this—so yes, we should tell him,” Jeffrey replied.

“Tomorrow, introduce me to Scholar Caleb. I want him as my teacher,” Bevan said.

This made Jeffrey fall silent. After a long while, he finally said, “…The Monastery is open to us. Its knowledge is open, and the scholars are free—they do not serve the nobles.”

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