Chapter 19 - Refugees (2)

About two days after leaving the royal capital, we arrived at Bart, supposedly the largest city in the Elboa territory. We gazed at the city gates from a distance.

While it couldn't compare to Beagra, the heart of this country, Bart was still an impressive city. The city walls were so tall you had to crane your neck to see the top, and the gates seemed quite sturdy, imbued with powerful protective magic.

In these times of war, a city's greatness isn't determined by its history, but by how high its walls are and how strong its gates are. No matter how magnificent a city might be, if it can't withstand the demons' onslaught, it's no better than a sandcastle.

"Miss Ivanna, have you been to Bart before?"

As we slowly turned towards the checkpoint, I casually threw this question at Ivanna.

Ivanna replied with a calm face, "Yes, I have relatives here. I stayed with them briefly when I was a refugee."

She apologized, bowing her head, saying that the stay wasn't long enough for her to know the city's geography well.

The word "refugee" that naturally slipped out momentarily left me speechless.

Refugees aren't rare these days. There are plenty of people who've lost their homes and been pushed down here, and Ivanna was just one of them.

I knew it was just that simple, but the word "refugee" kept lingering in my mind.

"Your relative..."

"I tried to contact them after settling down, but I lost touch. They were elderly, so probably..."

"......"

I'd meant to change the subject, but it only made the atmosphere more awkward.

Thinking it might be better to just enter the city quickly, I hurried towards the checkpoint.

As we were about to descend the hill towards the checkpoint, I noticed a group approaching us.

They were all dressed differently, carrying large loads on their backs like peddlers. Each of them bore at least one wound, with some so badly injured that their faces were almost completely covered in bandages, leaving only one eye visible.

They approached us, passed by without doing anything, and left for somewhere.

Feeling uneasy about the unsettling sensation in my chest, I approached the checkpoint.

Soon, soldiers with spears appeared, blocking our way with tired faces. They didn't point their spears at us, but it was clear they would if necessary.

"Sorry, but we're not accepting refugees."

The soldier spoke firmly, saying there were no exceptions, even for nobles.

"...Were those people earlier refugees?"

"Huh? You're talking as if you're not."

"We've come from the royal capital on the king's orders."

Suddenly hearing the title of such a distant existence, fear crept into the soldier's eyes. Was it the mention of royalty that scared him?

Soon, someone who looked like their superior came out of the checkpoint. After confirming the royal decree with the king's seal, he asked with a startled expression:

"C-Count, Your Excellency?"

"I've been granted the El Berg Mountains as my territory and am on my way there. I've come here to rest briefly."

When I mentioned that I was also here to fulfill the bandit subjugation order, he momentarily showed a sad expression before quickly changing it and saying:

"My subordinate has been rude. They're lowly folk who couldn't recognize noble figures. Please forgive them."

"He was only diligently performing his duty. There's nothing to blame."

"Thank you for your generous words. I'm Knight Dens, in charge of checkpoint security. If you don't mind, I'll guide you to the administrator's residence."

*****

Guided by Knight Dens, the Bart we saw was so lifeless it was hard to believe it was the best city in this territory. It felt more like a funeral than a city.

Just as disease spreads when you're with the sick, it seems gloom spreads like a disease too.

In these times, good things were rare enough to count on one hand, while reasons to cry were countless.

One person's misfortune spreads to another, continuing endlessly until a cycle of sorrow engulfs the entire city.

"Is it always this gloomy?"

"It's a difficult time. Even if there's something to smile about, you can't bring yourself to do it when you see those around you."

The administrator's mansion we arrived at, guided by Dens, was rather modest for the residence of an official governing a region.

The administrator is a bureaucrat who oversees all matters related to the territory on behalf of the king. Given their power, equivalent to that of a viscount or higher, they're typically high-ranking officials recognized in the royal capital.

Such officials usually have grand mansions, but compared to the luxurious villas in the capital, this mansion was little more than a hut.

"It seems the administrator of Elboa territory is a frugal person. I'm impressed."

In other words, it was also evidence that the administrator of Elboa territory wasn't using tax money for personal gain.

As I spoke with genuine admiration, Knight Dens scratched his head as if he'd been praised himself and said:

"Haha, that's part of it. Actually, this city isn't that well off."

"Surely they could at least fill their own belly. It must be thanks to the administrator's self-restraint."

Dens, his mood visibly improved, laughed heartily and knocked on the door.

Soon, an old maid came out, looked back and forth between us and Dens, and then, changing her expression, said:

"Are you guests of the Viscount?"

"Yes, old lady. Is the Viscount in now?"

"Yes. Please come in."

So the administrator's title is Viscount.

The maid went to call the Viscount, and we followed Dens to the reception room.

Not long after waiting in the reception room, a middle-aged man in a neat suit came in and greeted us with a refined posture.

"I-I'm Viscount Hamkin, in charge of managing this territory."

The man was somewhat plump, but not unhealthily obese—just enough to be considered endearing.

His hair was neatly parted 5:5 and very tidy, but there were ink-like stains on his sleeves.

He must have been focused on official duties until just now.

"There's no need for such formality. We're just here to impose on you for one night."

"H-How could I treat someone bearing His Majesty's decree carelessly?"

"Thank you for saying so. And this is a personal order I received. I heard bandits have been rampant in this area?"

"Y-Yes?"

"Am I wrong? That's what I heard from His Majesty. To subjugate the bandit group running wild in this region."

"......"

Hamkin's face hardened as if he'd heard something he shouldn't have, and he couldn't continue speaking.

Seeing him at a loss for words, as if someone had forcibly shut his mouth, there must be some circumstances.

...What the hell is that bastard trying to make me do?

I thought something was off when I heard about subjugating the bandit group, but judging by his reaction, it seems it's no ordinary matter.

Hamkin, regaining his composure, swallowed audibly and wiped away cold sweat.

Seeing his typical flustered behavior, I gave him a moment to collect himself.

And then...

"Viscount. What I'm about to say is just between us, not to be heard by His Majesty or even the ears of the Goddess."

"...Pardon?"

"I mean, whatever comes out of your mouth, I'll keep it secret. In fact, I don't care if the king's orders aren't followed."

Hamkin, bewildered, stared at me blankly as if I was spouting nonsense.

Well, if it were me a few weeks ago, I might have reacted similarly if I saw someone treating a royal decree this way.

"If I may venture a guess, there's some circumstance with these so-called bandits, isn't there?"

"......"

"Wouldn't it be better to just speak honestly rather than have unnecessary bloodshed?"

"A-Actually..."

Unable to withstand what was close to a threat, the weak-willed Hamkin finally spilled everything.

It wasn't that there were no bandits. They did plunder military supplies meant for the battlefield and sometimes robbed peddlers.

But it wasn't by their own will. It was a desperate struggle to survive, poor souls who chose survival at the crossroads of morality and existence.

"...The true identity of the bandit group is refugees."

People who lost their homes in the long war wandered everywhere looking for a new home, but poverty was the same everywhere, and Elboa was no exception.

Hamkin said that a royal decree had come down absolutely forbidding the acceptance of refugees.

The reason being that with supplies for the front lines already lacking, they couldn't afford unnecessary waste.

"The leader of the refugees, Baron David, was originally a noble with his own territory. But he lost his land in the war and drifted here."

"If he's a noble, he must have knights. Isn't that more dangerous than ordinary bandits?"

"K-Knights, you say? It's barely ten men. Honestly, we could kill them anytime if we wanted to."

"Is the reason you're keeping them alive because of the refugees?"

"...About three thousand refugees have gathered around him. If he dies, all those refugees would starve to death."

Originally, they survived on wild plants and game, but as their numbers grew, that wasn't enough to feed all the mouths.

"So we, I mean I, put on a kind of act..."

"An act?"

"...We disguised food as military supplies and delivered it to Baron David in the form of 'plunder'. It was against the king's orders, but we couldn't let so many people die...!! Please, let it end with just me! My subordinates know nothing...!!"

"......"

I was speechless.

I didn't know what to say.

To think such a king exists, such a country exists.

For the first time in my life, I felt so ashamed of being born a noble of this kingdom that I wanted to die.

Even during that Hero Coin fiasco, it wasn't this bad...

As I stood there, at a loss for words, Ivanna, who had been silent all this time, asked:

"Your Excellency, what will you do?"

"......"

"Will you ignore the refugees and hurry on our way? Or..."

Or...