Chapter 1858 - 512: All Can Hear the Oracle, Even the "Shoe-Thrower

Theoden sat back in his chair, the anger dissipating somewhat, replaced by an expression of uncertainty in his eyes.

Wickton was right.

It was as if he had a herd of fat pigs but, due to some ancient rule, could only watch them grow fatter without being able to take a single bite of meat.

"Baron Wickton, my minister, it seems I've wronged you. As you said, there are too many bad people around us... Do you have any good suggestions?"

"Of course!"

Baron Wickton raised his head, with dangerous and cunning glints in his eyes, and continued in a lowered voice.

"The ancient contracts limit the taxes we can collect from the nobles, and if we impose too much, we'd be labeled as tyrants. But if we levy taxes for the survival of the Kingdom, even if they oppose, they surely wouldn't want to see their biggest 'debtor' go bankrupt."

Theoden showed a glimmer of interest on his face, leaning slightly forward in his seat.

"You mean?"

Wickton revealed his intentions, presenting his meticulously crafted "middle plan" to the King.

"I suggest that you issue an order to unprecedentedly summon the representatives of the three levels of citizens to your castle for a meeting! We need to let the commoners know how much they have contributed to our Kingdom, and use their anger to pressure those nobles and priests, to make the first and second-level citizens realize how much they owe us! Then we need to rethink our taxation system to squeeze out the Gold Coins from the hands of the nobles and priests!"

Theoden was stunned.

He simulated this plan in his mind, finding it increasingly ingenious, almost like the tactics he employed in the Twilight Province.

Leveraging strength against strength was indeed his forte!

Making those lofty priests and nobles shell out money for their honor in front of the Kingdom's subjects—was there anything more wonderful?

If they refused, it was disloyalty to the crown. If they agreed, it would naturally be the best, and the crisis of the national vault would be easily resolved!

This was simply a brilliant idea!

The smile on the King's face carried a hint of satisfaction, and a renewed brightness shone in his cloudy eyes, as if he had entered his comfort zone.

"Very well, Baron Wickton. I knew that among my subjects, there are still good people—they just lack an opportunity to prove their loyalty."

Baron Wickton, kneeling on one knee, respectfully nodded, placing his right hand against his chest.

"It is my honor to serve you..."

The King nodded in satisfaction, lightly tapping his forefinger on the table, after a moment's thought, he spoke.

"I would like you to preside over this... hmm, 'Three-level Council,' how do you like the name?"

Baron Wickton was not at all surprised that the King would assign this difficult task to him, after all, it wasn't the first day the King operated this way.

But this time was different; it wasn't the slums on fire but the Kingdom's Vault. He believed that for the sake of Gold Coins, His Majesty certainly wouldn't let him fight alone.

"I think... the name is simply brilliant."

...

Unlike the tranquility of Roland City's suburbs, the nights in the Thunder City New Industrial Zone were always shrouded in the pungent smell of boiler water and cheap alcohol.

In a cheap tavern called "Hammer and Wine Glass," the noisy voices almost lifted the low ceiling.

"Shoe-dropper" Old Abel crouched by a wobbly, one-legged table in the corner, with only a glass of free water before him.

A few months ago, a poor soul like him, occupying space without spending, would have been tossed out like garbage by the staff.

At the very least, he would have been urged multiple times.

Yet today, the normally snobbish tavern owner surprisingly displayed gentlemanly demeanor, not only not kicking him out but personally instructing the waiter to refill his water—

"Let this gentleman stay; everyone has tough times. I believe once he gets out of this low point, he will surely remember to come and have a drink."

That was the tavern owner's original words.

Of course, he didn't say that out of kindness.

Old Abel knew all too well that the citizens of Thunder City wouldn't truly respect peasants like him from the countryside; that guy was hypocritical inside.

Yet as society deteriorated, this guy was carried by a group of drunks into the Duke's council chamber, transforming overnight into a gentleman drinking tea and smoking cigars at the council table. Meanwhile, the mud-trodden folks of yesterday all became respectable, and started cherishing their cloaks.

Although Abel felt sacrilegious, why should a beer seller become a council member? Did he have any blood of the Holy Light in his veins?

Even Baron Ges was better than him!

At least his servant could whip the old farmers of Silver Pine Town off the ground like tops, while a tavern owner knew nothing but selling beer?

Nonetheless, Old Abel did not refuse this hypocritical kindness. It wasn't that he couldn't afford to buy a drink, but he had four children to raise, and the entire family depended on his salary, every penny needed to be split in two.

Sitting in the tavern, listening to the workers brag was one of his few enjoyments, just as he did back in Silver Pine Town.

The owner there was genuinely kind, although he wouldn't pour him a glass of water, he never looked down on him from the heart.

Because they lived in the same town, where everyone frequently encountered each other.

Gazing at the wooden cup brimming with water, listening to the unintelligible clamor, Old Abel sighed inwardly, reminiscing about those gone and irrevocable cherished times.