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Arc 9-06
🕑 Added 2026-01-22 04:46:01 +0000 UTCDuring my first inspection of the school, I spent the entire day telling Rigorson what he was doing wrong. Not exactly wrong; Rigorson is a competent man or he wouldn’t have the job. I mean things I wanted to change, either because someone in the clan had a better way or I simply didn’t like it.
Now? One problem. Big improvement, though the issue is a new level of annoying.
Like I told my headmaster, I don’t expect the people of Quest to understand the value of education. Unfortunately, I still need them to learn. That leaves me in the ridiculous position of having to entice them into bettering themselves. As I refuse to line the stone path to Cosmian’s doors with crowns, I turn to the next effective lure: food.
It’s a simple deal. Attend a morning of classes, get a free meal. Nothing fancy, but given the recent famine scare, everyone’s grateful for every plate. They tend to stick around after eating, too lazy to leave, a quiet trap to get them to attend one final class.
I told Rigorson to hire some of the women of the city to handle the cooking, as it’s a job most are qualified for and every family is looking to make a little extra. Apparently, I should have specified how much to pay them. Silly me thinking it’s common sense to pay them a laborer’s wage. For some unsaintly reason, Rigorson thought they should get an apprentice’s pay. Seven bronze a week. Seven. I couldn’t believe it, sitting with a dropped jaw as he explained that it was the standard for the menial jobs around the school.
I blame him not being married. Otherwise, he would understand the worth of a good cook, especially one willing to cook for hundreds of mouths, day after day. He tried to argue against me, claiming it would strain the budget I set for them. Good manager, Rigorson, but not the best at herding numbers. I’m sure I could have trimmed the edges to make space, or more likely had a succubus do it, but in a mood, I simply shouted that if he has to choose between cooking and cleaning, he better choose the cook. His students are grown men and women. The least they can do is clean up after themselves.
He actually liked the half-baked idea, spouting something about discipline and community. Satisfied that he wouldn’t be paying the people with access to everyone’s food, and therefore their overall welfare, scraps, I left him to it.
“Finally,” I groan as I step back into the sun. The inspection didn’t even take an hour, but I feel like I’ve been released from the palace’s dungeons.
“Almost done, my summoner.” Geneva offers, deftly unsnapping the half-cape off my shoulder. Talia is so dramatic with everyone’s style but her own.
“Why didn’t I have you do this again?”
“Because the only individuals more hated than you are the tricky, scheming, husband-stealing succubi you keep at your side.”
Sigh. “One more stop.”
“For today.”
I cover my face and groan into my palms. Thankfully, that doesn’t keep me from hearing a very worrying phrase.
“We should knock down that ugly statue.”
With my ears, I hear all kinds of things, but like learning how to sleep through early morning bird song, I ignore most of it. It’s not the only threat I’ve heard against the school. Not even the worst, considering. But I take personal offense to them targeting the statue. And they dare call it ugly? My base form is that exact color. They’re insulting me too!
Geneva chuckles as I circle the school, though I don’t know what has her so amused. I’m not going to do anything to them. Maybe gently correct their aesthetics.
Peeking around the back of the school gives me flashbacks to little Lou spying on her father, a bittersweet feeling. One that is quickly smothered by annoyance as I take in the young men squatting in a circle behind the school when they should be in class. Damn. It’s one thing, intellectually, to know that my reforms won’t be welcomed with open arms, but it’s another thing to watch people figuratively spitting on my goodwill.
“Stupid noble,” one of the boys gripes. None of them have seen a second decade, I’d bet gold on it. “Making us waste our time here when there’s good pay going down the drain. Have you heard what they’re paying the builders? Ten bronze a day. That’s crazy.”
Eh, not really. Seventy bronze a week is about three silver a month. The crews add up to about five hundred workers across the city. That’s fifteen gold a month. A fraction of what I got for a few scribbles.
If I ever doubted the disparity between nobles and commoners, looking at Geneva’s budget would have set me straight.
“I also heard that crews get first pick of the houses.”
Not exactly true. Previous homeowners with deeds to demolished properties to prove it get first pick. The crews get second. But, given that the houses are the all the same, since standardization is cheap and functional, all they’re really picking is their district. Biggest benefit there is deciding which manabeast they want to live next to.
“Can you believe that no one under twenty is allowed to work on a site?” one scoffed, kicking a stone. “What are we supposed to do all day, jerk our cocks?”
Learn. You’re supposed to be learning.
“Better get used to it. She banned whorehouses.”
See, this is why you should be in the building. I would never do something so uncouth. What I did was standardize it. Excuse me for not wanting to see women traded for scraps. It’s honest work, they deserve an honest wage. What I got rid of were the pestilence-laden, despair pits where the most unspeakable acts took place. The kind of place that festers after a tragedy, when a bunch of desperate and angry people are left to their own devices. If these bastards are complaining about not being able to trade loaves of bread for girls, I might hurt them. This better be an idiotic misunderstanding.
“Doesn’t surprise me. Lady Pervert wants to keep all the women for herself. I hear she’s got four mistresses, the lucky goldlicker.”
Four? I suppose someone might mistake Alana and Talia for mistresses but that’s two.
“Heard it was five. You know, the Guiness woman with the big…”
“She’s not a mistress. She just slept with Lady Pervert to get her building.”
“Obviously. How else do you get a whole piece of the city?”
Through smart business. Besides, it’s nowhere near the whole district. Just a substantial part of one of the city’s markets.
“Saints’ shiny balls, this is such a waste of time. Come on!” The instigator jumps to his feet. “I’m not wasting another minute here. Let’s get out of here.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Gonna catch one of them ringaloos. Or maybe the lekkans. I want some meat instead all that green nonsense in the rations.”
“Damn, that’s a great idea. At least that’s one good thing Lady Pervert did. Whole city full of prey, hah! We’ll be eating good.”
“Till we’ve killed everything. I’d bet my right arm everyone else’s had the same idea.”
“Well, hurry up then!”
I step out of my hiding place as the boys run in the opposite direction, too absorbed in their innocent bloodlust to notice their audience. “I was going to discipline the bastards, but they’re headed for a far worse time.” The Temple does not take kindly to those who disturb their smaller brethren. “Do you think they know that trapping is illegal?”
“I doubt it,” Geneva hums. “They are outside of class.”
“They’re some of the lost, I guess.”
“You can stop it.”
“No, it’s their right to choose.” Though I almost changed my mind when I heard Geneva’s prediction. Seventy percent. That’s how many Geneva believes will reject my reforms. More than half will scoff at the idea of education, sticking to their failing traditions. The number is so enormous that it will influence the next generation, despite the living proof to the contrary that will be walking amongst them. She estimates fifty-percent of the next generation will reject my ways. It’ll take four generations to get that number down to a somewhat acceptable seventeen percent. Five to get it below ten. Saints knows how long to convince the most stubborn.
And that’s her best prediction.
“Makes me wonder why I bother,” I mutter as I watch the retreating troublemakers.
I turn to the silent succubus. “That’s when you say something uplifting, you know.”
“But Lou.” Her smile widens. “I’d much rather you give into your dark impulses.”
“…say something uplifting.”
“It seems daunting, but you are quite literally changing the world. Bringing humanity back from the brink. You may lose a few, but is it not a worthy sacrifice to build a nation of heroes?”
“Better.” A nation of heroes, is it? Sounds far too much like a story. A tale of horror. “And what do we do when our heroes become another nation full of elf-bait?”
“Is that not the point of self-governance? They should find the answer themselves.”
That manages to put a smile on my face. “One more stop then.”
“Yes, though I’d hardly call it business.”
