Chapter 9: Not Good

“Back again, what a terrible day, these unruly villagers.”

Standing on the hilltop, Sigg, with his horse grazing behind him, looked down at the village below.

He stepped on a rock, frowning, his mood far from pleasant, arms crossed over his chest, gently shaking his head.

He put on an air of menace, but wait, we’re the ones who came here.

Perhaps he was thinking about what happened a year ago.

Back then, freshly freed, his strength barely a tenth of what it was, he was practically a dancing fool.

Following the woman beside him to her so-called hometown, he thought he’d get a good meal, replenish his energy. But who could’ve imagined…

They threw stones at me, so I used stones to build a little house.

They shot arrows at me, so I used a straw boat to borrow their arrows.

They threw dung at me, so I turned it into tarts~ oh~ oh oh~.

Sighing, he returned to the point, finally asking after holding it in for so long.

“…So, what are we here for, Emilia?”

“I’m here to pay respects to my parents in this world.”

Emilia’s calm voice broke the silence.

A trace of tranquility flickered in her eyes, though her delicate, porcelain-like face couldn’t hide a touch of sadness.

Her gaze lowered slightly, silver hair swaying in the wind, carrying hints of memories and warmth.

By that reckoning, this was her last attachment to this world.

Her blood-red eyes reflected the village, noticing something off.

In broad daylight, the village was sparsely populated, mostly elderly folk, and even the crops looked wilted.

“Oh, is that so? I understand. If that’s the case, I’ll go with you. Hopefully, we won’t get beaten or scolded for no reason. Even I have a fragile heart, fragile enough to snap and kill someone. Don’t worry, if you get attacked, I’ll be the first to run.”

He spoke with a meaningful tone, seemingly agreeing with her, but his face showed no trace of a smile, just a stern, deadpan expression, as if he meant it.

Those who truly want to win don’t smile.

He stared at the girl, about to say something more.

Then, with a sudden kick from the horse behind him, he was sent flying, tumbling down with a strong sense of being pushed.

That was probably his last thought as he rolled.

Under the pull of gravity, he tumbled and crawled to the village entrance, muttering repeatedly: “Goddamn it.”

“You okay, Sigg?”

Emilia was startled, watching her companion roll down the hill, powerless to stop him, like a useless husband in a movie.

Without overthinking, she grabbed the horse’s reins and hurried down, trying to keep up with him.

She finally caught up to Sigg, lying in a mud pit like Yamcha, his body a mess as if he’d been through a battle.

Lifting her skirt and crouching slightly, she reached out her delicate hand to help him up, but he abruptly sat up, raising his hands above his head, waving them like a helicopter.

“Kids, I’m fine.”

His words fell, and he stood up unhurriedly.

With a flick of magic, he cleaned the dirt off himself, shook his head, and, with the help of some hair gel, styled his hair into a mature, powerful look.

Emilia was dumbfounded, unsure what her companion was up to, so she just smiled—after all, a smile conveys politeness and respect.

“…You sure you’re okay, Sigg?”

Out of concern, still shaken, she asked again.

A head injury would be bad news.

“I’m fine. Just experiencing the thrill of a crash landing, that’s all. Let’s go, Emilia. Time waits for no one. Better wrap this up quickly.”

When he got serious, he almost seemed human, his thoughts clear as he laid out plans.

Though the way he eyed the horse was a bit off—probably thinking about what to eat tonight.

The sound of arguing reached their ears, as if people were disputing something, coming from the village square.

…

“Sir, this isn’t right. Why’s the land price so low, and a one-time deal? That’s not legal, is it? There are rules!”

“Yeah, sir, this is just taking advantage of us!”

In the empire at this moment, over the past year, various regions have suffered from droughts and pest infestations.

These disasters, though seemingly man-made, cannot be proven, leaving farmers with virtually no harvest after a year of toil.

The surplus grain accumulated during Emilia’s rule has been depleted.

At this time, so-called local nobles, under the guise of providing aid, arrived with carts full of grain to purchase land.

Their preparations were thorough and legal, aimed at reclaiming the land that once belonged to the nobility.

As if they had anticipated this scene, the local nobles stood smugly on high ground, twirling their mustaches with amusement.

They produced stacks of contracts signed by the villagers—documents from Emilia’s era.

During her rule, she had mandated that all nobles have their farmers sign these magically binding contracts.

These agreements, with severe penalties for violation, were designed to protect the farmers’ basic rights and profits, preventing them from being treated as slaves or serfs at the nobles’ whims.

This was meant to curb the source of slavery and further abolish the institution.

However, over the past year, these illiterate farmers, swayed by the church and nobles and deceived by empty promises, eagerly tore up the contracts they believed were detrimental.

It was like a lion breaking free from its chains, now unrestrained to devour the helpless rabbits.

The noble surveyed the crowd, slamming the contracts to draw attention, and spoke with an authoritative tone dripping with lies: “What are you all talking about? Everything I’ve done has your approval. Look, it’s all written clearly in black and white. My actions are perfectly legal—where have I broken the law? There’s no forced buying or selling; it’s all mutual agreement. If you don’t want to sell, that’s fine, it doesn’t matter to me. If you starve, it’s not my responsibility. Things aren’t like they used to be, when we had to treat you like royalty… Besides, I’m doing this for your benefit. Sell now, and next year you can still farm on your land. Nothing will change, I promise, truly.”

A glint of triumph flashed in his eyes.

“You’re full of nonsense! Do you think we’re fools? If we lose our land, won’t we be at your mercy?”

These words sparked a wave of agreement, stirring the crowd.

The noble’s armed knights grew tense, gripping their sword hilts, ready to cut down these “troublesome” peasants.

Though the farmers were foolish, they weren’t stupid.

If they lost their land, wouldn’t they still be at the nobles’ mercy?

Their resistance was a desperate rebound, but it was futile.

Their shouts soon weakened, their faces gaunt and bodies frail from long-term hunger.

The nobles, however, were fearless, flaunting their grain.

The outcome was obvious: to survive, the farmers would have to sell their land, allowing the nobles to gain maximum profit at minimal cost.

Everything seemed to revert to the old empire, suffused with that same sense of suffocation and despair.

The farmers longed for Emilia’s presence—when she was here, no noble would have dared act so brazenly. But alas.

These indignant farmers, incited by the nobles and the church, had already destroyed Emilia’s hometown and desecrated her parents’ graves.

A year ago, they had driven away their savior.

Once so smug in their triumph, they now felt an equal measure of regret.