Chapter 2: The Lord's First Tax
Five days later.
Rhodes's party entered the territory of Black Pine Ridge.
The vast land was choked with weeds and overgrown thorns. In the distance, the hillside was blanketed in dense black pine forests. Below it lay a frozen riverbed, and above it, patches of unmelted snow still clung stubbornly to the ground.
Rhodes took out his binoculars and scanned the distance. All he saw was desolation—there wasn't a single trace of farmland.
But that was fine. Everything would change now that he had arrived.
This place would become prosperous in the future.All that was missing were seeds and serfs to clear the land.
Rhodes had done his homework in advance. The serfs were in Frostleaf Town ahead, which would also serve as his initial base of operations. The seeds were with the Jinsha Caravan, just one kilometer ahead.
"It's time to collect the taxes."
Rhodes had been following slowly for five days. Now that they had entered Black Pine Ridge, there was no reason to wait any longer.
"Everyone except Hamo, speed up and block the Jinsha Caravan."
Hamo was the blacksmith from the border town. On the morning Rhodes departed, Hamo had sought him out, leading a donkey loaded with tools and carrying his blacksmith's hammer on his back.
Rhodes hadn't had time to find him a horse, so Hamo rode the donkey and followed behind. As a result, he couldn't keep up with the main group.
"Yes, Your Excellency."
The group answered in unison. Just as they were preparing to mount their horses and charge, the scouts they had sent ahead suddenly returned.
"My lord, it's a band of robbers!"
The scout suppressed his breathing and reported calmly, "The Jinsha Caravan is under attack by bandits!"
Rhodes frowned. "How many? What about their equipment?"
"Nearly a hundred people. Their weapons are a mess—swords, spears, all kinds of junk. Five or six are wearing chainmail or leather armor. The rest are dressed in hemp clothes."
The scout finished in one breath, then began gasping for air.
Rhodes exchanged a glance with Durant. "Sounds like a patchwork gang of vagrant thugs."
Durant nodded.
"Can we handle it?" Rhodes asked.
"Of course!"
Before Durant could answer, a burly man built like a bear stepped forward, a giant axe resting on his shoulder.
His name was Gunle, leader of the ten-man mercenary squad Rhodes had hired.
"If we can't deal with trash like that, then your twenty gold coins were wasted," Gunle said confidently. "You and your guards don't even need to lift a finger. My brothers and I will chop them all down."
Rhodes agreed.
Durant and his guards were elite soldiers from the regular army, while Gunle's men were retired legion veterans, well-equipped and experienced.
Still, Rhodes didn't take chances.
"I'll take the right wing with Durant," he ordered. "Gunle, you take the left wing and wait for my signal. Once I charge, follow immediately. Don't let a single one escape."
"The noble lord is thorough. No problem," Gunle replied, reins in one hand and axe on his shoulder. "Just give the order."
"Hamo, stay here and wait. Everyone else—move out!"
At Rhodes's command, the group split into two forces, surging forward like twin silver pythons. Gunle led his men through the black pine forest, while Rhodes advanced straight along the open ground toward the Jinsha Caravan.
Just as the scouts had said, the caravan was surrounded by a mob of rioters.
The Jinsha Caravan had over ten guards, but they were poorly equipped. Only four wore chainmail; the rest had leather armor at best.
They had formed a defensive ring with their wagons, protecting the goods and caravan members in the center. It was a professional formation—but one that trapped them as much as it protected them.
Once Rhodes's two teams charged in, the mob would collapse.
Durant saw this immediately. "Leave two guards with you. I'll take the rest and break them."
Rhodes smiled. "No rush. Let's wait."
In this feudal, slave-based era, justice had no universal definition. Rhodes didn't dare label these rioters as evil—many were starving peasants or escaped slaves fleeing torture.
Nobles and merchants were hardly innocent either. Every gold coin in their purses was stained with blood.
Rhodes had abandoned the moral constraints of his past life the moment he arrived in this world. He lived for himself now.
At most, he would limit killing when it didn't conflict with his interests.
Originally, he only intended to collect taxes. Now, he wanted everything.
So waiting was the best option.
Durant understood and said nothing more.
Soon enough, the caravan's purely defensive stance failed. Four or five guards fell, and the formation collapsed. Rioters swarmed the wagons, looting goods and stabbing anyone who resisted.
"I won't let them steal my goods."
Rhodes drew his steel sword and pointed it forward.
"Scatter them."
"Charge!"
Durant roared, spurring his horse forward like an arrow.
"Kill!"
The guards followed with thunderous shouts. On the opposite flank, Gunle and his men charged in perfect coordination.
The two forces slammed into the rioters like sharpened blades. Heads flew, blood arced through the air, and screams rang out.
The mob instantly shattered into three fleeing groups. Durant wheeled his horse and charged again.
Limbs flew. Blood soaked the ground.
Before Rhodes even had a chance to fight, the battle was over. In two passes, the mob collapsed completely.
Gunle and Durant personally cut down the chainmail-clad leader. The rest were helpless.
"Don't let anyone escape!" Rhodes shouted coldly. "Anyone who runs gets shot!"
These rioters were ready-made labor. Once captured, Rhodes wouldn't need to pay wages—just keep them alive and working.
Half the guards were archers. Arrows cut down fleeing men, and the rest immediately dropped their weapons and knelt, surrendering with practiced efficiency.
"Gunle, tie them all up."
"No problem!"
Gunle and his men dismounted and bound the captives like chickens, one by one.
Rhodes waved Durant over and whispered, "Check all the wounded. Save anyone who can be saved. If they can't be saved—end it cleanly."
All of them.
Durant stared at Rhodes in disbelief.
"What are you waiting for? Go."
"Yes, my lord!"
Durant hurried off with cloth and hemostatic powder.
Rhodes didn't explain himself. Killing was a means to an end. Once the benefits were secured, there was no need for further bloodshed.
He was ruthless out of necessity—not cruelty.
"Thank you, Your Excellency."
A portly middle-aged man stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"I am Lawrence Goldsand, head of the Goldsand Caravan. Thank you for saving us."
"Hm?" Rhodes frowned. "Your caravan?"
Lawrence froze.
"You said it was yours before the bandits arrived," Rhodes said calmly. "I didn't object then."
"But now—tell me. Whose caravan is this?"
"It's mine… it really is—"
Smack!
Rhodes slapped Lawrence across the face.
"Nonsense."
Rhodes straightened and declared coldly, "I seized this caravan from bandits."
"It's mine!"
(End of Chapter)