Ice Vapor Goddess

Chapter 85 The New Nobles

Fortunately, Siron did not maintain the silence, but continued to ask questions, as if the silence just now was an illusion.

"How do you interpret the verse in Jeremiah, 'For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future,'" he asked.

Green thought for a moment and replied, “This shows that the Lord is merciful. He intends to bless us, not bring us misfortune. If we resent the Lord in the face of disaster, we lose our piety and misunderstand His meaning.”

Xilun paused for a moment, his expression unreadable.

What do you think of Aristotle?

“He inspired me to think, Your Excellency the Bishop.”

What is your view on rationality?

"Reason is the most precious light that the Lord has given us, allowing us to draw closer to Him."

Which saint do you admire most?

“Your Excellency St. Charles, Bishop.”

Siren smiled, put down his pen, and looked at the priest in front of him who was constantly swallowing and looked very nervous.

“You’ve passed, Father Green,” he said. “Be my secretary.”

“Yes, Your Excellency!” Green breathed a sigh of relief.

"Your office is next to mine, and your dorm... Joseph should have arranged that for you already, right? Any other ideas?"

"No, Your Excellency the Bishop."

Xilun nodded: "Go wait next door for a while. I will give you the candidates for each position, and then you can write the appointment letters."

"Yes!" He excitedly accepted the order and went out.

Xilun wasn't as excited as him; he looked at the thick stack of documents and did some writing and calculations.

Maintaining a cathedral and episcopal residence is expensive, and from now on, he will have to pay a lot of staff salaries and material expenses.

He remembered this amount of money; it was mentioned in the Florence records that a bishop's annual expenses were generally between £1,200 and £2,500.

His staff was not exactly streamlined; at most, there were some meaningless servant positions—private cooks, private coachmen, gardeners, private maids and servants were not hired, but everything else was still there.

In addition to positions in the evangelical church and agricultural areas, the annual expenses should exceed three thousand pounds.

Although his gold reserves could sustain him for a long time even without income, this was not good for the city's economy. If output did not increase, rashly injecting currency could easily cause inflation.

More than two hundred years ago, a country on the main continent transported a large amount of gold and silver back from the East, but the gross domestic product of the main continent did not increase much, which directly led to a price revolution that lasted for a century.

Since we can't rashly inject the reserves into the market, we have to collect money.

“Okay, actually I just want to collect money.” Xiren chuckled and wrote “tithing” under the annual salary sheet.

He exempted the residents from the tithe, but that didn't mean he was happy to be taken advantage of—the money should be recouped from somewhere else.

The ideal target, of course, is the managers.

The newly nobles chatting in the salon were unaware that the bishop had already set his sights on them, but even if they had, they probably wouldn't have cared, as they had already begun their counter-plan. "We can't let their agricultural districts open," Lord Black said firmly, as if finalizing all the previous discussions.

"Non-club members cannot interfere in the Speyside market—that's a rule we all agreed on! Unless that bishop is willing to join us, or even just express goodwill, we've already made a huge concession!" he said, slamming his fist on the table. "But look at what he's done! He doesn't even bother to negotiate with us!"

Count Augures expressed his support: "Indeed, there are not many places we can restrict him, but the church will always need wine and bread, otherwise, are we supposed to make people drink kerosene and eat coal? Agriculture is his lifeline, and if he holds that in his hands, we will have no right to negotiate."

People nodded in agreement.

They did not intend to be completely hostile to the church, but out of business acumen, they would find the other party's weaknesses and use them to negotiate.

The operation of agricultural zones is a good point of negotiation; they can use this to gain certain benefits and concessions from the other party.

“First, we should demonstrate some small strength,” Count Augures said.

People showed a reserved smile that also carried a certain unspoken meaning.

“But the governor said… we haven’t had enough to eat lately, and he wants us to increase production,” said a baron who manages the agricultural area. “Won’t that anger him?”

Another potato field manager nodded with a bitter face: "The external agricultural zone can't be built at all because of the threat of the Frost Giants. The internal agricultural zone was originally designed to support 40,000 people, but the [constant temperature irrigation system] wasn't built. Mechanical soil management is being done, but it's controlled by a differential machine, and the control center says they haven't received the programming card for the soil management... plus..."

He also wanted to say that these people were living too extravagantly, and that the crop output was calculated based on the premise that the average person would not starve. However, he didn't say it out loud.

Count Augures frowned in displeasure. Even if the output was insufficient, he could have discussed it with him separately later. Why interrupt his speech now? Did they have any sense of aristocratic etiquette?
He tapped his cane, and the surroundings fell silent.

“District Nine only has ten acres of land. If we—the entire Speyside Managers Club—can’t even manage these ten acres, what face do we have to gather here?!” he demanded sharply.

No one dared to offend him at this time.

"Don't worry about the governor, I'll take care of him." The count took a breath and swept his stern gaze across everyone. "I think you've been enjoying yourselves for too long and have forgotten how we rose to power."

“Baron Walter, thirty years ago you were probably still scavenging for food in the fields, weren’t you? Mrs. Bradstone, where was your family forty years ago? Sir Howard, do you remember how you lost a finger in the war thirty years ago, crying and begging to go home?”

He looked around and spoke of everyone's pain.

They are the new aristocracy, a newly emerging class that rose from factories and stocks; their so-called titles are nothing more than affectation and purchased lineages.

“We are not those rotten, incompetent old nobles! We were born without resources, without connections, without anything! If they are born lions, then we are wolves, hyenas, and vultures! We rose from blood and fire, and we got to where we are today by killing! We killed those former rulers to get to where we are today!”

"Who remembers the Glorious Wars? Who remembers their counterattack? Who remembers the face of Charles XVII? If they are given even the slightest chance to breathe, they will devour us! Therefore, we must always be strong, we must always keep our weapons in hand!"

He swept his cold gaze across the crowd, and for the first time, a somber atmosphere filled this once cheerful and quiet salon.

He picked up the silver knife and slashed the steak on the plate in front of him.

"This world is a fight to the death. If they don't die, we die. If we lay down our weapons, others will pick them up."

"There is never absolute peace, only fierce war and peaceful war. The peace we have now is because we won last time, but if we lose, the outcome will be Charles XVII on the guillotine."

The surroundings were completely silent, except for the gramophone playing "The Mighty March".

"The news has spread that there is a certain infectious disease in the Ninth Agricultural District. They are currently under observation and diagnosis. All workers who have worked there will not be hired for other positions, and they will be refused to buy anything or go to any public places."

The count said so.

(End of this chapter)