CH456 · Rewrite
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Chapter 456: The Differences

After explaining the integration plan, Roland raised his cup and took several slow sips while the room absorbed it.

He needed people — a great many of them — to manage the daily administration of a territory this size. Literacy rates were still low; for now, he had to work with the nobles who were here. Most of them had a primary education and some experience running an estate. If one of them distinguished himself, Roland would promote him — something like a governor, something like a mayor. The Western Region would need both.

A few minutes passed. He brought up the next topic.

“How much do you know about the Rats?”

“You mean the Black Street Rats?” Rene Medde coughed. “I’ve — done business with them.”

“What kind of business?”

Rene swallowed. “I was the leader of the Ragingfire.” He said it with the expression of a man choosing between two bad options. “We fought several Rat gangs over territory.”

Several people at the table laughed out loud.

Roland considered this. The Earl’s second son had led a street gang. Ragingfire — the name had all the grandeur of something invented by a nineteen-year-old at high speed. He found himself questioning whether the family resemblance was quite as strong as he’d assumed.

“Your Highness,” Petrov said, already stepping in, “several years ago the Black Street forces controlled the dock. Civilians and foreign merchants were killed almost daily, and the patrol guards looked the other way. Rene couldn’t tolerate it — he brought his own guards and a group of people from the refugee camp and drove the Rats out entirely. He wrote me letters every day during the operation. I was in King’s City at the time. He said in the letters it was a war comparable to fighting demonic beasts—”

“Petrov.” Rene cut him off. “I was bored. I wanted something to do.”

It was, Roland thought, a very particular kind of chivalry: not the ceremonial kind, the kind that required an audience and a title, but the kind that walked down to the dock because something was wrong and someone needed to fix it. The Ragingfire might not have been a real army. What they fought was a real battle.

“What became of the gang afterward?”

“I don’t know.” Rene rubbed the back of his neck. “When I left to defend Hermes against the actual demonic beasts, I lost contact.”

“The reason I ask,” Roland said, “is that I intend to dismantle all Rat organizations in Stronghold. I want everyone in this city to be able to live without them.”

Rene’s expression shifted. He hesitated for a moment, choosing his words with unusual care. “Your Highness — with respect — that may not be possible.”

“The First Army is at my disposal. Are the Rats more dangerous than knights?”

“No.” Rene shook his head. “They have no weapons, no armor, no tactics. They’d be no match for trained soldiers. But if you treat them the way you treated the rebel nobles — execute them for being Rats — there won’t be many civilians left in Stronghold when you’re done.”

Roland stopped.

“Rats and civilians aren’t separate populations, Your Highness.” Rene’s voice was quiet but steady. “They overlap. After a bad year, when the Months of Demons run long, ordinary people become Rats because there’s no other way to eat. It’s why most lords ignore Black Street. An internal conflict is less dangerous than a riot caused by starvation.”

He had never thought of it that way. The Rats existed because they were the solution to a problem the system had refused to solve. “What about the organizers? The people running the gangs?”

“Some are habitual criminals. Some are backed by local nobles.” He let that land, and then added, with a tact that did him credit: “Some come from other towns.”

Roland surveyed the table. “I hope none of you are currently supporting any Rats.”

The nobles examined the tablecloth with sudden interest.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Roland said, softer. “Help with what comes next and I’ll set the past aside.” He turned back to Rene. “I have a task for you. In the coming month, I’ll be cracking down on criminal activity in Stronghold. You’ll work with the First Army to eliminate the Black Street gang leaders and dismantle their organizations entirely. You’ll receive specific instructions.”

Rene nodded, but his brow was still creased. “Your Highness — the people who depend on those gangs for food. Without them, the Months of Demons are going to kill people.”

“Petrov will open the grain stores and distribute food to anyone who needs it. Until the Months of Demons end.”

“Your Highness, that won’t work—”

“You’ll just be making everyone dependent—”

“Once you open the barn, the whole city becomes a beggar.”

The protests came in quick succession from around the table. Roland put his fist down, flat and hard. The table shook.

“I’ve decided. I don’t want to hear objections.”

He knew what they believed — that people, left to themselves, were lazy, grubby, beyond remedy. It was the foundational assumption of every noble who had ever governed by fear and withheld food as a lever. They were wrong. Not naively wrong: demonstrably wrong, if you looked at what people could do when given the conditions to do it. The first small change compounded into something the nobles would have said was impossible. It always had.

“One more thing before we finish.” He looked to Petrov. “Spread word of everything we’ve discussed — the administrative plan, the crackdown on Black Street, the grain distribution. Make sure it’s written down. If your subjects can’t read, have someone read it to them.”

Petrov blinked. “All of it? Including the plan to eliminate the Rats?”

“All of it.” Roland looked around the table. “Publicize the policies. Answer questions. Take feedback. This is how you change a city without breaking it.”

The nobles said nothing. Somewhere outside the windows, the Stronghold was already a different place than it had been a week ago. It just didn’t know it yet.

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