Chapter 187

Servant, coachman, prince of errands (2)

“None of the members of the committee knew the minimum cost of living than the average person needed per week. Low-ranking employees usually earned 1000 dinars per quarter. Their salary was about 330 dinars, divided by the weekly paycheck is 82 dinars. Their employer provides meals, room, and board.

But now, the mansion has collapsed and submerged without a trace. The maids and servants haven’t even been paid for this quarter. All they have is the clothes on their backs, and they have nowhere to go. In a hostel line with three-story beds, laying your back down on a mattress with straw cost 92 dinars per week. 2 dinars would be needed for cleaning the common spaces. Bread is 6 dinars and 8 corunas, tea leaves are 3 dinars and 5 corunas, butter is 5 dinars and 3 corunas, or you could choose sugar instead of butter. For them, it’s a luxury to choose both.

In such an inexpensive room, you couldn’t do laundry yourself, so the laundry fee would be another 11 dinars, and the lowest-quality washing soap was 3 dinars per span. Soap’s a necessity; no one would hire a servant with black under their nails and a strange smell about them. Thus, the minimum cost of living per week is 121 dinars and 6 corunas.

Now, then, as previously planned, imagine that your treatment should be delayed at the free clinic. You could see that, even with a simple calculation, it would be difficult to get through a week. How could you say that property damage is low without considering this link? Although the amount may seem small to the committee, the extent of the damage is the entire life of each individual. Compare that to the wealthy heirs of nobles, who can afford to wait with the family’s coffers.

What is more urgent? Honorable chairman, please reconsider the priorities of financial loss compensation and medical assistance for the victims of the mansion collapse incident.”

Commerce Secretary Roald Verme was flushed; the buttons on his vest seemed fit to burst. The third prince had provoked them without blinking. By all means, the clear main character of the day was Arthur Riognan. The reporters increased in number, and even Geston Palach was in the house of representatives. The subcommittee for compensating property damage, which no one usually paid attention to, was in the midst of a storm of attention.

That was bad news for Verme.

‘When did the third prince who only knew about swords come up with such a masterpiece?’

It was a piece of bread that Verme couldn’t swallow easily. The demon’s attack was an extremely recent incident and an item that insurance companies didn’t compensate. The deputy king, who had recently acquired enormous resources through the tiplaum mine monopoly, wasn’t as strict about the senate’s budget execution as before. Since that had happened, Verme decided it was an unspoken agreement to preserve the power of the nobles to the nobles.

Baron Goffman, who inherited the mansion of the Nodus district, was the owner of the largest adamantium mine in the principality of Spekulum. That person who rarely showed up had made a phone call and sent a message saying that if he received compensation for this incident, he would repay it. For Baron Goffman, his base wasn’t a place that could be disposed of lightly. So, the amount of government compensation had soon become a unit representing his status. It wasn’t just a matter of money.

‘It would’ve been lucrative if it went well, but because of that…!’

In the spring of last year, Verme, despite knowing the development plan of the Orails district, had failed to buy the land after he lost to some ghostly investor. The Marquis of Verme had only inherited a barren land, and his greed for money didn’t fade even after he entered the political world. It was Verme’s own idea to reinforce the testimony that the damage had been immense to increase the compensation amount.

He needed Arthur to leave.

“Rather than cluttering up the halls of sacred meetings with prefaces that are far from the issues the committee is dealing with, ask the church for vacancies. The witness is asked to leave.”

The clerk’s hand moved quickly. Congressional guards approached Arthur, who remained motionless in the stand. Viscount Vasco stayed them with a hand.

“Wait for a second, Lord Verme. I have something to correct for Arthur. Your Highness, there is a subsidy for the unemployed, so if you say that, you’re not misleading the circumstances of the servants? It is as if the members of this committee changed the order of treatment and compensation because they were blinded by self-interest….”

‘This idiot!’

Viscount Vasco, who had been taken by Arthur’s provocation, once again took the chance to speak to the fierce prince. Verme regretted not having the viscount sent off with Arthur. The blonde prince smiled as he smoothly replied.

“Sir Vasco, as you may already know, the unemployed subsidy is paid only to the heads of households. Most of the mansion’s maids and attendants are unmarried. They don’t have industry-level trade unions, and individual landlords are harder to persuade than owners of large factories. Who is subsidizing their unemployed subsidies?”

Verme’s mouth dropped open, his one-piece glasses crooked on his increasingly red face. But the expression Arthur was still making was a polite smile that didn’t match what he just said. Arthur wasn’t looking at the committee before his eyes but at the audience in the two rows of wooden benches placed behind them. The sharp senses of the 6th level swordsman swept through the audience’s faces. The apprentice reporter of the -Evening Star- was sat in the front row, scratching down frantic notes. A servant boy, who left at his request, brought in several more reporters from other newspapers. Isiel was behind them, her gaze burning like the color of her hair.

Arthur’s words had been for them.

Clap, clap, clap.

Clap, clap.

Loud applause sounded out over the confrontation between Arthur and the committee. Before long, all the people in the auditorium were standing up and clapping. More and more people were gathering to see what was happening as Verme yelled out.

“Quiet! Keep quiet in the committee room. If you violate the regulations, you will be forced to leave.”

Before long, a group of council guards began to ferry away congressman Geston Palach, who had been standing in the auditorium.

“What’s wrong? The prince said the right thing! Let the servants be healed first!”

His words sounded out through the struggle, laughter in his voice. It was thanks to him, who had installed the seats before, that Arthur’s speech had been able to gain so many listeners. A recess was declared hastily, and the meeting for calculating compensation, originally scheduled to end after one session, had been extended to two.

Verme’s stomach churned. Things were blowing out of proportion. He took the committee members and headed to the smoking room. The youngest reporters and apprentices had started running back to their newspaper offices. Isiel came up only after the committee members left their seats.

“Good job, Arthur.”

“Isn’t the tone too theatrical?”

“Not at all.”

Isiel’s smile looked like a summer rose to bloom in the soft rain of early summer. Isiel Kision was convinced that her choice wasn’t wrong.

There had been two terrible nights in 1892. The first was when Kision’s home was raided. The hometown she was born and raised in was destroyed, and the veterans who were like family to her had died in a way that even the bodies couldn’t be recovered. Her father suffered, enduring unjust insults.

The second night was the day when Kleio was buried in an honor-less pit at the order of the crown prince, destined to become dust. When they had awoken in the extra beds after receiving Dean Zebedee’s treatment, their eyes had met. Arthur, with his face white from ether depletion, told Isiel calmly that this time he should swing the pen, not the sword. Arthur had explained his plan to use Palach and other journalists from the press.

“You know it’s never done by selflessness.”

“I know it’s not solely based on selfishness, Lord.”

Isiel also knew both sides of human history. Arthur wasn’t trying to confront the secretary of commerce for just the rights and interests of the victims. He only realized it wasn’t the time to remain prone anymore. That was why he was her lord. His green eyes shining in the dark reminded Isiel of days past.

‘Arthur did the same even in those distant times.’

When she first met the desolate prince of the summer palace, the reality had been very different from the rumors. The boy, who was as small as Isiel, was an image Isiel couldn’t forget. He hadn’t cared even if his hands were covered in dirt, and he spoke as he had a great hall. His attitude was that of one taking care of their own territory. Arthur, then, was taken care of by Mietsu and went among the people.

So, time passed. She also remembered the time when the warmth of his icy sea-like eyes, and how hard they had looked as if they made no distinction when he looked down at the village he saved. Those times created this man. Now, Arthur Riognan was truly worthy of loyalty and covenant. Only those who knew compassion could claim succession to the throne.

Her lord.

This man was her king.

.

.

.

News of the standing ovation at the senate committee’s auditorium spread to the pubs and coffee houses of the Sovereign District. Critics, reporters, and college students were all busy emptying their glasses and eating snacks. Less than three hours later, copies of parliamentary records had widely spread among the people. The so-called ‘Prince’s Speech’ was buried in food wrappers with typist’s work, being transferred by hand.

The typists were a class that sympathized more with the maid’s situation than the great nobility, so they were cooperative in the dissemination of information. Evening Star published a one-page article titled ‘Servant, Coachman, Prince of the Runners.’ At first glance, it sounded disrespectful, but the headline had become a great topic among commoners without voting rights.

Arthur Reignan. A tall and dignified young man, as well as a knight reserve student with a wonderful demeanor despite his young age. A prince who championed the common folk. Instead of wearing the royal red robes, the prince wore a modest black jacket. He was a kind of royalty they had never even dared to imagine. He had quickly attracted the attention of Lundane politics with just one speech.