People cloak all that they cannot understand in mystery—albino Black Barbarians, two-headed turtles, and the like.

  Harvey’s thinking was straightforward: relationships, especially across class divides, required constant upkeep. He had no access to truly powerful figures, and in Bell Province, who could rival Arno? As a slave trader, he knew he was expendable—Arno could replace him with ease, for slave traders were cheaper than Saintesses.

  His most pressing task: bind himself tightly to Arno’s cause.

  Under rounds of cruel torture, not everyone could endure the pain; some confessed quickly, seeking a swift death rather than prolonged suffering.

  Black Barbarian society was in a transitional phase, awakening from primitive tribalism toward feudalism. Large tribes annexed smaller ones, and once a tribe reached a certain size, its social structure would transform. The upper echelons always dictated the shape of the lower—when a tribe began building cities for its large population, feudalism would take root.

  The Saintess resided in one of the region’s most powerful tribes: Ezhou, whose name in their dialect meant "Colorful Sunlight." With over a thousand valiant warriors and a population of 7,000 to 8,000, it was a dominant force within a 200–300-mile radius. Its rise was intertwined with the Saintess, whose divine authority made small tribes accept assimilation readily—a terrifying power, for acceptance meant no resistance to integration.

  The reason Harvey had overlooked this tribe in past hunts was simple: previous slave raids hadn’t penetrated this deep into the Salme Mountains. Last year, his 130-man team wouldn’t have dared attack such a large tribe, sticking to the mountain’s edges to capture scattered slaves. Only by joining forces with other traders had they ventured slightly into the forest, but even then, they’d massacred the weak and divided the spoils without a second thought—no negotiations, no restrictions on killing. Discovering this secret was thanks to Arno’s "Black Barbarian Reserve" policy; otherwise, Harvey would have attacked without hesitation, taking valuables and burying the rest.

  But this prize was too massive to handle alone.

  A thousand Black Barbarian warriors, amplified by the forest’s treacherous terrain, were worth three thousand or more in open combat. The labyrinthine landscape neutralized cavalry effectiveness, while the Barbarians, as agile as monkeys, hid in the canopy to launch surprise attacks on unsuspecting intruders below.

  Harvey paced anxiously, fists clenched. He hated relying on others, but his current force was no match for Ezhou. Finally, he slammed his fist into a tree, ignoring the shooting pain. "Contact the other two clan leaders. We need a combined force."

  As the largest targeted extermination in a century began to unfold in the Salme Mountains, Pramisburg welcomed a historic event: City Lord Arno’s decision to implement universal education.

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  The monopoly on education meant poor families couldn’t afford to send children to school. Though the world had advanced papermaking and movable type, alchemists created marvels unrelated to gold, yet educating a child meant losing a laborer—a burden that could stretch indefinitely depending on the student’s aptitude.

  Who would invest in learning when struggling to survive?

  Arno convened district councilors, respected elders who represented their neighborhoods. Their first reaction to his education plan was skepticism: with 60,000 to 70,000 school-aged children in Pramisburg’s 270,000–280,000 population, funding such an initiative seemed impossible. Their second reaction was elation—Arno had kept every promise in his six months as lord, earning unshakable trust. The hall erupted in excitement.

  Though many were uneducated themselves, these elders understood the power of knowledge.

  "City Lord, is this true? Will children really attend school for free?" asked a grizzled man in his sixties, tugging his white beard so hard his sagging skin stretched, oblivious to the pain, eyes burning with hope.

  Arno nodded warmly. "Yes, but not entirely free. The Pramisburg Junior Academy will have five grades. Each student receives a free set of textbooks, but damage or loss requires reimbursement. Textbooks will be reused for five batches of students before being replaced."

  "Tuition, meals, and lodging will be covered by the mansion—no financial burden on families. But note: this is an investment. Upon graduation and employment, students will repay the costs in installments over ten years, interest-free. For those who advance to secondary or higher academies, all debts are forgiven, and I will personally fund their continued studies."

  The room buzzed with murmurs. On the surface, the plan was feasible: education was elite-controlled, skilled labor was scarce, and ten-year repayments were manageable. For the lower class, it was a chance to transform their lives and families.

  Arno had his own motives: investing in talent never lost money. Graduates would spread across society, forming an implicit network loyal to their alma mater—and to Arno, their patron. A few rising to imperial academies could become new nobles, strengthening House Goldthorn’s foundation.

  It was a gamble with no downside for Arno.

  And for the students, the benefits were undeniable.

  With no reason to object, the councilors praised the plan and voted it through.

  News spread quickly, and within hours, five scholars confronted Heins, the academy’s new dean.

  Heins, notorious for his thick skin—he’d married a student fifty years his junior without a shred of shame—brushed off the spit on his face from former colleagues. "Listen, I was kept in the dark at first! If anything goes wrong, we’ll blame Arno—say we were forced. We’re just teaching, same as any academy. The only difference? The mansion pays the bills. Is that a crime?"

  "Think about it," he continued, smoothing his ruffled robes. "We’re not doing anything wrong. These students are Orlando citizens, not Byron mongrels. The only distinction is who foots the bill. And let’s be real—when have we ever had the chance to shape an entire generation?"

  Heins spoke with practiced sincerity, though his true motive was status: Arno had promised him a place as Education Officer in the mansion’s council, a position he valued more than scholarly pride. At his age, he sought security for his unborn son, having learned that power shielded even the most controversial choices. Nobles took young wives without scandal; why should he be judged differently?

  Power, not principle, dictated survival. Heins saw no conflict in recruiting colleagues—if Arno ordered him to enforce education at swordpoint, he’d comply without hesitation.