Bastia was a society structured around traditional Feudal Nobility, where nobles possessed absolute power. Even if they killed a commoner, at most they would have to pay so money—but who would dare ask for it? Moreover, if there was an excuse for the killing, not only would the death be in vain, but the victim's family might even have to thank the noble lord for not making them pay compensation. And you still had to say thank you!
To modern eyes, such a feudal social structure that shackled productivity seed utterly unnatural and belonged on the trash heap. Yet, to these common folk, it was seen as truth. Because you weren't nobility, you had to support them. Because we weren't nobility, we were to be oppressed and exploited. This had been the way of things for millennia.
Interestingly, even Totnes, a city just as big—if not bigger—had its nobles. From Barton's experiences of ostracization at the academy and in the military, it was clear those nobles wielded significant power, dominating all aspects of the upper echelons. But Totnes was well secularized, separating commoners from Nobility through the Inner City, which reduced contact and thus these issues. Being a comrcial hub, its strong comrcial atmosphere diluted the feudal one. At least Barton, who ca from a suburban farm, was able to beco a Captain through talent and effort, indicating that commoners indeed had room to rise.
That said, it wasn't so utopian society. There were still insurmountable class gaps and just as much brutal exploitation and oppression, only it was hidden behind the scenes instead of in plain sight. Simply put, while Totnes was a society transitioning from feudalism to capitalism, Bastia was still solidly feudal and at the height of its power.
And at this mont, an intense clattering of hooves echoed along the road, shaking the very earth. Soon, a squad of Cavalry appeared within everyone's view, a flamboyant flag fluttering in the wind, visible from a great distance. Before the Knight even arrived, there was already a commotion at the city gates.
"Mr. Bruce is back!"
Hearing this na, the soldiers and tax officers near the gates, as if stimulated, began to disperse the civilians and trading caravans, clearing the streets as much as possible.
"Quick, quick, quick!"
"Get out of the way!"
"Are you looking to die!"
The soldiers showed no courtesy to the commoners, imdiately resorting to force. A slight delay, and a kick would swiftly follow. Even the Nobility quickly made way, acknowledging the disparity within their own ranks. The noblewon, devoid of their previous deanor, all busied themselves with their makeup. So couldn't resist leaning out of windows to gaze in that direction, eyes shining, completely ignoring the etiquette of a lady.
The reason for these reactions was simple: the flag represented the first Heir of the Bastia Family—Bruce Bastia.
In just that short span of ti, the Knights arrived. As they deliberately slowed their pace, one could see a group of well-equipped Knights, among them a striking white horse leading by a length. Atop the horse, a figure commanded everyone's attention. Only a tall, robust physique could bear such extraordinary armor without looking out of place, even giving off an air of grandeur. Without a helt, his handso and resolute visage was exposed. His face bore little expression as his gaze swept across, exuding an air of command.
As the leader slowed, the troop also passed through the city gate at a leisurely pace. Whether it was the mad waving of the noblewon, the ingratiating smiles of the other nobles, or the reverent gazes of the common people, none of it affected him in the slightest. Throughout the procession, his presence alone dominated the atmosphere.
Indeed, he was a worthy Heir. Barely in his twenties, he already displayed such a calm and steady temperant. This was not attributable to an empty honorary title but relied more on his formidable personal strength. From this, it was clear that neither the resources invested in his upbringing nor his deanor were sothing that Alvin, the carelessly raised wastrel, could match.
"Miss, look! It's Mr. Bruce!"
The young maid was sowhat excited, evidently harboring her own fantasies about a prince on a white horse. Strong, high status, and handso to boot, he was practically a walking pheromone; it was no wonder he was the dream lover of most won in Bastia.
There were exceptions, of course, such as Margaret.
"So what? It's not like you haven't seen him before," Margaret replied, sowhat exasperated. She disliked these nobles, particularly those from the Bastia Family, even harboring a bit of hatred.
That was because of the engagent between her and Alvin, an arrangent made by her father and Count Bastia without her consent.
She was not like those ordinary noble daughters; she resisted such arranged marriages.
But the re thought of Alvin involuntarily stirred feelings of disgust and irritation within her.
The maid noticed Margaret's foul mood and promptly reined in her playful deanor, carefully attending to her mistress's mood. Being a personal attendant to a noble, she understood the Nobility far better than other won and was well aware that Bruce had no relation to her. Her previous excitent was rely getting caught in the mont. After all, her mistress was what mattered most.
In fact, not all nobles were as infatuated as those won. The seasoned nobles were more concerned about what Bruce's sudden return signified.
"Wasn't he leading the Order of Knights in the Mountains campaigns against the Barbarian Tribes? Why the sudden return?"
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