Chapter 745: Chapter 53 Relief Chapter 745: Chapter 53 Relief Several days had passed, and the council mbers of Revodan had once again gathered together.
Most of the mbers were familiar faces, with a few new ones among them.
The senior mayor Priskin sat in the front row with his eyes closed, resting. His second son had been elected as a council mber a few days ago and now sat beside his father.
The council mbers were well aware of the reason why the Public Welfare Officer had convened the council eting—it was none other than to address the issue of flour.
Though there was no sign of the Herd Barbarians, the price of flour was unmistakably rising. The poor could no longer afford even a paste made of flour, yet the price continued to soar.
The complaints of the impoverished were ever-increasing, and even the well-off citizens were beginning to feel the strain, the situation having reached a critical level that demanded resolution.
With the Public Welfare Officer absent and the mayor remaining silent, the mbers whispered and murmured among themselves:
“Your mill must be raking in profits lately, huh?”
...
“Hey! Flour’s so expensive, I can’t even sell it. What profit is there?”
“Co on, cut the act. If it’s too expensive to sell, would you bear to sell it cheaply?”
“There are so many mills and grain shops in the city, why are you picking on ?”
“Just wait, Blood Wolf will definitely use us as an example.”
“It’s just a matter of fixing a price limit. If he tells us to fix a price, then I’ll sell at that fixed price.”
Suddenly, the door burst open, and all the council mbers fell silent.
Under everyone’s gaze, Winters, clad in armor and with a sword at his side, walked into the council hall carrying two round, hairy objects.
Priest Caman followed Winters with a look of reluctance on his face.
“Heads of Terdun n.” With a casual toss, Winters threw the two heads to the ground: “Shovel Port fought a battle last night, a minor victory.”
The heads rolled on the ground for several turns, eventually stopping by Xial’s feet.
Glancing down, Xial t the lifeless, hollow eyes of the deceased. Despite the lack of any real odor, Xial sensed an overpowering stench of blood and putrescence. He fought back the urge to vomit and forced himself to look away.
Xial and Heinrich brought in a box covered in Herdman helts, scale armor, and curved swords still stained with blood—all requisitioned from Shovel Port.
After briefly explaining last night’s battle at Shovel Port, Winters politely inford the council mbers: “There are eighteen more heads, already sent to various towns for display. Those among you who still don’t believe that the barbarians intend to kill us, feel free to take a closer look.”
“We have already seen, Your Excellency,” Xial said hastily, not daring to look down at the feet, “Please, take these corpses away.”
“Very well,” ordered Winters to Xial and Heinrich, “Show the helts and armor to the mbers, but let’s leave the heads out of this.”
Passing around the armor and weapons amongst the council mbers didn’t take too long.
“These items will be displayed to the public in Revodan Square. If you’re interested, you’re welco to take a look there,” said Winters, signaling his n to collect the war trophies. “Today, I’ve called you here not to show you heads but to resolve the flour pricing issue.”
After speaking, Winters patted Priest Caman’s shoulder.
Caman sighed and moved to the front of the council to bow solemnly to the council mbers: “It is thanks to your generous donations that the Monastery of Revodan has been able to distribute wheat porridge to the needy believers. Please accept my respects.”
None of the council mbers dared to remain seated, quickly returning the gesture.
The clergy managed matters of life after death, and everyone naturally felt a certain awe and respect towards the clerics.
Priest Caman continued with a grave expression, as if preaching: “But lately, the price of flour and wheat has soared, and the monastery is no longer able to provide relief to the faithful. In the poor districts, it has beco common to eat tree leaves and dig up roots to stave off hunger; so believers are even selling their children. Revodan is now like sitting atop a volcano, and it would only take a spark for the refugee riots to happen again.
[‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’] I hope the gentlen here will extend your helping hand in this difficult ti.”
Winters followed on Caman’s remark: “I have drafted a law, which we can all look at and discuss. If there is anything inappropriate, please bring it up.”
The draft of the law, written on a sheet of paper, was circulated among the council mbers. The content of the draft was simple: it was to impose price limits on flour, wheat, barley, and rye.
Among the council mbers were mill owners, grain rchants, or stakeholders in the grain business; they all had ntally prepared for price control policies. Now that the shoe had finally dropped, they felt a sense of relief.
“Sir, my old eyes are dim, I can’t see the text clearly,” the elder Priskin trembled as he stood up, asking respectfully, “May I ask, do you intend to fix prices?”
“Please, have a seat, Mr. Priskin,” nodded Winters, “Yes, I do intend to impose price controls.”
“No!” Old Priskin suddenly opened his eyes wide, declaring in a forceful tone, “Price fixing is absolutely out of the question!”
The council mbers within the hall shivered at the outburst.
“Explain yourself,” said Winters, crossing his arms, “Why not?”
Standing resolute with his walking stick, the old Priskin announced, “The number of people in the city is increasing, the city’s grain is getting scarcer, and price increases are a natural consequence!”
Winters remained silent, and instead, it was Caman who couldn’t help but interject, “So we just don’t do anything?”
“You can set price controls, but rchants are also free not to sell! The more you impose price controls, the less willing the rchants will be to sell. If it’s not available in the marketplace, flour will flow into the black market, and then the actual grain prices will end up being pushed even higher.”
Priest Caman was at a loss for words.
“If you want to solve the grain price problem, you can only use my thod.”
“Speak.”
Old Priskin forcefully spat out a term: “Confiscate!”
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