Little Tyrant Doesn't Want to Meet with a Bad End

Chapter 9: I Feed, I Reap, I Happy

“Come, Alicia. Try this smoked sausage.”

Nighttime, in the dining room, a silver-haired girl was seated beside Roel. Looking at him with an embarrassed blush dyeing her cheeks, she opened her cherry-like lips and waited for delicious food to be sent right into her mouth.

“Glomp.”

She bit down on the smoked sausage, causing meat juices to explode in her mouth.

Even though Alicia was already trying her best to be as prim and proper as she could, a trickle of oil still ended up flowing down her chin. The realization of her inelegant behavior caused her face to redden even further.

Seeing this sight, Roel smiled kindly as he picked up a napkin and carefully wiped her face.

“Lord Brother... I-I’ll do it myself.”

“Allow me.”

Roel insisted as he hastened his movements slightly. Out of sheer embarrassment, Alicia directed her gaze downward, not daring to look at Roel directly.

(Affection Points +200!)

Ooh Alicia, I love you!

Seeing how his Affection Points were trickling up at an insane rate, Roel’s feelings for Alicia transformed from deep fear into fanatic adoration in the course of a single day. He was starting to relate to the feelings of those idol-chasing fanboys.

What he did not know, however, was that his attentive consideration was slowly pushing the reticent Alicia onto the path of a fangirl as well. If one could peer into the vibrant world inside her heart, one would be truly surprised by how she was still able to maintain such a stoic expression on her face.

Lord Brother is such a gentle and kind person. He cares so much for me even though we’re not real siblings.

My chest feels warm, and I don’t want to part from him. B-but if I were to appear too clingy right now, would it just put him off?

Alicia clenched her small fists tightly as she recalled the pain she had been put through by those children who had oppressed her. There were also those who were curious about her and tried to get close to her by expressing their goodwill, but she could sense that Roel was different. Her experiences had made her extremely sensitive to the emotional fluctuations of those around her, and she could sense that the goodwill Roel had for her came right from the bottom of his heart.

Alicia wanted to open her heart to him; she had been alone for far too long. She had been drowning in the malice of others for so long that she was desperate to reach out for the light and warmth before her, but she was simply unable to shake off the insecurities in her.

What if he is only treating me well out of a moment of fascination? Just like how children eventually become sick of their toys, will he toss me aside once he loses interest in me?

The experiences she had been through as a child had made her far too guarded, but she believed in the words of her deceased father— true love will be able to withstand the trial of time.

The silver-haired girl tried her best to hold herself back, but it was hard for her to calm herself before a person who was going all out to be nice to her.

Had it not been for the fact that they had only known one another for a single day, Roel would have already given Alicia a tight hug and rubbed his cheek against hers!

It was way too fast! Alicia’s Affection Points for him were whizzing through the roof like a rocket, blasting through the atmosphere!

Not to mention, Alicia was also incredibly cute as well, especially when her fair skin was dyed with a tinge of red blush. She was also polite and obedient despite her young age. Roel would not have a sliver of doubt if Alicia were to claim that she was an angel!

How in the world could the original Roel even think of giving away such an adorable sister? Damn it, I’ll chop off the head of anyone who dares to snatch her from me! Even if the Ascart House falls, no one is taking Alicia away from me!

While reaffirming his Alicia-centric principles, Roel continued to deliver food into Alicia’s mouth. As Alicia had already awakened her Bronze Bloodline, there was no need for her to worry about losing her figure; the bloodline would ensure that she would always remain in her most beautiful form.

Without such a worry, Roel was able to go all out with his feeding. Only when Alicia meekly waved her hand and expressed that she was unable to eat anymore did Roel finally give it a rest.

Even after they had finished their dinner, the little duo was still unwilling to part from one another, so they chatted for a while longer. It was not until the tired Alicia rubbed her closing eyes that Roel finally told her to head back to her room to rest.

Marquess Carter didn’t return for dinner as well. Such a situation had been common since a long time ago, so neither Roel nor the servants were too surprised by it.

After heading back to his bedroom, Roel spent another two more hours reading before his little body finally started caving in to fatigue. Under Anna’s support, he climbed onto his bed and into the warm comfort of his duvet.

Too many things had happened today?—the recollection of his past memories, the meeting with Alicia, the arrival of the System, and the future plans he had made to deal with the danger surrounding him. Even an adult would be exhausted having to deal with so many matters at once, let alone a 9-year-old boy.

Roel, having expended his mind and body today, quickly drifted off to dreamland.

Meanwhile, Anna, who was just about to back out of the room, suddenly found herself musing over everything that had happened earlier in the day. She took another look at the adorable face of the little boy snoozing on the bed and recalled the changes that had happened to him.

(Affection Points +50!)

“I guess I’ll just stay for a while longer then.”

Anna muttered before leaving the room with quiet, nimble movements.

—————————————-

A month later, in the farmlands located on the outskirts of Ascart City, a crowd had formed before the Fief Lord’s gristmill.

Beneath the glaring sun, Old Kent was in the midst of tilling his field when he noticed the crowd gathering before the gristmill. He immediately tossed aside his hoe and pulled up his pants. With the tenacity of a ravenous tiger, he grabbed the bag of wheat by the side of the field and sprinted toward the gristmill with all his might. Along the way, he didn’t forget to call out to his son too.

1 reply – 3 weeks ago

“Bill, stop messing around with that darned donkey of yours! Hurry up and call your mum over to help me transport the crops. The gristmill has opened!”

1 reply – 3 weeks ago

Old Kent was more of a person of actions than words. He gave his son, who was feeding their donkey, a good kick on his bottom before continuing his charge toward the gristmill. It was not that Old Kent was an impatient person, but he had simply too many competitors vying with him.

If one were to gaze down on the farmlands from the sky, one would see dozens of people sprinting frantically with bags of wheat in their hands toward the gristmill. They had different starting points—some were closer than the others—but if one thing was for certain, Old Kent wasn’t in a very advantageous position.

Son of a banshee! Isn’t Old George supposed to be lame; how is he running that quickly? And that Anthony too! Your family doesn’t have a lot of wheat anyway, so what are you running so hard for?

Runner Old Kent surveyed the strong competitors in the race and frowned grimly. He realized that he would have to give it his all today, or else... he wouldn’t be able to pay his taxes today!

That’s right! Old Kent, the lame Old George in front of him, Anthony on his left, and the dozens of others were fighting to pay their taxes!

How did civilians pay their taxes in this world, you might ask? This usually complicated question had a very simple answer for those who work in the fields—through handing over a portion of the crops they grew.

It should go without saying they couldn’t just hand over the crops that were freshly harvested from the field. No, these crops had to be processed first. The taxation process consisted of sending the wheat harvested to the Fief Lord’s Gristmill to ground it down to flour. The tax officials would then take a portion of it away as tax before putting a tick beside the family’s name.

Had it been previous years, there would still have been people heading over to the Fief Lord’s Gristmill during the harvesting season, but the queues would have definitely not been as long as this. But on this very year, all of the farmers ran with such desperation that anyone who didn’t know better would have thought that the grim reaper was chasing them.

The reason behind this difference was the newly appointed traveling tax official of the Ascart Fiefdom—Roel Ascart.

Roel Ascart, the young master and sole successor of the Ascart House, was only a 9-year-old, so it couldn’t be helped that Old Kent would snort in disdain when he heard that this little brat had become a tax official. He thought that the nobles were just toying around as usual, but soon, he heard some news that swiftly drove away his initial scorn.

The news had come from the farmers who had bumped into Roel Ascart when they headed to the gristmill to pay their taxes, and it comprised two key pieces of information.

First and foremost, when Roel Ascart was the tax official, the taxpaying farmers wouldn’t have to turn the millstone themselves in the Fief Lord’s Gristmill.

In order to prevent farmers from underpaying their taxes, they were expected to grind their wheat down on the spot, and the millstone had to be turned manually. Those who were more well-off could bring their donkeys with them, but the issue was that their private donkeys were likely to then be used for public use.

Words wouldn’t be enough to describe just how tiring it was to turn the millstone manually with one’s hands. Old Kent could complain about it for days on end!

However, in the gristmill that Roel Ascart was collecting taxes from, everything was different. The farmers only had to hand their wheat over to the officials and wait by the side, and a while later, their wheat would magically turn into flour.

It sounded too good to be true, but Old Kent didn’t think that there was anything amiss about it. The old Marquess Carter was a renowned magician in the Saint Mesit Theocracy, so it went without saying that his son was bound to be a talented magician too. To the ordinary populace, there was simply nothing that magicians couldn’t do.

But that was not all. While the benefit of not having to turn the millstone manually was welcomed amongst the farmers, it was not enough to make the more well-to-do farmers, which included Old Kent himself, go crazy over it. What that really sent their old bones sprinting frantically was the next piece of information they heard.

And that was that the taxes collected when Roel Ascart was on duty were actually less than usual!

The farmers weren’t educated, but they were streetwise. They were exceptionally calculative when it came to the payment of taxes.

When Roel offered to grind the wheat down in their stead, the first thing that the farmers were worried about was that they would be overtaxed. The fact that they wouldn’t be able to see the wheat getting ground into flour in person left them feeling a little uneasy.

But after a series of careful calculations to figure out if they had been scammed, they arrived upon an astonishing conclusion—instead of being overtaxed, they were being undertaxed instead!

Based on the average of the estimates gathered from the farmers’ calculation, they were undertaxed by more than 10%, some even close to 20%!

As soon as the news got out, all of the farmers who hadn’t paid their taxes yet went completely red-eyed. A decrease of 20% in tax was a huge sum of money! Those crops saved could be sold in the capital and used to purchase plenty of good stuff. This was especially significant for well-to-do farmers like Old Kent.

The money Old Kent saved from the reduced tax would be enough to hold a decent wedding ceremony for his son!

It was just a pity that Roel Ascart didn’t have a fixed gristmill that he worked at, so it was impossible to predict where or when he would appear. Old Kent arrived late the previous time and ended up at the end of the queue, such that it wasn’t even close to his turn when the gristmill closed at sunset.

Just recalling about how aggrieved he felt then sent a spurt of energy racing through Old Kent’s body, granting him the strength to outrun the lame Old George in the race to the Fief Lord’s Gristmill.

Meanwhile, at the forefront of the long queue before the gristmill, an adorable little boy was currently seated before a small round table, leisurely enjoying his afternoon tea. His gleaming golden eyes glanced at the farmers who were sprinting over with all their might, and a warm smile unfurled on his face.