Forsaken Priest of the Hero's Party
Chapter 103: Salt Grinder

Chapter 103: Salt Grinder

“That person over there, weren’t they here before? Their scent hasn’t changed.

Roka tugged on my sleeve and whispered, and sure enough, people who’d already filled their bags were lining up for seconds.

But a good thing was a good thing. Since there was no shortage or limit, I could give as much as they needed.

“I heard there was a mill that makes salt, and it turns out to be true.”

“Hey, hand over that mill. Hurry!”

Even with free salt for everyone, some folk couldn’t resist hoarding it.

Robbers armed with iron bars, knives, and bamboo spears, more like organized gangsters than mere thieves, descended upon the place.

“Help yourselves to all the salt you need—but there’s a long queue. I won’t send the others home empty-handed.”

“What nonsense are you spouting!”

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

The Grimudo Church preacher seized the moment, pointing at us from his platform as he stirred the crowd.

It’s them, the liars and frauds among us! Don’t you all see the truth?”

Beside the man who seemed to be the leader, a wiry, monkey-like man nocked an arrow and raised his voice.

“This won’t do, boss, let’s shoot.”

“Hey, Horon. What’s wrong with you? Let me try to persuade them.”

The leader turned to me with a casual smile, crossbow still in hand.

“Sir. since I’m asking nicely, why not sell us that mill?”

Did he really think polite words plus a crossbow would carry more weight? If so, he was sorely mistaken.

“Just take as much salt as you can carry and leave.”

Roka in front of me as if she’d been waiting for that order. The instant she drew her Moonlight sword, a fierce aura flared.

The men who’d been acting tough recoiled, their heads retreating onto their shoulders like frightened turtles. It was as if they could already feel their necks being severed. With a sharp twang, the crossbow string snapped.

Silence fell the moment Roka released her true power. The sun’s magic blazed behind her, and sweat trickled down the leader’s face.

Not from the heat, it seemed.

“Ack.. an Expert?!”

The wiry, monkey-like man who had aimed his bow earlier yelped in shock.

“Oh my... Looks like we’ve got another big sister to serve.”

“Big sister.”

The leader suddenly grinned, then, without hesitation, dropped to one knee.

I’d met all sorts of people, but this was new; even Roka looked taken aback, her eyes flicking between us.

“See? I, Naod, have knelt like this. Is that enough now?”

“Should I kill them?”

Roka whispered, glancing at me, but I shook my head.

With my power alone, I could clear only a small portion of the ash choking the city.

If everyone pitched in, even a little, we could brighten a far larger area. It might not drive the Phoenix away, but it would end the chaos in this pitch-black city.

“Everyone, this is salt. Bring a container and take some. Sprinkle it on the roads and throughout the city. Where there’s smoke and ash, the salt will purify the area and keep the ash away for a few days.”

And after those few days? There’s no need to worry about that.

Either the Phoenix would die first, or the city would. One way or another, the volcanic ash problem would be solved.

Thud. I set the mill on the ground and salt cascaded out, building a mound no larger than a child’s sandcastle that kept expanding.

The group scooped up as much as possible, then bowed deeply to Roka at a perfect right angle before leaving. I didn’t mind whether they used it for the city or pocketed it.

I glanced over. The older man from the platform was gone. Whether he had run away or just given up shouting, I couldn’t say.

The crowd had grown polite. New arrivals approached cautiously.

“Can we take this?”

“Of course. Take as much as you’d like.”

“And how much is okay to take?”

“Take as much as you can carry.”

But as always, human greed knows no limits.

I’d expected small trays, yet they came with giant bowls. No limit, of course meant they’d take all they could.

Roll, roll, roll...

Then, someone rolled in a massive oak barrel and shoveled salt into it, while another dragged over a sack and packed it full.

It felt excessive, even for purification. Scanning the crowd, I spotted a man fixated on the mill, jotting notes with precision.

While others were collecting salt, he held only a notebook, writing without pause.

Hasn’t he been here since earlier?

Our eyes met. Clad head to toe in an official uniform, he was no ordinary citizen. Maybe he knew why salt was so coveted.

“Sir, is salt scarce in the Cidatel Republic?”

“To ask that, you must not be from the Republic. Judging by your accent, you’re from the Empire.”

The Empire dominated the continent, and its language had become the so-called “Imperial language.” But in truth, it was simply the common tongue. Even demons spoke it, making “Continental Common” a more fitting name, though the elves, an insular race, remained the only exception.

“In the Republic, salt is a state monopoly. It’s taxed heavily and sold at steep prices, but being essential, people must buy it. It’s a main revenue source.”

“Ah, I see... I assumed salt would be easy to obtain in a coastal country.”

“We are coastal, yes. Vales sits right by the sea, but when tidal flats were destroyed to build ports, many salt farms vanished. Not that salt is rare, we can always import it from the sea in the south.

“Salt is a necessity people can’t live without, making it ideal for state-controlled profiteering.”

He gave a wry smile.

“Are the taxes that high?”

“It’s even worse than that. There’s another layer: the Republic issues salt-trading licenses to select merchants who control distribution, and of course they’re well connected to council members.”

Salt in the Cidatel Republic was entangled in far more complex interests than I’d imagined: despite the country’s small size and strong government control, even basic salt wasn’t freely available.

“If the state monopolized salt sales directly, profits would be tenfold. But with major dealers in the mix, do you think they’d ever do business at a loss? To maintain their position, they have to grease the palms of the higher-ups and pay heavy taxes to the government. And who do you think ultimately bears that cost?”

“...The consumers.”

“It’s nice speaking with someone who catches on so fast. But the young lady beside you doesn’t understand what we’re talking about.”

Indeed, Roka looked utterly lost, her gaze drifting as if contemplating the meaning of existence itself. In other words, she was spacing out.

Tsk. He clicked his tongue.

“The gap between cost and selling price can reach fortyfold. Merchants mark up prices out of pure greed, always offering excuses, bandits raiding their shipment or a warehouse fire forcing them to hike prices.”

“The Republic must know those are just excuses.”

“They do, of course, but these merchants have powerful friends. Even if the government notices, they have no choice but to look the other way.”

Now I understood. Perhaps salt here was even more expensive than in the steppes, where the only source of salt for miles was the blood of livestock.

No wonder, even with destruction looming over them, the first thing people did was hoard salt.

“That Naod or Yod fellow the young lady just chased off? He’s a salt smuggler we’ve been watching. Merchants risk their lives for a 50 percent profit, and once it hits 100 percent, laws mean nothing. For triple profit, they’ll risk anything. Salt smuggling carries the death penalty, yet they still do it.”

“If salt were sold at a fair price, wouldn’t that end smuggling?”

“It would. But then the Republic’s finances would collapse. The higher-ups would never allow that.”

He sneered at the people scrambling for salt, completely ignoring our conversation.

“Isn’t it ridiculous? How much do they need? Just enough for a few days, maybe a day or two at most. And yet, look at them, grabbing all they can, as if they’re certain they’ll survive.”

Well, I saw it differently.

Even coveting salt in this situation was a sign of hope.

They wouldn’t care about salt if they had indeed given up.

Coveting salt might not guarantee hope, but I saw it as proof of their will to survive. They might claim the world was ending, yet no one here was ready to surrender.

Did the man in front of me still have the desire to fight for survival?

“I am Robert Wesker, Director of the Cidatel Tax Bureau. Under normal circumstances, I would have arrested Naod and you. Even if you weren’t profiting, I could have charged you with salt smuggling and imprisoned you.”

“Catching salt smugglers brings generous rewards, faster promotions and most importantly substantial bonuses from the major salt dealers. Of course none of that matters now; those who paid me have long since fled. Yet seeing such a miraculous mill before I die makes me feel I’ve lived enough.”

So he had been watching me all this time.

“You were watching me, deciding whether to arrest me?”

“No, I was waiting for something else. We received word from the Empire that while everyone else rushed to flee, a priest entered the city. I wanted to confirm if that priest was you, and it is, isn’t it?”

There couldn’t have been many priests traveling with a blue-haired wolf beastkin.

I nodded. Ms. Rowena had kindly sent word ahead. Perhaps Elvenhome had even dispatched a plenipotentiary ambassador to the Cidatel Republic.

“Let me ask you something.”

His tone wasn’t confrontational, just curious.

“Why did you come here? This place is full of people either desperately fleeing, drowning in despair because they can’t escape, or resigned to their fate and waiting to be sacrificed.”

“We came to defeat the Phoenix.”

His puzzled expression turned into disbelief as if he were staring at a madman.

“If you’re already waiting for death, why not risk everything on one last hope?”

“Haha.”

He let out a dry laugh and shook his head.

“I don’t dare hope for that, priest. But if there’s a way to strike back at that damned Phoenix, tell me, if you have a real plan, I will bring you to my master.”

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