Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System-Chapter 107 - 101: Control Human

Archbishop John’s eyes, which seemed capable of piercing one’s very soul, stared directly at Murphy as his voice echoed through the banquet hall:

"Baron Sylvan, according to the Church Court’s records from recent years, the tax revenue of the Duval Territory has been on a downward trend for fifteen consecutive years. This is highly unusual for a border territory." His fingers tapped lightly on the tabletop, creating a rhythmic sound. "As a servant of the God of Truth, I must remind you that the prosperity and stability of your territory not only concern the survival of the Duval Clan, but also the security of the entire Kingdom’s border."

The Archbishop’s gaze swept over the trophies displayed in the banquet hall before finally returning to Murphy. "The Rosenia Kingdom to the north is watching like a hungry tiger, and a border war could erupt at any moment. At such a critical time, the weakening of any territory could become a breach for the enemy to exploit. I am very curious, Lord Baron, what exactly are your plans?"

The atmosphere in the hall instantly grew heavy. The servants held their breath without realizing it, frozen in place.

Murphy unhurriedly set down his utensils, a proper smile still fixed on his face.

He first gave a slight nod to the Archbishop, then his gaze shifted to Princess Margaret, and finally, he looked back at the Archbishop and slowly began to speak:

"Your Excellency the Archbishop is absolutely right. The security of the border is indeed of great importance. The Duval Clan has guarded this land for generations and understands this better than anyone. It is for this very reason that we must plan for the long term."

He raised his hand slightly, signaling for the Attendants to continue pouring wine for the guests, and went on, "As you all traveled here, you must have noticed that despite the harsh winter, smoke still rises from the chimneys of the villages in the territory. The farmers do not have to shiver in the wind and snow because they have enough firewood to keep warm. The children do not have to suffer from hunger and cold because every family has surplus grain."

Murphy’s gaze grew distant. "These seemingly insignificant changes are precisely the hope for the Duval Territory’s future. How can a starving and freezing farmer have the strength to take up arms when the enemy attacks? How can a family living hand-to-mouth feel any passion for protecting this land?"

He turned to Archbishop John, his tone sincere. "The reduction in taxes has been exchanged for the unity of the people’s hearts. When war truly comes, I believe every commoner who has benefited will be willing to fight to protect their home. Is this not the very principle the God of Truth teaches us—’Give, and it will be given to you’?"

Princess Margaret let out a timely, light laugh, the crisp sound breaking the somewhat tense atmosphere.

She gracefully swirled the wine glass in her hand, the liquid gleaming like a jewel in the candlelight.

"Your Excellency the Archbishop, you see," the Princess’s eyes glinted with a cunning light, "Baron Sylvan’s words just now reminded me of an interesting analogy."

She adopted a playful expression characteristic of a young maiden. "It’s like raising a horse. If you’re unwilling to even give it fodder, how can you expect it to win a race?"

She turned to Murphy, her smile deepening. "However, Lord Baron, your application of this ’Give, and it will be given to you’ principle is quite clever. I’m just curious, how long will this ’giving’ continue? And when do you plan for it to be ’given to you’?"

Murphy glanced at the Princess, then answered with composure, "Her Highness the Princess’s analogy is very apt. As for when it will be ’given to us’..." He smiled faintly. "When the commoners spontaneously desire to protect this land, that will be the time of our harvest. That timing should not be decided by us, but by the will of the people."

Archbishop John’s fingers had stopped tapping on the table. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke again, his tone still stern and sharp. "The Baron’s ideas are certainly unconventional. However, I must remind you that while ideals are admirable, reality is often cruel. The Rosenia Barbarians to the north are known for their ferocity and skill in battle. Their cavalry strikes like the wind. In the face of a real war, I’m afraid those commoners you speak of, who have only just managed to find food and warmth, wouldn’t last even a moment."

The Archbishop’s gaze was like a sharp sword aimed at Murphy. "Last autumn, Rosenia’s iron cavalry flattened three villages on the border of the White Maple Territory to the west. Those villagers didn’t even have a chance to flee. Does the Baron truly believe that the meager tax relief you’ve granted will enable farmers to fight against well-trained Barbarian Warriors?"

"Your Excellency the Archbishop’s reminder is well-taken." Murphy nodded respectfully, yet his expression remained composed. "It is precisely because the Rosenia People are so powerful that we cannot play by conventional rules. In a head-on confrontation, the Duval Territory is indeed outmatched. But war has never been a contest of swords alone..."

He paused briefly, his gaze sweeping over everyone present. "Does everyone here know why the Rosenia People can always pinpoint the weak spots in our border defenses? It is because they have guides who are familiar with the terrain. But if every villager’s heart belongs to Duval, the Rosenia People will be like blind men trying to describe an elephant, unable to take a single step."

The Archbishop snorted coldly. "Empty talk! It’s not as if the Barbarians don’t have well-trained scouts. When a blade is at their throats, those villagers will only scramble to surrender and save their own lives."

Murphy did not back down. "Your Excellency is mistaken. This winter, three Rosenia scouts tried to infiltrate the Duval Territory. They were promptly discovered by villagers and reported to the watchtowers. If we hadn’t treated the commoners well in ordinary times, they could very well have pretended not to see anything."

The Archbishop’s fingers began tapping the table again, the rhythm noticeably faster. "A few mere scouts prove nothing. When a real war begins, your tax cuts won’t buy you a single soldier who can stand against a Barbarian Warrior."

Murphy’s tone remained steady. "But it can buy countless watchful eyes and countless mouths to report in time. Besides, ever since the Northern Trade Route was rerouted, even if we were to increase taxes, we wouldn’t be able to scrape together enough military funds to equip three squads of Knight’s Attendants. To rebuild a strong armed force, we must ultimately rely on the trade route income from the Hans Viscount Domain."

A sharp glint flashed in the Archbishop’s eyes. "Is the Baron shirking his responsibility? Are you suggesting we should abandon the territory’s defenses just because the trade route was rerouted?"

"Quite the opposite." Murphy met the Archbishop’s gaze. "It is precisely because I recognize the reality of our situation that I have chosen the most effective method of defense. Rather than inciting public resentment with heavy taxes, it is better to use the people’s will as a shield. If Viscount Hans can help me reopen the trade route, then I will naturally have the ability to rebuild my army."

"A fine ’shield of the people’s will’!" The Archbishop’s tone was laced with clear sarcasm. "If the Barbarian grand army bears down on you, how long will this ’shield’ of yours hold? A day? Or perhaps an hour?"

Murphy was perfectly composed. "It is still better than having the populace boiling with resentment and descending into internal chaos. The lesson of the White Maple Territory is right before our eyes. If not for the exorbitant taxes that made life unbearable, would the villagers have lacked even the strength to flee?"

The Archbishop shot to his feet, striking his Scepter heavily on the floor. "You intend to stake the security of this territory on the ethereal notions of a trade route and the people’s will!"

"I intend to build the security of this territory upon the most solid of foundations." Murphy also rose, his gaze resolute. "The Duval Clan has guarded this land for generations. We know better than anyone what constitutes a long-term plan."

The Archbishop sneered. "I certainly hope the Baron can maintain this confidence when the Barbarians’ iron hooves are trampling Duval Castle."

Murphy gave a slight bow, his tone neither servile nor overbearing. "Before that day comes, I will use facts to prove that the Duval Territory’s choice was the correct one."

The confrontation between the two men caused the air in the banquet hall to practically freeze.

CLAP! CLAP!

Princess Margaret clapped her hands lightly and smiled. "It seems our dear Lord Baron not only knows how to govern a territory, but also how to win the hearts of its people." She turned to Archbishop John. "Why not give the Baron some time, Your Excellency, and see what sort of fruit his painstaking efforts will ultimately bear?"

Archbishop John gave Murphy a long, deep look, then finally gave a slight nod. "Since Her Highness the Princess has spoken... I can only hope the Baron’s painstaking efforts will not disappoint the God of Truth."

...

The banquet ultimately concluded in a rather unpleasant atmosphere.

Archbishop John was the first to leave the table, his expression grim. Princess Margaret murmured a quiet "my apologies" and followed close behind.

The distinguished guests were, of course, arranged in the finest quarters within the Baron’s Castle.

Murphy personally escorted the honored guests to their rooms in the east wing of the castle, instructing the steward, Bernard, to handle all necessary arrangements.

After everything was settled, Murphy walked alone down a long corridor of the castle, heading back to his bedroom.

Just then, the sound of light footsteps came from the other end of the corridor, exceptionally clear in the quiet of the night.

Princess Margaret was approaching gracefully. She had changed out of her elaborate formal gown and was now wearing only a navy blue silk dress, its hem swaying gently with her steps like a stream flowing in the night.

Black silk stockings perfectly accentuated the slender curves of her calves, shimmering with a soft luster in the torchlight of the corridor.

She was no longer wearing the Pearl Crown from earlier in the day. Her waterfall of black hair was casually draped over her shoulders, adding a touch of languid charm.

"Baron Sylvan," the Princess stopped before Murphy, who had paused to wait for her. A meaningful smile played on her lips. "The night is long, and I imagine you haven’t retired yet. I wonder if you have a moment to chat with me again... about the affairs of the territory?"

Her voice was as gentle as the night wind, yet it instantly put Murphy on high alert. He bowed slightly. "If Her Highness the Princess has something to discuss, I am at your service. However, it is quite late, I’m afraid it might not be convenient..."

The Princess chuckled and took a graceful step forward, instantly closing the distance between herself and Murphy.

A delicate and captivating fragrance wafted from her. She tilted her head up slightly to look at Murphy. "The Baron worries too much. It’s just that there were some things that were inconvenient to discuss in depth at the banquet today. For instance, your dissatisfaction with Viscount Hans, or your hope to reclaim the Northern Trade Route, or perhaps... how you completely cleansed the curse left by my dear cousin..."

As she spoke, Princess Margaret’s deep, black pupils suddenly began to glow with a faint green light, a light that swirled slowly in her eyes like a galaxy of stars...