My wife is an immortal black snake.

Page 35

Just as Mr. Napoleon was trying to calm everyone down, because perhaps the corporal had simply stopped to look at a beautiful woman passing by, the tavern door was opened from the outside.

"This kid's finally back?" Napoleon turned his head and saw that it was indeed a corporal who had returned. But behind the stiff corporal were three other men.

Napoleon noticed that the corporal was constantly winking at him, trying to communicate with his eyes. He followed the corporal's glances and froze when he noticed the insignia of the Duke's mansion on the uniform of the woman who was presumably a maid.

Why...why would people from the Duke's mansion be here?!

Monsieur Napoleon sensed something was wrong. He subtly tapped the table, signaling everyone not to act rashly.

"I've heard that your region is famous for its Gaulish liqueurs."

Led stiffly by the corporal, the man in the lead, dressed in a Victorian-style grey suit, sat down opposite Mr. Napoleon, smiling. His maid and the silent, sinister-looking strong man stood behind him to serve him.

"...Yes."

Monsieur Napoleon bowed slightly to show his respect. He didn't know what this gentleman intended to do, but he knew that if he didn't serve him well, this tavern might have to close down.

...He turned and took out the oldest and best bottle of liqueur that was on the wall. He carefully removed the bottle cap, because if he could sell it, the 1564 people there would have enough to eat for more than a month.

But if we don't bring it out now... there will be no future.

Monsieur Napoleon placed the opened liqueur in front of the distinguished man and poured him a glass of wine.

The man said nothing, simply admiring the orange liquid swirling in his glass.

Napoleon watched him nervously. After a moment.

“1564 Gauls,” the man chuckled, rattling off a string of numbers. “500 warriors, 20 brewers, 40 bakers, 60 pastry chefs educated in aristocratic ways, and 80 sculptors—the rest are countless artisans and craftsmen, not to mention some women and children completely unable to work. To support them, in this economic downturn where even Ursus people can't find jobs, your financial burden is immense.”

...Upon hearing this, Mr. Napoleon broke out in a cold sweat, feeling as if a bucket of ice water had been poured directly from his forehead to his tailbone, making him clear-headed for the first time and chilling him to the bone.

How did you know such detailed information?! He looked at the man in front of him, who was drinking his wine nonchalantly, and quickly waved to the veterans who were also shocked by what he had just said, and some of them were even ready to draw their weapons and fight to the death: Don't be impulsive!

Chapter 87, Section 3.4

"By the way, what's your name?" the man asked, taking a sip of liqueur. "And your soldiers are very disciplined. Not bad, not bad."

“...Napoleon Bonaparte.” Napoleon announced his name, took out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his face, but after meeting the maid's cold gaze, he put the handkerchief back. “My lord, you…”

“Mr. Napoleon, you possess residency permits from Gaul and Ursus—everyone in this tavern has them. But the 1500 illegal immigrants you've accepted…should be the ones being deported,” the man chuckled. “As for me…I am the husband of the current Duke of Cosice, named Yang Hao. My wife has entrusted me with handling you.”

The man named Yang Hao paused for a moment, then slowly turned his head and looked around at the people in the tavern. He looked at the tense-looking Gallic veterans.

"them."

Then, he turned around with a smile, took another sip of sweet liqueur, and gestured for Mr. Napoleon to wipe his sweat first.

"And the 1500 illegal Gauls you are protecting."

There are only 64 Gauls with a land residency permit, which means that the person in front of us knows us very well.

Napoleon never chose to follow his instructions to wipe the sweat from his face; he simply...

She bent down, pressing her forehead firmly against the table, and without hesitation placed herself on the lowest shelf in front of the man.

“My lord…please spare us—no, at least spare the women and children.” Napoleon pleaded earnestly, his voice trembling yet resolute. “We can do as you please. But those women and children, they have no chance of surviving outside the city…I beg you, at least spare the girls and children…even if it’s just to let them eke out a living in the city, I beg you.”

...The Gauls around him were all kneeling on the ground, facing the man who was drinking.

Mr. Napoleon was well aware that this was not the time to talk about dignity.

Now, all he wanted was to save the lives of his fellow citizens. Since the Gauls were "purged" because of some great being, almost all of them had perished. The 1500 people he was protecting now constituted the largest group of Gallic refugees in the area. As a former Gallic officer, Napoleon had to protect his few remaining compatriots.

Dignity as a soldier and officer? Life? Take it all! As long as the last Gauls can be saved, as long as those Gaul women and infants who cannot and should not die outside because of the destruction of their country... then Napoleon is willing to pay any price.

...He waited quietly for Yang Hao's reply.

After a while.

“Women and children,” Napoleon remarked upon hearing this. “In any era, they will be the biggest victims of war, reckoning, economic crisis, or even certain special laws…”

Your emperor made a pact with some unknown entity, and the subsequent reckoning has directly led to your current misery. Humanely, you are a group deserving of sympathy, but do you understand? There are such people in the world... We exhaust ourselves just feeding the people of Ursus, let alone expelling outsiders like you at such a crucial moment—it's a waste of energy and yields no benefit.”

"...Yes."

Does that mean he's willing to let them go? Napoleon swallowed hard.

“But that doesn’t mean you’ll be safe and sound here a decade or so from now.” But then, Yang Hao’s tone shifted, making Napoleon tense again. “You are not citizens of this city now. Apart from these 64 Gauls with residency permits, everyone else will be excluded.”

Yes, by then, your children will probably be grown up, perhaps with basic survival skills in the wild. Perhaps after you are driven out, you will plan to seek a way to survive in other cities, or perhaps you will build villages in the wilderness—but in any case, none of these are as comfortable as being in this giant city.

Your bakers need bakeries, wheat, and clean water to make your baguettes. Your artisans need fine stone to carve beautiful goods and sell them, and your women and young children need well-equipped hospitals to ensure they have a chance of survival when illness strikes—we have all of these here, but the problem is, none of these are open to non-citizens. These facilities, these resources, even the future residency permit for every Gaul requires this.”

Napoleon looked up and saw Yang Hao smiling and making a gesture towards him: a thumb rubbing back and forth between the index and ring fingers. This represented money.

Napoleon nodded slightly. He acknowledged the importance of money, but now, even if he sold everything he owned, he could only secure residency permits for fifty Gauls at most. What about the remaining 1450? Wouldn't they need to eat? Wouldn't they need to rest in a safe place?

“Money is the foundation of life.” Yang Hao shook his head and took another sip of his drink. Now there was only a little liqueur left in his glass. “But now that even people in Ursus can’t find work, and you can’t find work either, you can only try to squeeze money out of the legacy your country left you. If I sell this bottle of liquor, will it be enough to feed your people?”

"...about a month," Napoleon answered truthfully.

"You still have 29 bottles of liqueur from Gaul. At most, you can survive on them for two and a half years. This economic crisis will take at least a year to be resolved, two years to be initially resolved, and five years to recover the economy to the point where those underground factories and businesses are willing to accept you Gauls and pay you meager wages instead of flour."

As he pondered this, he gestured for Napoleon to pour him some wine. Napoleon complied; he knew that the fate of all the Gauls in the city now rested in this man's hands.

"I ask you, what can you do for the last remaining Gauls?" The man took another sip of liqueur. Then he placed the glass on the table, his smile vanishing, and looked at Monsieur Napoleon seriously.

Napoleon remained silent for a long time when faced with his question, then looked up and surveyed his compatriots who were still kneeling on the ground.

"...anything that will not harm my Gallic compatriots," Napoleon replied.

"Even if it means you abandon your honor as warriors and kill any innocent Victorian woman you find on the street, you wouldn't care?"

"Yes," Napoleon replied without hesitation: because they were foreigners.

"Even if it means you abandon your dignity and rights as human beings, go to Kazdel to eat a few Sarkaz people, and then swallow a few Originium to become Infected, it wouldn't matter?"

"Yes." He gave his answer once again. As long as the last spark of Gaul could be preserved, what did it matter if he ceased to be human? What did it matter if he became livestock, even less than human? As long as the Gaul bloodline continued, that was enough.

Sitting opposite him, Yang Hao remained silent for a while after hearing this, then smiled.

He gestured for Monica to take out her pen, and then asked her if she had a check.

Monica silently took out everything Yang Hao needed. As for why she carried a checkbook with her, he didn't know, but he could ask her on the way back.

.....

Yang Hao wrote a few numbers on the check. Those numbers corresponded to the prices of the liqueurs on the wall.

He then tore off the check, signed his name on it, and placed it in front of Mr. Napoleon.

“I think we’ve reached a preliminary consensus, but I don’t trust you, including your abilities.” Yang Hao shrugged, downed the liqueur in his glass, stood up, and had Paul take the opened bottle with him. “This is the payment due for this bottle—you can take the check to the Duke’s office to collect the cash.”

He really likes this sweet local specialty wine. Will he be able to drink it more often in the future? Yang Hao optimistically believes he should be able to.

“I will give you seven days,” he said to Mr. Napoleon. “At midnight on March 11th, have your best warriors don their finest gear and prepare for the test at the western side gate of the Duke’s mansion—if you succeed in the upcoming short and medium-term tests, I will be willing to offer you a job. A long-term job, with pay high enough to allow everyone you protect to obtain residency permits in the Duchy of Cosice and to provide them with a livelihood.”

Of course, if you can't pass the postgraduate entrance exam, then I won't make any promises to you. You can also choose not to take my advice and go to sleep that day—but I must remind you, you only have one chance.

Because I really enjoy your liqueurs, so don't disappoint me. — Gauls.

After saying this, without waiting for Mr. Napoleon's reply, Yang Hao led his men away from the Lille Tavern.

His purpose for this trip was complete, and he believed that Mr. Napoleon would arrive as promised. The only problem was that Yang Hao hadn't yet figured out what kind of "test" to give them to assess the warriors' abilities.

Surely we can't just let them fight the snake scales directly, can we? He nodded thoughtfully, thinking it was feasible.

As for Paul suddenly shivering while holding the wine? That must have been his imagination.

...... ......

"Phew... On another note, Monica—do you know how to make baguettes taste better?"

On the way back, Yang Hao didn't finish the remaining half bottle of liqueur. He wanted to take it back and share it with Kosiché; this sweet liqueur really suited his taste.

He'd also heard that liqueurs pair best with baguettes? But what goes best with baguettes? He was very interested.

As for the negotiations with the Gauls, it did trigger an [Event]. However, he was exhausted after a long day and didn't want to think about work again while preparing to go back and rest; he really didn't want to.

[Event: The Gauls' Choice]

The Gauls are also nearly driven to the brink of extinction in this city. They are the largest group of Gaulish refugees in Ursus, and it can be said that if they are destroyed, then Gaul will truly have no chance of rising again.

You've given them a choice. They might appear fully armed at the designated location on the night of the 11th to await your test, or they might do nothing. Of course, for the sake of those women and children who cannot support themselves, they will only choose the former.

You need to be prepared to set up a "test".

'Let them fight the snake scales, okay?'

And so, this announcement basically meant that Yang Hao had successfully completed all his work for the day. Now that he'd finished, why shouldn't he rest?

“…I don’t know. I’m not a professional Gallic chef. Perhaps you could consider hiring some maids of Gallic origin in the future.” Monica shook her head. “Moreover…sir, are you…really not drunk?”

"No, these liqueurs are sweet, and the alcohol content is alright—I'd probably have to finish a whole bottle before I get drunk."

Yang Hao is not someone who can't handle alcohol. Although he used to drink mostly beer, beer is still alcohol, and the more alcohol he drinks, the more he can tolerate.

"...I understand. But sir, what are your thoughts on the Gauls—"

“They can do many jobs that the Ursus people are unwilling to do,” Yang Hao answered with a smile, addressing the question Monica hadn’t asked. He knew what Monica wanted to ask. “These Gauls are different from the Ursus people—the hardworking Ursus people will not accept aid unless they are driven to desperation. The Gauls are now on the verge of desperation, and in order to preserve their last spark, they don’t even mind abandoning their dignity as human beings.”

"But in that case... can those Gauls really be trusted?"

"Of course not now. But they will be worthy of our trust in the future. We can bind them to our territory. This generation are Gauls, the second generation are half Gauls, and the third generation will be the Duchy of Cosice. Do you understand now?"

"...yes."

A simple and easy-to-understand plan for racial integration—though not quite to that extent, it's close enough.

-------------Chapter Dividing Line---------------

...

That evening, when he returned to the Duke's palace and took the liqueur back to his bedroom, Kosiché had not yet returned from the audience hall.

Thinking that instead of just sitting and waiting for her to come back, he should take a shower to wash away the sweat and grime, Yang Hao first went to the bathroom for a nice, warm bath. Then, somewhat awkwardly accepting the chilled wine Monica offered to clear his head, he remembered that he hadn't prepared the letter to Margarita for today...

"Monica, could you write this down for me? I need to send a letter to the Minos people tomorrow morning after I get up. Could you have a messenger ready?"

Monica accepted Yang Hao's orders. However, before leaving to make notes and have the messenger prepare, Monica deliberately asked who Yang Hao was sending the letter to.

Soaking in the hot water, Yang Hao, relaxed, simply squinted his eyes contentedly and said:

"Someone from my past... well... I'd say someone more important than a friend. He was a Sarkaz Blood Demon."

“I see—if he were a Sarkaz, perhaps he'd prefer Kazdel-style stationery,” Monica suggested thoughtfully, unaware of the seriousness of the matter. “So, what does he like?”

"Hmm? If I had to say, my blood? And some books related to the Cataclysmic Messenger. Her profession is the Cataclysmic Messenger, so it's not a big deal to give her things related to the Cataclysmic Messenger as a side benefit, but... if I give away my blood, it should have expired by now, right?"

“For small amounts of blood, you can use ice packs or a portable freezer; this will show how much you value him… But what about the Cataclysmic Messenger? If your friend is an unaffiliated Cataclysmic Messenger, it wouldn't be out of the question to have her seek a job as a Cataclysmic Messenger within the Duke's territory.” Monica still didn't seem to grasp the seriousness of the problem, instead diligently offering advice to Lord Yang Hao. “...As for gifting anything related to the Cataclysmic Messenger, I don't have any good suggestions.”

"That's true... After all, Monica, you're not a messenger of natural disasters, so I was also worried about it." Yang Hao laughed and didn't take Monica's inability to help to heart.

"Hehe. Then please worry about it all by yourself—by the way, what is the recipient's name?" Monica smiled as well, and then she asked a very important question—if the recipient's name isn't clear, it would be troublesome if the messenger delivered the letter to the wrong person.

"Margarita."

"Ok?"

"The recipient's name is Margarita—uh? Is there a problem?"

At this moment, Head Maid Monica suddenly realized that something was wrong: This... why does it sound like a woman's name?

She frowned, thought for a moment, and then asked:

"Excuse me, is this Margarita a woman?"

"Yeah. She's a Blood Demon, and for a Blood Demon's age, she's still practically a child, isn't she?" Yang Hao moved around in the water for a bit, then stretched after finding a more comfortable position. "I'm worried about her. After all, she's out there all alone right now, and it might be another ten years or more before she comes back..."

"Excuse me, Miss Margarita, are you on good terms with her?"

Head Maid Monica was already finding the situation rather troublesome: with Lord Koschei already by his side and able to summon maids at any time, how could Lord Yang Hao possibly intend to rekindle his old flame with a former friend? No, no, this wouldn't do—although Lord Koschei didn't mind, this was different from simply being unable to resist having sex with the maids. That woman named Margarita might threaten the relationship between Lord Koschei and Lord Yang Hao.

This won't do... but I can't disobey the adults' orders... what should I do?

“Ah, of course that would be great. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have thought of sending her a letter…” Yang Hao’s words struck Monica, the head maid, like a heavy hammer blow. “Probably before I pursued Koschei—she was someone I pursued before.”

"...this--"

"Then that silly girl thought I could wait for her for twenty years like Blood Demon did. She wanted to give me an answer after she had a stable job... But the problem is, I didn't know she was thinking that way at the time. So after a while, I gave up and, by some coincidence, found Koschche..."

Yang Hao remained unconvinced and chatted with Monica about his past difficult romantic relationships. However, he currently felt genuinely good about himself—after all, the silly girl was beginning her journey of growth, and he had a wonderful wife. By all accounts, he was a winner in life now, wasn't he?

The only remaining question was how he would survive until the silly girl grew up and came looking for them. Thinking of this, Yang Hao's smile turned into a bitter expression. This was no ordinary difficulty, especially now that his national policy tree had been occupied by the administrative center's policies.