Chapter 1: They Should Be Grateful That Lord Didn’t Implement a Breathing Tax
Thune Territory.
The morning light streamed down upon the castle halfway up the mountain, and the faint scent of heather filled the bedroom.
"Lord Romon, do you still plan to continue collecting taxes today?" the maid asked as she tied her waist belt. The morning light outlined her tall figure, with a slender waist and curvy hips, forming a perfect silhouette.
She lifted her fine golden hair, allowing the cool breeze to dry the fragrant sweat on her skin, and glanced back at the man lying on the bed with the slightly faded sheets.
"No," Romon replied.
He lay flat on his back, his arm pressed against his forehead. The worries that had just dissipated began to return, as they always did.
It had been twenty years since he crossed into this world. Aside from a few years when he lacked the means to enjoy life, he had spent the rest of the time dealing with the messes left by others.
His grandfather, a once proud lord with a 2,000-strong army, had been a heavy drinker with a short temper and poor management skills. By the time the title passed to Romon, the army was gone, and the territory had been reduced to a poverty-stricken village.
No matter how much the villagers were exploited, there was little wealth to squeeze out of them.
"But, Lord Romon, the supplies requested by His Majesty must be delivered by October."
The maid said, her voice a bit flustered as she paused, still holding her head as she arranged her hair.