"After the tyrant has made you poor,
then comes the turn of the clergy to tell you that the poor are God's beloved, and that you—because you are rich—should be patient and content."
________________________________________
March 15
Novarin, the capital
Golden Venue (main avenue)
The main street of the capital, "Golden Venue," is muddy and crowded as a squad of knights rides through, surrounded by the tired faces of citizens roaming the filthy thoroughfare. Some sit here and there in of the least filthy spots they can find—on low wooden stools or a few stones; others on cloth rags, others on the ground.
At least this road is paved with stone, a rarity, yet neglect is obvious. Look closely and even the storefronts lining the street are far from what their facades promise.
Unthinkable for a street called "Golden" to be so filthy and foul! Isn't it supposed to at least reflect a bit of its name… Well, one might assume that things aren't always what they claim to be.
The capital—ah yes, the capital—it is the "heart." Wherever power lies, there lies the capital. It may be called a homeland, a kingdom, a nation, or an empire; names change, but the essence of power remains the same: a man at the head of men, shaping the fate of the rest.
In a kingdom, the king is the summit—not because he is the best, but because he is deemed fit to lead. After him comes the Senate, masters of speech, rhetoric, and deception. Then the Church, which dons a cloak of sanctity to pass decisions that have no divine relation—only to serve their interests and those of their patrons. Finally, beneath them come layers of people—declining in worth the further they stand from the throne: nobles, commoners, peasants, and those not even counted as humans—"servants and slaves." Pitiful souls… If the social strata bear some misery in their lives, the miseries of these are far greater.
---
Samuel, "the Captain" and commander of the knights:
"Clear the road… move back to your shops, you rabble! What is this? A day off? Not working? Are we at a celebration? Where are the craftsmen? Why are your stalls shut? …You!"
(He points at a citizen seated before a worn wooden crate used as a table.)
He adds, "What is your trade? Don't you work??"
The man: "Excuse me, sir… I'm just someone trying to earn his bread."
Samuel: "Someone looking for his bread? You think I'm a fool?"
(He turns to the other knights, irritation on his face.)
The man: "In truth, honored sir…I was a cobbler—I both made and repaired shoes… but now, as you see, I am but an idle laborer… please, don't make too much of it…"
Samuel: "You… Is this a jest?" (pointing at the empty crate) "And what's that?"
The man: "No, no, please don't be angry or misunderstand…I can clean—yes, even your own shoes, sir!"
Samuel (laughs mockingly): "What do you mean by 'clean me,' you insolent wretch?"
The man: "I mean clean your shoe, sir, if you need me to… and your shoe, dear sir, as you can see, could use it, since this road is not exactly tidy."
Meanwhile, a crowd gathers around the soldiers to eavesdrop on the exchange.
The man: "In truth, sir, I depend on cleaning shoes of nobles and bourgeoisie to feed my family… My children are also spread across the city, offering the same service— you might spot them here and there along this street… I don't believe the rest of these good folks differ from my own kin."
The ragged man gives a weary smile and averts his gaze to the ground, continuing: "Conditions are not what they once were… but at least… they help… my poor children… hoping mercy may come to us."
The man falls silent for a long moment, then the captain speaks again:
"Do you feel pity yet for these poor creatures who evidently live and sleep among barrels, crates, and any open spaces along the main roads? But you shall see—even these deserve envy."
---
Amidst the rising complaints and murmurs, Samuel, who had been silent for some time, finally speaks:
Samuel: "SILENCE!!!!"
Silence falls once more, all eyes returning to the ragged man.
The man: "And I am capable of offering greater services… as I said, I was a renowned cobbler—or at least I was. Before rents were raised—not that it was the only thing rising lately. Well, the former king and the current king once bought shoes from my shop!! But I doubt I shall have the honor to fix the next king's shoes."
(He adds in a sarcastic tone.)
"I inherited the trade from my late father, who inherited it from my grandfather… but oh well. Looks like we must change trades now."
(A laugh escapes him, a sound of anger at fate.)
Samuel (his anger softening slightly): "That doesn't explain why you aren't in your shop today. Why are you sitting in the street?"
The man: "I'm here searching for 'shoes.' Including yours, and the nobles' passing by. I might earn a good day's pay… and, truth be told, sir, there's no profit in staying in the shop or near the old neighborhood where I live now—if I can even afford rent! With these stingy, lavish nobles, I doubt I can afford lunch today, let alone feed a family of five children!"
Samuel, scratching his head, mumbles nearly audibly: "What a wretched state…"
Samuel is not so different from those on the street; he too came from narrow alleys, from a family that bought its status with money, and he bought his place with a sword—a skilled man like him could not go unnoticed, and swiftly gained position at court.
Returning his gaze to the seated man, then to the crowd, he announces: "The king orders this area cleared. Another sermon will likely be held in the public square in coming days."
A woman in the crowd (angrily, sourly): "Another celebration!! And we can't even afford the price of milk!!"
Another: "Looks like we'll foot the bill for this, lads!!"
Voices rise in complaint and mocking laughter at their misery.
Samuel: "Fools… calm down."
Silence falls. Samuel mounts his horse again:
Samuel: "Seems there's a speech for you soon. The square will be open to all, and you may attend and enjoy the performances—that's all I know so far…"
A man: "Will it be a holiday?!"
Samuel (irritated): "Idiot!!"
The first man, gathering his things with a smile of resigned acceptance: "What a change this is…"
Samuel to his soldiers: "Spread out along the main routes used by carriages. Ensure the roads are clear. Try to prevent any accidents."
The soldiers shout: "At your orders, sir!!"
Samuel, mounting his horse, to the poor man: "May the Lord have mercy on you."
The man quietly nods: "He will. He will…"
A bystander climbs a crate and shouts: "Clear the road, folks! Clear the road, the show's over. The nobles won't care if one or two of you get trampled."
Everyone seems well aware why the knights hasten to clear the way.
"Nobles are arrogant," the man continues, "indifferent to the lives of lesser citizens—they might run anyone over if they block their path. To them, they're no more than dogs… and their dogs are more valued."
---
Examining the dire living conditions of the poor, with growing population and industrialization in Novarin's capital and ports—naturally clustering the impoverished districts—travel writers who offered direct narratives of these infamous neighborhoods often neglected some harsh realities to avoid shocking their audiences. But perhaps they also skipped many details—on the severe and horrific misery these districts entailed.
All this reminds us of the hellish poverty brought into the kingdom during wartime.
Some districts were dominated by poorly built homes, dim narrow lanes—clearly hubs for the poor, whose former homes were once colonies, war‑torn zones, or modest families brought low by the kingdom's decline.
Crows, often mocked for nesting in large colonies—similarly, these people are crammed into tree-like clusters. They are often depicted as mysterious, dark places—areas even painters, nobles, and kings fear to tread.
Yet there were those who strove not to walk among the poor, but to spotlight their lives and living conditions—like Morpheus.
To contemplate the living conditions of the poor is common—so let us think of their homes: can we truly call them homes? Let's be honest—they resemble wild beasts' lairs more than healthy dwellings.
Few comprehend the human chaos we discuss now, to which ragged men like the one here are drawn each evening.
Across the street, Vina and Morpheus stood observing the exchange among the commoners. They did not intervene, but their eyes spoke volumes.
Vina: "Don't they realize their plight yet? Hearts of stone!"
Morpheus: "Ha—They're only hopeless, that's all…"
Vina's frustration shows: "They don't understand… or rather, they don't want to understand—they even refuse to face their reality."
Morpheus (smiling slightly): "Have you ever seen a large flock with a single shepherd…? (Vina looks puzzled.) Obedience is easier than understanding, Vina!"
Vina, frustration cooling into reflection: "Oh, and didn't taxes get raised again? It's been half a year since the last time—madness!"
Morpheus: "It's shameful… it has become routine. The ruling elite should listen to their people… but they don't."
Vina (angry): "The ruling elite 'listens'? Do they hear you? They expect gratitude for their 'brilliant plans'!"
Morpheus: "Even my own uncle doesn't hear… nor does he want to."
Vina: "Look at them." (She gestures to the people streaming down the street.) "They take suffering as doctrine. Their minds are rotten! Nobles and rulers are useless!"
Morpheus: "To be fair… the commoners don't listen or help themselves either."
Vina: "What?? And you think it's their fault now??"
Morpheus: "I know none of them would dare say 'No.' Not when their head might roll. But would they dare cut off the heads of all the people?"
Vina: "Convince them of that."
Morpheus: "They're afraid."
Frustration returns to Vina: "Oh, so since they've been that way for so long, the 'blessed ones' will swoop down on them, devour them… and I hope they like it afterwards… All because they—and we—were not born under blood of purity!"
She pauses, then with greater anger: "Look at them, idiots… Didn't they notice the absurdity? 'Pure blood,' 'Chosen ones'…"
She inhales deeply and continues: "'Church sanctity'… the only thing we were allowed to learn—like a safety belt for collective ignorance. No schools, no thought, no questions… only shrines."
Morpheus, playfully shocked: "Imagine—they can't read, but none of them ever miss a coin."
Vina: "Pfft… trivial."
Morpheus: "I'm not jesting… someone stayed behind, tailing me for a missing franc."
Vina strikes his arm: "He needs it more than you do, child of privilege."
Morpheus (joking): "It was a test of his patience, nothing more!"
Vina: "Did you hear the chant? 'God ordained suffering upon you to atone your sins.' What sins? I don't know… but they treat us like the unclean too!"
Morpheus: "If you mean physically and outward—sorry to inform you, dear—your info is wrong." (He gestures toward the main road.) "Look at the remarkable scenes before you."
He adds: "Quite tidy, no?"
Vina: "Morpheus… I'm serious."
Morpheus raises his hands in surrender: "They're fooled by the promised paradise… The Church has done its job perfectly, it seems."
Vina: "Of course… You mean they fear the consequences of opposing and breaking the laws made by these tricksters…"
Morpheus: "Shh… they'd label you a traitor—or worse." (He returns to joking.) "'Heresy'… 'opposing God's laws'… you'll burn in the inferno, you devil's nun!!"
Vina: "Oh noooo… you've exposed me!!! Beware, good priest, I shall drag you to Hell with me!!!"
She lunges playfully at him, giggling until she ends in his embrace.
Vina (quietly): "We must bring about the revolution…"
Morpheus grows serious, placing his hand on her head: "Indeed…"