Steel, Guns, and the Industrial Party in Another World

Chapter 260: Taxes! Taxes! Taxes!

After having a meal at the merchant Adra’s store, Kevin tried to sell the salt he brought in the town center’s square. Initially, no one was interested in buying, forcing them to repeatedly lower the price. By sunset, they finally made some money, though it was undoubtedly at a loss.

Even so, they faced an inevitable issue.

“Tax Officer, sir! We’ve only earned this little amount of money all afternoon. Please, have mercy and exempt us from taxes.”

Kevin and the others pleaded meekly to the approaching tax officer.

The tax officer shook his head resolutely, “I don’t care how much or little you’ve earned. If you’re doing business in this town, you must pay taxes to the lord. Don’t think of escaping my notice.”

“But sir, we are salt workers who make a living by boiling salt. Due to the rise of salt fields, we had to keep lowering our prices to sell our salt. We’re already suffering a loss, and if you take some as tax, this trip would have been in vain.”

The tax officer remained unyielding, “I don’t care about your individual circumstances. As Port Fran’s tax officer, I can’t break the rules for one or two people. Rules are rules. Without them, how can Lord Grayman govern his territory?”

Despite their continued pleas, the tax officer grew impatient, summoned a few tax clerks from the city hall, and surrounded them.

“I don’t have time for your nonsense. You have two choices: pay your taxes willingly or substitute it with labor. The choice is yours!”

With no other option and faced with the ultimatum, they reluctantly complied, feeling their money pouches significantly lighter after paying the taxes.

The tax officer snorted and left with his clerks, “A bunch of paupers. If it weren’t for Lord Grayman driving away the pirates, could you even do business peacefully in this town?”

Anger clenched in their fists, Kevin and the others dared not express their frustration.

They decided to visit the new church in Port Fran, all except Kevin, who seemed reluctant.

Upon reaching the door, Kevin said petulantly, “I’ll wait outside for you. Hurry up!”

His companions shook their heads and entered the church.

…

“Almighty Lord, please bless us and show us a clear path…”

The villagers prayed devoutly to the statue, and after their prayers, they handed a bag of salt to the priest standing beside them.

“This is our village’s offering to the Lord of Light for this month. Please accept it on behalf of the church.”

Their “offering” was actually the so-called “tithe” — the faithful were required to give one-tenth of their produce or income to the church.

Parting with a bag of hard-earned salt was painful, but not doing so could invite divine punishment, as the priests said. It’s better to be safe than sorry.

Moreover, the collection of tithes by the church was recognized by the lord’s mansion and was obligatory. If the church discovered anyone not paying voluntarily, the tax officer would still come knocking. Refusing to pay could lead to serious consequences from the lord.

The priest checked the weight of the salt bag, smiled satisfactorily, and said in a gentle voice, “The Lord of Light will surely bless His faithful lambs.”

The people bowed and left.

…

Seeing his companions exit the church, Kevin, who had been waiting impatiently outside, scoffed, “The offering we give probably doesn’t reach the Lord of Light at all. It must all go into the pockets of His so-called loyal servants.”

Most of his companions showed a look of helplessness, aware of the corruption within the church.

Only one devout villager, usually very pious, suddenly changed his expression. “Kevin, if you keep spouting nonsense, I won’t come with you to sell salt next time.”

His warning had no effect, and Kevin continued to mock: “You’re so eager and diligent with your offerings, yet I haven’t seen the Lord of Light bless you at all. You’re just as poor as I am.”

“You… you…”

Unable to argue back, the devout believer almost resorted to violence.

“Enough, enough, fighting over a little dispute? Let’s not be the laughingstock of the town.”

The others quickly intervened, separating them as they continued to hurl insults from a distance.

The devout one argued, “The servants of the church tirelessly serve the Lord of Light day in and day out. It’s only right that they receive some compensation.”

Kevin retorted, “Their ‘compensation’ is more than just a little. They live lives comparable to nobility, which is completely against what the Scriptures dictate!”

…

The group headed back to their village, dispirited and conversing sporadically.

“Looks like we can’t sustain ourselves just by boiling salt anymore. We need to find another way to make a living.”

“How about we check out the salt fields in Port Fran? Maybe our ancestral skills could be useful there.”

“What, you’re really going to compromise and become a traitor?… Actually, I’ve thought about it too.”

“Keep dreaming. If it was a few months ago, maybe, but they’re not hiring anymore.”

“How do you know?”

“Don’t look at me like that. Okay, I admit I asked them secretly. But they said in a few months, the salt fields will expand their production and hire a lot of people. Apparently, they plan to sell salt through the southern sea routes.”

“A few months? A week is already too long for me. We’re barely scraping by at home.”

“There are other options. Although the salt fields aren’t hiring, there are many other factories looking for workers, like those making pottery, paper, and canned goods. Such factories are increasingly common.”

“Sigh, I’ve never worked with those things before. Starting as an apprentice and abandoning our ancestral craft, I really can’t reconcile with that.”

The team returned to the village, where many awaited their return eagerly. Upon learning that the merchant Adra was leaving Port Fran and they had to sell their salt at a loss, the whole village was shrouded in gloom.

After Kevin returned home, he hastily ate a few bites before falling into a deep sleep, exhausted from the long day of selling salt in Port Fran until nightfall.

…

A commotion woke Kevin up early in the morning. Rubbing his sleepy eyes, he asked his parents, “What’s happening outside so early in the morning?”

His father, silent and melancholic, sat next to the table smoking a pipe — not with real tobacco, but with some unknown plant leaves, a substitute since their income had drastically reduced.

His mother, preparing breakfast, sighed deeply, “What else can it be? Just listen for yourself.”

An extremely irritating voice reached Kevin’s ears.

“Fellow villagers, it’s time to pay the poll tax for this month…”

Another damned tax!

No matter where or when, he could never escape such burdens.

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