Chapter 34: Refugees from the Neighboring Territory
Several days had passed since Zenon’s declaration of “investment” in the orphans.
Liliana had begun to see his actions from a new perspective.
His cold words, she now believed, were merely a mask to conceal a deep compassion. His rational, efficiency-driven policies—the most effective means of truly saving the people.
In her eyes, Zenon had come to appear as a lonely saint, burdened by the weight of salvation.
Then one day, a new piece of news shook the Arkwright territory.
A messenger, pale and breathless, burst into the reception room where an emergency council was being held.
“Reporting! A large number of refugees are gathering on the eastern border, at the boundary with the Vine Land Count’s territory!”
At that, the faces of Marc and Gray turned grim.
The Vine Land County— A neighboring land notorious for misrule. Its current count was a tyrant who bled his people dry with heavy taxes and squandered all the wealth on his own luxuries.
The territory had long been in decline—its people starving, law and order collapsing. Everyone in Arkwright had heard the rumors.
“The number of refugees is approximately three hundred! And their numbers continue to grow!”
“Three hundred…!?”
Marc muttered in disbelief. That was far too many to ignore.
“They claim to seek food and work, having heard rumors of Arkwright’s prosperity. There are already reports of skirmishes with the border guards trying to hold them back!”
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Three hundred refugees.
That meant food for three hundred, shelter for three hundred—and a potential source of social unrest.
The Arkwright territory had only just begun its path to recovery and prosperity. Its foundation was still fragile.
A sudden influx of so many outsiders could shake the entire structure to its core.
“…We have no choice but to turn them away.”
It was the treasurer, Rio, who broke the silence with a pained expression.
“We do not yet have the resources to support them. If we take them in, our food reserves will be strained, and dissatisfaction will spread among our people. Public order will surely suffer. It may sound cold, but that is the only realistic choice.”
The other retainers nodded somberly.
They were not wrong.
A ruler’s first duty was to protect his own people.
But Liliana stood up, refusing to accept that harsh logic.
“Please wait!”
Her voice rang out, clear and unwavering. The saintly light in her eyes seemed to fill the room.
“These people have suffered under tyranny. They have risked their lives to reach our land in search of hope! To abandon them now—how could we call ourselves human?”
Her tone was calm, but her words carried to every corner of the chamber.
“To feed the hungry. To give shelter to the homeless. That is not merely the teaching of the gods—it is the natural duty of all humankind! I beg of you, save them!”
The room fell silent.
Her words might have been idealistic—but no one could deny their truth.
And so, all eyes turned to Zenon.
The ruler of Arkwright.
The one whose word alone could decide the fate of hundreds.
Zenon, however, said nothing.
He was quietly reading the written report handed to him by the messenger.
It contained not just the number of refugees, but also age distribution, gender ratios, and general health conditions—cold, factual data.
He appeared unmoved by Liliana’s emotional plea or his retainers’ pragmatic arguments.
In his mind, only numbers were moving—calculations forming at blinding speed.
Cost and return.
Risk and benefit.
He broke down the expenses: food, housing, medical aid, security measures.
Then weighed them against the potential long-term gains.
(…Three hundred young, healthy laborers.)
A faint, knowing smile tugged at Zenon’s lips.
(Road construction, specialty processing facilities, and new ventures soon to begin… Our territory suffers from chronic labor shortages. This could not only solve that problem—but yield a surplus.)
(These people are not mere refugees. They are highly motivated individuals who chose to escape an oppressive land in pursuit of a better life—human resources, not burdens.)
(The initial investment will be high, yes. But if placed effectively and given training, the return will be severalfold within a few years.)
The calculations were complete.
The conclusion—inevitable.
Zenon slowly lifted his head.
All eyes were on him—Liliana’s full of hope, his retainers’ full of tension.
“…Accept all the refugees.”
The room froze.
Liliana’s face lit up with pure joy.
Ah, she thought—I knew it!
He had heard her plea. He truly cared for the suffering of others!
Beneath that cold exterior beat a heart of divine compassion!
Her misunderstanding was now unstoppable.
Rio and Marc exchanged uneasy glances.
Foolhardy. Idealistic to the extreme.
But if Lord Zenon had decided so, then there must be some profound reasoning beyond their understanding.
They could only obey.
“Gray,”
Zenon continued smoothly, unfazed by their reactions.
“Set up a temporary refugee camp along the border. Secure food and clean water. Send physicians—treat the wounded and sick first. Maintain order and prevent panic.”
“Marc, assess their skills. Carpenters, blacksmiths, farmers—compile a list and assign them to suitable work.”
“Rio, calculate all costs associated with this operation. Draft an emergency budget. I won’t tolerate a single wasted coin.”
The rapid-fire orders left no room for hesitation.
His efficiency was such that it felt as though he had anticipated this very scenario long in advance.
The retainers, awed by his commanding presence, bowed deeply and hurried out to carry out his will.
The reception room grew quiet again.
Only Zenon remained, along with Liliana, who was still glowing with admiration.
“…Thank you, Lord Zenon,”
She said, bowing deeply.
“From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for your warm and merciful decision.”
Zenon looked at her, genuinely puzzled.
And then, without the slightest awareness of what he was about to do, he uttered the words that would only deepen her grand misunderstanding.
“A warm decision? What are you talking about? I simply made a cost calculation.”