I’d settled the free beekeeping family from the fief of Murbach in Feuzen, and of the Brabantines who had been held captive by the deserter band, two had been sent back home.

Trade caravans from the Netherlands region often traveled along the Main River up to Beren. They were known as the Lowlands trade caravans. While Beren was hostile to Burgundy, its relationship with the Lowlands was relatively decent.

This was because, thanks to the Lowlands rebellion, Burgundy had withdrawn its troops five years ago.

It was also said to be a scheme by the Holy Roman Emperor, but in any case, without that timely rebellion, the Duchy of Beren would have been fated for endless attrition under French rule.

But only the painter with the broken right arm remained.

"With this arm, I can never paint again. Even if I went home, I’d only be a burden to my family."

"...Don’t you think you’d be a burden here too, even a little?"

"You saved me, so you’ll see this through to the end, won’t you?"

"I thought you were a pessimist, but you’re actually shameless."

The pessimistic painter had a broken arm that was taking a long time to heal.

In truth, it wasn’t even proper treatment. The bone needed to be set, but they’d done nothing of the sort—just applied bandages and ointment. So I was planning to ask Stock to examine him as soon as the executioner’s group arrived.

"You want me to receive treatment from an executioner?"

The painter’s eyes as he looked at me were anything but ordinary.

"Executioners who feed on blood are the most sinful of sinners, but your proposal is interesting, my lord. The me of before would naturally have refused, but having come to know human nature, my aversion to executioners has actually diminished. They might even seem more sacred to me."

"Why do you think that?"

"I thought killing the wicked brought a curse upon their kin, but in truth, it was purification. They are the slayers sent by God. They are God’s swords, capable of killing the humans rotted by hedonism."

So along with all his suffering, he’d developed a serious case of teenage angst?

"I’ve found my enlightenment, but you, my lord, seem surprisingly unprejudiced toward executioners."

"My principle is that if someone has talent, I value them regardless of their status."

Of course, disposition carried the most weight. I didn’t bother explaining that to the painter. He realized I was unusual, different from other lords, and seemed to have opened up a little.

"You are very fair, but you trust people too much."

His twisted smile still seemed to reflect his pessimistic view of humanity. In the end, I decided to send a letter to his family, but since his arm was broken, I had no choice but to write it for him. I had no idea if it would actually reach them.

Still, the painter had some sense of decency. He promised that if his arm healed, he’d paint ten works for me. I didn’t have high expectations, but as a painter, he’d surely produce something decent.

The walls of the manor were bare with nothing hung on them, so this would be a chance to add some decoration.

"My lord! The executioner’s party has arrived!"

The executioner’s party arrived in Feuzen. Naturally, the villagers found even the proximity of executioners repulsive. So I had a tent set up outside Feuzen for them to stay in.

Surprised by the unexpected courtesy of being given a tent, the executioners trembled. Apparently, they were usually made to sleep in barns or stables. I’d thought even that was too cruel and had given them a tent instead.

In truth, it was a courtesy I extended specifically for Stock’s sake.

When I visited Stock with the painter, he still spoke with a stutter.

"W-willow b-bark, gr-ground into p-powder."

"I see. Now, what does it do?"

"It t-temporarily r-relieves p-pain."

Not quite an anesthetic, but something like a painkiller? Stock’s medical knowledge was greater than I’d expected, which made me want him even more. The painter, perhaps having steeled himself, accepted Stock’s treatment without aversion.

Fortunately, the painter’s treatment was completed without significant pain.

He seemed deeply impressed by Stock’s skill.

"Now I see—this is not a sword that kills sinners but the hand of God that saves people. Has there ever been such a tragic irony? Ah, God. Why have you created humans so unstable!"

After shouting that out of nowhere, he ran off to the church.

I could feel the bewildered gazes of the Stock couple.

That’s just how artists are, with a screw or two loose in their heads.

But that wasn’t the important thing. I was thinking only of how to settle Stock in Feuzen. Identity laundering would surely be necessary, but would the executioner clan really let Stock go? I had my doubts.

Escaping the status of executioner, scorned for life as a cursed existence, was their fundamental wish. They did all sorts of menial work in the city, beyond beheading criminals.

Back in my duchy knight days, I’d taken on the role of street cleaning supervisor for a quest, and even that had been a temporary post I’d taken because the executioner’s schedule was full. They handled every kind of menial work in society to that extent.

So they could never be well treated. But there was one unexpected advantage they had over commoners: surprisingly, their income was decent. Although they were confined to a lowborn village, they rarely went hungry.

In any case, with the executioners having arrived, Andreas set the date for the execution.

Executions also involved religious rites, and avoiding feast days was basic common sense, so scheduling fell under the Church’s authority. The date was set for two days later, in the afternoon.

I had a private meeting with the Stock couple in their tent.

They still seemed too intimidated by my presence to even meet my eyes. The head of the executioner clan, worried Stock might commit some offense before me, was on edge, but I assured him it was fine and sent him away.

"Your skill was excellent, just as I’d seen in Hünrich."

At my praise, the Stock couple shrank back.

It was a compliment—there was no need to be that nervous.

"P-please f-forgive my-my-my p-past d-discourtesy."

"I don’t mind that day’s events at all, so there’s no need to be uneasy."

The Stock couple bowed even lower.

Due to the deeply rooted discrimination of their status, they felt fear toward me—someone who could decide their lives and deaths so easily. They hadn’t been like this when we last met. Was it because of this execution?

"What if I freed you from being an executioner?"

"...U-us? B-but why?"

"To put it bluntly, I covet the medical skills you possess."

Anywhere you go, doctors are extremely important and precious. Especially in this era when even the concept of surgery didn’t exist, there was hardly anyone in this region who could handle bones as well as Stock.

If I, with my basic understanding of hygiene, could fill in what Stock lacked, wouldn’t it be possible to treat wounded soldiers so they didn’t die in war?

In the current medical system, the survival of wounded soldiers was practically a coin flip.

There wasn’t even the concept of disinfection, so combining Stock’s skills with mine would be meaningful.

"D-do I-do I r-really hold s-such v-value, that y-you’d p-persuade me y-yourself, my l-lord? A s-stuttering ex-executioner?"

"You hold that much value."

Earnestness, and honesty (good).

That was the Stock couple’s disposition.

They seemed bewildered at receiving kindness for the first time in their lives. And from a lord above the clouds, no less. As the ruler of this land, I was a being like a king whom no one could interfere with. That was my status.

Hmm, comparing myself to a king was overdoing it. I was more like a neighborhood boss.

Wouldn’t playing king with a population under three hundred be a bit silly?

"Y-you are the o-only one wh-who has sh-shown us s-such k-kindness, my l-lord. We w-will s-serve you w-with our l-lives."

Stock wept ceaselessly.

His wife wept beside him.

If they could escape a life of contempt, it would be a tremendous blessing for them and their descendants. Of course, that was only if the Stock couple could safely settle in Feuzen.

"I’ll seriously look into a way, so wait just a little longer."

The Stock couple’s eyes, as they looked at me, were filled with deep hope and anticipation. I’d learned for the first time that powder made by boiling willow bark had pain-relieving properties. That’s how much I coveted this couple’s knowledge.

After all, asking the Judicial Department was probably the fastest route.

They were the body that could legally launder identities. They might find the request to launder an executioner’s identity into that of a commoner absurd, but since it would put them in my debt, surely they’d accept.

So I was about to draft a letter to the Judicial Minister explaining the couple’s situation and my request when an envoy from the Judicial Department suddenly arrived.

I welcomed a guest at a completely unexpected moment.

"Well now, what brings the Chief Justice all the way here?"

"I came to explain the situation to the Lord of Feuzen."

This Chief Justice was unequivocally the number three man in the Judicial Department. The top was naturally the Judicial Minister, with the Master of Ceremonies as second. Next came the dignified-looking elderly man before me.

His title was viscount, so he clearly outranked me as a high-ranking noble. Of course, that was in terms of formal rank only, and a knight without title who held a fief wasn’t intimidated by such things. So his attitude carried respect.

"His Highness desires that all those involved be sent back."

"They are my villagers, and dealing with traitors is the lord’s prerogative. This could be misunderstood as excessive royal interference." 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

"That is precisely why His Highness intends to grant your wishes. I’ve come personally out of consideration for your standing and reputation. Wouldn’t you say I’ve sufficiently honored your position?"

Indeed, the fact that the Chief Justice himself had come as envoy was proof that the Judicial Department and the royal family viewed this transaction as highly important. Handing the prisoners over rather than executing them myself was probably for the best.

For those men, dying at my hands would have been preferable.

But dying at the royal family’s hands would mark them as undeniable, true traitors.

"Since you’ve shown such regard for my standing, I’ll accept the request. However, since I’ll be keeping their families as serfs, I’ll only send the ringleaders. That matter is separate from this transaction."

"A reasonable request. So, what do you ask of the royal family?"

I’d been watching the recruits’ training, and a thought had suddenly struck me.

Even if I trained them as ordinary infantry, they’d have no distinguishing features or strengths.

They’d be common soldiers found anywhere, unable to exert decisive influence on the battlefield.

Archers were too difficult to train.

"Could I obtain firearms?"

"Firearms? You, a knight, want firearms?"

So why not train a small force as gunners?

I’d seen on YouTube the tactic called the tercio, which mixed gunners, pikemen, and infantry.