As soon as the news was announced, a faint murmur and whispered discussions arose in the crowd.
On the faces of most villagers were doubt and puzzlement. Terra? Why? Why change the name suddenly?
The name Baron's Meadow had been used for generations. Although it held no special meaning, a sudden change always seemed a bit strange.
They whispered and speculated about the reasons for the name change, but showed neither particular enthusiasm nor objection.
After all, a name was just a name. As long as the land remained the same land, and life remained the same life, changing the name didn't seem to matter.
Dalton had anticipated such a reaction. He paused, ready to read the rest.
His gaze swept to the final part of the decree, and when he saw the lines clearly,
he was stunned. His hand holding the document even trembled, and his eyes were full of incredible shock.
He even wondered if he had misread it, or if the document had been tampered with during transmission.
But he quickly dismissed the idea; the lord's seal on the document was unmistakable.
He suppressed the turbulent waves in his heart, took a deep breath, and tried to make his voice as calm as possible.
He continued reading, almost word for word.
"Furthermore, from the effective date of this decree, all taxes within the territory of Terra, such as market taxes and customs duties, are hereby exempted, with the exception of the statutory tithe owed to the kingdom."
He deliberately paused while reading this, as if he needed time to digest the news himself and to give the villagers a moment to react.
However, the villagers seemed not to fully grasp the immense significance of this decree, simply staring at him blankly.
Dalton swallowed hard and forcefully repeated the last, most shocking sentence.
"This tax exemption decree shall remain in effect until the day I, Karl El, end my life."
Dalton almost roared the last few words.
In an instant, the entire village center fell into dead silence. All the villagers froze in place, their faces frozen in confusion and bewilderment.
Their brains seemed to need a little time to process; this was too much information.
Tax exemption? All taxes except the tithe? And until the end of the lord's life?
What did this mean? It meant that the food they worked so hard to grow, except for one-tenth of the total yield paid to the lord by ancient tradition, belonged to them.
The livestock they raised, the straw mats they wove, the farm tools they made—everything they produced or traded—they didn't need to pay additional taxes.
They could accumulate more wealth, have enough to eat, wear warm clothes, and have the chance to change their generations-old poverty.
"Is it... is it true?" An old, trembling voice broke the silence.
"My lord... is it true? We don't have to pay those taxes?" A peasant woman tightly gripped her husband's arm, her nails almost digging into his flesh.
The next second, a fierce roar erupted from the crowd, like a tsunami, nearly shaking the leaves off the oak tree.
"Melitele above!"
"To hell with Baron's Meadow! Long live Terra!"
"Glory to Terra! Glory to our benevolent and generous lord!"
"Long live Lord Karl, long live the lord!"
Ecstasy spread through the crowd like a plague. People embraced, jumped, and wept for joy.
They had been crushed by high taxes for generations. Who would have thought such a day would come?
The young lord had indeed given them such a tremendous gift.
Although Dalton was mentally prepared that announcing this decree would cause a stir,
the scene before him, like an autumn harvest festival, still exceeded his expectations.
He saw the excited crowd beginning to surge towards him and his companions.
The villagers' eyes blazed with fanaticism, as if they wanted to lift those who had announced the good news to express their gratitude.
Dalton shuddered; he didn't want to experience that kind of enthusiasm. He hastily nailed the decree to the tree.
Then, winking at his equally helpless companions, he shouted: "Let's go!"
Several people took advantage of the fact that the crowd hadn't completely surrounded them yet, and using their usual training skills, slipped through a gap in the excited throng, feeling somewhat embarrassed.
They quickly ran towards the manor, not looking back, followed by thunderous applause and praise.
......
And at that moment, inside the manor, the lord of the entire territory during this carnival was Karl.
He was not handling state affairs or basking in the praise of the villagers; he was in a makeshift shed in the manor's courtyard.
He had turned it into a simple and efficient forge. The furnace was blazing, radiating intense heat.
Karl was shirtless, revealing his smooth, powerful muscles, holding a forging hammer, shaping the final form of a red-hot steel plate.
The speed at which he swung the hammer exceeded the limits of ordinary people's visual capture.
Only a blurred afterimage could be seen, along with a continuous, intense pounding.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! The rhythmic metallic symphony blended into a long, continuous sound.
Despite standing next to the high-temperature furnace and performing such intense, demanding physical labor, not a single drop of sweat trickled from Karl's forehead.
His breathing was steady and long, as if he were just doing something simple.
Next to him, chains were already hung, many of them forged and in the process of natural cooling.
Breastplates, back plates, leg armor, etc.—they had smooth lines and perfect curves, their surfaces still retaining the unique dark blue luster after quenching.
A quick glance showed at least several complete sets of plate armor, varying in size.
At that moment, the footsteps of two people were heard in the distance.
Karl didn't look back, but his excellent hearing and sense of smell already told him it was his father, Raymond, and the butler, Hans.
The movements of his hands didn't stop; he was still finishing the final product with that inhuman speed.
When Raymond and Hans entered the shed, they were first struck by the intense heat and the deafening clanging.
Then their gazes were drawn to the rows of plate armor hanging nearby, gleaming with cold metallic light.
Looking at the astonishing number of exquisitely detailed armor pieces, Raymond's mouth fell open wide, his face full of disbelief.
He looked again at Karl's relaxed posture, then at the results stacked beside him.
His voice trembled slightly with shock: "Ka... Karl... you..."
"You've taken less than a day... just put this... all this plate armor has been forged?!"
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