Chapter CLXIII – Mercy rejoiceth against camping.

3rd of Summer 5860
Work Camp №17, Ancoire

A warm summer day, not swelteringly hot or disappointingly chill, where the sun was bright and so were spirits for most. A day perfect for rest, or for work, whatever one wanted to do really. The perfect weather…

“Forward! Forward, no pushing! We need you to be useful here, no breaking yourselves before you even arrive!”

…for transporting new inmates to the new work camp in Ancoire. A squad from the Protection Squadron, in all their black-grey attire and fancily kitted muskets, were watching over a horse cart that had pulled over to their new base of operations: a plantation.

“Morning, do you have business here, gentlemen?” An overseer walked up to the gate of the fence surrounding the plantation. He looked at the men in the odd uniforms. News reached rural Gemeinplatz quite slowly “Who are you?”

The officer of these soldiers answered “Protection Squadron, under direct command of the Chancellor himself. Summon your master immediately.”

“A-aye.” The overseer began running, towards a residence far away in the distance. In the meanwhile, the PS was already getting set up. From the cart came out the Imperial standard, a blue background with a black eagle on it, plus the motivational sign with “Work is what sets you free.” Printed on it. Two of the soldiers got to work on hanging these items on the gate, while the others got to work on leading the slaves into their housing.

Soon enough, the master of this plantation had made his panicked way to the front gate. He seemed equally terrified, nervous and displeased, but he was also too winded from the run to voice any of that. All he could do was wipe his brow, and ask a simple “What is the meaning of this?”

The officer let out a frustratingly nonchalant shrug in response, as if the other man was an utter buffoon for not having a clue. He proceeded to recite a script that had become all too common in Gemeinplatz “In accordance to the Decree Relating to Ending Unnecessary Division Within the Empire and Finding a Satisfactory Solution as to the Darkskin Question, all your slaves are forfeit. If you wish to receive compensation or have any more questions, please reach out to the governor of Ancoire. Got it?”

“The governor of Ancoire… since when? I thought that the High Priest had not allowed the appointment of one.” The master of the plantation had heard of the failure at Karabush, but, since when did the Empire move so quickly to respond to anything?

The officer let out a tired sigh. How many times did he have to explain this by now? “His Upmost Eminence had a change of heart. Again, any more questions should be directed at the relevant authorities. I’m only acting on orders from the Chancellor.”

“What authority does the Chancellor even hold anyways?! I know my feudal right well, sir, and my liege is His Upmost Eminence. I’m not budging unless you bring in somebody authorized by His Upmost Eminence.” The master of the plantation crossed his arms, like a petulant child, with a scowl. He’d really rather have these clowns off his backyard as soon as possible.

“What authority do you hold? Let’s see...” The officer reached for the pockets of his gambeson, seemingly searching for something.

TH-BANG! The master of the plantation slumped to the ground with a large bullet lodged in his chest.

“…nothing compared to lead and shot. You people really need to learn how to stay quiet.” The officer put the flintlock pistol back in its holster. The Chancellor surely wouldn’t object to such a rebellious nobleman being put down. It was what their job was: enacting the Chancellor’s will. The Chancellor will was the will of His Imperial Majesty, who was the will of the Empire, who was the will of the Divine who… well, you can’t really go above god now can you? Divine will was always correct, therefore the Empire was always correct, therefore the Emperor was always correct, therefore the Chancellor was always correct. The greater good! All for the greater good. That’s what the officer thought when he saw the bloody mess laying on the ground. “One of you take him away.”

“Yes, sir.” A soldier passing by volunteered himself up to it. He raised the corpse from under its shoulders and began dragging it away, before pausing in front of a window looking into the former residence of the plantation owner. “Sir, I’m pretty sure he has a wife and kids. What do we… you know.” He clearly felt uncomfortable saying it out loud.

“I don’t think they’ll be of much use now that the man is dead. I have enough of my wife crying at me in my home.” This prompted laughter from both of the men. One of them was carrying a corpse, the other was the reason why the other corpse was there in the first place, and all they could was laugh at the lowest brow of jokes. “Ahem.”

“Ahem – apologies sir. I’ll get the corpse out.” With that the soldier returned to disposal duty. The master of the plantation would be the first to be dumped in the mass grave that was about to form out of this camp. A fittingly ironic end that even the corpse would find humorous, if not for the fact that dead men usually do not participate in humor.

With that, the Protection Squadron acquisition process was done. All that was left for the officer was to kick back, relax, and think about how best he could divide up the wealth of the newly disposed of nobleman. Some had to go to the men of course – a little bit, to sweeten the deal. He’d have to take a good look soon, to decide what is the most valuable and snatch the most valuable items for himself. A little bit would have to go to the Chancellor of course, to ensure his continuing good favor. A little contribution for the Empire, may it reign for another thousand years.

“Another day of keeping the peace and upholding the Empire well done.”