BOPE 92

Chapter 92 …

Billy stepped into the village chief’s house and swept his eyes slowly across the interior, filled with bittersweet regret.

It had been sixty years. Sixty years since the last time he had entered this house.

The place had changed so much since his childhood that almost nothing of the old home remained.

“The lord is waiting for you.”

The young, handsome man who had been leading him came to a stop and spoke, snapping Billy out of his reverie. He quickly cast away the useless past—better to discard it than cling to it.

As he followed behind the young man, Billy reminded himself not to hold onto any foolish hopes. No doubt he would only be disappointed. After all, nobles never sided with commoners. No matter how grave Pig Dog’s sins, in the end, the lord would surely side with him.

But the closer they drew to the reception room where the lord was waiting, the more Billy’s heart pounded—not like the weary heart of an old man worn by time, but like the vibrant, thundering heart of a young man.

His first impression of the lord was: too young. He worried how such a young lord could possibly govern the entire Grace Territory. Judging by how long Isdor had been neglected, it was clear this lord was inexperienced in managing the domain.

Still, if the lord truly intended to set things right now, Billy was more than willing to devote his loyalty.

“I greet my lord.”

Billy bowed deeply to the lord, who was young enough to be his granddaughter. The mere fact that this lord had stripped the wicked Pig Dog of his title as village chief was reason enough for Billy to offer thanks for ten days straight—it was that great a mercy.

“Come in, sit down,” the lord said, gesturing to the sofa opposite.

“How could I dare sit face-to-face with you, my lord? Standing and listening is more than enough for me.”

To Billy’s mind, speaking to a noble from the same level was unthinkable. To sit without permission might be seen as insolence, deserving a beating.

“It makes me uncomfortable. If you stand like that, I have to keep lifting my head. So sit there. That’s an order.”

The lord’s tone was surprisingly firm. Billy glanced nervously at the knights and butler in the room, then gingerly perched on the farthest edge of the sofa, barely resting his weight.

Soon after, a maid who had once served the village chief entered and placed tea on the table. Seeing there were two cups, Billy assumed another guest would arrive. He kept his posture stiff as a board.

“Drink.”

“Eh?”

“Do you dislike tea?”

“N-no, my lord, it’s just that…”

The fine cup gave off a fragrant, refreshing aroma. Billy carefully reached out, afraid he might break it by accident.

“It’s hot. Sip slowly.”

“Th-thank you.”

Billy had thought he wouldn’t tremble before such a young lord. Yet here he was, stammering like a nervous country bumpkin meeting a noble for the first time. Never had he imagined being treated with such courtesy. He hadn’t prepared himself for this possibility. His mind went blank.

“I heard the people of Isdor want you to become the next village chief.”

“That is far too lofty a position for me.”

“I don’t know much about the people of this village. That’s why I didn’t realize how Pig Dog was exploiting and tormenting them. As lord, I deeply regret my negligence and apologize.”

Billy, who had been bowing low, slowly raised his head. Tears welled in his wrinkled eyes. The words were almost too good to believe.

“I intend to finally act as a true lord should. But I’ll need the help of someone like you—someone who knows this village well and has the trust of its people. Will you aid me in rebuilding Isdor together?”

Words like a dream kept flowing from the lord’s lips.

“From now on, Handsome here will keep you informed of developments. The first priorities, the things that must be done to ensure the village prospers—those are matters you’ll need to discuss together. Handsome.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“What was the first task we agreed upon?”

“Connecting Isdor to Morta village with a bridge. We’ll need many laborers for the construction.”

“Relying only on Morta’s people will be difficult, since they already have their own projects. Let Builder oversee the work, but for labor assignments and local needs, discuss everything with Billy here.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Handsome’s face shone brighter than ever as he answered.

An hour later, the villagers gathered once more in the chief’s garden. In their eyes flickered faint hope, though many still looked on with suspicion, scanning the area warily, ready to flee at the first sign of danger.

“They’re not going to hand that out and then drag us off somewhere, are they?”

“Why would they drag us away?”

“I heard some nobles capture people to use as bait for hunting monsters.”

Even when offered a single sack of grain, the villagers’ minds raced with fears of the worst. Yet with starving families waiting at home, they had no choice but to come.

But none of those fears came true. Instead, they were given ample grain—enough for several days—and even soft, luxurious bread unlike anything they had ever tasted.

“Do we really get to keep this?”

All eyes turned to the young lord standing at the center of the temporary distribution site.

Pig Dog had always told them their suffering was because of the lord—claiming the lord was wasteful, obsessed with men, and utterly indifferent to governance. He insisted the steep taxes were by the lord’s order, warning that if they disobeyed, knights would descend and burn Isdor to the ground.

But now, the villagers were beginning to realize that not a single word of it had been true.

“The chief lied to us.”

“All those taxes he collected went straight into his own pockets.”

“He spent it on dresses and jewels for Rose! The wretch—abandoning her husband and child, and for what? Serves her right!”

The murmurs grew louder and louder, until people openly cursed the two. After all the suffering they had endured, no kind words remained.

As food was distributed, families returned home with arms full. That evening, for the first time in ages, laughter filled their homes. Just one hearty meal made them feel as though they possessed the whole world.

Little Kevin, who had insisted on helping with his tiny hands all day, soon fell asleep in his mother’s arms, exhausted.

“Inviting you to Grace Castle only to put you through this much work… I feel bad,” Donghee said as she entered the room where they were resting, gently stroking Kevin’s hair.

“No, my lord. I couldn’t be happier.”

“Really? I’m glad.”

“Yes. I want to tell everyone how warmhearted you are.”

Donghee recalled how, during the grain distribution, Beiki had tirelessly praised her to the villagers—so much that her throat went hoarse from speaking.

“I’ve been lacking, and I’ve caused people too much suffering. But I’ll work hard from now on. Please, watch over me.”

That was not something a lofty noble should have said to him. Deeply moved, Beiki quickly rose, bowing his head low with Kevin still in his arms.

Kevin squirmed uncomfortably and whimpered, so Beiki laid him gently on the bed. The moment his body touched the soft mattress, Kevin smiled in his sleep, drifting into peaceful slumber.

“You are our savior, my lord. The people of Morta and Enol will always live with gratitude toward you. And soon, the people of Isdor will feel the same.”

Beiki spoke with utter conviction, as though it were an undeniable truth.

“Thank you. That gives me strength. Get some rest—you’ll likely be busier tomorrow. Since you’ve already experienced this, please teach the others. I’m counting on you.”

“Yes, my lord!”

Beiki was overjoyed—just being able to lend even a little support to his lord in that moment made him feel as though he could soar into the sky.

Meanwhile, Pig Dog and Rose were confined in the most remote storeroom of the chief’s house.

The cramped, windowless space was piled with cleaning tools and broken furniture like trash.

“Do something! Are we just going to sit here? What’s going to happen to me?”

Terrified in the pitch-black room, Rose screamed at Pig Dog. She longed to escape, but with her hands and feet bound and guards stationed outside, it was impossible.

Pig Dog himself was tied so tightly that his wrists and ankles were bound together, leaving him unable to sit properly. Every time he twisted, the ropes only cut deeper, and the dust on the floor made him cough violently.

“We have to get word to the viscount. If he hears that the Grace lord is here causing trouble, he’ll surely come to my aid.”

“But we have no way to contact him.”

“Then we’ll find one. We can’t just sit here and take this.”

Pig Dog clenched his teeth, voice dripping with venom.