Iola's calm smile concealed various emotions as he gazed steadily at Viretta.

Viretta didn’t flinch under his look, which seemed almost pitying, as if he were regarding a flawed person from a place of mercy.

“Taxes should be proven by those who collect them. If they can locate me and calculate my earnings accurately, I’ll pay. Otherwise, not a chance. There’s no one in Medleridge so weak as to yield to greedy ideological pigs fattened by indulgence.”

Her words were bold and defiant, but ultimately, she was just talking about tax evasion.

Iola muttered with a hint of resignation, “Fillian’s tax laws have practically become a battleground between Medleridge and the collectors.”

“That’s thanks to my grandfather and father.”

“Quite the legacy,” he replied bluntly.

Receiving what felt like a double scolding from the usually gentle Iola, Viretta felt slightly intimidated. In an effort to redeem herself in her fiancé’s eyes, she started to explain.

“As a taxpayer, I just want it understood that the presence of the word ‘tax’ doesn’t mean I’ll simply pay it without question. If someone on the street demanded a toll from me just for passing, wouldn’t we call them a robber?”

Viretta pointed to some men on the street who looked rough around the edges, carrying axes and swords and grouped together.

“Take them, for instance. If they came over demanding a market fee, wouldn’t it feel more like extortion than legitimate tax?”

“Judging by appearances alone is—”

“Hey, don’t recognize you. Who gave you permission to do business here?”

“To sell here, you need to pay a spot fee.”

“—rude, but it seems you got it half-right.”

Iola’s reasonable point was instantly rendered moot by the appearance of armed, brutish men demanding payment for their spot.

He maintained his good-natured smile as he inquired, “Excuse me, are you tax collectors or bandits?”

“Can’t you tell by looking? This is our turf! To pass through this village, you’ve gotta pay tolls, market fees, and consumption taxes. Got it?”

One of the burly men slammed his axe down beside the stall’s counter. Viretta and Iola turned to each other, unfazed.

“See? They look fierce, but they say they’re tax collectors.”

“Are you blind? They’re obviously bandits!”

A scrawny guy beside the burly one banged on the counter, raising his voice.

Viretta clapped her hands in delight.

“Ah! I thought so! I had a feeling you were honorable thieves, taking from the good-hearted common folk. So, how much is the spot fee? We’re only selling horned beast meat here.”

“What the hell? Are these guys insane? Have they lost their fear?”

Viretta’s cheerful smile and assumption of them as tax collectors, along with Iola’s calm demeanor, and Lanken’s business-as-usual attitude behind them, all made for a strange sight.

The rough men, seemingly taken aback, didn’t quite know how to handle it.

“They must think we’re just some thugs coming to squeeze them for a spot fee, but our leader here? He ran a mercenary band before it went bankrupt. He’s a veteran!”

“If you don’t value your life, drop your weapons and hand over everything you’ve got. We’ll only take half, out of kindness. Then you’re free to leave.”

The wiry one kicked over a pot beside the stall.

“Or do you need to get a good beating in front of the lady here to knock some sense into you?”

There were three bandits up close. One held an axe, another a sword, both ready to attack.

Their claim of it being “their turf” was likely true, as no one in the market moved to stop them. It was only the three outsiders who found themselves at the mercy of these bandits.

Leaving the overturned pot, Lanken crept over to stand behind Viretta.

“Think you can use that sword on your belt?” the bandit taunted, glancing at both Iola and Lanken.

Their clean-cut looks didn’t exactly inspire fear.

Iola ran his thumb over the hilt of his sword, smiling.

“I’m from the mercenary city of Najin. All men in Najin are raised as mercenaries.”

“From Najin…?”

“I went abroad to study as a scholar instead of becoming a mercenary.”

“Oh, so you…wait, what?”

His ambiguous statement left everyone momentarily baffled.

Even Viretta and Lanken, who had yet to see Iola’s skills, looked at him, puzzled.

“That’s why I’d prefer to avoid a violent conflict. Can you understand that?”

“Cowardly punk. Doesn’t even deserve to be called a man. Now, drop your weapons.”

“Yes, I’d really rather not fight.”

But he made no move to actually drop his weapon.

The sword remained securely fastened to his belt, and Viretta and Lanken made no move to disarm either.

A tense silence settled.

“…Why aren’t you putting down your weapons?”

“Ah, apologies. I think you’ve misunderstood. My sword isn’t a weapon. It’s a tool I use for hunting and a means of self-defense.”

“What kind of nonsense is that?!”

“Perfectly sensible.”

The bandit’s reasonable objection was swiftly countered by Iola’s sharp rebuttal.

With a calm, “trustworthy” face, as Viretta described it, he delivered his answer with such precision that even the bandits hesitated.

“Is…is that even possible?”

“Absolutely. A kitchen knife or a pot can also kill, yet we don’t call them weapons, do we? A sword is simply a blade, and if its owner intends to use it as a defensive tool, then that’s what it is. I have no intention of taking the initiative to harm others. To me, this sword is just a tool and a means of protection.”

“Quit the sophistry. How can a sword be a defense and a pot a weapon? That’s ridiculous!”

“The same object takes on different meanings depending on its designation.”

Iola began explaining kindly. Viretta and Lanken quickly recognized the look on his face—it was the prelude to a long “lesson” that could easily last over an hour.

He stood unfazed, as if the armed bandits weren’t threatening him but rather attentive students.

With both hands free, he raised them and began his speech.

“Take us, for example. We’re all human beings, but while Ms. Viretta has chosen to be a fearless hero despite her…limited capabilities, you gentlemen have chosen to be trash bandits, worse than dogs.”

Viretta selectively ignored the “limited capabilities” comment.

She reassured herself that she must have misheard. It sounded a bit too perceptive for someone supposedly expressing belief in her… purely a coincidence, surely.

But the “trash bandits worse than dogs” part was heard clearly by the bandits as well.

“What did you just say?! You punk, you got a death wish?!”

As the bandit shouted, Iola replied patiently.

“Did you not understand? Don’t worry; I’ll say it again. We’re all human, but—”

“Quit your yapping! You called us what? Trash worse than dogs?”

“I called you trash bandits, worse than dogs. Please, pay a bit more attention when someone speaks. You’re all adults; surely you know how to focus?”

“That’s not what I meant! Why are you so calm and polite while you insult us?!”

“P-Please calm down! Iola’s a foreigner; he’s just clumsy with our language. Right, Iola? You shouldn’t be so rude on a first meeting, calling them bandits! That was too harsh.”

As one of the bandits clenched his fist, ready to strike, Viretta quickly stepped between them, holding her left arm against Iola’s chest with a regretful shake of her head.

“The lady’s got some sense!”

Yes, it was Iola who’d made the mistake. Calling armed bandits “trash worse than dogs” without hesitation…

“He should have said, ‘Honorable trash bandits worse than dogs.’ You had every right to be upset at the lack of proper respect.”

Using the correct title when first addressing someone was essential, after all.

“What’s wrong with you two?! Are you both insane?! Do you have a death wish?!”

The bandits, who had suspected something was off from the moment she clapped for them, were now utterly incensed.

As they clenched their teeth in anger, Lanken stepped in to defuse the situation.

“Yes! Yes, please, everyone, get a grip! I apologize; our young lady and gentleman are rather…unfamiliar with the ways of the world! Referring to you as ‘trash bandits worse than dogs’ and all that… Listen up, gentlemen! What they meant to say was…”

The bandits, relieved to finally be dealing with someone reasonable, stood up straighter. Raising his voice, Lanken pointed at the bandits with five fingers outstretched.

“They meant to say ‘Honorable trash bandits worse than dogs’! What’s so hard about adding ‘honorable’? Right, sir?”

“You’re mocking us while pretending to be polite?!”

The bandit’s axe, larger than his head, embedded itself deep into the gravelly ground at their feet.