The sun above Lempung Village crept higher, casting a scorching heat that began to burn the skin and forced the villagers to seek shelter beneath the lush canopy of the banyan tree. On the porch of the village hall, Harits sat leaning against the cart carrying the head of the Mythical Striped Snakehead Fish, idly twirling his quill in boredom. Occasionally, he glanced at the makeshift sundial he had scratched into the dirt.
"Taking forever. Had I known it would be like this, I would have just fished for small gourami in the village ditch first," Harits muttered.
"Beside him, Azazil, who was still wrapped in a straw cloak, looked even more miserable. The smell of dry straw mixing with sweat and the hot sun was making him lose his patience. 'If that bard doesn't show up in three counts, I'm going to burn this village hall down so the atmosphere becomes truly 'warm'."
"Shh, relax. Waiting is part of the art of fishing," Harits replied casually.
"Look who's talking. You were just complaining a second ago, and now you're suddenly a master of patience?" Azazil scoffed in annoyance.
Just as the former Archon was about to unleash a barrage of curses, the twang of a tinny but rhythmic stringed instrument echoed from afar. A middle-aged man wearing colorful patched clothes and an eccentric wide-brimmed hat walked closer. Strapped to his back was an old lute with peeling wood.
It was the village bard. He didn't walk like an ordinary person, his steps swayed as if following the beat of a melody only he could hear.
"The Bard is here!" shouted a little girl, running toward the man.
Her joyous shout immediately drew the other children playing around the village hall to swarm him. They sat in a circle on the dusty ground, their eyes sparkling.
"Uncle Bard, please sing the ballad of the Princess, the Snake, and her Rabbit again! I brought one copper coin," said the little girl who had shouted first, offering her slightly rusted coin.
The bard smiled warmly, accepting the coin with theatrical flair. "With pleasure, pretty one."
He began strumming his lute with a cheerful tempo, then sang his ballad in an enchanting, melodious voice:
"In the dark woods, the Princess wept in dread, Coiled by a giant snake with scales of white. Along came the Rabbit, hopping right ahead, Bearing a poisoned carrot, a wicked, clever sight! The snake was fooled, swallowing the bait raw, The Princess was saved, the serpent bled its maw. Never underestimate the small, cute, and long-eared kind, For beneath the innocence, sharp tactics you shall find!"
Since when do snakes eat carrots? Azazil thought to himself.
The children clapped their hands in glee. Right after the applause died down, a long-haired boy raised his hand high.
"Uncle Bard, please tell the story of the hero who defended the village from the Northern Red Orcs!" he pleaded enthusiastically.
The bard nodded. The tempo of his lute now shifted, becoming faster, heavier, and pounding like a war drum:
"Red blood dries on the tip of a steel spear, The Hero of Lempung stands, challenging the twilight's near! A horde of Orcs arrives, bringing doom and dread, Roaring fiercely from behind the lake, painting waters red. But our shields shall never break or shatter! Even if the northern skies rain blood and batter. Until the Orc King falls upon the sundered earth, Our village rests in peace, foes fleeing for what it's worth!"
The boy cheered gleefully while mimicking a person thrusting a spear.
Harits, who had been listening to both stories from the porch of the village hall, suddenly called out, interrupting their fun.
"Hey, Uncle Bard! Do you have any tales about the Northern region from this village?" Harits shouted. He patted his cart. "If you do, I'll give you the meat of this MYTHICAL... Striped Snakehead Fish."
Harits pointed at the giant fish head, the size of a calf, tied to his cart.
The bard jolted in surprise. His fingers instantly stopped plucking the strings. His eyes widened at the sight of the monster's head, its bronze scales still gleaming under the sun. "Is that true? Wow... judging by the size, it's completely absurd. I thought the swamp monster was just a made-up story to scare little kids."
"You're right, it is very real," Harits replied casually. "So, can you fulfill my request, Uncle?"
The bard gulped, his eyes glued to the pile of fresh meat on Harits's cart. "O-Of course. I have two stories related to the Northern region. First, there's a historical poem recounting the terror of the Red Orc King in the past. Second... there's a fairy tale about the kingdom to the north of this village. The elders here usually tell this story so children are afraid to go to that city, because it's said the king is incredibly wicked and loves to eat outsiders."
Harits smirked. He crossed his arms over his chest, his analytical instincts instantly kicking in.
"Let me guess," Harits cut in sharply. "That wicked kingdom fairy tale was deliberately spread to maintain the productive population in this village, wasn't it? It seems, before that story existed, many young adults recklessly migrated there to get rich and change their fate in that kingdom. As a result, this village ran short of young farming labor, and the village elders panicked and made up that cheap fairy tale."
Silence.
The children stared at Harits in confusion, not understanding complex vocabulary like 'productive population' and 'migrated'. However, the Bard froze. His mouth was slightly agape.
Beneath his bamboo hat, Azazil chuckled softly. This human's brain... is truly dangerous for a lowly mortal, the purple Djinn mused, feeling entertained.
The bard cleared his throat awkwardly, then told the children to go play elsewhere for a bit, claiming he had to discuss 'adult' matters. Once the children scattered, he approached Harits with heavy steps.
"You're too smart for a wandering fisherman, Young Man," the Bard sighed, lowering his lute. He sat down beside Harits. "Your guess isn't entirely wrong. It is true, ten years ago there was a massive exodus. The village youth went North seeking glory and never returned."
"So it was just the Village Chief's trick so this village wouldn't starve to death from a lack of farmers?" Harits chuckled.
"It's not that simple," the Bard interrupted, his face now turning grim and serious. "The story about the king eating outsiders is indeed a hyperbole, a mere metaphor. But the fact that the place is lethal... is the truth."
The bard looked straight at the northern horizon. "The Kingdom in the North... or rather, the territory now controlled by the Oligarchy, doesn't eat human flesh. They 'eat' the sweat, time, and lives of the migrant workers. Anyone who enters without noble status, large capital, or high knowledge is bound into a lifelong work contract that is nothing short of slavery. Many of our village youths never returned not because they were successful. They couldn't return because they had become the property of that faction."
Harits fell silent. His mind quickly digested the information. "That's pretty terrifying, huh?"
"Indeed. And what's worse," the Bard continued, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "To keep their assets from escaping, the kingdom's borders, such as the swamps and waters leading to Empedu Lake in that territory, are rigged with identity-sealing magic. Only beings with an official stamp can pass. If you force your way out..."
"If we force our way out?" Harits prodded, his eyes narrowing with interest.
"Their armored knights will hunt you down," the Bard answered grimly. "And believe me, they are far more troublesome than any striped snakehead fish you've ever hooked."
"Wait a minute," Harits interrupted, finding a logical flaw. "If that's the case, how can villagers from the outside get in if there's identity magic there?"
"Oh, I forgot to mention," the Bard patted his forehead lightly. "For citizens outside the kingdom, getting in is incredibly easy. However, getting out is the hard part. Upon arrival, outsiders are given an identity stamp of a different type than the locals, and it's given for free. But, to be able to leave the kingdom, you have to hand back the stamp and pay an exorbitant tax—whether it's claimed as a transit tax or a temporary stay tax. The problem is, if an outsider doesn't have enough money but forces their way out, the Armored Knights will immediately chase and arrest you."
The bard glanced at the children who were starting to get restless in the distance. "Alright, that's enough information. The kids are getting bored and I'm afraid they'll leave. I need to continue the two stories you asked for."
***
Thirty minutes passed. The Bard had finished his epic recitations and said his goodbyes with a wide smile, taking home a large chunk of Mythical Striped Snakehead Fish meat as a fitting payment.
The afternoon breeze blew past the village hall, which was now quiet again. Harits leaned against his cart, tapping the tip of his quill against his chin.
"Okay, so in conclusion," Harits muttered, breaking the silence. "If we're poor, force our way out, and get caught by those armored knights, we'll just be extorted even more and forced to work like slaves."
Azazil, who had been listening quietly the whole time, immediately crossed his arms over his chest. "A very accurate conclusion, Human. Their system is designed so that no value, or what is commonly called labor—leaks out. Therefore, let's use whatever common sense is left in that little brain of yours to cancel this trip and find another lake that isn't controlled by greedy rulers."
Harits just laughed crisply. He opened his notebook and drew a simple schematic.
"Cancel? You're joking," Harits chuckled. "Their system is actually fascinating. They turn everything, from human labor and land to the mythical monsters there into tangible assets whose value is tightly locked by tax rules and stamps. Entry is free as bait, leaving strangles you with fees."
Harits looked at Azazil with a sly smirk. "A system so tightly controlled by a small Oligarchy is bound to have a blind spot. If we can get in using that free stamp, fish for their biggest 'asset' in Empedu Lake, then find a way to hack or bypass the identity seal on our way out without paying a single penny... wouldn't that be epic?"
Beneath his straw cloak, Azazil's purple aura flickered dimly. He hadn't expected the human in front of him to have a mind more manipulative than a demon. But unfortunately, in Azazil's mind, Harits was just a fool who had failed to listen to the bard's explanation.
"You... you realize you're planning a kingdom-scale asset heist just because you want to go fishing, right?" Azazil hissed, his tone a mix of disbelief and disgust at Harits's stupidity.
"This isn't a heist, Azazil. It's called the redistribution of hoarded natural wealth," Harits corrected casually while packing his things. "Besides, I don't plan on being anyone's slave. I hold the knife, and you're my invincible meat shield. If those armored knights dare to try anything..."
"Okay, now I want to ask you one thing," Azazil cut in deadpan. "What exactly is the asset you intend to bring out? When in reality, you're just trying to escape from the kingdom without paying taxes."
Harits froze. His hands, which had been tidying up the cart's ropes, stopped instantly. He blinked several times.
"Wait... that's right. What was I just saying? Hahaha," Harits laughed awkwardly, realizing his cool speech just now made zero sense.
"You idiot," Azazil sneered. He raised an index finger and twirled it beside his temple. "Next time, please focus. If you ever meet a sentient being like me, you'll just keep getting mocked without even realizing you're being played. Let me guess, you thought Empedu Lake was outside their jurisdiction after we left the kingdom, didn't you? If you thought that, it means you weren't listening properly to what the bard said, and your brain is literally a fish brain."
Harits nodded because Azazil's guess was 100% spot on. Looking slightly embarrassed, he scratched the back of his head. "Yes sir, Old Man. I'll always remember that lesson of yours, hehe."
Harits cleared his throat, trying to salvage his newly shattered dignity. He then began pulling the handle of his cart, stepping away from the village hall courtyard toward the dusty path.