The deeds of Wischeim, at first, were merely a few rumors.
Caravans traveling between the western cities brought back snippets of news about Wischeim.
They said the Strollo family's new countess was an iron-fisted ruler, slaughtering the Witch King remnants until heads rolled.
They also said the workers of Wischeim had gone mad, actually helping the noble lords build roads and schools for free.
This news was treated as a joke in taverns, drawing rounds of roaring laughter.
But in the neighboring Fink County, the local lord, Viscount Elmer Stalenf, couldn't bring himself to laugh.
Viscount Stalenf was a typical noble of the old era, his obese body perpetually wrapped in a greatcoat.
His life's creed was simple: his subjects were his private property, like leeks growing in his manor—cut one crop, and another will grow.
His Fink County was renowned for its high-pressure rule and poverty. The average life expectancy of a miner was no more than thirty, and the serfs were treated like cattle.
Recently, the Viscount's mood had been foul.
First, his most valued tax collector reported that this quarter's tax revenue had inexplicably dropped by ten percent.
Immediately after, at the largest iron mine under his name, more than thirty miners collectively vanished overnight.
"Vanished?" Viscount Stalenf tapped his fat fingers on the oak desktop, each tap making the silver inkwell on the table jump.
"A bunch of rats that have grown legs, how can they just vanish into thin air?"
"Investigate! Find them and bring them back to me! Hang them at the entrance of the mine, and let the rest of those rats have a good look!"
The steward reported, trembling, "My lord, we've… we've already investigated."
"They… they all fled to Wischeim."
"Wischeim?" The Viscount narrowed his eyes, which were squeezed into mere slits by his fleshy face.
Of course, he knew of that place. That blond brat Gertrude had even come wagging her tail to him for pity after her father was assassinated.
"Yes, my lord." The steward handed over a compiled intelligence report.
"It is said that in Wischeim now… now workers only need to work eight hours a day to earn wages thirty percent higher than here."
"Furthermore, their children can attend school for free, and if they get sick… there are free clinics."
"Bullshit!" Viscount Stalenf slammed his hand on the table. The inkwell, finally unable to bear the abuse, toppled over, and deep blue ink spread across the carpet.
"Free? There's no such thing as a free lunch in this world! Has that Gertrude gone mad? She's digging up her own foundation!"
"No, my lord." The steward swallowed, his voice growing softer. "The one directing all this is not Countess Gertrude, but an organization called the 'Leithanien Workers' Party,' and their leader is named Lacey."
The steward placed the gazette from Salem, detailing that famous trial, before the Viscount.
The more Viscount Stalenf read, the darker his expression became.
Although he disdained politics, he was not stupid.
He immediately understood Lacey's intentions.
This wasn't the benevolent act of a madman; this was a more sophisticated method of rule, a method he could neither comprehend nor ever accept.
Wischeim was like a brothel that opened next door, and a free one at that. How could the vigorous young laborers in his domain not be drawn to it?
If this continued, his Fink County would be sucked dry.
"Is this a declaration of war against me?!" the Viscount growled.
"This situation must not be allowed to spread!"
He couldn't directly send troops to attack Wischeim.
Gertrude was currently a favorite of the Twin Empresses and the Electors, protected by the politically correct halo of 'purging the Witch King remnants.' To rashly start a war would be to annoy those great figures, which was tantamount to suicide.
"If I can't use the army, then I'll use other methods." A savage grin appeared on Viscount Stalenf's face.
"Go, find me a few clever people and have them infiltrate Wischeim."
"I want to see for myself if that so-called workers' paradise is truly impregnable!"
He decided to solve the problem in the way he was best at—by spreading rumors, creating chaos, and letting Wischeim rot from within.
...
A few days later, some strange talk began to circulate in the streets and alleys of Wischeim.
"Have you heard? That Workers' Party is just the Witch King remnants under a new name! Otherwise, where would they get so much money for all this?"
"Yeah, my neighbor's cousin said he saw that guy Lacey meeting with some people in black robes in the middle of the night."
"And that clinic, do you dare go? I heard the medicine they use is some shady stuff. Once you take it, you have to do whatever they say!"
These rumors silently seeped into every corner of the city.
At first, most of the populace scoffed at them.
They had personally experienced the benefits of the new policies and didn't believe the slander.
But when a lie is repeated a thousand times, some people will begin to waver.
This was especially true for some of the old powers whose interests had been harmed, like the owners of small workshops whose exploitative practices were restricted by the new laws. They began to fan the flames, making the rumors sound more and more convincing.
...
Workers' Party, Wischeim Branch.
"Bang!"
Taylor slammed his fist on the table, his face purple with rage. "These bastards! Chief, let me take a team and round up these loose-tongued scum!"
Serafina ignored the furious Taylor, placing an intelligence report in front of Lacey with a slight frown.
"Our people in Fink County have sent word. The lord of Fink County, that Viscount Stalenf, recently recruited a group of thugs and ruffians. Their destination is Wischeim."
"It's highly likely they are the ones spreading these rumors."
Taylor the blacksmith was incandescent. "I'm gonna twist his pig head off!"
"And then what?" Lacey glanced up at him.
"And then let all the nobles in western Leithanien unite against us, pin the hat of assassinating a lord on us, and righteously send troops to exterminate us?"
Taylor was instantly speechless and could only sit down, simmering.
"Rumors die with the wise, but the majority of our people are not wise." Lacey's fingers tapped gently on the table.
"They have only just awakened from their numbness. We can't expect them to distinguish truth from falsehood on their own."
"Then what should we do?" Serafina asked.
Lacey's gaze shifted to the corner of the room.
Arturia was holding her cello, boredly poking at an anthill on the floor with the end of her bow.
She seemed completely uninterested in the meeting.
"Arturia," Lacey said suddenly.
"Hmm?" The Sankta girl looked up, her ethereal eyes showing no emotion.
"Your music… didn't you say it could reveal the hidden truth?"
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