“Wow, they even have slavery.”
Klein let out an exclamation of surprise.
At that moment, his memories began to surface, not just those of the scholar, but also those of his past life.
It was only then that Klein remembered he had actually arrived a bit too early.
At this point in time, Macragge wasn’t exactly a particularly livable place.
Macragge of this era suffered from massive wealth disparity, inflated prices, and temples lending money to residents at usurious rates, reducing them to debt slaves exploited by the wealthy class.
The wealthy class controlled Macragge’s scarce farmland and the property in Macragge City, living idle, pampered lives and forcing slaves to labor on their estates to fund their extravagant lifestyles, while the slaves themselves lacked even the most basic right to life, since slave owners were legally entitled to execute debt slaves outright.
Of course, as the wealthy class would put it, how could debt slaves possibly be called slaves?
Though debt slavery was called slavery, it was merely a protective measure for sacred private property.
How could individual freedom be allowed to supersede property rights?
Therefore, debt slavery was absolutely not slavery at all!
Besides, debt slaves could still freely repay their debts and thus freely become free people again.
As for how debt slaves were supposed to repay their debts without any income or even ownership of property…
well, that wasn’t something the wealthy class bothered to consider.
The reason Macragge later became the exemplar of human order throughout the entire galaxy was entirely due to the reforms initiated by Archon Konor and completed by Guilliman.
Dita clutched the promissory note tightly, gritting her teeth, seemingly racking her brain for a way to deal with this enormous debt.
The actual debtor, Klein, remained comparatively calm.
It was just debt, just being reduced to a debt slave, it wasn’t death.
And honestly, even death wasn’t all that terrifying.
If not for the fact that dying would send him right back to the Golden Throne, Klein would even consider a peaceful death in Warhammer 40k a kind of blessing.
Besides, a scholar of learning like Klein generally wouldn’t be killed even after becoming a debt slave.
Creditors forced Klein into debt slavery to make money.
Klein’s scholarly knowledge would make him a hot commodity on the slave market; many wealthy nobles would want to purchase Klein to serve as a tutor or advisor, and the treatment he received would be far better than that of common slaves.
With any luck, he might even be able to use this to get in contact with Roboute Guilliman.
“I’ll figure something out for the first installment next month…”
Dita clenched her fist, bit her lip, and said to Klein:
“But you need to be prepared, put your whole heart into preparing for Lord Guilliman’s tutor recruitment on the twenty-second of next month…”
Lord Guilliman…
Klein paused.
“Konor Guilliman?”
“It’s Lord Marcus Guilliman.
Marcus Guilliman.
The memories in Klein’s mind gradually sharpened.
That letter…
so that’s what it was about.
House of Guilliman, as one of Macragge’s most ancient noble lines, naturally consisted of more than just Archon Konor Guilliman.
Marcus Guilliman was Konor Guilliman’s paternal cousin and one of his closest blood relatives.
Unlike the archon famed for his wisdom and sagacity, this Marcus Guilliman had few political accomplishments to his name.
He poured nearly all of his energy into siring children.
According to Klein’s memories, this Lord Marcus had no fewer than thirty-nine publicly acknowledged children, thirteen of whom were born to his three wives, all of whom perished in the birthing chamber, while the rest were bastards of varied origins.
Siring that many sons, and he wasn’t afraid of failing at fatherhood, with half of them betraying him…
But according to the scholar’s memories, this Lord Marcus still cared more about child-rearing than the Emperor did.
Not long ago, this Lord Marcus loudly proclaimed that he would seek an excellent private tutor for his fortieth son, his latest publicly recognized bastard.
Furthermore, Marcus stressed that he would not seek a teacher from the higher-ranking Rhetoric Academy, but rather from a first-tier grammar school instructor well-versed in history and literature.
Marcus’s blood ties to Konor, along with the admittedly generous compensation he offered, drew a great number of scholars, Klein’s predecessor included.
And Klein’s predecessor had placed first in the recruitment examination Marcus prepared, earning the right to attend the formal interview one month later alongside nine other instructors.
Klein rubbed his own brow.
If that were the case, approaching Roboute Guilliman through Marcus Guilliman was clearly the easier and more reliable path.
But a debt slave could not apply for such a position, a master held the right to restrict a debt slave’s personal freedom.
Klein felt a prickle of unease.
The repayment dates on those debt notes pressed in tight.
The first installment was due on the twentieth of next month, landing squarely before Klein was set to attend the recruitment.
Then he remembered.
That Cicero, the one who kept inviting him out to the gambling houses, was also a scholar and a teacher.
Unlike Klein, a mere instructor at a lowly grammar school, however,
Cicero taught at the more prestigious Rhetoric Academy, instructing in debate, oratory, and politics.
His famed essay On the Soul had drawn widespread praise from the aristocratic class.
Yet his proficiency in literature and history was no less impressive.
In Marcus’s examination, as a rhetoric instructor, he had overwhelmed the entire cohort of grammar instructors, his score second only to Klein’s.
If Klein were reduced to a debt slave…
Then the position of private tutor in House of Guilliman would almost certainly fall to Cicero.
Klein rubbed his brow forcefully, several times over.
And that scholar, how could he have fallen into gambling so easily?
He should have been more vigilant.
Just then, Dita glanced out the window.
The four bright moons had all sunk below the horizon, vanishing into the brilliant light of day.
It was no longer early…
Dita tapped the table at her side, her gaze falling on the ligature marks around Klein’s neck.
Dita was currently enrolled at the grammar school where Klein taught.
She should be heading to class by now.
But looking at the marks on Klein’s neck, Dita could not, under any circumstances, feel at ease leaving him alone in the apartment.
Yet if she stayed home to keep him company…
Dita worried about that wretch named Cicero.
Dita had always felt that Cicero harbored ill intentions.
That scoundrel came looking for her Uncle Klein almost every day, inviting him to the gambling dens.
If Cicero came knocking, and Klein’s gambling urges flared up again, Dita knew she would be powerless to stop him no matter what.
So Dita reached out and seized Klein’s wrist.
This time, Klein suppressed his instinct to pull away and let Dita hold on.
“Come with me to school,” Dita said, gripping his wrist.
From Dita’s perspective, Klein seemed to freeze.
But in truth, Klein’s psychic talent stirred faintly in that moment.
He felt a vague intimation of the future.
Though this body possessed a natural affinity for psychic power, the scholar had never truly crossed the veil, never truly awakened his psychic power.
Coupled with Macragge’s rather dense veil, Klein’s precognitive gift had been reduced to something closer to mere intuition.
But even so, Klein could dimly sense that going to school would yield some beneficial outcome.
It seemed he would need to find time to cross the veil and truly awaken this body’s psychic power.
With that thought, Klein let himself be obediently pulled by Dita out of the apartment, stepping onto Macragge’s cobblestone roads and making their way toward the school.
The apartment Klein and Dita rented was not far from the school, and before long they arrived beneath the colonnade…
But just then, Dita’s body stiffened.
She stopped in place, her eyes turning forward with a flash of anger.
Klein followed her gaze.
He saw a man in bright red leather shoes leaning against a pillar, glancing idly left and right…
(Translated by yourtl.app)