Annan was somewhat surprised.
He didn’t think he had done anything that required someone to specially come and express gratitude.
At that moment, the coachman’s voice also happened to penetrate the carriage and come through:
It was the voice of a middle-aged man, deep and strong, yet spoken very softly, "My name is Jerome Notre Dame, the tax collector of Roth Fort."
"—In fact, before our fight with Gerald, Alvin had prepared three plans."
Salvatore explained to Annan, "If we had defeated him... it would have been like just now, letting Deputy Sheriff Ferdinand take you away. In other words, to hint to you that the entire police station of Roth Fort was his."
"I’ve figured that out."
Annan nodded his head.
That’s why he had decisively killed Ferdinand.
And that’s why he needed to bring the Viscount’s body back to Roth Fort...
It was to show these people.
Salvatore continued, "But he wasn’t the Prophet. How could he have known we’d be the ones to win in the end? So he actually had two more plans prepared..."
"If all three of us perished together or if the surviving person was already unconscious, he would then deploy the military and simply kill everyone left here. Then he would disguise some of the bodies as bandits, pinning the blame for our two deaths on them."
"—Although no one would believe it, as an excuse to buy time, it was perfectly adequate."
Annan commented, "The old gentleman is indeed cautious enough... or rather, the experience of an elder is reliable."
He raised his head, looking at Salvatore with interest and asked, "Then, what about the third plan?"
According to what was said, the third plan should be the one where Gerald wins. That is, the one related to this Mr. Notre Dame...
"If Gerald had won, Mr. Notre Dame would have gone to align himself with Gerald,"
The tax collector who also worked as a coachman then said, "The Lord Viscount had me tell Gerald about all the properties we have in Roth Fort. And he had previously ordered me to gather all the property together and reset the password to one only I know, ’but there’s no need to tell Sir Gerald’."
Notre Dame paused here and sighed softly.
"...But the Lord Viscount didn’t know, my wife used to be an apprentice at Heath Tower of Black. I know what a Soul Reaping Wizard is, and I am aware of the existence of Transcendents. If Sir Gerald really was a Soul Reaping Wizard, then telling him or not, it makes no difference.
"To the common people, Transcendents are just a legend. In terms of evidence, it’s me who gathered all the properties of Roth Fort, me who put them somewhere only I know... and ultimately, it’s in my hands that they would be lost.
"I suspect, the Lord Viscount’s intention was probably for me to take on this responsibility. With the loss of such a large sum of property, I guess the Lord Viscount wouldn’t cover it from his own funds... That gentleman’s identity probably isn’t clean either. It can’t even be discovered that he had appeared in Roth Fort."
—But I simply can’t bear it.
Notre Dame exhaled deeply.
There was no hatred in his tone, just powerlessness and confusion.
This man, who could already be considered a middle-aged individual from the upper class to common folk, muttered while driving the carriage, "I... I don’t know what I can do.
"I can’t defy the Lord Viscount’s command—please forgive me, but the Lord Viscount is almost like a lord in our place. To oppose his will is nothing but a dead end. Yet I don’t want to and can’t shoulder such a huge responsibility... With such a large loss of property, even if the Lord Viscount spares me from the capital punishment, from ’stealing a huge sum of property’ to ’a major work mistake’, I would surely be sent to the mines.
"My wife is about to give birth, the child may be born this month. I can’t let the child be born without a father, nor can I let my wife raise my child alone. My job is as a tax collector, that’s the task of collecting taxes... You should know, this job offends people quite a bit, and you need to be able to fight. I have also offended many people usually, but those were all on behalf of the Lord Viscount!
"If I am not in Roth Fort... No, just if I am no longer a tax collector, my wife and child will definitely be in big trouble.
"I really have done nothing wrong. I’m careful and prudent, my work capability is the strongest, and I am the most obedient... but why, why me..."
Notre Dame whispered to himself in a low voice.
Annan listened quietly to this man, who was about to become a father in middle age, murmuring outside the carriage, venting his fear and helplessness: "If not, if not for your lordship ultimately winning..."
Annan whispered softly, "I can completely understand you."
His voice was gentle, his tone as clear and soothing as a child’s.
"Mr. Notre Dame, you are indeed not in the wrong. You are a good man and an excellent tax officer—there’s a saying that a tax officer who isn’t hated isn’t a good one, let alone an honest tax officer."
The carriage sped on. The fierce wind howled.
The late-night breeze just before dawn was damp and icy cold.
Yet Annan’s words clearly reached the ears of the tax officer Notre Dame, warming his soul: "You seem a bit uncomfortable now. But this is not your fault; it’s Alvin Barber’s orders that have hurt you. I guess when you’re with your brothers, you tend to be generous and cheerful?"
"...Yes, yes, my Lord,"
Notre Dame hurriedly replied: "But I don’t drink normally either! I just chat with them... But indeed, just as you said—’generous and cheerful.’"
Annan folded his hands in front of his chest, fingertips interlaced, and softly chuckled: "Because your voice sounds so pleasant.
"Do a lot of children usually like to be around you?"
Notre Dame gradually calmed down, no longer so tense.
Annan’s gaze seemed to penetrate the carriage, to pierce through the body, and look straight into the core of one’s soul.
And his tone was soft and melodious...
A French sociologist once pointed out that effective communication between strangers could only account for about 5% of the total amount of conversation between them. Most of this 5% is derived from first impressions brought about by words, personality, and appearance.
That is to say, during a stranger’s first encounter only words that are either soothing enough to warm the heart or stern enough to incite fear can enter one’s mind and be remembered.
The rest of the conversation is automatically filtered out by the brain.
That’s why Annan always maintained such a soft and gentle demeanor.
With his own high status and exceptionally handsome appearance, this was enough to make his words leave an impression in anyone’s heart upon their first encounter—
"Notre Dame, please hold your head high. Because you are indeed not in the wrong... You have done everything that you could."
Annan’s voice was soothing, like a balm for the spirit: "The one at fault is Alvin Barber."
His words could easily heal a scar on the soul that seemed forever incurable.
And Annan was also able to help others identify the real person or issue that was troubling them.
As long as Annan resolved this issue...
The other person would trust him, be loyal to him, and even fall in love with him.
"But fortunately, Alvin Barber is already dead."
Annan whispered quietly: "I killed him—this secret. Please make sure not to let it slip."
"Yes, yes... I already know, thank you so much... I will definitely not let it out, I can swear on the Silver Baron—"
The tax officer said gratefully. His thanks to Annan came from the bottom of his heart.
—Such a shared secret between two individuals was enough to turn them into close allies.
Of course, the greatest part was...
Everything Annan had said above was true.
This is the art of manipulating the mind.