The man speaking looked like a samurai from his attire, but he was clearly a rather down-and-out one. Henry Clark examined him carefully and immediately realized that these people were not the attendants of some count at all, but mercenaries.

“Damn it, we’re at least a hundred meters away from that fancy carriage up ahead—how could saying something quietly possibly disturb the count?” Henry Clark cursed fiercely in his heart, but didn’t dare say anything aloud. From the memories of his original body, he already knew that these mercenaries were often desperate men, and since he was all alone now, provoking them wasn’t worth it.

To be honest, in his previous life, Henry Clark was just a college student—basically the kind who would skip classes when he could, fail courses when he had to, play games, read novels, and just barely scrape by to graduation. Suddenly being forced to accept a completely different world, even though he’d read plenty of similar novels, he still couldn’t immediately immerse himself in it.

“Endure for a moment and the storm will pass; take a step back and the sea will be calm and the sky vast.” Henry Clark silently recited this to himself, then touched the hard bag at his side and began to fantasize about the happy life he’d have once he reached his territory. As long as he got there, he’d be the “lord” those people talked about—by then, wouldn’t he be able to throw his weight around however he liked? Hmm, better not go overboard, just be a little imposing, that should be enough.

He endured the humiliation and followed the caravan for nearly a month, surviving each day on a pitiful amount of rations that were never enough. At night, he’d take care of his bodily needs during camp, then curl up in the straw inside the wagon to sleep, not even knowing where he was anymore.

“Get up!” A rougher shout startled Henry Clark awake. Before he could react, both his arms were grabbed, and he was hoisted up and forcibly sandwiched between two people, being marched toward the front of the caravan.

Chapter 2: Forced Tax Collection (Part 2)

“Not bad, you’ve all behaved yourselves and didn’t search him for anything.” A sinister voice sounded from behind, sending chills down everyone’s spine.

Out of the corner of his eye, Henry Clark saw that the group of mercenaries who had always walked at the back with him were now all standing in a subservient, almost groveling posture, lined up like quails with their heads bowed. Hearing that voice, they even seemed to show a hint of joy on their faces.

“What are you doing?” Henry Clark struggled a few times, but the hands gripping him felt like they were made of iron, completely unyielding.

As he struggled, the people holding him, who had only been restraining his arms, now landed a heavy punch to his stomach. The blow sent a wave of unbearable pain through Henry Clark, doubling him over like a shrimp. The two men didn’t care whether he lived or died, dragging him up from the ground and hauling him forward.

“Outrageous!” A voice, both dignified and gentle, rang out in everyone’s ears. The elegant tone was instantly soothing: “How can you be so disrespectful to the baron?”

As soon as the words fell, the two men holding Henry Clark immediately let go, tossing him to the ground. As soon as his arms were free, Henry Clark clutched his stomach and began to retch. After a while, the pain finally subsided a bit, and he slowly managed to stand up.

He found himself standing in front of a luxurious carriage. However, in Henry Clark’s eyes, so-called “luxurious” just meant it looked a bit prettier—it wasn’t even as nice as the low-end cars he’d seen before, and it only had two wheels.

Beside the carriage sat a man dressed as a medieval noble, surrounded by a crowd. When Henry Clark looked over, the noble gave him a kindly smile, which made Henry Clark feel a little more at ease.

“Baron, if you follow this road—ah, I mean, in this direction—it’s about three days’ journey to your territory.” As soon as the noble spoke, Henry Clark knew this was the big shot who had just given orders, probably the so-called count everyone talked about.

Henry Clark didn’t understand what he meant—were they planning to just dump him here? Before he could ask, the count was already laughing: “I’m on my way back to my own territory, so I’m giving you a lift. In fact, your territory is a vassal of mine, so you are now one of my subordinate officials.”

The count stepped forward, walked up to Henry Clark, and gently plucked a piece of straw from his hair with an indescribably elegant gesture. Then, the count’s hand slid down Henry Clark’s shoulder, brushing off his clothes a few times, and finally reached Henry Clark’s waist.

Before Henry Clark could react, he felt a sudden lightness at his waist—the heavy pouch of gold coins that had been hanging there was now in the count’s hand. Henry Clark was shocked and about to do something, but the two men behind him moved quickly, pressing down on his shoulders. Instantly, Henry Clark felt his whole body go numb and couldn’t move at all.

“As the lord of a vassal territory under me, you have the responsibility and obligation to pay taxes to me.” The count was still smiling so brightly, but in Henry Clark’s eyes, he had already turned into a demon.