# 64
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"…what?"
The servant turned completely toward him. The other farmers around tried to dissuade him with anxious faces, but he could not hold back the surging anger.
“No one in this castle has ever bowed their head so servilely to an outsider!”
“Th-th-th…th……!!”
“Bowing my head obsequiously, never before did He let all our wheat be loaded away like that,”
Bang! Bang bang!
Before he could finish speaking, a servant rushed over in an instant and struck the farmer. Because of the difference in physique and the fact that the sturdy body, hardened by long hours of labor, did not easily budge, the servant slapped the man's cheeks back and forth as he stood there motionless, panting heavily.
“Kneel!!”
He screamed as if he had lost his reason.
“Kneel immediately!! I will charge you with insulting His Excellency!!”
A thorny silence filled the empty space of the square. The farmers carrying loads clenched their fists, and their eyes turned red.
The attendant was puffing out his chest and was about to scream something more.
“How long do you plan to keep me standing here?!”
As the man waiting in the cart snapped in an irritated voice, the servant let out a deep sigh and growled at the farmer.
“I won’t let you get away with this, so be prepared.”
Then he turned around and ran toward the cart.
As the servant moved away, those nearby approached the farmer who had been slapped.
“Hide. We’ll hide you. Don’t come out for a while.”
“…….”
The farmer stared at the square with a disheveled face and spoke as if muttering.
“Do you remember? Long ago… when the late Duke was alive. Around this time of year…”
As he trailed off, the person standing beside him nodded with a longing look.
The wheat harvest festival must have been in full swing.
“My son doesn’t even know what that is. He hasn’t even seen it.”
“My daughter doesn’t know either. She says she can’t remember because she was too young. We ate meat and fish. The people from the Duke of Taylor’s castle came out and danced and played all night long.”
When the wheat harvest was over, Duke Taylor's castle was filled with the smell of wonderful food. The streets were overflowing with generosity, and even the stray dogs walked around with a loaf of bread in their mouths.
Dukes throughout history held a festival timed to coincide with the completion of the wheat harvest. The people of Taylor called this event the Wheat Harvest Festival.
Minstrels and musicians sang of the toil of those who had labored throughout the year, and fresh fruit and meat were delivered to every house, as well as fish that the people of Taylor rarely had the chance to eat. Men, women, and children of all ages ate and enjoyed the food.
In particular, Arthur Taylor and Luciana Taylor always brought their young daughter to the festival.
"Duke, Duchess! It was a bountiful harvest again this year! It is all thanks to you, Duke and Duchess!"
It is thanks to your hard work and sweat cultivating the wheat, and thanks to God granting us the perfect season. You have worked hard.
The people who lived in Taylor's territory presented them with crowns made of woven wheat ears as a token of gratitude. The couple smiled and placed the wheat ear crowns on each other's heads, and also placed a crown on Grace's head.
Thank you, everyone!
One day, on the day young Grace shouted in a lovely voice, the crowd filling the streets knelt before them on their left knees as if by prior agreement. A spectacular scene unfolded, resembling gentle waves rushing toward the distant sea.
Back then, everyone believed without a doubt that such a spectacle would continue forever.
However, the peace was shattered in an instant, like a lie. The square, which would have been bustling with festivities, was filled with carts from other families.
“I just can’t understand why… why our Taylor Mill is being loaded onto that cart.”
A unique flower with two long petals, resembling a bird's tail, attached beneath four petals.
“What kind of pattern is that…?”
The farmer's empty question seeped into the wheat dust and disappeared.
* * *
That flower, the Nightmare's seal, was also stamped on the document Duke Taylor was signing.
“Thank you, Your Excellency. Lastly, please affix your seal here.”
When the deputy butler of Count Chernin pointed out where the seal should go, Duke Taylor flared up in anger.
“I know without you saying it, I know!!”
“…….”
“Damn it!!”
He rose from his seat and slammed his fist down on the thick wax waiting to be stamped. With a thud, the Duke of Taylor's signet ring on his middle finger struck the wax.
“So when is that damn debt going to be paid off?!”
Chernin's deputy butler answered coldly, shaking off the crumpled documents and tidying them up with a sour expression.
You agreed to repay it over twenty-five years, and with this, you have repaid another year, so now nineteen years remain.
Duke Taylor let out a hollow laugh in disbelief and waved his hand for him to leave. As Deputy Butler Chernin bowed and withdrew, Duke Taylor muttered in frustration.
“Twenty-five years? You speak so lightly! Hazel Chernin, that bastard guaranteed me that we would strike gold in the mine! That’s exactly why I invested, so why am I the only one bearing all the responsibility?!!”
At that time, the current Duke of Taylor had not invested in that one mine.
As a nobody who couldn't even properly manage a single baron suddenly became the owner of a vast fortune, nobles flocked to Taylor. Whispering that it was the age of mining and trade, and urging him to invest and build even greater wealth now that he had become the wealthiest Duke in the Empire, Duke Taylor, intoxicated by the treatment he had never received before, haphazardly signed documents without even properly examining what they were.
Since most of the documents he had signed were close to fraud, there were many that could have been corrected even now if he had so desired. However, the Duke was unaware of this fact, nor did he have any intention of doing so.
“Where on earth did things go wrong?”
A sneer settled in the eyes of Lady Cornwall, the head lady-in-waiting, as she watched the scene.
Where did it go wrong? He will never get the answer to that question.
The Duke of Taylor may think that I possess everything Taylor has, but Taylor's legacy was not limited to visible wheat fields, gold, and castles. What was more important was the invisible legacy, and he did not possess it.
Successive Dukes of Taylor sat their children on their laps and taught them about the capacity for wealth.
"Everyone has their own vessel of wealth. That vessel given by God is originally of the same form for everyone."
"Father, that's strange. You said that as Taylor's successor, I already possessed so much. So how can everyone's capacity be the same?"
"Listen more, Grace. The vessel I am talking about is not a visible vessel. I am talking about something more fundamental than what is visible."
Arthur Taylor continued speaking as he looked into young Grace's clear eyes.
At first, everyone holds the same bowl, but as time passes, its size changes depending on who holds it. Some make the bowl smaller than their palm, while others make it large enough to hold the ocean.
Arthur Taylor smiled as he looked down at his young daughter, who was tilting her head in confusion. Grace gazed at her father's smile for a moment, then asked.
How can I make the bowl bigger?
First of all, you have to recognize the vessel. But most people don't even know that such a vessel exists.
What if you realize it?
You have to decide the size of your own vessel.
If I decide, does the capacity get bigger?
Of course. Surprisingly, it grows exactly as much as you decide.
Arthur Taylor gave Grace her homework while looking into her fresh green eyes.
Think about how big you would like your bowl to be and write it down on a piece of paper.
About a month later, Grace handed her father a piece of paper with neat handwriting.
Arthur Taylor looked at the paper containing his daughter's bowl for a long time before bursting into hearty laughter.
The girl's bowl contained the people living in Taylor's territory.
Grace laughed along with her father, then asked a question she was curious about.
"Father, what happens if you receive more than the vessel can hold?"
"What do you mean, what happens? You just end up with exactly the wealth that fits your vessel. It doesn't matter if you are a wandering vagabond or an emperor on the throne. You receive exactly that much."
Even a wanderer on the road, if he has a great capacity, will eventually possess what his capacity allows; and even an emperor seated on the throne, if his capacity is smaller than the palm of his hand, will eventually lose everything.
Just as Lady Cornwall was recalling the conversation between father and daughter from her memory, the Duke of Taylor muttered the same thing he always had on his lips.
“Damn it. The Duke’s family wasn’t anything special either!”
As Arthur Taylor said, the Duke of Taylor at that time was only accumulating as much wealth as his own capacity allowed.