Chapter 291: Customs

The Provincial Governor in Nagaryll holds a position roughly equivalent to a governor in the Baylor Federation, but with some differences.

Here, the governor controls both military and civil affairs, yet he is not without rivals—his main opponent is the High Priest.

People obey political power but revere the gods even more, creating a strange balance between secular and divine authority.

Overall, the governor wields great power but cannot dominate everything.

“Didn’t your boss come with you?” Asel’s father asked warmly, grasping Asel’s hand.

From a letter sent earlier this year, Asel knew his boss might invest here. He understood his father well—a man who could never keep secrets and loved to boast.

He liked flaunting his success: having a son with foreign residency, receiving monthly living expenses from him, and that his son was a high-ranking manager in a company.

He enjoyed these stories because they earned him respect, sparing him the daily jostling with commoners and granting him the privileges of a gentleman—like personal space.

Hatred?

It was a local custom. Perhaps once his father believed in curses, but now he didn’t care.

When local officials heard the news of Asel’s boss coming to invest, his family’s status rose significantly.

Officials kept asking when the boss would arrive, the scale of investment, and the types of factories planned.

Locals cared too, since this would affect their lives.

Building a factory created a small ecological economy. Once investment was confirmed, jobs would open, and incomes for many would change.

Many visited Asel’s father, making him somewhat famous in the city. He was often invited to festivals, political and religious events, feeling increasingly important.

At that moment, the supply ship preparing to depart sounded its horn. The captain seemed eager to leave, unlike at previous stops where he and his crew would mingle with local girls.

Here, they refueled and left immediately, as if they disliked the place.

The loud horn made Asel glance back at the ship, and an inexplicable sadness stirred inside him.

His father and brothers now seemed strange—less warm than in letters. Each wore a fake smile masking greed, making Asel uneasy.

He answered, “Around mid-March. My boss still has some matters to settle.”

“Two weeks then?” His father clapped his hands. “That’s a good time!”

Why it was good, he didn’t know—it was just a habit, a way of affirming everything, part of Nagaryll’s culture.

“Let’s go back. You must be tired.”

To Asel’s surprise, his eldest brother arrived in a car that looked at least ten years old, embodying the quirkiest and most common aesthetic of the previous era.

His brother patted the car proudly, “Surprised? We already have a car.” His tone held a pride so strange it made Asel both amused and confused. He even asked, “Did you have a car in the Federation?”

Asel smiled. His brother didn’t press further but seemed to think he did not.

On the car, the foul wind hit Asel’s face and suddenly, things became clear.

Returning home, the old shabby house was gone, replaced by a mansion no less grand than any he’d seen in the Baylor Federation, even more exquisite and massive.

Nagaryll’s religious culture permeated everything—even the bricks and pillars bore sacred patterns and carvings.

Together, they made the house not just luxurious, but imbued with a dignity granted by divine authority.

The house sat in a courtyard. Asel asked, “I remember neighbors used to live nearby.”

His father nodded proudly, “Yes, but they left because we built this new house.”

For Asel’s father, driving away neighbors wasn’t shameful but a point of pride. Most couldn’t do it, but he could—and that was his pride.

Asel paused. Years in the Baylor Federation had taught him a greater value: morality. He saw no pride in pushing people out just to build a bigger, better house. It was cruel and terrible.

Yet those around him saw it as pride. He felt more and more alien to this place. His father and brothers were nothing like their letters.

He silently followed them inside. His mother and brothers’ wives knelt at the door to welcome the men.

Nagaryll was a typical patriarchy; women had no status. Asel found it awkward when his eldest brother’s wife removed her shoes, washed his feet, and helped him put on clean ones—everyone else thought it normal.

The men sat on woven vine benches—strong and flexible, common in the homes of high priests and rulers.

The women knelt in a line, serving spiced boiled milk and local pastries. They were called the ladies of the house, but were more like servants.

“Why does your boss suddenly want to invest here? What’s worth investing in?” Asel’s father asked a question he’d long held.

Everyone knew how poor Nagaryll was. Though many claimed there were rich mineral deposits, none had been found.

The only notable product was spices, once famous long ago. But with chemical development, expensive spices had been replaced by flavorings and lost value.

Only a few ultra-rich cared for natural spices; ordinary people didn’t care if their food’s taste came from leaves or additives.

Asel was silent a moment, then, following Lynch’s words, said, “Labor here is cheap.” He accepted a cup of spiced boiled milk from his eldest brother’s wife.

Before tasting it, a strange smell hit him.

The milk was fresh, the spices too, but the aroma was odd—fishy, pungent, with a faint spice fragrance. Watching the leaves swirl, Asel didn’t want to drink.

Though unwilling, he still said, “Thank you.”

When relatives visited in Nagaryll, the eldest boy’s wife usually entertained guests. It was a custom.

Used to caution in the Baylor Federation, Asel’s simple thanks made his father and eldest brother’s expressions darken slightly.

After casting a cold glance at the woman kneeling on the ground, Asel’s father finally smiled and said, “You don’t need to thank her. It’s what she’s supposed to do.”

“She eats our food, drinks our water, wears our clothes. We give her shelter from the wind and rain. Everything she does is her duty.”

“I know this is a habit you picked up in the Federation, but you’re home now. You don’t need that here.”

With that, his father casually sprinkled some black-yellow crystalline powder from a nearby spice jar into the cup of milk in Asel’s hand. “Drink it quickly, it won’t taste good once it cools.”

Asel sipped the spiced fresh milk, nearly spitting it out. He forced himself to swallow and vowed never to touch it again.

His father then asked, “What kind of factory are you planning? About how many workers will you need?” He began to boast, “I’m somewhat reputable now. I can help you get things done, you understand?”

Asel nodded and relayed some instructions from Lynch.

The more they talked, the more alien Asel felt to this family—not just his family, but all of Nagaryll seemed different from his memories.

What unsettled him most was that when he was ready to sleep that night, his eldest brother’s wife entered his room wearing thin clothes, her face flushed…