83. Sawing the seed of justice

The hall was filled with the scent of burning sandalwood. The sun had barely risen, but Harsh had already gathered his council. His eyes were heavy from the long night spent poring over ledgers and letters of complaint. The recent victories against the rebellious nobles had left his territory more secure—but also more fragile.

The remaining nobles were seething, but they had learned. They knew better than to wage open war against him. The lands Harsh controlled were far too vast and prosperous for them to challenge directly. However, they still wielded power over their people—through subtle exploitation, unjust taxes, and quiet oppression.

Harsh knew he could not strike them all down. Not without losing more than he could afford.

No.

If he wanted to defeat them, he needed a different strategy.

He sat at the head of the wooden table, his hands loosely clasped together. Around him sat his commanders, advisors, and the few loyal nobles who had defected to his cause. Ishani stood quietly by the wall, watching him intently, reading the storm in his eyes.

After a long silence, Harsh finally spoke.

"We cannot tear down every noble house," he said slowly, his voice steady but firm. "We cannot crush them all. That path will only lead to more bloodshed, and in the end, it will change nothing."

His commanders exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of where he was heading.

Harsh's eyes narrowed slightly.

"But what we can do," he continued, "is change the rules of their game."

He leaned forward, his fingers resting on the map spread across the table.

"If we cannot remove the nobles, we will weaken their grip. Not with swords, but with knowledge."

His gaze swept over the room.

"We will educate the people. We will teach them their rights. We will show them the laws the nobles use against them. And when the nobles exploit or break those laws, the people will know."

There was a heavy pause. One of his advisors, a grizzled former magistrate, frowned.

"And then?" the man asked, his voice uncertain.

Harsh's eyes were cold and unwavering.

"Then, they will come to me. And I will make sure justice is served."

---

By noon, Harsh's orders were already spreading throughout the villages.

Messengers rode from town to town, carrying decrees written on rough parchment. Town criers stood in village squares, their voices ringing through the air.

"Hear this! By the order of Lord Harsh, ruler of these lands, the people shall be taught their rights!"

Within days, the first wave of instructors arrived. They were not scholars or monks—they were former farmers, soldiers, and traders who had been personally trained by Harsh's council.

In the village of Gwalipur, an old woman with crooked fingers stood before a crowd of commoners. Her voice was cracked with age but steady with resolve.

"Do you know," she asked, her voice hoarse but firm, "that you have the right to refuse forced labor? That if a noble demands you give your son to his army, you can challenge him with witnesses?"

The villagers murmured among themselves, disbelief and curiosity stirring in their eyes.

In another village, a man stood by the temple steps, holding up a leather-bound book. His voice was louder, sharper.

"By the law, you may contest unfair taxation! You may demand a hearing if your land is seized without cause! You have rights!"

Word spread like wildfire.

Harsh himself rode from village to village, often dismounting to speak with the people directly. He stood in the dirt with farmers, crouched beside fishermen by the rivers, and sat beside women weaving cloth.

He spoke to them without pretense, with words they could understand.

He did not offer them hollow promises of freedom.

He gave them tools—tools of knowledge and justice.

And he made sure they understood one thing clearly:

If the nobles wronged them, they would not be alone.

---

The news did not take long to reach the neighboring kingdoms. The nobles who had once watched Harsh with wariness now watched him with unease.

But unlike before, they did not hastily raise their banners.

No, this time they waited.

They saw that Harsh was no longer taking their heads—he was changing the people's minds. He was giving them knowledge and empowering them without waging war.

And while they still loathed him, they began to feel something they had not before: caution.

Some nobles—those who had not yet faced Harsh's armies—chose to step back. They ceased raising taxes out of fear that their peasants might resist. Others, unsure of whether Harsh's justice would stretch into their lands, began making quiet concessions to their subjects.

Some nobles even offered grain, lowered their levies, or allowed minor disputes to be settled by local magistrates, hoping to avoid drawing Harsh's attention.

It was not submission.

It was self-preservation.

---

Weeks passed. Then months.

The first villagers who had been taught their rights came to Harsh's hall. Not in small numbers, but in hundreds.

Men and women—farmers, artisans, and traders—lined the stone courtyard outside his palace. Their voices were not raised in rebellion but in grievance.

A man with cracked hands from years of plowing stepped forward.

"Lord Harsh!" he called. "My lord, the tax collectors came yesterday. They demanded double the tribute. When I showed them your decree, they threatened to take my daughter as payment."

His voice trembled with barely restrained fury.

"My lord… I come not to beg. I come to ask for justice."

Beside him, a woman clutched the hand of her ten-year-old son. Her eyes were sharp with defiance.

"My lord," she called out, "my husband was taken by the lord of Rajgarh. Accused of theft without proof. He has been in their dungeons for weeks."

Harsh rose from his chair. He walked down the stone steps and faced the crowd.

His voice was calm but clear.

"Justice will be done," he said, his voice firm enough to still the entire crowd.

The people knelt before him instinctively.

"No," Harsh said firmly, his voice softening. "Do not kneel. Stand. Stand tall."

And as the people slowly rose, Harsh turned to his guards.

"Summon my commanders. Prepare the horses. If the nobles will not heed the law, then we will make them."

The crowd erupted into cheers.

But Harsh knew this was only the beginning.

---

Three days later, Harsh and his men rode to Rajgarh.

They did not march in as conquerors but as enforcers of justice.

The lord of Rajgarh, a man with a bloated belly and greasy hands, sneered at Harsh from his high seat. His contempt was palpable.

"These are my lands," the lord spat. "You have no right to—"

Harsh cut him off with a single, sharp gesture. His voice was low, but it carried through the hall.

"These are not your lands," Harsh said coldly. "These are their lands."

And then he turned to the gathered people—his people.

"Let them decide," he declared.

The lord's eyes widened in disbelief. He turned to his guards, but they hesitated.

Because the people were watching.

Because they had been taught their rights.

And they knew.

They knew that they no longer had to submit.

They knew they could speak.

And one by one, they stepped forward.

Farmers. Mothers. Old men and young boys.

They spoke of their suffering.

They spoke of the stolen land, the unfair taxes, and the cruelty.

And when their voices were heard, the lord of Rajgarh knew he had lost.

He was stripped of his title. His lands were taken and redistributed.

And the people, for the first time, knew they could fight back without raising a sword.

---

That night, Harsh sat alone in his chambers, the window open to the cool night air.

Ishani entered quietly and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You gave them more than justice," she whispered.

"You gave them the power to hold on to it."

Harsh closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

It was not enough.

Not yet.

But the road was now clear.

The people no longer feared.

And the nobles… they were learning that fear.

The game had changed.

And Harsh knew that in the end, knowledge would prove sharper than any sword.