At No. 1 Silver Star Street in Tingen City, inside the "Pasol" restaurant, known for its Disi-style cuisine, Ael led a frAel middle-aged vagrant to a table near the street.
Unlike the restaurants Ael had visited in Pritz Harbor and Backlund, the furniture in "Pasol" was greasy and worn. However, being situated at the entrance of the square, the place saw a constant flow of customers, making business quite brisk.
Ael ordered a meal totaling 28 pence: a large glass of milk, a plate of Disi-style grilled fish, a pork chop drizzled with lemon and basil juice, and a salmon toast. Sliding the meal toward the vagrant, he smiled and said,
"No need to be polite. Eat slowly. If it's not enough, you can order more."
The middle-aged man wiped his eyes, his voice slightly choked as he stared at the food before him.
"Th-Thank you... You're truly a kind gentleman. I don't even know how to express my gratitude."
Ael sighed silently, smiling. "Just eat."
The man took a deep breath. "It's been half a year since I last had a meal this good. Even in the almshouse, the food is just enough to keep hunger at bay. But I don't always manage to get a spot there..."
After some time, he finally swallowed the last bite of his pork chop. Staring at the empty plate, he sighed, then took a sip of the warm, sweet milk before asking,
"Kind sir, what story would you like to hear? As long as I know it, I will tell you."
Looking at the now-satisfied man, Ael hesitated for a moment before saying,
"Tell me your own story. I can tell you were once a respectable gentleman. What happened to make you a vagrant?"
The man, his complexion pale, his beard unkempt from long neglect, opened his mouth but hesitated. His voice carried a mix of numbness, reminiscence, and sorrow as he spoke:
"My name is George. George Johnston. I was once a grain merchant. I had a wife and children. My business was buying grain from Fennepot and selling it in Ruen.
I never made a fortune, but it was enough to maintain the so-called 'middle-class' life the commentators talk about.
Even now, I remember how every weekend, my family and I would set aside our work and go for a picnic in 'Maya' Park on the outskirts of Tingen. Those were the happiest times of my life. Now, they are all I have left..."
George wiped his eyes, his voice trembling, his face etched with helplessness and anger.
"But then... that damned 'Grain Act' was passed and enforced. That was when my nightmare began.
In just three days, grain prices collapsed. The agricultural goods I had bought at high prices in Fennepot could only be sold at a fraction—just 30%—of their original cost.
Ael understood. After years of revisions, the 'Grain Act' implemented earlier that year was designed to protect domestic agricultural prices by reducing the cost of imported goods, aiming to balance the market.
George let out a long sigh, his voice heavy with sorrow.
"In just a month... I was bankrupt.
For the big grain merchants, they had accumulated enough wealth and diversified their investments. The 'Grain Act' barely scratched them.
But for us? We didn't have the money to weather the storm…
I don't know if those parliament members—whose heads are no better than curly-haired baboons—ever considered what would happen to small grain traders like us. I don't know what changes they intended to bring. I only know one thing: I was ruined.
Isn't it ridiculous? One day, I was happily calculating my earnings, thinking about buying my wife the dress she had been longing for, about getting my child a new toy from the Steam Church. The next day, I was facing bankruptcy.
They destroyed my life with just a few words."
As George spoke, Ael turned to the window, his gaze landing on the faces of people outside—faces etched with hunger.
Some looked clear-headed, others dull and lifeless, like machines operating on a pre-set program.
Something inside Ael stirred.
George took a sip of tea and continued,
"To repay my debts, I sold my house. I sold my land in the countryside. I sold everything of value. My wife, my child, and I moved into the old cottage my grandfather once lived in.
I told myself, 'If I can't be a grain merchant, I'll do something else.' So I worked hard. I studied new trades. I never lost faith that things would get better..."
"And then?"
Ael sighed, already sensing what was coming.
"My wife fell ill. Then my child. I had no money to treat them. I borrowed from loan sharks, but they still... they still died.
I didn't even have money for their burial. A charity helped me get a small grave plot on the outskirts of town.
I watched with my own eyes as my wife lay in that coffin, holding our five-year-old child, as they were buried in the cold earth.
That broke me. I drowned myself in alcohol, spending my last few pennies to get drunk, just to see them again in my dreams.
But that didn't last long. When the repayment deadline came, they stormed into my home, took everything I had left, and threw me out.
It was the dead of winter. I wandered the streets in rags. Even the patrolling officers wouldn't let me sleep on a public bench.
They only scowled, waving their batons as they shouted, 'Get up! Get up! You damn vermin! The streets and parks aren't for lazy, good-for-nothing vagrants like you! You're a disgrace to the kingdom!'"
Ael knew this was part of the Poor Law. To prevent the poor from becoming dependent on relief, the Kingdom of Ruen had amended the Poor Law sixteen years ago, restricting any individual from staying in an almshouse for more than five days. After that, they were thrown back onto the streets.
And even during those five days, they were forced to work—breaking stones, picking oakum—tasks usually reserved for prisoners.
Almshouses? They were nothing more than free labor camps disguised as charity.
Listening to George recount his past in a calm, detached tone, Ael fell into silence. At that moment, a phrase surfaced in his mind:
"Murder, arson, robbery—people might turn a blind eye. But poverty? That will always invite mockery and scorn. Even if the poor do no harm, even if they quietly and honestly toil away, to those in power, a street full of beggars is simply an eyesore."