When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#612 - Soha is a kind of wisdom, lend me another spinning wheel!

"Tap, tap!"

In the cold night, a series of dull knocks sounded, causing the young girl who had been fiddling with a spinning wheel inside the house to look up.

The spinning wheel, which had been rotating, stopped instantly, leaving a slender and tough woolen thread hanging on it.

Setting down the wooden Scythe Brotherhood badge, Larol sat up in a carp-like flip, looking suspiciously towards the door.

Who could be knocking so late? Could something have happened to a member of the Scythe Brotherhood's family?

The Scythe Brotherhood was a mutual aid organization Ansel had established that very night.

Because they were an organization founded due to harvesting, the Scythe Brotherhood was approved by most people after a vote.

"Papa?"

Larol gently stroked his daughter's head reassuringly: "You stay in the house, keep spinning, and don't come out."

The thin girl nodded: "Okay."

Throwing on a cloak and opening the door, Larol walked into the small courtyard, immediately smelling a strong scent of alcohol.

Larol's eyes glazed over for a moment, but he quickly returned to reality: "Cousin Laver?"

The person entering was not a member of the Scythe Brotherhood, but Larol's neighbor and cousin, old Laver, who also had a son named young Laver.

Imperial people all had the same way of naming, with names being repeated down generations, even the kings were like this, often going up to the ninth or even fifteenth generation.

Old Laver, with a red nose, chuckled: "I went to Henderson Manor to join the wolf hunting team today, why didn't you come?

Henderson Manor was very generous today, treating each of us to two cups of beer and pine nut wine."

"I went to the church, after all, my archery is too poor, I don't have much of a chance." Larol smiled wryly, pulling his cousin to sit down in the courtyard. "Did you get selected?"

"Of course, not only me, my son, young Laver, who just came of age this year, was also selected." Old Laver patted his chest proudly.

"Don't worry, if your wife needs anything while you and your son are away, she can come to me." Just like in the past, Larol congratulated him with a smile.

After all, these mountain people were somewhat rough in character, what if someone got drunk and harassed his wife while old Laver was away?

Or what if wolves, driven by hunger after autumn, ran into the village at night and carried away old Laver's newborn child.

Old Laver naturally gave Larol a hug with a smile: "When I get back, come to my house for a drink."

As if thinking of something, Larol tentatively asked: "Did you hear about the wool processing thing that Friar Ansel mentioned?"

"Nonsense!" Sitting down heavily on a small stool, old Laver burped from the alcohol, at the height of his chattiness. "Oh, they give you wool, you spin it into thread, and then they pay you to buy it back, is there really such a good thing?"

"But I've already received the wool, and Lasha is already spinning."

Old Laver was stunned for a full two or three seconds before widening his eyes, he walked up and grabbed Larol by the back of the neck: "Are you serious? I thought you just took the free wool and came back?"

Larol was initially flustered, but then he said firmly: "I believe Friar Ansel."

"That Scythe Brotherhood, you joined it?"

"Yes."

"Signed and fingerprinted?"

"Yes."

"Took the wool home?"

"Three pounds of wool."

"Are you possessed by a demon? You've only known that Ansel for a few days!" Old Laver earnestly advised.

Larol still shook his head: "Friar Ansel is a good person."

Although old Laver might not believe it, Larol still thought that this friar was different from the previous priests.

Although he was a high and mighty friar, he never looked down on people when he spoke.

Compared to the lofty title of "believers," he preferred to use "fellow parishioners."

Moreover, this time the raw materials were provided by Ansel, and Ansel was also helping with the purchase and sale, it only required a few days of labor.

Besides, Larol had a faint feeling of certainty in his heart, that maybe this time it could really work.

Moreover, he was already at the bottom, any direction he went would be upwards.

He was betting everything on this, going all in.

If it didn't work out, he would marry his daughter to young Laver and go down the mountain as a mercenary with his bow.

As Larol's cousin, old Laver continued to advise, he couldn't let his cousin fall into the abyss.

He saw clearly that the Scythe Brotherhood was just a neighborhood watch, and the so-called registration was just a population survey.

The knights couldn't manage things anyway, the affairs in the manor were decided by the armed farmers and the rent-paying farmers themselves.

Once the perpetual lease rights were implemented, wouldn't they be finding a master for themselves?

What was most deadly was if they completed the population survey before the perpetual lease rights were implemented.

Henderson Manor had said that once the name was registered, the church would only come to you to collect poll taxes, it wasn't worth it.

He just didn't know what kind of charm the friar had used to make his cousin defend him so much.

"Good how?" Old Laver was so anxious that he sobered up from the alcohol. "That Ansel can tell at a glance that he's a learned man, the more books you read, the more poisonous your heart is."

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Larol, who was being lectured head-on by old Laver, said helplessly: "Cousin, listen to me..."

"No, you listen to me first." Old Laver grabbed his sleeve. "Do you think you can get money by handing over the wool? Aren't there enough ways for those smart people to suck our blood?

When you hand over the thread, they'll pick on this and that, and in the end, it won't even be enough to cover the cost."

"There's no cost..."

"There's always the cost of eating, right? Wouldn't it be better to pick up more firewood in the wasteland, or repair your house?" Old Laver looked him up and down with disdain.

"The people in our Scythe Brotherhood will help each other repair it." Larol quickly explained.

"That's not the point, you're confusing me." Old Laver vigorously patted his head, which was muddled by alcohol. "Smart people don't do unprofitable business, you're joining this brotherhood for this little money, no, it's not little money, the opportunity to earn small money.

Then they'll definitely use doubled poll taxes to get it back from you in the future..."

This time, Larol directly interrupted old Laver: "Cousin, don't say anymore, I've thought it over."

"Thought what over? Sigh, you..." Looking at Larol's resolute gaze, old Laver couldn't help shaking his head. "Good words can't persuade a ghost who wants to die."

If he wasn't leaving to hunt wolves tomorrow, he would have talked all night with his cousin, taking his name off the Scythe Brotherhood before it was too late.

"Sigh, you wait, your sister-in-law will talk to you tomorrow." Old Laver sighed and turned to leave.

But Larol stopped him.

"What's wrong?" With a red nose, old Laver burped from the alcohol and turned to ask.

Larol took out a jar from the cupboard and scooped out half a block of salt from it.

He packed it in a palm-sized small sack and handed it to old Laver: "Since your family isn't doing this work, then the spinning wheel will be free, why don't you lend it to me for a few days."

Old Laver blinked: "You only have one daughter who can spin, what do you need another spinning wheel for?"

Larol lowered his head somewhat shyly: "Their mother passed away too early, I learned a little to weave clothes for them before."

Old Laver looked Larol up and down with a strange expression, in the world of mountain people, men weaving was something only sissies and cowards would do.

He didn't expect his cousin to have also learned weaving?

But now he couldn't care about that, he just continued to persuade.

"Take this salt back, it's worth at least a quarter of a dinar, if not half a dinar."

"Cousin, this salt is the reward he gave me for helping him push the cart, I don't feel bad about returning it." Larol said stubbornly. "Just lend it to me for ten days."

Larol forcibly stuffed the salt bag into old Laver's hand.

Old Laver sighed, wanting to say something, but then closed his mouth, he weighed the salt in his hand: "Alright, alright, I'll have my son bring the spinning wheel over later.

You wait, we'll talk again three days later when I get back from hunting wolves, then you'll know how wise my words are."