"Of course, I will abolish my prostitution business…"
Zimus spoke without hesitation.
The words settled over the gathering like a sudden gust of wind, scattering the fragile calm that had formed after the evening's earlier discussions.
For a brief moment, no one spoke. The people simply stared at him, unsure whether they had heard him correctly.
"What?" the same man from before stepped forward and his voice was rising with disbelief, "Then, what about the women? Will you just let them go? And what about their debts? Will you erase those as well?"
Zimus shook his head slowly, "I can't let them go, not yet…"
The reaction was immediate, "Then, you're nothing but a hypocrite!"
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. The earlier admiration began to waver, replaced by the suspicion. Some crossed their arms while the others frowned openly. Their expressions were hardening as they waited for his explanation.
Zimus did not raise his voice. He stood firm and his gaze was steady as it moved across the people before him.
"You can call me whatever you want," he said calmly, "But I believe they are safer with me than they would be outside."
The murmurs quieted slightly, pondering about what the old man meant.
"They are vulnerable," he continued, "Not just because of their past but because of what the world would do to them if they were cast out with nothing. Not only that, they still carry the debts."
"If I simply erase those debts, what happens next? What if they come back again, asking to borrow more? Do I give it freely? And when the time comes to collect, do you expect me to erase it again?"
No one answered. After all, everyone was not a fool. Despite the urge to agree, the pitiful stare threatened them to be quiet.
"If that is the case," Zimus added and his tone was sharpening just slightly, "Then, you are asking me not to be kind but to be foolish. And if I become foolish, how long do you think I will last?"
The man who had accused him faltered and his confidence was slipping.
The silence spread through the crowd once more but this time, it was different. It was not disbelief toward the words. It merely became the contemplation for everyone around.
"If I fall, then everything I provide disappears with me. No one will lend them money again, no one will take responsibility for them, and you all know that finding someone that's willing to shoulder that burden is not easy."
That much was true. People knew that and moreover, the women knew that truthfully.
The people of Maskar Town knew Zimus well. For all his flaws, he had never cheated them. He had always been clear, direct, and fair within his own logic.
Even though so, the question remained.
"If not that… then what will you do?" someone asked quietly.
Zimus took a slow breath, "I will build something else. I will build an estate. A large one that can accommodate everyone."
A ripple of surprise spread immediately. Such place was enormous and needed much more resources.
"This estate will not be a single building," Zimus continued, "It will cover a wide stretch of land. Within it, we will create everything we need from the orchards, gardens, farms, ranches, animal husbandry, plantations, and even stone quarries."
He looked at them one by one. His confidence was increasing since he believed the above had been helping him.
"To sustain such a place, I will need many people."
The understanding began to dawn. The people here would become the workers for sure.
"The women from my former business will not be cast aside. They will be relocated and they can choose the work that's suited to their abilities from cooking, farming, managing supplies, tending animals, and many other else. There will be roles for all of them."
"I believe…" Zimus added, "That through this, everyone will have an opportunity. Everyone will have a respectable work to do."
"Yes… that makes sense," someone muttered.
"We could even form an association," another suggested.
"There would be jobs for everyone…"
The earlier hostility softened, replaced by the cautious optimism. Their smiles began to appear though not without hesitation because not everyone was convinced.
"What if it fails?" one man asked, "This is too big. Can you manage it alone?"
The others nodded and it was a valid concern. Zimus did not avoid it.
"This estate may flourish or it may collapse under my management. Everything is possible here…"
The honesty caught them off guard because the old man really dared to sacrifice his own money to build something for people of the town.
"It will require careful planning which needs many hands and much time. Right now, my workers are few and most of them remain only here because they still owe me."
He folded his arms, "When their debts are paid, I cannot guarantee they will stay."
The crowd exchanged glances. They were wondering what would be the outcome.
"So, I will begin by opening several job opportunities. We will build slowly step by step but I will need strong workers first. I need men who can handle the construction, materials, and heavy labor."
He paused before added, "If there are not enough here, then I will have no choice but to hire from the outside."
"No!"
"We have enough people here!"
"You don't need the outsiders!"
"This is our town… We'll do the work!"
The voices rose over one another and each person was eager to prove their worth.
Zimus watched them and a faint smile was forming.
He understood their pride. Whether it was genuine determination or simple bravado, it did not matter. What mattered was that they were willing.
"I will rely on you then…"
*****
True to his word, Zimus started immediately.
The brothel closed its doors without ceremony. The gambling operations followed soon after, disappearing quietly as though they had never existed.
For many, the change felt surreal. For the women, it was terrifying.
Their source of income had vanished overnight. The uncertainty loomed over them like a storm that was waiting to break. Some feared abandonment while the others feared worse that they would be discarded once they were no longer useful.
However, the old man did not leave them in the dark.
He explained his plans in full, just as he had done with the townspeople. He progressed with clear and practical steps.
Within several hours, his subordinates were dispatched to survey the surrounding land. They moved quickly, identifying the unused and unclaimed areas that were suitable for development.
By the time they returned, several locations had already been marked and Zimus inspected them personally.
He did not choose the most convenient site nor the easiest one to develop. Instead, he selected a stretch of land that offered the greatest potential with enough space to expand and enough resources to sustain the growth.
Without delay, the work then began. Zimus and his men took the lead.
They cleared the land, gathered the materials, and laid the foundation themselves. Their past lives as the thugs had taught them more than violence. It had taught them survival. They knew how to build, how to adapt, and how to endure.
Seeing this, the townspeople could not remain idle. They came in groups, offering their help.
Zimus refused them at first, not because they lacked the skill, but because they offered their labor freely.
"I will not take advantage of you…" he exclaimed.
Eventually, he established a system. A simple table of wages, adjusted based on their ability and contribution.
The people were stunned after looking through it.
They had expected to work for nothing, driven by the hope alone. Instead, they were treated with fairness. And so, they worked, not out of obligation, but with genuine enthusiasm.
The construction site soon came alive.
The wood was cut and shaped plus the stone was gathered and arranged. The sound of labor filled the air from morning until dusk.
In the midst of it all, a new rhythm emerged.
*****
The women found their place as well even though they felt unsure of what to do at first.
When they approached Zimus, he assigned them to the kitchens. It was a simple decision but an important one.
The laborers needed food and it must be consistent, sufficient, and warm. Returning home each day would waste the time and energy, so the old man provided the meals for all who worked.
It was free of charge and the men accepted it gratefully.
For the women, the work was demanding.
From early morning, they prepared the ingredients, cooked in large quantities, and organized the distribution. By midday, when the workers gathered to eat, they served them efficiently before turning to clean and wash.
There was a little rest. By the time the afternoon ended, the preparations for dinner had already begun.
They were tired, and yet, something changed. The exhaustion remained but it was different.
There was no lingering shame, no forced smiles, and no hollow interactions. Instead, there was a purpose.
The work was honest, the results were visible, and for the first time, many of them felt a sense of belonging. Even if the pay was less than before, the fulfillment was greater.
*****
The days passed and the estate slowly began to take a shape.
What had once been empty land transformed into a place of movement and life. Few structures rose, the fields were marked, and the plans expanded with each passing day.
The atmosphere in Maskar Town changed alongside it.
Where there had once been stagnation, there was now activity. Where there had been a quiet despair, there was now a cautious hope.
More people began to follow Zimus's lead.
The watchmen, who had done little during the earlier troubles only kept their distance. As long as their duties to the kingdom were fulfilled, they did not interfere.
From afar, Baston observed everything.
He stood apart, watching the transformation unfold. There was no need for interference since Zimus had taken the first step on his own.
The boy found himself impressed because he had not expected this.
A former thug, a man who had once profited from the vice now stood at the center of something constructive and meaningful.
He exhaled slowly. It seemed he had been too quick to judge.
Unlike the others who spoke of change without substance, the old man acted and that was far more valuable.
*****
As the days passed, Baston became aware of something else. His time in the town was coming to an end.
He had intended only a brief stay with a simple investigation yet things had grown beyond that.
After a moment, he made his decision.
If Zimus was to continue on this path, then he would need the guidance. It was not direct interference but something subtle. Something that would endure.
*****
At noon, when the field was at its busiest, Baston acted.
Through one of his puppets, he entered Zimus's office unnoticed.
The room was empty and it was perfect for the act. He placed the stone tablet on the table and closed his eyes.
Slowly, he began to channel his holy magic.
A warm and pure energy flowed from him, gathering within the stone. The surface began to glow faintly before it became brighter. The light was pulsing gently as it absorbed the power.
Time passed quietly. When he finally stopped, the glow faded.
The tablet returned to its ordinary appearance but the power within it had deepened significantly.
Baston could feel it. He was satisfied, preparing to leave before someone spotted him.
"My lord… is that you?" Zimus's voice came from behind him.
The puppet turned and found the old man stood at the doorway with wide eyes that were full of recognition and awe.
"It's me…" Zimus said quickly, stepping forward, "You saved me in the cave. My lord… what are you doing here?"
The puppet smiled calmly, maintaining the appearance of the white-haired man.
"I came to see how you are doing," he replied, "To see whether you have forgotten God."
Zimus reacted immediately, "Forgotten? How could I forget? It has only been a few days! If I were to forget so quickly, I would be the most ungrateful man alive!"
The puppet nodded, "Good… Many people remember only when they are in need. Once they gain the comfort, they forget."
Zimus straightened with a sense of pride that was filling him, "I am not like them…"
Baston observed him quietly through the puppet.
The old man's expression was different now. There was a light in his eyes that had not been there before.
"My lord…" Zimus continued and his voice was filled with conviction, "Your teachings… They are different from what the priests at the church preach."
Baston's brow twitched slightly. Indeed, it was different since the words did not come from this world.
"The priests speak of the status… Of offerings and of power but this… this feels true. It does not judge a person by wealth or strength but by faith."
He placed a hand over his chest, "Every day, when I meditate before the stone tablet, I feel the clarity as if something within me is being guided."
"Do not worry," Zimus said earnestly, "I will share this with the others. The people deserve to know the truth."
Baston suppressed his reaction. It seemed Zimus had developed his own interpretation.
Still, it was not entirely misguided.
As long as the old man remained on this path, so long as he did not return to his previous ways, that was enough.
The old man continued speaking and his words were flowing with enthusiasm.
The man listened, offering only occasional nods.
He did not interrupt because for now, it was better to let the old man speak. And when the time came, Baston simply allowed the moment to end naturally.
He was leaving behind not just a stone tablet but a foundation that was far stronger than any structure built by hand.