Solomon tossed and turned in his Lord's bed in the newly claimed castle, sleep eluding him.
The confused, humiliated faces of Luchen and Lauchlan from the previous evening kept flashing before his eyes. They were loyal men. Good men.
But Solomon had made a mistake. He had thought loyalty was enough. He was wrong.
He had won the war. He had taken the land with steel and blood. Yet, his territory remained a black box. He didn't know the population, the resource output, the geography of the waterways, or even the exact acreage.
If his command staff couldn't count past seventy, how could they govern? In Westeros, the feudal system of "subcontracting" governance to vassals existed for a reason—centralization required math, and math was rare.
He wanted to pass laws, but who would write them down? He wanted to establish courts, but who would record the verdicts?
Without accurate numbers and a basic bureaucracy, tax collection was guesswork, and his decrees would die before they left the castle gates.
Solomon sat up in bed. He remembered an ancient story from his past life: Buying Horse Bones with a Thousand Gold.
The next morning, at first light.
Luchen and Lauchlan were summoned to the Great Hall. They had barely slept, terrifyingly certain that Lord Solomon was going to punish them for the failure of the land survey. They stood before the dais, shifting from foot to foot.
Solomon sat on the high seat, his face calm.
"Go to every village in my territory," Solomon said, smiling unexpectedly. "And announce one thing."
"Lord Solomon needs talent."
He paused, then asked, "If you wanted to buy the fastest, strongest horse in the world, but no one would sell it to you, what would you do?"
Luchen and Lauchlan exchanged blank looks. What did horses have to do with this?
Luchen thought for a long time. "Lord Solomon... maybe... offer more money?"
"What if, even with more money, people didn't believe you were serious? Or didn't believe you had the money?"
Lauchlan scratched his head. "Then... rob them?"
Solomon almost laughed. He waved a hand. "No. There is a smarter way."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Take one of my skinniest, sickest warhorses. Have a soldier pretend to be a horse seller. Then, in front of everyone, buy that useless nag from him for ten times its value."
Luchen and Lauchlan's eyes went wide.
"Lord Solomon..." Lauchlan stammered. "Why would you buy a bad horse for a high price in public?"
Solomon shook his head. "If people see I am willing to pay a fortune for a bag of bones, what will they think?"
Luchen frowned, following the logic. "They... they would think Lord Solomon is an easy mark?"
Solomon: "..."
"No!" Solomon sighed. "They will think: 'If he pays that much for a dying horse, how much will he pay for a champion?'"
"I get it!" Luchen slapped his thigh. "Then everyone hiding a good horse will come running to sell to you!"
"Exactly." Solomon tapped the table. "As for talent... I mean anyone with skill! Anyone who can read! Anyone who can count! Even simple addition!"
"Also, anyone who knows herbs. Anyone who can shoe a horse. Anyone who can forge a sharper plowshare. Anyone who can bake bricks. Even if his only talent is barking like a dog—bring him to me!"
Solomon stood up.
"Get twenty riders. I will dictate the order. Have them memorize it. Then send them out in pairs to every village."
"They are not to post notices. They are to shout! I want every blind man to hear it! I want every deaf man to feel the vibration!"
"What do they shout?" Luchen asked.
Solomon took a breath.
"Shout this: 'Lord Solomon decrees! Any man who can read—one bag of Silver Stags and a grant of land! Any man who can count—one bag of Silver Stags and a grant of land! Any man with a craft—heavy rewards!'"
"Shout it until your throats bleed!"
"If someone steps forward, test them on the spot. If they can read a few words or do a sum, I don't care if they are a beggar or a cripple. Give the money to their family immediately, in front of the crowd, and bring the man to me!"
Solomon's will was done. Twenty riders memorized the chant and rode out, their hooves kicking up dust as they spread the word to every corner of the valley.
In Riverbend Village, a man in rags huddled in the shadow of a wall to escape the noon sun.
His name was Barna. He had once been a small merchant, but bankruptcy had taken everything—his shop, his wife, his dignity. Now, he lived on scraps.
The arrival of two riders made the village tense. The peasants gathered, fearful of a new tax.
The lead soldier reined in his horse and bellowed:
"Lord Solomon decrees! Any man who can read—one bag of Silver Stags and a grant of land!"
"Any man who can count—one bag of Silver Stags and a grant of land!"
The villagers whispered, skeptical.
"Is it real? Money just for counting?"
"It's a trick. Lords don't give away silver."
Barna's heart hammered against his ribs. Math. He knew math. It was the only thing he had left.
Hunger outweighed fear. He scrambled up from the dirt. "I... I can count!"
The crowd turned. The soldier looked down at the skeleton in rags. "What did you say?"
"I can count." Barna trembled. "My Lord... you can test me."
The second rider dismounted. He pointed at a flock of chickens pecking in the dirt.
"Count the chickens in the village. If each chicken eats two handfuls of grain a day, how many handfuls will they eat in ten days?"
The first rider looked at his partner in shock. Are you crazy? That's too hard!
But for Barna, this was breathing. He scanned the flock, did the multiplication instantly.
"Six hundred and forty handfuls."
The first rider blinked. He looked at the second rider. "Is that right?"
The second rider nodded. "It is."
"You can count?!" The first rider's jaw dropped.
"He answered so fast!" The second rider grinned. "Grab him!"
They hauled Barna onto the horse.
"My Lord! Did I get it wrong?!" Barna shrieked.
"No! You got it right!" The soldier laughed. "You belong to Lord Solomon now!"
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