The small misunderstanding didn't bother Viserys.
Once the village elders learned that Viserys was actually a king, none of them dared to treat him lightly.
After all, a warrior like Arthur—tall, imposing, and godlike—stood respectfully behind the young king. It was obvious the soldiers outside were also under his command.
"In front of you stands Viserys Targaryen the Third, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men," Arthur announced loudly, still omitting the title "Protector of the Realm."
Viserys took his seat without saying a word, letting the silence grow thick between them.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl for the village chiefs.
They didn't even dare to breathe too loudly. Heads bowed, they occasionally glanced at Viserys, only to quickly lower their eyes to their feet again.
"My people," Viserys finally spoke, "I am your king. The evil bandits who once tormented you have been defeated.
They now labor under my command to build city walls.
You must have seen them when you arrived. If you remain loyal and perform meritorious service, one day you too might live inside those walls."
Viserys knew that for these simple farmers, who had never seen the wider world, living in a city wasn't necessarily an enticing reward.
He needed to offer something more tangible.
"The Rhoynar once left behind a network of canals here. But after hundreds of years of neglect, they are no longer functional. I intend to restore them."
At these words, a sense of unease crept into the crowd.
Restoring the canals would be a massive project. This small king obviously wouldn't dig them himself—he would certainly conscript laborers from the villages.
And once the work began, who knew how many would die before the canals flowed again?
Unaware of their thoughts, Viserys continued.
"There is another matter—taxes. Specifically, how much grain you will provide the state each year. I will collect tax per person. Each adult is required to pay two hundred kilograms of grain per year."
"Two hundred?!"
A younger villager named Anger immediately did the math. He had married at fifteen and now had four children with his wife. His oldest son was fourteen, the youngest only seven.
Six people in the family—twelve hundred kgs of grain per year. His household couldn't even harvest this amount in a good year!
This little king was leaving them no way to live.
It didn't take long for the rest of the village elders to realize how greedy Viserys was. That silver hair—only a devil would have such a color!
Everyone's faces darkened at the mention of the tax.
Ang, looking pitiably toward Viserys, seemed to want to plead for mercy.
Viserys noticed his expression and gave him the chance to speak, "You look like you have something to say."
"I... I..." Anger stammered. He did want to speak, but nerves froze the words in his throat.
Back when the bandits ruled, villagers had dared to complain about their cruel demands.
Sometimes the complaints were accepted, sometimes rejected.
But even when accepted, the bandits would kill the one who raised the issue—ensuring the others would be more obedient next time.
That fear was why Ang couldn't open his mouth. One wrong word could mean never seeing his family again.
But staying silent meant certain starvation.
Viserys didn't rush him. He simply waited.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three.
A minute.
Two minutes.
Three.
At last, Anger summoned the courage. Taking a deep breath, he said,
"Your Majesty, your tax is too heavy. We… we can't afford it!"
Silence fell inside the tent.
The other village elders mourned for Anger in their hearts. They were certain he would be executed.
Some even began thinking about running. They couldn't possibly survive under this crushing tax. Escape seemed the only option.
But to their surprise, Viserys neither agreed nor became angry. Instead, he asked,
"Then what do you think is fair?"
Ang hadn't expected the king to ask him. He thought for a moment and replied,
"One Hundred... One Hundred and fifty kgs per person!"
A cut of fifty to one hundred might mean his family could survive.
But Viserys calmly clarified, "Per person? Only those over sixteen need to pay two hundred. Children under sixteen pay just 50 kgs. Women and girls pay half of that."
He had deliberately misled them at first, so that once the real rate was revealed, it would feel like a mercy.
Human nature was predictable like that.
As expected, the elders' expressions brightened—like men who had survived a storm.
Tsk. On closer look, this little king is actually quite handsome… that silver hair really is beautiful…
Then Viserys added even better news.
"Other than the head tax, there will be no additional taxes. You may cultivate as much land as you wish. Whatever grain you harvest beyond the tax is entirely yours."
To farm more land, they would need those Rhoynar canals restored.
Thus, Viserys aligned his interests with theirs. And just like that, the resistance melted away.
Land meant everything to farmers.
Next, Viserys told them that during the off-season, he would send people to train them in military skills. The village chiefs all agreed enthusiastically.
Lastly came the matter of law.
The Gohor region was vast and sparsely populated. For now, there was no need for detailed legal codes. So Viserys laid out just two basic laws:
[If you steal—you die]
[If you hurt or kill others—you die]
Having just eradicated the local bandit clans, harsh penalties would serve as a deterrent. Later, once the region became safer, punishments could be relaxed.
Before they left, Viserys treated the village chiefs to a hearty meal. Each of them even carried home a dozen kilograms of grain.
After all, a new ruler's image mattered.
When someone fills your belly and gives you something to carry back, you're more likely to speak well of them.
As he watched the villagers depart, Viserys didn't feel much like a king—more like a village head.
Back before his transmigration, he had always thought meetings were exhausting. But now, after hosting one himself, he actually felt invigorated.
Maybe it was because he had been the one giving the orders.
No wonder principals and department heads always loved having meetings.
Just as Viserys was thinking of how to extract more resources from Braavos, a royal guard came to report.
"Your Majesty, we've captured two Rhoynar spies!"
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