"Me? A teacher?"
The old man blinked in disbelief, pointing at himself.
"My lord, surely there's been a mistake. I've never received higher education. I only studied a bit of grammar and arithmetic before I had to start working. I fear I'm not qualified."
He bowed slightly, wringing his hands. "If I can simply watch over the children and teach them basic literacy and numbers, I'd already consider that a great honor. But anything more advanced… you'd best find someone else for that."
"Don't be so quick to refuse."
Eric raised a hand, cutting him off. "You know, many wise men in this world are so humble that even they start believing they're nothing special."
The corners of his mouth curled into a small, knowing smile. "Humility is good, but too much of it can bury a man's wisdom alive."
He paced slowly in front of the old man. "Whether you're qualified or not isn't something you decide by words alone. It's proven through practice."
"I've studied a fair bit of history, grammar, arithmetic, and crafts myself," Eric continued, leaning against a desk. "Back when I was holed up in Orsank Tower, I spent months reading piles of books. So I'd like to think I can recognize real knowledge when I see it."
He paused, then clapped his hands once. "Let's do this properly—a little entrance exam."
That morning, the entire class was released early because of the lord's sudden visit and his impromptu decision to hold a "teacher qualification test."
Children ran home, shouting excitedly about how their lord himself had visited their classroom. One boy—whom Eric had ruffled on the head—marched through his front door so proudly that it looked like he was about to take the doorframe with him.
Inside the temporary classroom, once the children had gone, Eric quickly scribbled down a test and handed the parchment and quill to the nervous old scholar.
The old man hesitated, then looked down at the questions. It was a comprehensive exam—covering arithmetic, history, mythology, poetry, grammar, and some basic laws of the realm.
He frowned at one or two math problems that made him question everything he'd ever learned… but the rest? Simple. He breezed through it like a man writing his own memoirs.
When Eric reviewed the answers, he nodded in quiet admiration. The man's depth of understanding put his own crash-course reading at the tower to shame.
"Excellent insight," Eric said, tapping the page. "Frankly, you could be the headmaster, not just a teacher."
He smiled. "That settles it."
"What's your name, old one?"
"Taber," the old scholar replied, his voice still uncertain.
"Good. Taber, you've just proven your worth. Your years of study weren't wasted after all." Eric clasped his hands behind his back. "The children of Roadside Keep will be under your care from now on."
"Of course," he added, "we'll still need to figure out the details."
So, that same afternoon, a second impromptu meeting took place right there in the classroom—this time about how the school would actually work.
After a long discussion, Eric and Taber decided to borrow some inspiration from Gondor's education system. However, unlike Gondor—where only nobles or the wealthy could afford higher learning—Roadside Keep's education would be open to all.
If everything went smoothly, Eric thought, this could become a settlement where everyone could read, think, and build—a community of truly educated people.
That kind of society was rare. Only a few groups in the world could claim something similar.
One of them was the northern rangers—the Dúnedain.
Of course, they had their advantages. They were of noble blood, descended from the ancient kings of Númenor, and lived three times as long as ordinary men.
And, well, it helped that Númenor itself was basically a civilization that once thought "building a highway to heaven" sounded like a perfectly reasonable weekend project.
Eric smirked to himself. "Though I probably could've finished it faster."
Before its fall, Númenor had been the greatest kingdom in the world—until its last king decided conquering Valinor might earn him immortality. It earned him something else instead: a one-way trip to the bottom of the sea.
The island now rested beneath the waves, along with its king who had proudly stepped foot onto Valinor... only to find out the hard way that divine lands didn't welcome uninvited guests.
A handful of survivors escaped the drowning kingdom and founded two new realms: Arnor in the north and Gondor in the south. Arnor eventually fell after six centuries of war with the Witch-king, while Gondor was still standing—and currently trading blows with Mordor.
The northern rangers were the descendants of those Arnorian kings. They were few in number, but every one of them carried the education, discipline, and pride of their lineage.
"Maybe I could invite some of the rangers to teach," Eric mused. "The older ones especially—they'd make excellent instructors. History, swordsmanship, fieldcraft, even poetry."
Whether they'd agree was another matter.
A few days later, the first school of Roadside Keep officially opened its doors, with Taber as its inaugural headmaster.
Eric, of course, appointed himself "Honorary Principal"—which roughly translated to "the man responsible for doing absolutely nothing."
The old scholar nearly lost his mind in the first week. Enrollment skyrocketed. Not just children—grown men and women lined up at the doors, begging to be admitted.
Eric had told everyone that anyone who couldn't read or had never been to school was welcome. "If they want to learn, teach them. Open more classes if you have to."
Taber had no idea what "if you have to" meant in the lord's mind, so he took it literally—he tried to teach everyone.
"Why are they all so desperate to study?" Taber asked one afternoon, exhausted as another crowd filled out enrollment forms. "I've never seen farmers and blacksmiths so eager to learn."
"Because people elsewhere don't have time," replied old Veyd, a community representative, while signing his name with surprising enthusiasm. "Most folks spend every hour just trying to stay alive. But here, our lord encourages it."
He chuckled. "Even I want to write my reports better, so the lord can actually read them. You're not going to turn me away, are you?"
Taber sighed, rubbing his temples. The man was twice his size and twice his age. "Fine. Just… don't be late."
"Of course not," Veyd grinned. "My workload's light anyway. I'll fit it in."
"Good heavens…" Taber muttered as the man left.
It was chaos, but it was good chaos.
As weeks passed, Roadside Keep began to hum with life. Word of the lord's reforms spread far and wide, and more settlers arrived each month.
Even if not everyone was brilliant, there were always enough capable people to keep the school running.
And for those who were shy, hesitant, or uncertain of their own worth?
A single sentence was enough to light a fire in them: "The lord himself is our honorary principal."
Instant motivation. It worked every time.
Of course, when they eventually asked Taber when the lord might personally come to give a lecture, he could only shrug helplessly.
"I don't know," he said. "He's… gone again."
Indeed, Eric had already wandered off—off to his next project, leaving behind the first flicker of enlightenment in a keep that once barely knew its own name.