Arthur's gaze once again fell on the parchment, or rather, on the handwriting on the paper.
Olivier, a former steward to a minor noble, Arthur suspected his identity was not at all as he claimed; someone of his caliber should only serve great nobles.
The handwriting was neat, fluid, and possessed an almost undisguised elegance, every turn and stroke filled with confidence, as if the writer was accustomed to signing important documents.
This starkly contrasted with his claimed background of serving a minor noble in the countryside.
Arthur's fingertips lightly traced the paper. This person was either lying, or the "minor noble" he once served was not minor at all. Arthur sighed, fearing trouble.
"Thump, thump, thump."
Just then, a faint, almost deferential knock sounded.
The sound was very soft, completely different from the boisterous knocking of Lucien, Hakon, and the soldiers he was accustomed to.
Arthur guessed the identity of the visitor: Olivier, the former steward of a minor noble.
"Come in," Arthur's voice was calm.
The door was gently pushed open, and the middle-aged scribe who called himself Olivier stood bowing at the doorway. The dim corridor light outlined his humble silhouette. Arthur was somewhat amazed; he was indeed a man who had served as a noble's steward.
"Lord Arthur," Olivier walked in and bowed deeply, adopting an extremely low posture, "I apologize for disturbing you late at night."
"I have someone to recommend to you, her name is—" His words were interrupted by Arthur. "Bring her in!"
Olivier was somewhat surprised by Arthur's readiness. He bowed respectfully and slowly retreated.
When he entered again, there was a person following behind him.
A person completely shrouded in a dark robe and a wide hood, making their figure and face indiscernible.
Arthur's gaze became inquisitive. Although the person was well-concealed, he still keenly noticed some details from the well-defined contours and the way she stood.
That was not a man, but a woman with a very good figure, far surpassing Lady Rona. Arthur suddenly realized how strange this was; why was he starting to study figures?
Arthur said nothing, merely raised his chin, signaling Olivier to speak.
But Arthur's gaze never left the silent person behind Olivier.
"This is… this is my daughter," Olivier carefully chose his words, his voice even lower. "She can also read and write, and she knows a great deal. Perhaps she can help you, my Lord."
Between his words, he praised his daughter to the skies.
"Daughter?" The corner of Arthur's mouth curved into an amused arc. He stood up and walked towards the mysterious person, standing face to face, looking directly into her eyes. "Why does your daughter dare not show her true face?"
The mysterious person lowered her eyes.
Olivier's forehead seeped tiny beads of sweat in the candlelight: "Lord Arthur, she… she has her own difficulties, but her abilities, by the Seven, I would stake my life on them."
Arthur sat back, leaning against the chair, his hands crossed on the table, forming a scrutinizing posture.
"Since your father has vouched for you, then I will listen to your opinion."
"In my territory, there are soldiers who have fought alongside me, and villagers who have tilled the land for generations. Soldiers need land as a reward, and villagers depend on land for their livelihood."
"How should I distribute it to satisfy the soldiers without incurring the hatred and anger of the villagers?"
The room was silent.
Olivier nervously watched the veiled person, his palms sweating.
A moment later, a voice came from beneath the robe, pleasant but unusually clear and steady:
"Why must it be distributed?"
Arthur frowned without speaking.
"The ownership of the land belongs to you, my Lord," the female voice continued, unhurriedly. "What the soldiers receive is the 'right to use' and the 'right to profit' from the land, not ownership. You can set a time limit."
"For example, one hundred or two hundred years. Clearly delineate boundaries and issue land deeds. The land deeds acknowledge their 'perpetual tenancy' of the land. They can cultivate it for generations and pass it down."
"The same applies to the thralls; they merely cultivate the land for the lord."
"Land is a right granted to nobles by the Seven!"
Arthur frowned more and more. This person must be of noble birth, adhering to the customs of Westeros nobles. But if he were an ordinary Westeros lord, this plan would indeed be a good one.
"Rights have no priority, only boundaries," the woman's reply was astonishingly quick, as if the answer was already in her heart. "You need to enact a code of laws, a code that everyone must obey."
"The core of the code is not to arbitrate right or wrong, but to define 'contracts'."
"The land use contracts of both soldiers and thralls are all contracts."
"Any violation of a contract will be punished, whether he is a soldier or a thrall."
"A code of laws?" Arthur repeated. This was also what he intended to do.
"Yes, a simple, clear, and public code of laws," the female voice's tone carried a calming power. "Post it in every village, so everyone knows what can and cannot be done."
"Order comes from clear rules, not from a lord's momentary judgment."
Arthur then posed a second question: "Taxes. I need money to feed the army and develop the territory, but the people here are very poor. What should I do?"
The woman immediately replied, as if the answer was ingrained in her mind:
"Your territory is close to a river, has forests, and clay. You can establish lumberyards, fishing fleets, and brick kilns under your control. These industries will be directly controlled by you, and your female thralls and children can work there without compensation."
"Another way to make money is a 'transaction tax'. Any transaction occurring in the market, whether selling a basket of eggs or a piece of cloth, will have a small portion deducted as tax. People won't starve by paying a small tax when selling things, but this money, accumulated, will be a considerable income."
Arthur: "…" He was not entirely satisfied with her answer, but in Westeros, one could not expect people to view problems outside of their era. She was indeed a thousand-mile steed.
"Thump!" Arthur slammed his fist on the table and abruptly stood up. She was a noble.
Seeing this, Olivier quickly stepped forward, wanting to say something, but was stopped by an imperceptible glance from the veiled person.
Arthur stared intently at the two. They did not look like father and daughter. Olivier's nervous, protective demeanor seemed more like that of a servant to a master.
"Who exactly are you?" Arthur's tone turned cold. "Where are you from? Why have you come?"
"I need talent," he said, word by word, his voice calm but carrying an undeniable authority. "But I dislike unnecessary trouble. I need to know your identities."
Arthur stood up and walked in front of the veiled person, the distance between them no more than a step:
"At least, I need to know who is serving me, and what they look like."
"Madam! Please remove your robe!!!"
The air in the room became extremely tense. Olivier's face turned pale. He seemed about to rush forward to stop her.
But he ultimately froze in place, only looking at Arthur with an almost pleading gaze.
The veiled woman was silent for a long time, so long that Arthur thought she would refuse or turn and leave. But she finally just sighed softly and slowly raised her hand.
Her hand was steady. First, she untied the hood's fastenings. The wide hood slipped off, revealing a face covered in dust and mud, her hair tangled and disheveled.
It was as if she had endured a long and arduous journey, but Arthur could tell this was deliberately applied disguise to avoid drawing attention.
Next, she unfastened her robe. The heavy, dark robe slid from her shoulders and fell to the ground with a soft thud.
Beneath the robe was a simple but well-tailored linen dress, outlining a tall and curvaceous figure.
Arthur frowned. He turned to the guard at the door and commanded, "Bring a basin of water and a clean towel."
Soon, the basin of water was brought in, and Arthur gestured.
The woman did not hesitate. She walked to the basin, scooped up clear water, and began to wash the grime from her face.
Dirt and dust dissolved in the water, gradually fading away.
When she raised her head again, Arthur's breath hitched.
The candlelight, as if in an instant, had all its brilliance stolen by that face.
A cascade of golden hair, as brilliant as melted gold, though damp, still could not hide its breathtaking color, falling across her upright posture.
Her eyes, like two sapphires, were captivating.
Her features were exquisite, her figure tall, her nose bridge high, and the curve of her lips elegant and soft, with all the right curves and contours.
She appeared to be around twenty-six or twenty-seven years old, and her beauty also carried a hint of weathered maturity and an enduring melancholy.
Arthur was completely stunned. In Arthur's eyes, her beauty had transcended mere pleasantness, far surpassing Lady Rona, becoming something that hinted at trouble.
The woman met his shocked gaze, her expression remaining calm, even with a hint of aloofness and wariness, as if this peerless beauty was not a gift to her, but a heavy burden.
Thoughts raced through Arthur's mind. He desperately needed her wisdom and ability, but her identity was a huge unknown. Accepting them could very likely lead to trouble.
"You may stay," Arthur finally spoke, his voice returning to calm. "Olivier, you will be my scribe, as for you…."
His gaze fell on the woman, pausing.
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