The clerk's explanation left Bill thoroughly tempted.
According to the man, becoming a resident merchant not only granted tax reductions but also allowed him to operate anywhere across the entire domain. On top of that, the city hall would allocate a plot of land based on the merchant's needs—completely free of charge. The only conditions were that construction had to begin within one month, and depending on the size of the plot, all required facilities had to be completed within three years at most. City hall would inspect regularly. If a merchant failed to develop the land on schedule, the plot would be reclaimed and the offender would face fines and imprisonment.
Although the restrictions were significant, it truly matched what Bill had heard: free land.
On this continent, land was a scarce resource. For a man like Bill, the chance to own his own plot was incredibly rare. The temptation proved too strong to resist.
"I'll become a resident merchant," Bill said firmly. "I was planning to settle here anyway."
The clerk didn't seem surprised. Many merchants made the same choice after hearing the benefits. "Very good, sir. Would you prefer land inside the city or outside? The sizes differ quite a bit."
Bill thought for a moment, then answered decisively, "Inside the city. Outside plots are larger, but developing them would require far more capital. That's still too heavy for me right now."
The clerk smiled approvingly. "Wise choice, sir. Here is your resident merchant certificate. Please keep it safe. You may explore the city first and decide on your land later. Once you've chosen, return here and we'll assign it officially."
With both hands, the clerk passed over an official-looking document.
Bill accepted it carefully and tucked it close to his chest, murmuring thanks the whole time.
"No need to be so formal," the clerk said, extending his right hand. "That will be the processing fee—ten coppers, please."
Bill, who had just been overflowing with gratitude, suddenly felt like he'd been doused with cold water. Why does everything in Oros cost money?
Even though he was reluctant, he still counted out ten coppers and placed them in the clerk's palm.
Just as he was about to leave, the clerk asked one more question. "How do you know our Mayor?"
Bill blinked, confused. "The Mayor? I don't know any Mayor…"
"The knight who brought you here earlier—that was our Mayor. I saw him escort you in personally."
Bill stood frozen, mouth slightly open. Seven Hells. The helpful knight who had walked them all the way here and asked for nothing in return was actually the Mayor of Oros.
While Bill was handling his business, Jon Connington had already reached his own office.
The room was spacious—well over a hundred square feet—located on the third floor of City Hall, second in size and position only to Prince Gaemon's own office.
Jon walked to the large oak desk in the center and sat down. Behind him, a massive arched window more than ten feet high let in warm sunlight, bathing the room in a pleasant glow.
He had barely settled when a knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," Jon said calmly.
The heavy door opened and a boy who looked no older than thirteen stepped inside. He wore a neat squire's uniform, but it only made him look smaller standing in the grand doorway.
"Cousin, you're here," the boy greeted.
"I've told you a hundred times—not to call me cousin inside City Hall," Jon corrected, frowning slightly.
"Yes, Mayor Connington," the boy replied quickly, clearly eager to avoid another lecture.
Jon nodded, satisfied. "Good. Ron, how is the statistical report on the domain I asked you to prepare last week?"
The boy—Ron Emmon—straightened. "All finished, sir. That's why I came. I wanted to go over the numbers with you."
"Excellent. Give me the summary. Prince Gaemon will be returning soon, and I'll need to present these figures to him."
Ron cleared his throat and began reciting from memory:
"Current population of the Wendwater Domain stands at thirty-four thousand. Fifteen thousand came as immigrants from King's Landing, twelve thousand were purchased as slaves from the eastern continent, and the rest arrived with merchant families.
Last month, eight hundred new acres were cleared, bringing the total cultivated land to sixty-seven thousand acres. These are organized into sixty-seven manors and three hundred thirty-five villages.
Village populations range from several dozen to over a hundred people. Rural population totals twenty-one thousand, while the urban population has reached thirteen thousand.
Of those, two thousand live in Snowsalt Town and Lumber Town. The city of Oros itself currently houses eleven thousand residents."
Jon listened with clear approval. His young cousin had done solid work. Ron Emmon was the second son of the Emmon family from Greenstone in the Stormlands—Jon's maternal cousin. At only thirteen, he had previously been training as a squire at Stonehelm under House Swann. When Ron's father, Lord Emmon, learned that Jon had earned Prince Gaemon's trust and was managing the domain, he had quickly sent the boy to serve as Jon's squire.
Jon hadn't been thrilled at first. He had only recently been given real responsibility and didn't want accusations of nepotism. But his mother—Lord Emmon's sister—had written multiple pleading letters, and the boy proved clever and quick to learn. In the end, Jon had relented.
Now, several months later, Ron had already become quite useful.
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