Regarding the allocation work, inside the temporary command tent outside the refugee camp, a detailed and exquisite map of the territory was spread on a long table.
Arthur's finger traced an invisible path across the rough parchment.
He looked at Olivier, his voice steady, betraying no emotion: "Olivier, remember one principle when allocating the refugees."
"Completely scatter all of them."
Olivier's gaze followed Arthur's finger. His Lord's finger, like a small knife, seemed to be precisely dividing the markers representing people on the map.
"People from the same village should not be assigned to the same place."
"Especially those who were neighbors, friends, or relatives in the past, who had their own small groups, must all be broken up, crumbled, and then scattered."
Olivier's heart tightened slightly. He instantly understood the logic behind this command. To completely disrupt their original living environment—few would think of this. The Lord before him was truly seasoned in his methods.
He bowed in response, a hint of reverence in his tone: "I understand, Lord Arthur."
"I will absolutely not allow them to form uncontrolled factions or challenge your authority during the allocation."
This young Lord, who moments ago was like a saint, spreading kindness and hope to his people, now revealed the shrewd ruling tactics of a Lord.
Especially the way these two vastly different personas perfectly merged in him, made him seem unfathomable and hard to read.
Olivier pondered slightly, intending to propose a more complex scheme to Lord Arthur regarding the extremely low tax rate of one-tenth and the poll tax based on land area, such as levying taxes based on the fertility of the land to ensure the Lord's financial stability.
He cleared his throat, just about to speak: "Lord, regarding taxes—"
Arthur waved him off. He knew what Olivier was going to say, but he had a better method, and right now, he had more pressing matters.
He looked up, his gaze sweeping over the map and directly at Olivier: "Now, let's talk about the common people and equipment."
Olivier was stunned.
"We seized a large quantity of weapons and equipment from the House Ryger's armory, especially cloth armor, padded armor, and chainmail."
Arthur's tone became somewhat peculiar, as if discussing a business deal.
"I have decided to let the soldiers redeem these armaments from me with their own spoils of war."
Olivier felt as if his ears were malfunctioning: "Redeem?"
"Lord, I… I don't understand what you mean. Shouldn't these armaments be directly distributed to them during wartime?"
Arthur sat back in his chair, leaning against the backrest, his hands clasped on the table: "No."
"From now on, in my territory, every family that receives public land is obligated to provide one qualified soldier in wartime."
His voice was not loud, but it was like massive stones crashing into Olivier's turbulent heart.
"Every family that owns public land must provide its own set of padded armor or cloth armor, as well as a spear and a shield."
"Every family that owns more than forty suleiman acres of land must provide its own set of chainmail and a longsword."
"The so-called 'complete set for one territory'."
Arthur stroked his chin. This was something he had deeply considered. Currently, the old common people in the territory had at least five acres, which is twenty suleiman acres or more of land. With the burden lifted by extremely low taxes, it was not difficult for a family to acquire a set of cloth or padded armor that could be passed down for generations. The only difficulty was the channel for purchase.
Especially now that they were all rolling in wealth, and there were already over fifty common people who owned more than ten acres, which is forty suleiman acres of land, now used for riders, and could lease land to others for cultivation.
Olivier's breathing hitched.
Arthur continued, as if methodically describing a completed painting: "These armors we captured are prepared for them."
"They can use the spoils of war obtained from this war to purchase them."
"If they don't have enough money, they can put it on account. We will distribute it, and they can pay in installments, or use future spoils of war to settle the debt."
Silence fell in the tent. Olivier stood dumbfounded, his brain working frantically, trying to understand the true purpose behind this system. These words collided and reassembled in his mind, finally forming a terrifying image that made his scalp tingle: land... military service... equipment... redemption...
Olivier suddenly gasped, freezing completely: "Lord… you… you are going to…."
He wanted to say something, but found his throat too dry to make a sound. He now knew why his Lord had distributed spoils of war to every soldier.
This was not simply about making money from the common people returning from the battlefield, who were now flush with cash. It was a terrifying system designed to bind the entire territory, every family that received land, completely to the war machine.
By deeply linking land ownership with military service obligations, Arthur could mobilize a large and well-equipped army in a very short time.
Even more terrifying, the cost of arming this army would be almost entirely borne by the soldiers themselves. The Lord would only need to provide the land and spoils of war that had already been taken from the enemy.
To protect their fields, families, and spoils from the battlefield, the soldiers would willingly empty their pockets to purchase equipment, and even try every means to maintain and upgrade them.
This was a total mobilization model for the entire territory, one that the Lord did not have to bear, with extremely low costs and terrifyingly high efficiency.
Olivier had lived half his life and had never heard of, or even imagined, such a brilliant and ruthless system. He thought again of that merciful tax rate of one-tenth.
Now he finally understood. That was not mercy at all; it was merely a bait. What Arthur truly wanted to "levy" was not that small amount of grain.
It was "people"!
It was thousands upon thousands of soldiers willing to give everything for land and battlefield spoils!
Just as Olivier was still immersed in his immense shock, the tent flap was suddenly pushed open.
Brin's burly figure squeezed in, still clutching something. The object looked like a ball of flesh, which he unceremoniously threw to the ground. When the two looked closely, they realized it was an astonishingly fat man.
Arthur was shocked by Brin's fierce strength, casually tossing such a fat ball, while Olivier was angry at Brin's lack of etiquette, truly a bandit by origin.
The fat man was wearing expensive clothes that had once been luxurious but were now torn in many places, his face was covered in dirt, and his small eyes were full of fear and unease.
Brin began to report in a booming voice: "Lord Arthur!"
"The merchant you asked us to find, we found this fellow in the refugee camp."
"He kept saying he was a merchant, not a refugee, and wanted us to let him go."
The fat man, seeing Arthur sitting in the main seat, immediately looked as if he had found a savior.
He used his hands and feet, scrambling and crawling to kneel on the ground:
"Lord! Merciful Lord! My name is Hebard! Seven Gods above! I am truly a merchant! I am not a refugee!"
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