The tent was filled with agonizing cries.
The fat merchant's voice was tearful and sounded incredibly wronged: "The Seven Gods above! I am truly a merchant! Why does no one believe me!"
Arthur observed him with interest. Westeros lacked intellectuals, and thus he was short on mid-to-low-level bureaucrats. He could only look for merchants, but not just anyone; they had to pass his assessment.
He crooked his finger, signaling the fat merchant to rise: "A merchant? Then why are you in my refugee camp?"
At the mention of this, Hubbard's face immediately showed a resentful expression, as if he had suffered an immense injustice.
He almost immediately cried out in accusation: "Isn't it because of your war with the House Ryger!"
"My entire caravan, laden with Dornish wine, is completely gone!"
"All of it was plundered by those vassals of the House Ryger, like rabid dogs, under the pretext of wartime requisition! And they even tried to kill me!"
"Fortunately, your men arrived and engaged them."
"I barely managed to escape in the chaos, only to run onto your land, and your soldiers treated me as a refugee, keeping me in the refugee camp and not letting me leave!"
The more he spoke, the more wronged he felt, his corpulent body trembling, almost on the verge of tears.
After listening, Arthur stroked his chin. So, he truly was the indirect cause of this unfortunate fellow's bankruptcy.
He couldn't help but smile, but then he thought, he was also the one who saved him: "Mr. Hubbard, it seems I do bear some responsibility for your misfortune."
Arthur looked at the fat merchant kneeling on the ground, as if appraising an interesting commodity.
"Since you are already bankrupt, why not stay and work for me? I have a good job to give you."
Hubbard's eyes lit up for a moment, but then were replaced by wariness. This young lord had just beheaded over fifty people without batting an eye; he was certainly not a benevolent person.
He cautiously raised his head: "Lord Arthur… can I… refuse?"
Arthur's smile vanished instantly, replaced by an icy calm: "No."
Hubbard's body shivered violently, and he buried his head deeply. When the fifty-plus people were beheaded, he was squeezed in the front row, and now, it was as if blood was still flowing before his eyes.
He could only ask in a mosquito-like voice: "What… what kind of work?"
Arthur leaned forward slightly, tapping his fingers gently on the tabletop, making a dull sound.
He spoke word by word: "My… Lord's Monopoly Commissioner."
Hubbard didn't react for a moment: "Lord's Monopoly… Commissioner?"
"What does that mean?"
Arthur's explanation was simple and clear: "It's very simple."
"From today onwards, in my territory, salt, wine, iron, and sugar—these four items—only the Lord, which is me, can engage in large-scale production and sale."
Before Arthur could finish, Hubbard's merchant instincts made him detect an unusual scent.
He suddenly raised his head and blurted out: "Then… you will increase the prices of these monopolized goods?"
Arthur gave him an approving look. The most brilliant way to collect taxes in this world was to make people not realize they were being taxed. This was called 'taxation within price,' making it impossible for the people to avoid taxes, yet not feel the burden of taxation.
It was said, "See the form of giving, but not the reason for taking." When giving benefits to the people, it should always be done openly; when taking benefits from the people, it should be done silently. This way, the people would be in harmony with the monarch.
Arthur nodded to the fat merchant. This fat man's mind worked quickly; he had passed the first test: "Yes."
Hearing Arthur's reply, it was like a thunderclap in Hubbard's mind. He was completely stunned, kneeling there, mouth slightly agape, unable to utter a single word.
Yet, a tempestuous wave had already surged in his heart! As expected! I knew it!! I knew you noble lords!
Each and every one of your hearts is as black as a demon from hell!
What benevolent kindness! What a holy child descending! What a benevolent policy of one-tenth tax! It turns out the real evil law was waiting here!
He almost believed it! He almost thought he had truly met a lord in Westeros who was unprecedented! So kind as to be foolish!
Exorbitant taxes were universally condemned and easily aroused the hatred and anger of the common people.
Now it seemed, the other party had merely adopted a more hidden, more efficient, more deadly yet soft form of exploitation. But this monopoly law…
It was brilliant! Hubbard's body began to tremble! Not from fear! But from an extreme excitement and thrill!
This monopoly law could not only continuously enrich the lord's treasury but also tightly control the lifelines of all the common people.
Salt, everyone had to eat it; iron, farm tools and weapons couldn't do without it; wine and sugar were important consumables.
Controlling these was equivalent to controlling everything!
Moreover, this method would not cause large-scale direct resistance.
Brilliant! Truly brilliant!
Hubbard looked at Arthur's young face, his gaze completely changed. It was no longer fear, but a profound admiration from the depths of his soul. This was what a Lord of Westeros should be.
Since he was already bankrupt, he might as well go all out. There was a lot of profit to be made here. He stood up, his expression, which had just been wailing, changed so quickly that Arthur was astonished.
He respectfully saluted Arthur:
"At your service, Lord Arthur!"
After receiving the appointment, Hubbard's corpulent body did not retreat gratefully. He knew that the lord's assessment was not over. If he left now, he would certainly not be appointed to this special commissioner role. The layers of fat on his face immediately squeezed into an almost fawning smile, but the shrewd glint in his eyes betrayed his true thoughts at this moment.
His voice was slick, revealing a hint of cunning: "Lord Arthur, forgive my presumption."
"The four monopolized items you just mentioned—salt, wine, iron, and sugar—are truly a stroke of genius, enough to lay the foundation for the territory's future wealth."
"However… perhaps you could add one more."
Arthur raised his eyelids, his gaze falling on Hubbard. His eyes were calm and unmoving, yet they made a layer of fine cold sweat seep from the fat merchant's back.
His voice trailed off slightly, signaling him to continue: "Oh?"
He didn't dislike subordinates with ideas, provided those ideas were truly valuable.
Having received permission, Hubbard seemed to have all his tension instantly drained away. He straightened his back, and his tight silk gown let out a groan of protest under the strain.
Hubbard did not directly state the answer. He walked to the map on the long table, raised his fat finger, and pointed to the area marked by Arthur on the map. These were two ranches near the Brightmoon Mountains.
Hubbard's voice lowered slightly, carrying a hint of mysterious pretense: "The key lies here."
He wanted to demonstrate his ability to the young lord before him, to prove that his title of "Lord's Monopoly Commissioner" was well worth it: "It's about the two hundred families that are about to be settled."
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