"Change it?" The prince snorted from his chair. His voice still trembled slightly from the moment before, but his arrogance had already snapped back into place like a mask thrown on in a hurry. "Speak clearly, commoner."
I did not even get the chance to open my mouth before another voice cut in.
"Be quiet, you foolish child."
Queen Eleanora. Her voice was not loud. It did not even stray from her usual elegant tone. But every syllable sliced through the air with surgical precision, and half the room held its breath. A few nobles even lowered their heads, as though her words had struck them too.
The prince clamped his lips shut. His face went red like an overripe apple. A mixture of irritation, shame, and frustration at being humiliated by his own mother, again, in front of over a dozen of the most influential nobles in the kingdom.
He could not bring himself to look at anyone. His eyes stayed locked on the table, as if wishing he could sink right through it.
I let the moment pass. No use piling wounds on top of wounds. Although part of me thoroughly enjoyed watching that face.
"First," I continued, my voice still flat, "I would like to discuss taxation."
"Taxation?" An elderly nobleman at the end of the table raised an eyebrow. He looked around sixty, with white hair combed neatly back and a dark red robe marking his status as the kingdom's economic advisor. "What about taxation?"
"The tax system in this kingdom makes no sense." I paused, looking around the room. Letting the sentence hang in the air. Then added. "My apologies. I meant across the entire continent."
Several faces hardened. I had just insulted a system that had been running for centuries. A system built by their ancestors. A system that guaranteed their wealth kept flowing from generation to generation. And I had said it right in front of the people who profited from it the most.
A marquis on the left side of the table actually straightened up in his seat, as though someone had just thrown a rock at his head.
"What do you mean?" The elderly nobleman narrowed his eyes. His voice stayed calm, but there was a low growl lurking beneath it. "Are you saying you want to abolish taxes?"
I nearly laughed. How did his conclusion leap that far? From "the tax system makes no sense" straight to "abolish taxes." Like someone hearing "your house needs renovation" and immediately assuming "you want to tear my house down."
"Abolish them?" I shook my head. "I am sorry, but I am not a fool. What I wish to propose is the creation of public schools."
"Public schools?" King Reinhart tilted his head slightly. A small gesture, but one very familiar to me. I had seen him do the exact same thing over a decade ago, the first time I explained the concept of banking to him. A gesture of interest. Not doubt.
"Yes. As Your Majesty is aware, commoners can only become farmers. They spend their entire lives in the fields. From sunrise to sunset, every day, every season, every year. And most of what they harvest goes straight to paying taxes." I let that sink in before continuing. "Now, in Your Majesty's opinion, what would happen if these farmers were given an education?"
Before the king could answer, a voice cut in.
"Enough with the pleasantries, commoner. What are you actually trying to say?"
A middle aged nobleman, sitting in the fourth chair from the right. His green robe bore a pattern of golden leaves, marking him as someone from the agricultural region out west. His face was flushed, whether from anger or from too much wine before the meeting. Probably both.
The king struck the table.
Once. His palm landing flat on the dark wood. Not hard. Not thunderous. But the sound echoed through the silent room like a bolt of lightning hitting an empty plain. Glasses on the table rattled. A quill lying beside a scroll rolled slightly.
No one dared breathe too loudly.
"Continue, Sir Raymond."
Two words from a king's mouth. And with those two words, every mouth that had been preparing to interrupt sealed itself shut.
I nodded.
"What I want is to lower taxes to below twenty percent for commoners."
Silence.
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.
Then an eruption.
Not of sound, because no one dared shout after what the king had just done. But I could see it on every face, one after another, like a shockwave spreading from an epicenter.
Mouths falling open. Eyes going wide enough to show the whites. Hands clamping onto armrests until knuckles turned bone white. One nobleman at the end of the table nearly stood, his backside lifting a good three centimeters off his chair before he caught himself and sat back down.
Twenty percent. When the current tax rate for commoners hovered somewhere between seventy and eighty percent, what I had just said did not sound like a proposal. It sounded like insanity. Like asking someone to lop off three quarters of their own arm.
"However," the king said. His tone careful, not rejecting, simply weighing. "If we lower taxes, how does the kingdom make its money?"
The right question. From the right person. King Reinhart did not reject it outright. He asked. And that alone was enough. Because a person who asks is a person willing to listen.
"Through education." I answered without a pause. "Through public schools where everyone can learn. Writing, reading, basic arithmetic. With that foundation, the common people will have abilities they never had before."
"And then?"
"A farmer who can read will learn better farming techniques. Crop rotation. Efficient irrigation. Choosing the right seeds for the right season. Soil management that keeps the land fertile longer." I let each point land one at a time. "Yields go up. From one sack per season to three. Maybe four. Maybe more."
I let those numbers hang in the air for three full seconds.
"Twenty percent of three sacks is indeed smaller than eighty percent of one sack."
For the first time, a few nobles did not immediately argue. I could see them doing the math in their heads. Numbers spinning behind eyes that had been looking at me with contempt. Twenty percent of three. Zero point six sacks. Compared to eighty percent of one. Zero point eight sacks.
The number was smaller. But...
"And that is only farming," I continued, before they could finish calculating. "That does not include the new professions that will emerge. Merchants. Craftsmen. Writers. Inventors. Every new profession is a new source of tax revenue. Every new tax source is income that never existed before."
Now a few heads were nodding. Faintly. Barely visible. But nodding.
"But who pays for all of this?" An elderly nobleman stood. He was large, broad shouldered, and pinned to his chest was a badge shaped like a silver lion. One of the most powerful Dukes in the kingdom, governing the entire northern border. His voice was deep and full of weight, the voice of someone accustomed to being heard. "The kingdom is already spending heavily on military defense. The northern border alone requires thousands of soldiers. Not to mention the cost of weapons, training, and fortifications. Especially now, with the Demon King threat we have just discussed."
A good question. A question that showed this Duke, unlike some of his peers, was genuinely thinking about the problem rather than simply rejecting it because he did not like it.
Serena rose from her chair. Smooth and confident. Her smile was bright, but I knew that smile. I had seen it thousands of times over the more than a decade I had spent working alongside her. It was the smile that appeared right before someone realized they had already lost the negotiation before it even started.
"Crescentia Group will cover the initial costs." Her voice was clear and firm, filling every corner of the room. "Construction of school buildings, procurement of textbooks, writing supplies, and teacher salaries for the first three years. All covered by Crescentia. The kingdom will not need to spend a single gold coin upfront."
Several eyebrows went up. This they had not expected.
"After three years, once the results are visible, once harvest numbers have risen, once new professions have started appearing, once tax revenue from new sources has begun to flow, that is when the kingdom can gradually take over."
"And what does Crescentia get out of this?" The Duke narrowed his eyes. He was no fool. He knew that no company in this world burned money without a reason. "No company throws away that much gold without expecting something in return."
"A better workforce," Serena replied without missing a beat. Her answer was ready. Polished. Rehearsed. Like a sword sharpened before the battle even began.
"Right now, we struggle to find employees who can read and do basic math. Out of a hundred applicants who walk through our doors each month, only three meet the minimum requirements. Three. Out of a hundred." She let those numbers hang. "Imagine if that number became thirty. Fifty. Seventy. The efficiency of our entire business network would skyrocket. And a more efficient business means larger trade volumes, which means more taxes flowing into the kingdom."
"So this is purely for your own business interests." A marquis spoke up from his chair. A man with black hair, a thin mustache, and narrow eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest, the posture of someone who had already decided on his answer before hearing the question. "You want to manufacture workers for your own company, then dress it up in noble words like education and the future."
I could feel heads around him nodding. Suspicious. Distrustful. Of course, they thought. Nothing in this world comes free. There must be something hidden underneath.
I shook my head.
"We want to create human beings who have choices."
My voice stayed flat. Stayed calm. But I chose every single word with care.
"A farmer's child who can read does not have to remain a farmer forever. He could become a merchant who opens a shop in the city. A writer who tells his own country's history. A craftsman who builds tools better than anything that came before. An inventor who creates something nobody has ever imagined. Or anything else he decides for himself."
I looked the marquis straight in the eye.
"And every person who rises out of poverty is one more person paying a larger share of taxes to the kingdom. Not because they are forced to. Not because it is taken from them. But because their income is genuinely larger. Because their life is genuinely better. Because they have something worth being taxed."
The marquis did not respond. His eyes were still narrowed, but his mouth stayed closed.
"Nonsense."
The voice came from a chair to the king's right. A young nobleman. Perhaps two or three years older than the prince. His jaw was firm, his eyes a cold blue like ice on a mountaintop. He stood roughly, his chair scraping backward with a screech that cut through the quiet room.
I recognized the badge on his chest. A golden lion over a blue shield. House Aldric. One of the oldest noble families in the kingdom, with a bloodline traceable all the way back to its founding. A family whose wealth had been built over centuries from a single source.
Land taxes from commoners.
Of course he was the one protesting the loudest.
"Commoners do not need education." His voice was hard and full of conviction. "They need discipline. They need to know their place."
He looked around the room, seeking support.
"If you give them knowledge, they will start thinking they are our equals. They will question laws that have stood for centuries. They will demand rights they never had. They will refuse orders they have always followed without question."
His eyes swung back to me. Cold. Piercing.
"And after that? Rebellion. Riots. Blood in the streets."
A few nobles nodded. Slowly, almost guiltily, but they nodded. The fear was real in their eyes. To these people, commoners who could think were a threat. Commoners who stayed quiet and obeyed were safety. The system had been running for centuries. Why change it?
Serena smiled.
That smile. I knew it. I knew it intimately. I had watched it dozens of times in negotiation rooms, in meetings with governors, in front of powerful merchants from neighboring kingdoms. The smile that appeared right before Serena Valenrose tore her opponent apart completely, then had them signing a contract while thinking they had just won.
"With all due respect, Lord Aldric."
Her voice was sweet. Too sweet. Like honey dripped over the edge of a blade.
"Have you ever asked yourself why rebellions happen?"
The young nobleman opened his mouth. Then closed it. Because that question was not just a question. It was a trap that had been set before he even stood up.
"Rebellions do not happen because the people are too smart."
Serena began to walk. Slowly. Along the side of the table. Every step measured, every second calculated. Every pair of eyes in the room followed her.
"Rebellions happen because the people are too hungry. Too exhausted. Too desperate. Because they work from dawn until night and still cannot feed their families. Because they watch their children starve while the fruits of their labor are taken by people sitting in chairs just like these."
She stopped in the center of the room. Looked across the entire table.
"Give them decent work. Enough income. A future they can see with their own eyes out ahead of them." Her eyes gleamed in the candlelight. "And no one will pick up a weapon."
A pause.
"People who have hope do not rebel, Lord Aldric. The ones who rebel are the ones with nothing left to lose. The ones who rebel are the ones who look ahead and see nothing but darkness."
The room was silent. A different silence from before. Not the silence of fear. The silence of thought.
The young nobleman was still standing, but the fire in his eyes had gone out. His argument, which had sounded so strong and convincing just moments ago, now looked fragile, like a wall of sand that had just been struck by a wave. He sat back down without a word.
"But what about the children who are already working in the fields?"
A new voice. Calm. Not hostile. A noblewoman with gray hair pinned up neatly and sharp brown eyes. She sat at the far end of the table opposite the king, a position that made it clear she was no ordinary noble.
I recognized her. Duchess Margrave, ruler of the eastern territory. The largest agricultural region in the kingdom. If anyone in this room truly understood the lives of farmers, it was her.
"Their families depend on their labor," she continued. "A farmer does not send his child to work because he is cruel. He does it because without those extra hands, his family does not eat. If those children are sitting at school desks, who works the fields?"
The most honest question I had heard all day. Not a question designed to tear my idea apart. A question that genuinely wanted an answer.
"I am glad you asked, Duchess." I gave her a slight bow. Not the barely there dip I had offered the prince earlier. A sincere bow. Because an honest question deserves honest respect.
"School will not run all day. Morning classes only, from sunrise to noon. Afternoons and evenings, the children go back to their families. Help in the fields. Tend the livestock. Do what they have always done."
The Duchess nodded, but her eyes were still waiting.
"And for the first six months," I continued, "Crescentia will provide rice aid to every family that sends their child to school. Two sacks per month per family. As compensation for the work hours lost in the morning."
A few eyebrows went up. I could see the calculations running behind their eyes. Two sacks per month. For how many families? What would the total cost be?
"That is an enormous expense," said the Duke of the northern border.
"It is," Serena replied. Her smile did not change. Still bright. Still confident. "But far cheaper than putting down a rebellion."
A beat of silence.
"Or rebuilding a city that has already been burned to the ground," I added. "Or replacing harvests destroyed by civil war. Or recruiting and training new soldiers because the old ones are already dead from killing their own countrymen."
Several people at the table swallowed hard.
"Besides," Serena took over again, her voice light as though discussing the weather, "what happens if we do nothing? Taxes stay high. The people stay poor. Farmers still cannot read. What changes? Nothing. And while we sit here changing nothing, the Demon King moves."
That last sentence hit the room like a bucket of cold water thrown over a fire.
"When monsters attack a village," Serena continued, "who suffers first? Not the nobles behind their castle walls. Not the merchants in major cities protected by soldiers. The commoners. The farmers. The people living on the borders with no protection. The people who cannot even read the evacuation notice pinned to the village gate."
The room went silent.
Duchess Margrave nodded slowly. In her eyes, I could see something I had not seen in any of the other nobles.
Understanding.
I looked across the room one final time. Then I moved on to the part I had been preparing since long before I set foot in this palace.
"There is one more thing you all need to know." My voice did not change. Still flat. Still calm. "The Demon King has risen. The neighboring kingdoms are preparing for war. We all know this. We all feel it. The fear in this room exists for a reason."
A few faces tightened. Some that had started to relax tensed right back up.
"In the near future, we are going to need more than obedient farmers and compliant soldiers. We are going to need people who can think. Who can plan. Who can adapt when the first plan falls apart. Who can build new defenses. Who can read maps and calculate logistics. Who can write battlefield reports and send them back to the capital."
I let each sentence land.
"Education is not a luxury. At a time like this, standing on the edge of a war that could destroy everything, education is a weapon."
I let that sentence hang in the air. Three seconds. Five seconds. Long enough to echo inside every head in the room.
"The other kingdoms are sending heroes to slay the Demon King. That is their strategy. Bet everything on a handful of extraordinary people, and pray they win."
I shook my head slowly.
"But heroes can lose. Swords can shatter. Magic can run dry. Even the strongest body can fall."
Several people at the table lowered their heads. Including the prince, who had just been handed the task of becoming one of those very heroes.
"What cannot be defeated," I looked at the king, "is a kingdom whose people can stand on their own. Think on their own. Survive on their own. And rebuild whatever is destroyed."
I let one final silence blanket the room.
"Heroes save the world once. Education saves the world every day. Every generation. Without end."
The king watched me. His warm blue eyes had not changed since the start. Calm. Listening. Weighing every word, every number, every argument, processing it all with the kind of precision that only a king who truly cares about his people can have.
I bowed.
"That is all I wished to say. I hope Your Majesty will accept my proposal."
Silence.
The king smiled.
Not a polite smile. Not a political smile worn to keep relations smooth with the nobility. Not the diplomatic smile I had seen hundreds of times on the faces of powerful men.
This was the smile of someone who had just seen something he had been waiting for. Something he himself had not dared to hope would come. A smile of relief. A smile of pride. The smile of a king who had finally found a path through the darkness.
I knew what lay behind that smile. The king understood. More deeply than anyone else in this room. More than the nobles calculating short term profits. More than the Duke worrying about the budget. More than the marquis afraid of losing power.
King Reinhart understood that what I had just proposed was not merely about schools or taxes. It was a foundation. A foundation for a different kind of kingdom. A kingdom where the people were not just a source of tax revenue, but a source of strength. A kingdom that could endure, not because its walls were high or its swords were sharp, but because its people were strong.
A change far too large for this kingdom to absorb all at once.
But a change that had to start somewhere.
"I accept."
Two words.
And with those two words, the entire room shifted.
A few nobles opened their mouths. Protests they had been gathering throughout the discussion, arguments they had assembled, rejections they had prepared, all of it caught in their throats. Because once a king has decided, there is no more room for debate.
Others simply looked down. At the table. At their own hands. Realizing that the world they had always known, the world where commoners stayed commoners and nobles stayed nobles and nothing changed for hundreds of years, had just moved beneath their feet.
Duchess Margrave smiled. Small. Barely visible. But I saw it.
The Duke of the northern border nodded slowly. Heavily. But he nodded.
And Serena, beside me, smiled. A smile only I could see. Not bright or cheerful or dazzling. A small smile. Simple. Genuine.
A smile that said, we did it, Recci.