Listening to the knight's explanation, Bill felt as though he had been dropped into another world. Everything about the city of Oros contradicted the assumptions he had always clung to—yet at the same time it felt uncannily right, as if this were how things ought to be. That cognitive dissonance made him hesitate; the new ideas needed to be carefully digested.
John, who had stood silently beside him, seemed to share Bill's astonishment. But John's mind worked more simply than Bill's. He accepted new information faster, and thus reached an understanding before Bill did.
While Bill still worked through what he'd heard, John asked again, his voice thick with disbelief. "You mean the feces from those animals are really valuable? If that's true, why didn't people discover it sooner? And who found out first?"
At John's question the knight's face lit with admiration. He straightened and answered with steady pride. "All of this is thanks to Prince Gaimon. He studied old agricultural texts and discovered the connection between fertilized soil and yields. From what I've heard, land treated properly with fertilizer gives thirty to forty percent more harvest than untreated fields, and it shortens the rotation period. In some cases you can even sow an extra crop within a rotation cycle—so the same land can produce significantly more grain over a season. That, more than anything else, has changed Wende Territory."
Hearing the knight's praise of the prince, both Bill and John felt curiosity flare. What kind of person was Prince Gaimon, to have such practical, revolutionary ideas? They both wanted to ask more, but prudence held them back. In this era, where hierarchy and deference to nobility were strict, asking too many questions about the royal family could be dangerous. Any hint of prying into palace affairs might be construed as meddling in state secrets.
The three of them walked on, talking quietly, and before long they reached Dragon Square.
City Hall occupied the northeast corner of the square, and from the moment the three of them entered Dragon Square it was impossible to miss. The square itself was the civic heart of the city—forty thousand square meters of open, paved space laid out in a perfect circle. In the center stood a monumental stone tablet: more than ten meters tall and several meters wide, carved with reliefs and crowned by a dragon statue several meters high. The statue's posture and scales lent the plaza an air of solemn grandeur.
Around the circle rose four imposing buildings—similar in size but distinct in architectural language. The knight guided Bill and John to the right and they walked the perimeter, the last rays of sunlight catching the buildings' facades.
The first building they passed was unfinished—a hulking skeleton of stone and timber. "According to the city plan," the knight explained as they walked, "that will be a university. A place where people can study and learn."
Bill's eyebrows rose. "A place for people to study and learn? Isn't that the same as a city of learning? Is Your Highness planning an entire university district for Wende County?"
The knight nodded. "Yes. This university is newly started; it will take a few years to complete. Once everything in the plan is finished, Dragon Square will have four main institutions: City Hall, the Finance Office, the Territorial Law Department, and the university. For now, only the City Hall, the Finance Department, and the Territorial Law Department are complete. Most municipal offices are consolidated in City Hall at the moment. Construction on the others won't continue in earnest until the university is built."
Bill frowned in thought. "Why the wait? Why place such importance on the university before finishing the other administrative buildings?"
The knight shrugged, but his tone carried a hint of reverence. "I heard it was Prince Gaimon's idea—something like 'concentrate resources to accomplish great things.' I don't know his exact reasoning, but it seems to work. This concentration sped up the City Hall project; it was completed in only two years."
Bill stared at the building in front of him, incredulous. "Two years for that? It's enormous."
He wasn't wrong to be astonished. The town hall dominated the square: a wide, ornate façade, carved cornices, and a clock tower that pierced the skyline. The knight supplied details with an almost parental pride. "The main building stretches one hundred and forty-three meters across, with corner towers twenty-six point eight meters high and a central tower of eighteen point eight meters. Including the clock tower, the total height reaches fifty meters. There are over seven hundred rooms inside. The structure itself was finished in just a year and a bit; the rest of the time was used for interior work. It was handed over to the municipal government at the start of this year."
Bill's voice trembled with a mix of admiration and disbelief. "And they really built it that quickly? With such detail?"
"It's true," the knight said. "And see that tower up there?" He tilted his head toward the clock tower. "There's a massive bronze bell inside. Every day, at set intervals, someone rings it so every resident knows the time."
Bill tried to picture the logistics: architects and masons working tirelessly, supply lines moving stone and timber, thousands of hands coordinating—yet the fact of the completed building stood before him as irrefutable proof.
At the main entrance the knight handed his horse's reins to a soldier posted at the door. The soldier, a young man with an expression of strict attention, snapped a salute and brought his right hand to his chest. It was a local courtesy—respect without kneeling; a formality used throughout the Gaimon territories. The knight, now dismounted, looked tidy and unencumbered: a slim leather cuirass, no cloak, and a one-handed sword at his side. The absence of ceremonial garb suggested ease rather than ostentation.
"Follow me," he said. "I'll take you inside the City Hall. Someone there will help you register for a business license. Once you have that, remember to come to City Hall once a month to report earnings and pay your taxes. Don't even think about evading taxes here—tax evasion is a serious felony in Wende Territory. Penalties scale with the amount. In extreme cases, you could lose your head. It's not a joke. So pay on time and be honest."
Bill hurriedly waved his hands as if to ward off the idea of wrongdoing. "No, no—honest businessmen through and through. We always run our affairs properly. As for taxes—never once thought of evading them. You have my word, sir. We'll be punctual. No missing a single coin."
The knight examined Bill's earnest face for a moment before replying with a dry laugh. "Good. I hope you mean it. Otherwise, you'll be the ones in trouble when inspectors come."
They passed beneath an arched portico into a cool interior. The City Hall's lobby was lofty and lined with marble columns. Sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows that depicted scenes of civic life—farmers sowing seed, craftsmen hammering, magistrates delivering justice. The tiles were polished to a sheen, and heraldic banners hung from the high walls, bearing the sigil of Wende Territory: a stylized wheat sheaf over a dragon's wing.
Around the lobby, clerks moved in efficient, quiet patterns. People queued at counters, smoothing papers and speaking in hushed tones. The scent of ink and wax gave the place a bureaucratic gravity that contrasted with Dragon Square's open air. The knight led Bill and John to a service desk where a woman in plain but well-made clothing peered up from stacks of forms.
"You two are with me," the knight said, nodding. "They'll get your paperwork started."
The clerk studied them, then produced a set of forms and a ledger. "A business license application, trade classification, monthly reporting guidelines… You'll need to provide a description of your trade, proof of residence, and two witnesses for character verification. There is a small fee for registration."
Bill took the forms with a hand that trembled slightly, both from excitement and the pressure of the task. He and John found places to sit and began to fill in the details. The questions were precise: the nature of their goods, the expected volume of trade, a pledge to comply with municipal regulations. John filled in answers quickly; Bill paused before some of the finer points, worrying that a misstatement might set them back.
As they worked, the knight lingered by the doorway. Before he left, he offered practical advice. "Once registered, the city keeps close records. Taxes are calculated monthly according to your reported earnings. If you're in a trade that benefits from Prince Gaimon's reforms—like agricultural supplies—you may see good demand. But be honest. The municipal auditors are thorough."
John glanced up with a grin. "Sounds like business is predictable at least."
"But predictable can be good," the knight replied. "If you plan properly, you can make steady gains here. Prince Gaimon's policies have stabilized markets and encouraged productivity. People are more willing to invest when they know there is order."
Bill nodded slowly, still taking everything in. Outside, he could see through the doorway the bustle of Dragon Square: merchants calling to one another, children chasing each other near the stone tablet, servants carrying trays from the café that hugged the square's rim. The city felt alive, a place where ideas and commerce fused together with the force of law and civic design.
When the clerk returned with a stamped receipt, Bill felt a wash of relief. Their application had been accepted provisionally, pending the witnesses and the small fee. The knight offered to serve as a reference if needed—a courtesy that carried social weight—and Bill accepted gratefully.
Before parting, Bill allowed himself one last look around the hall. The scale and order of the place impressed him; this was more than a building—it was the nerve center of a territory that had chosen to harness ideas into structure and growth. The pride the knight displayed made sense now. This was the visible result of decisions by those above: of Prince Gaimon's reforms, of concentrated resources, and of a plan executed with purpose.
Outside again on the square, the late afternoon breeze stirred dust and the edges of banners. John nudged Bill, eyes bright. "Can you imagine living here? With a university, a huge hall, and new ideas? People would be learning all the time."
Bill felt the edges of his skepticism loosen. Perhaps the city's strange logic—its reverence for practical knowledge and willingness to experiment with new agricultural practices—was not illusory but inevitable. Progress, when organized and supported, could produce wonders that once seemed implausible.
They walked on, returning to the knight's horse. The soldier at the gate snapped another salute as they passed. The hours of the day marched toward evening, and the bronze bell in the tower tolled somewhere above them—a sonorous reminder of time's passage and the order that governed it.
As they rode away, Bill kept replaying the knight's words in his head. The more he thought about it, the more the disparate pieces fit together: Prince Gaimon's agricultural reform, the university's planned role, the speed of construction, and the tight municipal system of taxes and records—each element supported the others. The city of Oros was a single organism, its parts arranged to promote growth and stability.
John leaned back against his saddle and grinned. "Looks like we picked a good place to start."
Bill allowed himself a small, reluctant smile. "Yes," he admitted. "Perhaps we did."
And as Dragon Square vanished behind the city walls, the silhouette of City Hall remained etched against the sky—an emblem of ambition and order, reminding them how far a single idea could carry a people when it was nurtured and enforced with will.
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