Anser put the javelin into the Dragonhide Pouch. He had obtained this thing during the battle, and keeping it was entirely in accordance with convention.
Besides the javelin, the most special items were two antimagic arrows. Salian had found them and handed them to him separately.
After being fired, this thing could create a powerful magic vacuum zone in the target area. The duration was not long, and the effect was far inferior to a true Antimagic Field, but it was enough to suppress most spellcasters.
If coordinated well, one person could use the arrow to suppress the target while the others focused their fire simultaneously and take down a spellcaster.
Fortunately, Iris had helped interfere for him today. Otherwise, with nowhere to dodge in midair while facing attacks from more than a hundred people, it would have been difficult not to get injured.
'The foundations of the people of Amn are not to be underestimated,' Anser sighed inwardly.
If he had merely been an ordinary spellcaster, today would have been a certain death situation.
The other magical equipment was also quite good, but none of it could be used by spellcasters.
He collected everything together and returned to Fort Jacqueline carrying only the register of spoils.
The moment he appeared, he raised his eyes and saw Iris lying sideways on the sofa, covered with a purple cloak, sleeping soundly.
After scanning the room, he confirmed that this was his bedroom and that he had not gone to the wrong place.
He walked over and stopped opposite the sofa. He noticed a stack of documents on the tea table, and among the large handwritten words in the title, his own name was prominently visible.
[Proposal to Recommend Sir Anser Holrewen as President of the Union.]
"Are you interested?"
A lazy voice came from the sofa. He looked up and saw that Iris had woken up, but she did not get up. Resting her chin on her hand, she tilted her head and looked at him.
"Wasn't the president Stoll?" Anser picked up the document, sat down on the sofa, and casually flipped through it.
"But he's dead." Iris curled her lips, looking helpless. "Besides, when he was alive he didn't handle anything. Whether it was major matters or minor ones, Quentin dealt with everything."
"Even if he were resurrected, he wouldn't compete with you."
"Shouldn't the president be chosen from among the members?" Anser did not even raise his head. He found that this proposal was quite complete and involved many details.
"There are always exceptions, especially in extraordinary times." Iris shifted her posture, and the cloak slid down, revealing a pair of bare feet.
She never wore shoes in her own castle.
Anser's mind raced, many thoughts flashing through his head. He said nothing and simply continued to quietly read the document in his hands.
The proposal marked out the president's general responsibilities and powers.
The responsibilities were to develop Durlag's Tower, promote economic prosperity, attract professionals and adventurers, and protect the property and personal safety of the councilors and residents...
The powers were described very broadly, covering everything from policy-making and personnel appointments to military force and financial authority.
What was different from other places was that the president of the Union could directly take money from the tax surplus. Stoll had established this rule, and he had done exactly that himself.
"How much tax surplus does Durlag's Tower have each year?" Anser asked.
"Transaction tax, commission tax, agricultural tax, property tax, business tax, and so on—about one hundred thousand gold coins a year."
"The military expenses of the guard are more than twenty thousand, staff salaries are also over ten thousand, and then there are road maintenance, pensions, and the like... adding everything together, there are probably twenty to thirty thousand left over." Iris spoke lightly, yet she recited it all from memory, clearly showing that she knew this very well.
"A town this small can collect one hundred thousand gold coins a year?" Anser said in surprise.
No wonder there were so many mage lords. No wonder Stoll had set up a Union to handle affairs, yet was unwilling to let go of it easily.
Iris let out a soft laugh, sat up, and looked at Anser with great interest. "What do you think tax collection depends on?"
"Good management, a healthy system, and strong military power," Anser said after some thought.
"All correct." Iris clenched her fist and waved it at him. "In the end, it still depends on this."
"In some places, collecting even a few thousand gold coins is difficult, while some people can make all the major guilds obediently hand over commission tax."
Anser suddenly understood and instantly grasped the Union's motive.
Stoll was a professional above level 17. He was powerful and highly prestigious, so everything was easy for him to handle. No matter how strong a force was, once it came here to establish itself, it had to show him respect.
The news of Stoll's death could not be concealed for long. Once it spread, Iris alone would not be able to uphold the Union's banner.
A sharp decline in income was inevitable, and it was even possible they would not be able to support even the guards and staff.
The Union needed a dragon slayer to overawe all sides and maintain stability.
"Understand now?" Iris raised a brow.
"Mm." Anser stroked his chin and sank into thought.
No one would ever think they had too much money, and this opportunity was hard to come by.
Once he gained control of the Union, all its resources could be used by him.
"You can give it a try. There's nothing to lose anyway." Iris looked at him with burning eyes. "No one is asking you to live and die with Durlag's Tower."
"I'd also like to know what it feels like to be a city lord." Anser grinned and did not refuse.
"Then tomorrow morning you'll come with me to the Union, Mr. President." As she spoke, Iris burst into giggles.
"Do I need to bring anything?" Anser pressed his lips together, not understanding what was so funny.
"Bring people. People you trust, stationed permanently in the Union," Iris added.
"Alright."
...
Nashkel, Government Hall.
The imposing and magnificent Government Hall was brightly lit. Every guard stood perfectly straight with solemn expressions. Even when mosquitoes landed on their faces, they did not dare raise a hand to drive them away.
Inside the top-floor conference room, both sides of a dark long table were filled with people—nearly twenty of them. Each sat with their head lowered and said nothing, and the atmosphere was extremely oppressive.
"Speak! Are you still breathing?"
The man at the head had sunken eye sockets, and his dark-blue eyes glowed with a layer of white light, as if from hell. Like the cold gaze of a serpent demon, his eyes swept across those faces one by one. No one dared meet his gaze.
A warrior with a wolf-like face and a pair of protruding canine teeth suddenly stood up. It was none other than the barbarian Derrick.
"Sir, this matter was originally foolproof, but Commander Moore did not follow my suggestion. The march was slow, there was a struggle for command, and the opportunity for battle was missed..."
"In addition, the spellcaster named Anser is very powerful and completely inconsistent with the intelligence reports. There was also a treant assisting him. This subordinate was incompetent and failed to kill him in time."
Derrick lowered his head, speaking earnestly and with a very good attitude in admitting fault, but what he said differed greatly from the situation in the battle earlier that day.
"Oh..." The man tapped the battle report in front of him and said calmly, "So according to you, it was all because your comrades were foolish and the intelligence was wrong."
"Then you deserve credit for bringing the intelligence back in time."
"One ran away, one surrendered—between the two of you, you've inherited all the fine traditions of the Amnian military."
Derrick did not dare speak. The conference room fell into silence once again.
After a long while, a bald middle-aged man stood up directly. "Sir..."
"Hm?"
"Commander." The bald man immediately corrected himself. "At present, Beregost has been targeted by the Green Dragon Kingdom, and the Wyvern Guard is running rampant. Most of our combat forces have been transferred there, leaving the city short of troops. Perhaps it would be better to temporarily set this matter aside."
"Set it aside? One more foolish than the last. If we don't deal with it now, will the enemy wait in place for you?" The man laughed in anger, slapping his own cheek with a mocking expression. "Do I still want to keep this old face of mine?"
"Transmit my order. Reorganize the army and prepare for war. Within half a month, take Durlag's Tower!"
"Yes..."
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