The next day, the morning sun had just begun to stream through the high windows, casting clear geometric patches of light upon the ground.
Walker's hand rapped on the heavy wooden doors of the Lord's Mansion.
He tightly clutched a piece of tanned hide, upon which crude symbols had been drawn in charcoal.
"My Lord, this is... this is the battle damage report you requested."
Walker carefully spread the hide across the table in front of Velin.
On the hide were crude drawings of warped axes, armor plates, and horses.
And next to each crude illustration, written with painstaking neatness in a brand-new style, were several... wobbly symbols.
This was one of the results of Velin's attempts to establish a night school for his management staff—Arabic numerals.
His gaze swept across the surface of the hide, his mind already racing to convert everything to its monetary value.
"Thirty-one sets of heavy armor, most in a state of disrepair."
