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Charles nodded again. "I can do that, Protector. But how will they train? We don't have proper facilities for something like this."

"That's the second part," Arthur replied, his tone confident. "I want you to build a training ground. Not just any training ground, but one designed for growth—for real improvement. Sparring areas, archery ranges, weapon racks, everything they'll need to hone their skills."

Charles frowned slightly. "That sounds... ambitious. But Protector, we don't have enough instructors to train them. And even if we did, we don't have the funds to pay them."

Arthur smirked faintly. "You let me worry about the funds," he said. "As for instructors, we'll take a different approach. First, I want you to use the experienced fighters we already have in the village—those above level 10. You know who they are. Have them oversee and supervise the training."

Charles nodded slowly, though his expression remained uncertain. "That will help, but it won't be enough. We're a small village. Even those above level 10 are limited in number."

Arthur's smirk widened. "That's where the players come in."

"Players?" Charles tilted his head, confusion flashing across his face.

"Yes," Arthur said, leaning forward slightly. "We'll issue missions to the players. They can take up teaching roles at the training ground in exchange for a salary—ten silver coins a month. That should be enough to attract a decent number of them."

Charles' eyes widened again. "Ten silver coins? That's... generous. Are you sure players will accept it? They don't seem the type to settle down and teach."

Arthur chuckled softly. "Trust me, they'll come. Some players are focused on quick profit. Others want a steady income. And there will be those who see teaching as an opportunity to train themselves while earning money. We'll attract all kinds. It's not about them being permanent instructors—it's about creating a system where the players can contribute to the village's growth while benefiting themselves."

Charles rubbed his chin thoughtfully, nodding slowly. "I see. That might just work. But this project will cost... a lot. Tens of gold coins, maybe even three figures by the time it's done."

Arthur leaned back slightly, his expression calm. "Don't worry about the gold. I'll handle it."

Charles blinked. "You'll handle it?"

"Yes," Arthur said simply. "I've already made arrangements. Let's just say the village isn't going to run out of funds anytime soon."

Charles' mouth opened as if to ask more, but he quickly thought better of it and nodded. "Understood, Protector."

Arthur continued. "Now, about the funding itself. We'll introduce a tax system for the players. Nothing excessive—just enough to keep the village running and fund these projects."

Charles frowned slightly. "Taxes? Do you think the players will accept that?"

"They'll accept it because they'll have no choice," Arthur replied bluntly. "The village provides them with shelter, shops, and quests. If they want to benefit from it, they'll have to contribute. And don't worry about enforcement. I'll take care of that if anyone gets out of line."

Charles exhaled slowly, nodding again. "Very well. I'll draft the tax policy immediately."

Arthur stood, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. "Good. Get started on all of this as soon as possible. I'll check in periodically to see the progress. And Charles…"

The village chief looked up at him expectantly.

"Don't let anyone slow this down. The village needs to grow quickly, or it won't survive what's coming."

Charles' expression turned serious, and he bowed his head slightly. "Understood, Protector. I'll do everything in my power to make this a success."

...

Arthur strode out of the village chief's office, his thoughts already shifting to his next task.

he'd handed a hundred gold coins over to Charles, which were just a drop in the ocean compared to the wealth he'd amassed, but he wasn't one to waste resources. "Make sure you record all the expenses," he'd told Charles, his voice firm and unwavering. "I want to know where every single coin is spent."

Charles had nodded vigorously, his shock at Arthur's wealth still plastered across his face. The chief had gulped audibly, clutching the pouch of coins as though it weighed a hundred pounds. "Yes, Protector, I will do as you say."

Arthur gave a single nod of satisfaction, already turning toward the door. But before he left, he stopped briefly and added, "Also, let the guards know I can enter the building whenever I want. But don't tell them about my identity—keep it a secret."

The chief's eyes flickered with a mix of respect and curiosity, but he didn't question the command. "Yes, Protector," he replied again, his tone one of utmost reverence.

Arthur stepped out into the bustling village streets, the air filled with the sound of hammering from the blacksmith and the chatter of players trading in the marketplace. Just a few days ago, he'd thought of this village as nothing more than a starting point—a small dot on the map of a much larger world. But now, after everything he'd learned about its importance, the demons, and the legacy of the knight, he couldn't just walk away.

The insignia he now possessed, however, gave him an edge. Its ability to teleport him back to the village whenever he wanted meant he could leave and return at will. That opened up new possibilities. He'd decided to lay down the foundations of what the village needed—taxes, training grounds, and rules—before heading off to the city.

There was one last thing to do before he left.

Arthur's destination was an inn tucked away in a quieter part of the village.

He made his way inside, navigating the modest hallway until he stopped at a familiar door. He raised his hand and knocked twice.

After a moment, the door creaked open, revealing Jasmine—the self-proclaimed princess he'd met in the forest. She stood there, her auburn hair slightly messy as though she'd just woken up, and her hazel eyes blinked in surprise.

"Fateless," she said, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. "You miss me already? I didn't think you'd be the type to check up on someone."
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Arthur leaned casually against the doorframe, his expression neutral. "I wasn't checking up on you," he said bluntly. "I just wanted to let you know you won't be able to stay in this inn for much longer."

Her playful smirk faltered slightly. "What do you mean?"

Arthur crossed his arms. "The funds I gave you will run out at some point. And, I won't keep paying for your room anymore."

Jasmine's eyes widened. "What? No, no, no!" she exclaimed, stepping closer. "You can't just leave me like this! Where are you going, anyway?"

"I'm going to the city," Arthur replied nonchalantly. "And I can't take you with me. I've got a teleportation scroll, and it's a solo trip."

Her face fell slightly, her playful demeanour replaced with something more vulnerable. "The city...?" she repeated, her voice softer.

Arthur frowned. Something about her expression made him pause. He could feel a faint twinge of guilt creeping in, though he quickly pushed it aside. Instead, he asked, "Are you good at anything?"

Jasmine blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"Your skills," Arthur clarified. "What are you good at? Do you have a talent?"

She hesitated for a long moment, her eyes darting away. "I... I don't know what you mean."

Arthur's brow furrowed. "Don't play dumb," he said sharply. "Everyone has a talent. What's yours?"

She bit her lip, her gaze fixed on the floor. "I don't want to talk about it," she muttered.