Kenji works through the morning methodically, transforming medieval parchments into something his analytical mind can process. Using charcoal and the blank reverse of Henrik's documents, he constructs what might be the first spreadsheet this world has ever seen—neat columns, calculated totals, variance analysis presented in stark numerical clarity.
The fraud pattern emerges with mathematical elegance.
Thorne operates a sophisticated three-layer scheme: artificially inflate assessments beyond legal parameters, collect the inflated amounts through intimidation, then deposit only the minimum required to the Crown while systematically pocketing the difference. Classic embezzlement wrapped in bureaucratic legitimacy.
But there's an anomaly. Something that deviates from standard fraud models he's encountered.
Kenji examines the physical parchments under different angles of morning light. The ink shifts subtly—not quite the same shade in direct sunlight versus shadow. Certain numbers shimmer with that familiar faint luminescence he'd observed in the market coins, while others remain flat and lifeless.
He needs additional data points.
Over the following two days, he conducts what he privately categorizes as "forensic interviews" with villagers, though he presents them as "socioeconomic surveys for comparative governance research." The testimony confirms his working hypothesis with disturbing consistency:
- Every respondent remembers paying significantly more than their original assessment
- Seven witnesses specifically recall Thorne's guards employing "truth-reading" enchantments during collections
- Multiple testimonies describe legal documents that "revised themselves" after signatures were applied
"The writs grow extra clauses right before your eyes," explains Sarah the weaver during her interview, her needle work forgotten in her lap. "You agree to pay ten silver marks, sign your mark thinking it's done, then somehow the parchment reads fifteen. Magic ink, official seals—what's a person supposed to do? Argue with sorcery?"
Kenji adds "Magically-enhanced contract fraud" to his expanding taxonomy of criminal activities.
On the third evening, Henrik arrives at the abandoned cottage with intelligence that makes Kenji's blood run cold.
"Thorne's entourage was spotted on the Old Road this afternoon. Outriders, baggage train, the whole operation. He'll reach Ashvale tomorrow morning, day after at the latest."
Kenji reviews his preliminary findings by candlelight. He's documented systematic over-assessment, collection irregularities, and what appears to be supernatural contract manipulation. In his previous life, this evidence portfolio would guarantee criminal prosecution and lengthy imprisonment.
Here, he's beginning to understand, it might guarantee his death.
"Henrik, I need to ask you something critical. Has anyone ever successfully challenged Thorne's collection methods? Anyone at all?"
Henrik's weathered face darkens like storm clouds gathering. "There was Marcus the grain merchant, maybe two years past. Educated man—kept meticulous records of every transaction. Tried to prove Thorne was systematically overcharging him using those magical contract modifications."
"What happened to Marcus?"
"Found dead in his shop three days before Thorne's next scheduled visit. Officially ruled a robbery gone wrong, but nothing was taken except his account ledgers. Every single record book, gone."
Kenji nods grimly. Evidence elimination combined with witness termination—textbook intimidation tactics.
"And since then?"
"People pay whatever they're told and keep their mouths shut."
Kenji studies his makeshift spreadsheet in the dancing candlelight, columns of numbers casting shadows like prison bars across the wooden table. The mathematics tell an unambiguous story of systematic corruption and theft. But in a world where contracts rewrite themselves and guards carry truth-detection magic, numerical proof might prove insufficient for survival.
He needs a strategic approach.
More critically, he needs to understand exactly how the supernatural elements of this fraud network operate. You can't audit what you don't comprehend, and you certainly can't fight it.
Tomorrow, he'll observe the collection system firsthand.
Tonight, he prepares for his first audit confrontation in a world where being right about the numbers might not be enough to stay alive.
But as Kenji organizes his evidence and sharpens his charcoal, one thought burns bright in his analytical mind: fraud is fraud, regardless of the methodology. Whether accomplished through spreadsheet manipulation or magical contract alteration, theft remains theft.
And Kenji Nakamura has never lost an audit.
He doesn't plan to start now.
---
They hear Thorne's approach long before they see him—the thunder of hoofbeats echoing off cottage walls, the metallic jangle of armor and weapons, the labored creak of wagon wheels heavy with tribute from previous collections. Kenji positions himself at the market square's edge, notebook concealed beneath his borrowed cloak but every analytical sense fully engaged.
The procession that enters Ashvale is a masterclass in psychological warfare.
Twenty mounted guards in royal colors form a precise formation around an ornate carriage bearing official banners that snap in the morning breeze. Behind them roll three cargo wagons already sagging under the weight of goods, gold, and grain—visual proof of their collection efficiency. The message resonates clearly: resistance is not merely futile, it's unthinkable.
Thorne's emergence from his carriage unfolds like theatrical performance. He's tall, well-fed, draped in robes of silk and velvet that probably cost more than most villagers see in half a decade. His movements carry the casual arrogance of someone who's never encountered meaningful opposition to his authority.
But it's his professional accessories that capture Kenji's analytical attention.
Thorne carries a staff topped with multi-faceted crystal formations that pulse with stored magical energy—like batteries charged with supernatural power. His belt bears scrolls sealed with wax that gleams with residual enchantment. Most intriguing: a leather satchel at his side that seems to shift and writhe subtly, as if the documents contained within possess independent life.
"Citizens of Ashvale!" Thorne's voice carries unnatural authority—magically enhanced projection that reaches every corner of the square. "By royal decree and divine mandate, the Crown's lawful taxes are due. Form orderly lines for individual assessment."
The villagers comply with practiced, bone-deep resignation. Kenji observes the collection process unfold, cataloging every procedural detail with forensic precision.
Thorne doesn't simply collect predetermined tax amounts. Each villager approaches individually for what appears to be ritualistic assessment. He places his crystal-topped staff against their chest, mutters incomprehensible incantations, then consults documents that visibly shift and modify themselves before his eyes.
"Henrik the Miller," Thorne announces with bureaucratic formality. "Initial assessment of your grain stores indicates capacity for forty bushels tribute. However..."
He pauses dramatically, his staff's luminescence intensifying. Kenji watches Henrik's face grow slack as magical energy flows between staff and man.
"I detect substantial surplus holdings deliberately concealed from taxation. The Crown requires fifty-five bushels—corrected assessment for attempted fraud."
Henrik opens his mouth to protest, but Thorne smoothly produces a scroll from his writhing satchel. The parchment unfurls itself with serpentine grace, revealing text that materializes in flowing golden ink as they watch.
"As you can observe, the revised assessment is properly documented and officially sealed. Do you dispute the Crown's lawful claim?"
Henrik reads the self-writing contract, his weathered face draining of color. Whatever provisions appear there prove compelling enough to make him nod with reluctant acceptance.
"Excellent cooperation. Please mark your agreement here."
The moment Henrik's shaking finger traces his mark on the parchment, the document flashes with binding radiance that makes Kenji squint. He notes how Henrik's entire posture shifts afterward—becomes more compliant, almost vacant, as if some essential part of his personality has been temporarily suspended.
*Magical coercion. Contract-based behavioral modification.*
The pattern repeats with methodical efficiency throughout the day. Inflated assessments justified through supernatural detection methods. Self-writing documents that legitimize theft through bureaucratic formatting. Binding signatures that appear to extract something fundamental from each signer.
By late afternoon, Thorne has collected nearly double Ashvale's legal tax burden while maintaining complete procedural legitimacy.
As his loaded wagons prepare for departure, Thorne addresses the assembled crowd one final time: "Your generous contributions to the Crown's glory are duly noted and deeply appreciated. Remember: prosperity follows compliance, just as suffering follows resistance."
But Kenji notices what others miss: as the official procession departs, several of Thorne's guards remain behind, now dressed as common travelers seeking overnight lodging. Surveillance operatives. Insurance against post-collection dissent or discussion.
That evening, as Ashvale settles into subdued quiet, Kenji retreats to his cottage sanctuary and completes his preliminary fraud analysis:
**SYSTEMATIC CRIMINAL ACTIVITIES DOCUMENTED:**
1. Magical coercion used to inflate tax assessments beyond legal parameters
2. Self-modifying contracts employed to legitimize systematic theft
3. Enchanted binding agreements preventing victim resistance or appeal
4. Post-collection surveillance ensuring operational security
**FINANCIAL IMPACT ANALYSIS:**
- Legal tax burden: ~75 silver marks equivalent
- Actual collection: ~300 silver marks equivalent
- Theft percentage: 400% of lawful obligation
- Estimated annual district-wide embezzlement: 15,000+ silver marks
In his previous life, this evidence would represent a career-defining prosecution—the kind of case that makes forensic accounting legends.
In this world, it represents a death sentence waiting to be executed.
But Kenji Nakamura has never retreated from financial fraud simply because confronting it carried personal risk.
The numbers demand justice.
Time to ensure they receive it.
Even if it kills him.
Again.