Kenji counted the hours on his fingers—seventy-one, seventy-two. The surveillance operatives had settled into their routine: morning patrol of the market square, afternoon drinks at the tavern, evening rounds that ended precisely at sunset. Their boots wore predictable paths through Ashvale's dirt streets.
Time to move.
He dipped his quill into the makeshift ink—charcoal dust mixed with water and tree sap. The tip scratched against rough parchment as he formed each number with deliberate precision. No flourishes. No accusations. Just arithmetic that any villager could verify with their own weathered fingers.
The morning air bit at his cheeks as he approached the tavern door. His breath formed small clouds as he hammered the nail through his notice, the sound echoing off empty buildings. The parchment fluttered once in the dawn breeze, then settled flat against the weathered wood.
**PUBLIC NOTICE: STATISTICAL ANALYSIS**
*Ashvale Population: 127 documented residents*
*Legal Grain Tax Rate: 2.5 bushels per registered household*
*Maximum Legal Assessment: 318 bushels (127 households × 2.5)*
*Actual Collection Documented: 847 bushels*
*Mathematical Variance: +166% above legal maximum*
*Source: Royal Tax Code Section 47, Cross-Referenced with Witnessed Collections*
Kenji stepped back, examining his handiwork. The numbers stared back with simple, undeniable honesty.
By mid-morning, voices carried from the square. He positioned himself near the blacksmith's forge, close enough to observe but distant enough to appear casual. Steam rose from heated metal as the smith worked, masking Kenji's presence.
Henrik arrived first, squinting at the posted calculations. His lips moved silently as he worked through the arithmetic. Marta joined him, then Tom from the bakery, then Sarah with her dye-stained fingers.
"These numbers..." Henrik's voice carried careful deliberation. He glanced left, right, checking for watching eyes. "They're verified?"
Kenji emerged from the forge's shadow, adopting his most scholarly tone. "Cross-referenced through comparison of established royal tax codes with directly observed collection procedures. All calculations available for public verification."
Marta traced the math with her fingertip, her brow furrowed in concentration. "You're saying Thorne collected more than double the legal requirement?"
"I'm presenting factual data derived from empirical observation." Kenji kept his voice level, academic. "All interpretive conclusions remain yours to formulate."
He felt the weight of hidden stares—surveillance operatives monitoring from tavern windows, noting every word. Direct accusations would bring swift retaliation. But mathematics? Far harder to dispute. Impossible to criminalize.
Tom shifted his weight from foot to foot, building courage like stoking a fire. "My master's kept records for years. Careful accounting of what we've actually paid." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Maybe we could... compare those numbers with official rates?"
Kenji's pulse quickened. "Such records would prove invaluable for historical analysis."
Within hours, they came—citizens carrying worn ledgers, scraps of parchment, carved notches on wooden sticks. A decade's worth of desperate accounting by people who understood that survival meant knowing exactly how much they could afford to lose.
That evening, Kenji spread the documents across his table by candlelight. Each entry told a story: the widow who'd tallied her grain payments on torn fabric, the cooper who'd scratched marks inside his workshop beam, the seamstress who'd hidden her records inside her children's clothing.
The pattern emerged like a constellation in a dark sky—beautiful, terrible, mathematically perfect.
He prepared his expanded analysis as the candle burned lower, wax pooling on the wooden surface. His quill scratched steadily against parchment, each calculation verified twice.
**COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS: ASHVALE TAX COLLECTIONS 1237-1247**
*Royal Tax Rate Adjustments (Decade): 0.0%*
*Documented Collection Increases (Decade): 297.3%*
*Statistical Probability of Legitimate Administrative Variance: <0.001%*
*Professional Assessment: Pattern Consistent with Systematic Embezzlement*
*Methodology Available Upon Request*
The next morning brought a different energy to the square. Villagers gathered earlier, spoke in hushed clusters, performed their own calculations in the dirt. The surveillance guards abandoned their casual stance—backs straight, hands resting on sword hilts, eyes tracking every movement.
Numbers had no fear of steel.
On the fourth morning, boots approached his cottage in military formation. Six sets, moving in lockstep.
"Scholar!" The lead operative's voice carried practiced menace. "Lord Thorne requires your immediate presence for official consultation."
Kenji had been expecting this. He set down his quill with deliberate calm. "Naturally. May I inquire regarding the specific nature of this administrative review?"
"Questions concerning your... research methodologies."
The escort through Ashvale's streets unfolded like theater. Six armed guards, weapons displayed prominently, route chosen to parade past maximum witnesses. The message transmitted clearly: *This is what happens to troublemakers.*
Thorne waited in the village's most substantial building—the merchant's hall with its high ceiling and stone walls. Scrolls covered every surface, ledgers stacked in precise columns, the material trappings of bureaucratic authority arranged for maximum intimidation.
"So." Thorne didn't look up from his documents, voice carrying dangerous undertones like distant thunder. "You're the individual spreading seditious lies about lawful tax collection procedures."
Kenji clasped his hands behind his back, adopting a professorial stance. "I'm conducting statistical analysis of publicly observable data. All calculations remain mathematically verifiable through standard arithmetic."
"Mathematics." The word dripped from Thorne's tongue like poison. He finally raised his eyes—cold, calculating, predatory. "You believe numbers carry more authority than royal mandate?"
"I believe numbers reveal objective truth regardless of claimed authority."
Thorne's expression darkened. His leather satchel began to writhe, responding to his emotional state like a living creature sensing its master's mood. "Truth is whatever these legal instruments declare it to be. Reality itself bends to properly executed bureaucratic forms."
He unfurled a blank parchment with practiced efficiency. Golden ink began flowing across its surface, forming words that materialized as they watched:
*ACADEMIC RESTRICTION ORDER*
*Subject: Unnamed Foreign Scholar*
*Charge: Seditious Mathematical Analysis*
*Punishment Options: Enforced Silence or Permanent Termination*
*Legal Authority: Royal Administrative Code, Section 12*
The contract wrote itself with supernatural speed—magical bureaucracy operating beyond human limitations.
"Sign this binding agreement," Thorne commanded, his voice carrying absolute authority, "and your problematic research concludes permanently. Refuse, and you'll be joining Marcus the merchant in his extremely quiet grave."
Kenji stared at the self-writing death warrant. His analytical mind cycled through available options, calculating probabilities, weighing risks against potential outcomes.
Then something unexpected happened.
He smiled.
"Before I commit to signing any legal documentation, I have one professional question regarding your administrative procedures."
Thorne's eyebrows drew together. "What?" Impatience edged his voice like a blade being sharpened.
Kenji met his gaze with the calm confidence of someone who had built a career on asking the right questions at precisely the right moments.
"How exactly do you account for the mathematical variance in your collection records?"
---
For exactly three heartbeats, Thorne's mask of authority slipped. Kenji caught it—that micro-expression of uncertainty that preceded every financial criminal's collapse.
"What variance?" Thorne's voice had lost its commanding edge, like a blade dulled by overuse.
Kenji extracted his makeshift ledger, pages dense with calculations arranged in perfect columns. "Your collection documentation indicates 847 bushels extracted from Ashvale. Royal treasury deposit records show 312 bushels officially credited to the Crown's account." He paused, letting the mathematics settle like dust after an explosion. "That creates a 535-bushel discrepancy requiring explanation."
"Those numbers are fabricated—"
"Independently verified through three separate documentary sources." Kenji's voice gained strength with each word, confidence flowing through him like wine warming his veins. "I've additionally calculated standard transportation losses, acceptable spoilage rates, and maximum administrative overhead expenses. Even accounting for every conceivable legitimate cost, you remain 400 bushels deficit."
Thorne's crystal staff began pulsing with accumulated magical energy, casting wavering shadows on the stone walls. "Silence this instant! Your pathetic arithmetic carries no weight against royal decree and divine mandate!"
But as Thorne channeled supernatural force into his authority enchantments, something extraordinary occurred. The golden text on his self-writing contract began flickering like a candle in wind, individual words shifting and reformulating themselves.
Kenji felt it then—a profound resonance between his consciousness and the world's magical verification systems. Like finding the precise frequency that transforms a tuning fork into an instrument of perfect harmony.
"Actually," he said, his voice acquiring an otherworldly quality that seemed to emanate from mathematical certainty itself, "let's conduct real-time verification of your documentation's accuracy and legal standing."
He extended his hand toward Thorne's contract without making contact, somehow *calculating* its fundamental properties. The processing centers of his brain engaged directly with the fraud detection protocols he'd observed in the marketplace currency.
The contract's golden inscriptions began changing with deliberate precision.
Where it had declared *"Academic Restriction Order,"* new text materialized: *"Fraudulent Evidence Suppression Attempt."*
Where it claimed *"Seditious Mathematical Analysis,"* revised language appeared: *"Legitimate Financial Investigation - Crown Approved."*
Most devastatingly, an entirely new section manifested: *"Subject has successfully identified systematic embezzlement operation totaling: 535 bushels grain equivalent, 127 silver marks currency, 67 livestock units, estimated aggregate value: 2,847 gold crowns plus accumulated interest penalties."*
Thorne stared at his own legal instrument, horror spreading across his features like spilled ink on parchment.
"Impossible! These documents respond exclusively to my command! I control them!"
"You control the superficial illusion," Kenji responded, power flowing through his consciousness like a perfectly balanced equation achieving resolution. "But fraudulent transactions always generate detectable traces in any properly designed system. The numbers retain perfect memory of truth even when supernatural magic attempts concealment."
The contract continued its transformation, displaying a comprehensive audit trail: names, dates, amounts, banking procedures—every detail recorded with accuracy that surpassed mortal accounting.
Thorne raised his staff overhead, magical force crackling between the crystal facets. "I don't care what impossible tricks you're performing! You die here and now!"
But as he prepared to strike, Kenji accomplished something previously inconceivable.
He audited the magical attack itself.
His enhanced analytical mind processed the incoming supernatural energy like examining a financial transaction: source accounts, destination targets, stated intentions, authorization credentials. And just like detecting forged documentation, Thorne's magic carried unmistakable signature patterns of fraudulent authority.
"Mana source analysis: personal magical reserves, not royal grant allocation," Kenji announced, his voice resonating with harmonic authority derived from mathematical certainty. "Stated intent: homicide to prevent evidence disclosure. Legal authorization status: completely absent. Overall transaction classification: fraudulent and criminally prosecutable."
The magical attack disintegrated mid-formation, dispersing into harmless sparks that faded like rejected calculations.
Thorne stumbled backward, face draining of color like water flowing from a cracked vessel. "What... what manner of creature are you?"
Kenji examined his hands, where faint numerical symbols now danced across his skin like living tattoos—equations, percentages, variance calculations flowing in constant motion. For the first time since his impossible resurrection, he understood exactly what he had become.
"I am a forensic auditor," he stated with simple, absolute certainty. "And the mathematical record never lies."
The self-writing contract completed its revision, now bearing an official seal that radiated genuine royal authority—something far more ancient and legitimate than Thorne's carefully crafted forgery.
At the document's bottom, inscribed in letters composed of pure mathematical truth, the final verdict appeared:
*[COMPREHENSIVE AUDIT: COMPLETE]*
*[EVIDENCE STATUS: VERIFIED AND AUTHENTICATED]*
*[JUSTICE CLASSIFICATION: PENDING IMMEDIATE EXECUTION]*
The numbers had spoken their judgment.