Victory, Kenji discovered, came with its own peculiar mathematics.
Three hours after Thorne's collapse, the village square resembled an archaeological excavation site. As the tax collector's illusion spells unraveled like yarn from a torn sweater, hidden caches emerged from spaces that shouldn't exist. Grain sacks materialized behind walls that had seemed solid stone. Silver coins bubbled up from spelled earth like spring water. Jewelry tumbled from dimensional pockets that folded reality like origami.
Kenji crouched beside one such cache, watching precious metals flow from a crack in the fountain's base. Each coin caught the afternoon light differently—some gleaming with honest silver, others shimming with the telltale residue of magical authentication he'd learned to recognize.
Ten years of systematic theft, suddenly materialized in broad daylight.
Thorne himself lay unconscious against the fountain's edge, his face gray as winter ash. Kenji checked his pulse with clinical detachment—steady but weak, like a man who'd attempted to lift a mountain and succeeded only in crushing himself. The tax collector would survive, though he'd likely remain unconscious for hours.
"Sweet merciful gods," Henrik whispered, staring at a pile of gold coins that continued growing as the last enchantments dissolved. His weathered hands trembled above the treasure, not quite daring to touch. "This is... this is more than our entire village produces in a year."
Kenji surveyed the recovered assets with professional satisfaction, tallying numbers in his head with mechanical precision. "Estimated total recovery: 2,847 gold crowns equivalent. Matches my projected theft calculations within a 3% margin of error."
Around them, villagers gathered in stunned silence. Children who'd never seen a gold coin pressed close to their parents, eyes wide as dinner plates. Adults clutched each other's hands, afraid to blink in case the treasure vanished like morning frost.
"How do we..." Henrik started, then stopped. His fingers hovered over the nearest pile like a man reaching toward fire. "I mean, what's the proper procedure for..."
"Documentation first," Kenji replied, already extracting parchment from his satchel. "Establish provenance, verify original ownership, then redistribute based on proportional loss calculations."
The familiar glazed expressions appeared on faces around him.
"We make lists," he translated. "Figure out who lost what. Give it back."
Relief rippled through the crowd. Lists, they understood.
"And him?" Marta nudged Thorne's unconscious form with her boot, the way she might test whether bread dough had risen properly.
"Standard procedure would be detention pending formal charges, but given the magical nature of his crimes and jurisdictional complexities..." Kenji caught the glazing stares again. "We tie him up and send word to the capital."
Marta's smile held grim satisfaction. "I'll fetch rope."
---
By afternoon, Ashvale had transformed into something Kenji had never witnessed: a community experiencing sudden, dramatic prosperity. The change wasn't merely financial—it was atmospheric.
He positioned himself near the blacksmith's forge, ostensibly reviewing his calculations but actually observing the social dynamics. The mathematical impact fascinated him. Remove systematic theft from an economic system, and improvement wasn't linear—it compounded exponentially.
Mrs. Aldrich emerged from the baker's shop carrying more flour than her family typically bought in a month. Her stride had changed, he noted—less hunched, more confident. Economic security altered posture in measurable ways.
"Remarkable," he murmured, watching Henrik's youngest daughter play with a carved wooden horse that had cost more than her father's weekly income before today.
"What's remarkable?" Sarah the weaver approached, cradling a bolt of silk she'd hidden from tax collectors for three years. The fabric caught the light like captured moonbeams.
"Economic recovery patterns following the elimination of artificial resource constraints. The psychological effects appear to amplify the mathematical benefits through multiplicative rather than additive processes."
Sarah's expression shifted through confusion to that peculiar look—the one suggesting she found his incomprehensible explanations somehow reassuring.
"You saved us," she said, her voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty.
Kenji shifted uncomfortably. Gratitude still felt foreign, like wearing clothes tailored for someone else's body. "I merely identified and corrected systematic accounting irregularities."
"You gave us our lives back."
The words settled on him with unexpected mass. He'd come here by accident, stayed out of necessity, somehow become... what? The concept of heroism didn't align with his self-image, but the evidence was undeniable. Quantifiable. Real.
For the first time since awakening in this impossible world, something resembling contentment stirred in his chest—warm and unfamiliar as expensive wine.
---
Evening's celebration—what Kenji privately categorized as an "economic redistribution ceremony"—drew every villager to the square. Torches cast dancing shadows across faces bright with joy and ale. He claimed a table at the periphery, documenting social effects of sudden prosperity increases, when Henrik approached carrying two mugs and worry etched into every line of his face.
"Kenji. We need to discuss something."
"If it concerns optimal grain storage ratios for the surplus inventory, I've calculated seasonal preservation methods that should minimize spoilage by—"
"It's about what happens next." Henrik's voice cut through his analysis like an axe through kindling. The older man settled heavily beside him, ale sloshing. "Word of what you did here will spread. Other villages have tax collectors. Other people have..." He searched for the right phrase. "Other Thornes."
The implication struck Kenji with mathematical precision. One successful audit case generated referrals. Referrals created reputation. Reputation attracted increasingly complex cases.
But also increasingly dangerous opposition.
"You're suggesting I've inadvertently initiated a sustainable business model in systematic fraud detection," Kenji said slowly, his mind already calculating probability matrices.
"I'm saying you've started something that won't stop. And not everyone's going to be happy about it."
Henrik's concern proved prophetic. Even as they spoke, riders departed Ashvale like seeds scattered by wind. Some carried news to warn other communities about tax fraud. Others, Kenji suspected with growing certainty, rode to warn tax collectors about auditors.
He watched the celebration continuing around them—villagers dancing to fiddle music, children laughing with bellies finally full, families reunited with possessions they'd mourned as lost forever. Joy crackled through the square like lightning, but underneath it, Kenji detected something more dangerous.
Hope. Revolutionary, systematic hope.
"Henrik," he said finally, watching signal fires bloom like orange flowers on distant hilltops. "In my experience, fraud operates like compound interest. Ignore it, and it grows exponentially. Address it systematically, and you can reverse the damage entirely."
"And if there's fraud everywhere? If Thorne was just one node in something larger?"
Kenji closed his notebook with the satisfied click of a man who'd found his life's true calling.
"Then I suppose I'll need a bigger ledger."
Word was spreading faster than he'd calculated. The mathematical revolution had begun.
---
Dawn brought Kenji's first taste of professional demand.
The dust-covered merchant who'd clearly ridden through darkness dismounted with obvious exhaustion, his horse lathered and trembling. "You're the Truth-Counter?" he gasped, swaying on his feet.
Kenji looked up from his morning calculations—distribution models for Ashvale's recovered grain surplus spread across his makeshift desk. "I'm a forensic auditor specializing in systematic fraud detection and—"
"Yes or no?"
The desperation in the man's voice cut through academic precision. "Yes."
Within minutes, the merchant's tale poured out between gulps of water and torn bread: a guild master in Millbrook using enchanted scales that subtly misweighed goods during trades. Individual thefts were small—a few copper coins here, an ounce of grain there—but constant. Compounding over months into devastating losses.
"The scales bear official certification from the Trade Authority," the merchant explained, hands shaking as he drew diagrams in the dirt. "Blessed by guild priests, sealed with verification magic. Divine approval itself. Who questions that?"
"Someone who understands that divine approval follows mathematical principles," Kenji replied, his mind already constructing audit frameworks.
But before he could accept the case, Henrik arrived with news that made his stomach clench.
"Royal messenger, an hour ago. Official inquiry about the Thorne incident." Henrik's weathered face was grim as storm clouds. "His superiors are... displeased."
The royal dispatch bore all proper authentication—genuine seals, quality parchment, formal language that adhered to bureaucratic protocols. But beneath the courteous phrases, Kenji detected threats barely concealed by official politeness. Whoever Thorne reported to wasn't mourning a fallen subordinate—they were furious about losing a profitable operation.
"Standard bureaucratic intimidation," he concluded after studying the document's wording. "They're hoping to discourage further investigation through official pressure."
"What if that doesn't work?"
Kenji had analyzed enough corporate corruption to recognize escalation patterns. "Bribes, character assassination, then direct action. Predictable sequence."
His prediction proved accurate within hours. A well-dressed stranger arrived on horseback, claiming to represent "interested parties" concerned about "recent misunderstandings" regarding tax collection procedures.
The man's clothes cost more than most villagers earned in seasons—silk doublet, leather boots soft as butter, rings that caught sunlight like captured stars. But his eyes held the cold calculation of someone who measured human life in profit margins.
"My employers wish to compensate you for your discretion," the stranger said, producing a leather purse that clinked with substantial weight. "Five hundred gold crowns, as a gesture of goodwill."
Kenji examined the payment authorization with professional interest. "Fascinating. You're offering roughly 18% of total recovered assets. That falls within standard settlement parameters for white-collar crime cases."
The stranger's smile radiated practiced confidence. "We trust this resolves any unfortunate misunderstandings."
"Actually, it confirms several hypotheses about your organization's structure." Kenji made notes while speaking, watching confidence evaporate from the man's features like morning dew. "If you can authorize 500 crowns to suppress evidence, the underlying fraud network must generate at least 5,000 crowns annually. Conservative estimate suggests closer to 50,000."
The confidence cracked entirely. "Sir, I don't think you understand—"
"I understand perfectly. You represent parties who profit from systematic tax fraud and wish to prevent audit activities that might expose the full network. Textbook criminal response to investigative pressure."
The stranger departed with considerably less swagger than he'd arrived with, spurring his horse like demons pursued him.
---
That evening, as Kenji documented the day's developments by candlelight, he realized his situation had fundamentally shifted. He was no longer an accidental refugee trying to survive in an unfamiliar world.
He'd become a systematic threat to established criminal networks.
The mathematics were elegant in their simplicity: each successful audit increased both professional reputation and personal risk in direct proportion. Success generated demand, but demand attracted opposition from entrenched interests.
"Fascinating dynamics," he told Henrik over dinner of fresh bread and recovered wine. "I'm effective at exposing thieves, which naturally makes other thieves want to eliminate me."
Henrik nodded grimly, tearing bread with deliberate motions. "How do you plan to handle that?"
Before Kenji could formulate a response, yet another messenger arrived—the fifth today—bearing scroll cases filled with audit requests. Villages reporting suspicious tax activities. Merchant guilds questioning bookkeeping discrepancies. Even a minor noble house requesting "discrete financial consultation regarding domestic accounting irregularities."
Word was spreading faster than wildfire in drought season.
Kenji spread the requests across his table, each representing potential fraud worth hundreds or thousands of gold crowns. The scope staggered him, but so did the opportunity. An entire kingdom suffering under systematic financial crime, and he possessed the skills to address it.
But not alone. Never alone.
"Henrik," he said, mathematical certainty crystallizing into unshakeable resolve, "I'm going to need assistance."
"What kind of assistance?"
"The kind that comes from teaching others to audit truth systematically." Kenji's smile carried the satisfaction of solving a complex resource allocation problem. "If corruption operates systemically, then the solution must be systematic too."
He gathered the messenger requests, each scroll representing communities trapped in the same mathematical hell Ashvale had escaped. Then he looked out at the village's transformed streets, where prosperity had replaced poverty through nothing more complex than honest accounting.
The revolution required recruitment. Scaling. Systematic expansion.
And he knew exactly where to begin.