Chapter 140: President
Anse put the javelin into the dragonhide pouch; this thing was obtained during his combat, and leaving it was completely in line with convention.
Besides the javelin, the most special were two anti-magic arrows, which Salian found and handed to him separately.
After firing this thing, it could form a powerful magic vacuum zone in the target area; the duration was not long, and the effect was far inferior to a true anti-magic field, but it was enough to suppress most spellcasters.
If coordinated well, one person uses the arrow to suppress while others focus fire simultaneously, and they could take down a spellcaster.
Fortunately, Illyas helped him interfere today; otherwise, in mid-air with nowhere to dodge, tanking attacks from over a hundred people, it would be hard not to get injured.
‘The Amn people’s foundation is not to be underestimated.’ Anse sighed inwardly.
If he were just an ordinary spellcaster, today would have been a certain death scenario.
The other magical equipment was also good, but there was no equipment usable by spellcasters.
He collected them all uniformly and returned to Jacqueline Castle only with the loot registry.
As soon as he appeared, he looked up and saw Illyas lying sideways on the sofa, covered with a purple cloak, sleeping soundly.
After scanning around, he confirmed this was his bedroom and he hadn’t gone to the wrong place.
He walked to the opposite side of the sofa and glanced at a stack of documents on the coffee table; the handwritten title prominently featured his own name.
《Proposal to elect Your Excellency Anse Hollewen as President of the Federation》
“Are you interested?”
A lazy voice came; he looked up to see Illyas awake, but she didn’t get up, propping her chin and tilting her head to look at him.
“Isn’t the president Stol?” Anse picked up the document, sat on the sofa, and flipped through it casually.
“But he’s dead.” Illyas pursed her lips, looking helpless. “Besides, even when he was alive, he didn’t manage anything; Quentin handled all matters big and small.
Even if he came back to life, he wouldn’t compete with you.”
“Shouldn’t the president be elected from the members?” Anse didn’t look up; he found this proposal quite comprehensive, with many involved details.
“There are always exceptions to everything, especially in extraordinary times.” Illyas changed her position, the cloak slipping down to reveal a pair of bare feet.
She never wore shoes in her own castle.
Anse’s mind raced with many thoughts flashing through, but he said nothing, just quietly reading through the document in his hand.
The proposal outlined the president’s general responsibilities and powers.
Responsibilities included developing Dulag, promoting economic prosperity, attracting professionals and adventurers, protecting the property and personal safety of councillors and residents…
The powers were described broadly, covering policy-making, personnel appointments, military forces, financial authority, and everything in between.
Unlike elsewhere, the Federation president could directly take money from the tax surplus; this was set by Stol, and he did it that way too.
“How much tax surplus does Dulag have each year?” Anse asked.
“Transaction tax, commission tax, agricultural tax, property tax, business tax, and so on—about 100,000 gold coins a year.
Guard military expenses over 20,000, staff salaries over 10,000, then subtract road maintenance, pensions, and so on… all in all, maybe 20,000 to 30,000 left.” Illyas spoke lightly but knew it like the back of her hand, clearly very familiar with it.
“Such a small city collects 100,000 gold coins a year?” Anse said in surprise.
No wonder there were so many wizard lords; no wonder Stol set up the Federation to manage things but was unwilling to let go easily.
Illyas chuckled, sat up, and looked at Anse with interest: “What do you think taxation relies on?”
“Good management, healthy systems, and strong military power.” Anse pondered.
“All correct.” Illyas clenched her small fist and shook it at him. “Ultimately, it comes down to this.
Some places struggle to collect a few thousand gold coins, while others can make all the major guilds obediently pay commission tax.”
Anse suddenly understood, instantly grasping the Federation’s motivation.
Stol was a professional above level 17, with great strength and prestige, making everything convenient; even the strongest forces had to give him face when settling here.
Stol’s death news couldn’t be hidden for long; once it spread, one Illyas alone couldn’t hold up the Federation’s banner.
A sharp drop in income was inevitable; it might even become impossible to afford the guards and staff.
The Federation needed a dragon slayer to deter all sides and maintain stability.
“Understand?” Illyas raised an eyebrow.
“Mm.” Anse rubbed his chin, lost in thought.
No one would complain about having too much money, and this opportunity was rare.
Once he controlled the Federation, all resources could be at his disposal.
“You can try it; there’s no loss anyway.” Illyas looked at him intently. “No one requires you to stand or fall with Dulag.”
“I also want to know what it feels like to be lord of the city.” Anse grinned, not refusing.
“Then tomorrow morning, come with me to the Federation, President.” With that, Illyas giggled.
“Do I need to bring anything?” Anse pursed his lips, not knowing what was so funny.
“Bring people—trustworthy people, to station permanently at the Federation.” Illyas added.
“Good.”
——
Nascal, Hall of Government.
The majestic and grand Hall of Government was brightly lit; all guards stood ramrod straight, expressions solemn, not even daring to swat mosquitoes on their faces.
In the top-floor meeting room, both sides of the dark long table were filled with people, nearly twenty, all heads bowed in silence, the atmosphere oppressively heavy.
“Speak! Are you still breathing?”
The leader had deep-set eyes, his pale blue pupils glowing with a layer of white light like something from hell; his snake-demon-like chilling gaze swept over their faces one by one, no one daring to meet his eyes.
A warrior with a wolf-like face and prominent canine teeth suddenly stood up—it was the barbarian Derik.
“Commander, this matter was originally foolproof, but Commander Moor ignored my suggestion, marched slowly, fought for command, and missed the opportunity…
Additionally, that spellcaster named Anse was very strong, completely unlike the intelligence, and had treants assisting; your subordinate was incompetent and failed to kill him in time.”
Derik kept his head low, his words earnest, with a good attitude of admitting fault, but what he said differed greatly from the daytime combat situation.
“Oh…” The man slapped the battle report in front of him and said flatly, “So it was all due to comrades’ stupidity and faulty intelligence, huh.
Then you have merit, bringing the intelligence back in time.
One fled, one surrendered—you two fully inherited the Amn military’s fine traditions.”
Derik didn’t dare speak; the meeting room fell silent again.
After a long while, a bald middle-aged man stood up directly: “Sir…”
“Hm?”
“Commander.” The bald man immediately corrected himself. “Currently, Beregost is targeted by the Green Dragon Kingdom; the Wyvern Guard is rampant, most combat forces have been dispatched there, city troops are insufficient—better to shelve this matter for now.”
“Shelve it? More foolish than the last— if we don’t handle it now, will the enemy wait for you in place?” The man laughed in extreme anger, slapping his own cheek with a face full of mockery. “Do I still need this old face?”
“Pass my order: assemble and prepare for war—within half a month, take Dulag!”
“Yes…”
