At last, the steward pointed to the notice board and announced solemnly, "From now on, all of the lord's orders, taxes, rewards, and punishments will be posted here for everyone to see!"
"If anyone acts contrary to what's written here, they may go to Lion's Den and meet the lord! Report it and expose them!"
The entire marketplace sank into a long, stunned silence.
The Public Notice Board represented Lord Suleiman and his will. It was as if the wooden tablet before them were Lord Suleiman himself.
Then, no one knew who took the lead, but all the people present, men and women, young and old, spontaneously bowed deeply toward the Public Notice Board, toward Lion's Den.
The steward picked up his carving knife again and forcefully inscribed the essence of the three laws onto the wooden board.
Wood shavings flew, and the words cut deep.
"One: A beacon tower shall be built in every town. Smoke means danger; fire means war. The whole town must then retreat into the fort and prepare for battle."
Two:
"Every second son aged eighteen or older shall receive an acre of land in the mountains to cultivate and develop as he sees fit, so that he may establish a new household."
"Three: The families of those who die in battle shall receive compensation. Widows may choose whether to remarry or remain widowed, and their children shall have someone to care for them."
That night, the oil lamp in the home of the farmer Nar was still lit.
In the dim light, Nar and his two sons sat around the table. There was only a small piece of black bread on it. Silence weighed like a stone in the room, pressing down on everyone's heart.
"How are the two of you going to divide