Status (3)
"I've heard usury is on the rise these days."
Zoi's worried expression. Her words left me puzzled.
"If it's surprising even to you, that means it's grown enormously, right?"
Zoi nodded at my question, then sat beside me and began to explain.
"That's right. It used to be handled only by places like the merchants' guild, but lately people are banding together to pool funds and lend money to those who can't afford homes."
Her explanation made the back of my head tingle. This was clearly collateral lending.
In fact, collateral loans had existed even in ancient Rome, handled by state-appointed bankers called Mensarii. But they conducted loans for public welfare—not for buying homes, but to prevent social unrest and help plebeians reduce shop debts.
Unlike them, usurers operated purely for profit. That meant they could easily devolve into loan sharking with exorbitant interest rates.
And that would dilute our goal of wealth redistribution through lotteries to enable social mobility.
"We need to control them."
Usury had a notorious reputation. Especially the Jews, who imposed insane rates of 43.33% to 86.66%.
They deliberately targeted the poor, lent them money, exploited them, and when they couldn't repay, sold them into slavery. That was their profit model—and why the Jews drew so much hatred.
"Exactly. We must respond immediately. The good news is that ancient Rome already had laws capping interest rates, so if we enforce those, there won't be much backlash."
Ancient Rome, never short on ingenuity. To curb usurious rates, they'd legally limited annual interest to 4-12%.
Of course, during wars it could spike to 48%, so the laws weren't always strictly followed. Still, it was a fine precedent from ancient Rome.
Since the Eastern Romans were Romans too, we could model our legal interest rates on it to control the market.
"We should enact new laws on usury as well."
Time to overhaul the whole system. Like ancient Rome, I'd divide it into state banks as the core, then first-tier finance like modern banks, second-tier, and third-tier.
The point? To secure control over the market, of course.
"Anyone wanting to engage in usury must prove they have sufficient capital."
Even in ancient times, broke people tried their hand at moneylending. So I'd make them prove their funds.
"Good idea. But the source of that money would be murky..."
Zoi paused in thought. Then, drawing on her experience as imperial treasurer, she made a proposal.
"What if we require proof certificates for all transactions?"
A term flashed in my mind: financial real-name system.
It wasn't exactly like the modern version with ID cards, but issuing certificates was akin to notarization—an extension of credit.
"Of course, only documents stamped with the emperor's seal would be recognized."
Transparency was essential for credit transactions. We'd leverage imperial authority to imbue the certificates with credibility.
Proof certificates had existed before, but only in small-scale guilds or associations.
Providing them at the state level for financial transactions was rare.
"Brilliant. How did you come up with that?"
"When we made the lottery tickets, I saw the power of documents stamped with the emperor's seal."
To ensure lottery fairness, we'd used random draws. And to prove no tampering or forgery, we'd stamped them with the emperor's seal.
Zoi had observed the whole process and remembered it well—not letting it slip by.
"Connecting that to this... You always surprise me."
"Hee-hee. It's too early to be surprised."
Zoi pulled out a sheet of paper. I tilted my head at the sight.
"This is the payroll ledger for the soldiers and mercenaries who fought in the civil war."
After the civil war ended, all soldiers received rewards based on merit. Separately, salaries were to be paid.
But the amounts were huge, so we couldn't disburse immediately. After issuing disbandment orders, we'd given out these ledgers, to be redeemed once the budget was finalized.
"Exactly. It lists names, ages, origins, service periods, and physical descriptions."
A meticulously crafted ledger. We'd had to be thorough, since non-combatants might falsely claim participation.
That's why we recorded hair, eye color, skin tone—even the father's name. Names were common back then, so people were often called "son of [father]."
"The civil war paralyzed administration, leaving many identities unverified. But these people are all confirmed."
"Ah...!"
It was practically an ID card. I realized it late, thanks to Zoi's explanation.
"We'll issue credit certificates to them first. It honors their service, and it saves us administrative effort."
The public didn't know administration was strained. They wouldn't care anyway.
But if someone sought a loan, requested a certificate, and we delayed due to backlog, they'd never understand.
That could swell the shadow usury market. So Zoi proposed masking the administrative gap with lip service to veterans.
"Smart. The soldiers will feel respected for their service."
Soldiers didn't want privileges. They just wanted their efforts acknowledged.
Offering them even this much would thrill them—especially from the emperor recognizing their toil.
"But we can't stop there."
"What do you mean?"
"Once all soldiers get certificates and we open it to civilians, the meaning fades."
She had a point. I decided to hear her full plan.
"The reason to clean up private usury is to create ancient Rome's bankers, the Argentarii, right?"
Argentarii: ancient Roman moneychangers. State-appointed, they handled not just exchange but loans, currency storage, circulation, auction credit—essentially most modern banking functions.
I planned to revive them as market anchors, like a modern central bank.
Zoi saw right through it. Her insight was exceptional.
"Exactly. Spot on."
"They'll handle savings and loans too."
I nodded instead of answering.
"With special perks for soldiers."
"You don't mean..."
"Yes. Offer savings where they deposit now and get more back in two years. It prevents fiscal bleeding for us."
Soldier savings accounts. Higher interest for military—clear perks, great for them.
For us too. Paying all salaries at once would strangle finances. If some opted for savings instead, it eased the crunch.
"Savings make sense. But why perks on loans?"
"Most civil war veterans are now seasoned troops, right?"
Undeniable. Multiple battles had forged most into veterans.
Some were mercenaries, though. With war over, they'd leave—that was inevitable.
"Soldiers, especially mercenaries, will depart without work. We'll offer low-interest loans to keep them here."
A loan meant debt. We could use it to bind their movement.
"With cheap rates, they'll naturally start businesses or buy homes and settle."
Borrowed money must be repaid. Low rates made business viable.
"But they might not repay, and meddling in their ventures defeats the purpose of retaining skilled troops."
"Hee-hee. That's why we attach conditions."
"Conditions?"
"Low rates in exchange for answering the state's call. Refuse, and perks vanish—they repay at standard rates."
A chilling explanation from Zoi's lips. It mirrored exactly the loan terms for U.S. soldiers.
Two years of service unlocked perks: full tuition waivers, near-free loans you barely had to repay.
That's why so many students enlisted to cover murderous U.S. college costs.
Hearing it from Zoi was shocking.
"Of course, no forcing them. It's their choice."
Zoi smiled sweetly. Her words sent a faint shiver through me.