By Rod A. White
The prophecy crystal had never been wrong.
Every thousand years, it identified the legendary hero who stood against darkness. Kings trusted it. Priests revered it. The kingdom planned everything around it. So, when the crystal flashed bright gold and projected the image of a balding man holding an abacus, nobody in Eldrath knew what to do.
High Priest Jillian adjusted his spectacles. “Is that… the Chosen One?”
The assembled nobles exchanged nervous glances.
“Perhaps shake it?” suggested Queen Elvira.
The crystal settled on the same man, this time picking his nose.
***
Larry Finch was reviewing quarterly tax records for the East River Bean Counting Guild when six royal guards burst into his office.
“Larry Finch?” asked the captain.
Larry’s eyes widened. “Did I calculate something incorrectly?”
“You have been selected.”
“But I’ve already determined free-market value on the unicorn herd.”
The captain rolled his eyes. “To save the world.”
Larry whimpered. “I don’t think that’s covered by my policy.”
At the castle, Jillian explained that the kingdom was under threat from Dark Lord Malgrim, who commanded armies of goblins, trolls, and a rather menacing dragon from his fortress in the north.
There was a prophecy, and it was clear. Only the Chosen One could stop him.
Larry shivered. He wasn’t heroic. He wasn’t strong. He wasn’t brave. And he wasn’t particularly athletic. The last time he attempted to swat a fly, he’d spent three days unable to turn his neck.
Larry was escorted to the Bridge of Eternal Doom. The guarding troll crawled from underneath it and stood in the road with a battle axe.
“Your first quest,” Jillian said.
Larry quaked in his oxfords. “There’s been a mistake.” But when he turned, his escort was gone.
Traditionally, heroes fought the troll. Larry requested financial records.
The troll, having charged travelers for two hundred years without filing taxes, surrendered at the penalties Larry presented.
“Don’t report me!” the troll pleaded.
Larry agreed, and crossed the bridge unopposed.
His next stop was the Cave of Carnage. The instructions Jillian had provided echoed in his head: Retrieve the Crown of Kings. Larry reluctantly entered and confronted the dragon, who rolled its glowing eyes. Brimscale was its name. Sixty feet long, covered in crimson scales, and capable of melting castle walls.
“Another hero,” it hissed.
Larry swallowed. “Actually, I’m a bean counter.”
“A bean counter?”
“Yes.”
The dragon tilted its head. “You’re not here to fight me?”
“No.”
“Steal my treasure?”
“No.”
Brimscale frowned. “Then why are you here?”
Larry glanced around and years of professional instinct took over.
“Can I ask a question? Do you have an inventory system?”
“What are you insinuating?”
“For a dragon with such a reputation, there’s not much treasure.”
A puff of smoke exited a scale-crusted nostril.
Larry pressed. “Do you know how much you actually have?”
Brimscale stared at him, then at the treasure, then back at him. “Not a clue.”
“Then how would you know whether you’re being swindled?”
The dragon dropped onto its haunches.
Three hours later, Larry had created a cataloging system, discovered several priceless artifacts, and revealed that numerous bags of gold were missing.
Brimscale tapped its chin with a claw. “You have enlightened me, bean counter. Choose one item as a reward.”
Larry pointed at the Crown of Kings.
Brimscale gladly handed it over.
***
Larry stood before the evil fortress. The gates opened with an ear-piercing screech. Dark Lord Malgrim emerged in black armor, surrounded by fire and shadows.
“Chosen One!” Malgrim thundered. “Your journey ends here!” He raised a massive sword. Lightning bolts shot from it. “After you, I shall conquer the world!”
Larry panicked, plunked the crown on his head, and reached for the only weapon he had—a stylus. As he stood prepared to soil himself, he eyed the dilapidated fortress behind Malgrim, which had several towers leaning noticeably.
“Out of curiosity, who manages your operations?” he asked.
Malgrim lowered his sword slightly. “My what?”
“Your organization. Army logistics. Budget planning. Things like that.”
The Dark Lord squirmed. “We don’t really do budgets.”
“Then how do you know your campaign will be successful?”
Larry was taken to the Dark Lord’s throne room. Jeering goblins and trolls crowded in around them.
Larry shook his head. “From the looks of things, your invasion plan is impossible.”
Malgrim frowned. “What do you mean?”
“How many soldiers do you have?”
“I have eighty thousand soldiers!” the Dark Lord exclaimed.
Boastful mumbling rose from the throng.
“And how many can you feed?”
Malgrim’s eyes cut left then right. “Thirty thousand.”
“And how many dragons?”
“Um, one.”
A goblin cried out, “Brimscale is fearless!”
Larry replied, “Um, Brimscale won’t be joining you. It seems he’s discovered your crew has sticky fingers.”
The room fell fearfully silent.
Larry spent the evening reviewing the dark kingdom’s finances. The deeper he looked, the worse the situation became. There were supply shortages, inoperative equipment, a catastrophic deficit.
After a tense wait, Larry slapped down the final report and proclaimed, “Malgrim, you’re bankrupt.”
The Dark Lord went pale. “What?”
“If you invade, your army will collapse in eleven days.”
A wave of panic washed over the shadowy room. Generals shouted. Minions argued. A goblin who was owed a significant amount of backpay fainted.
Malgrim slumped into his iron throne. “My conquest is financially unsustainable?”
“I’m afraid so.”
The Dark Lord sulked and announced with a wave of his limp hand, “The invasion is cancelled.”
No battles were fought.
No magical duels occurred.
No legendary artifacts were required.
The world rejoiced. The Chosen One had succeeded, not through combat but through bureaucracy.
Larry returned to his office. The Crown of Kings sat in the lobby as a historical monument. Visitors traveled from across the world to see it.
A plaque beneath it read:
LARRY FINCH
LEGENDARY HERO WHO AUDITED EVIL INTO SUBMISSION
Larry hated that plaque. But he had to admit one thing—
Being legendary came with excellent deductions.
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