Mediterranean Hegemon of Ancient Greece Chapter 1077: Census Registry Department of Thurii

As Maximus spoke, he marveled inwardly: that Daionian officials handled even a minor traffic issue so thoughtfully showed how deeply and meticulously they governed the city. It was no wonder such a massive metropolis ran so smoothly. This fully reflected the power and prosperity of the Kingdom of Daunia. The former City of Rome could not compare at all.

This made Maximus even more desperate to become a Daionian Citizen.

He quickened his pace, leading his family through a few blocks. After asking a few passersby for directions, they finally found the Census Registry Department.

The Census Registry Department was located on the same street as the Patrol Station, Tax Office, Construction and Fire Prevention Bureau, Urban Court, and other municipal public departments. However, its building was noticeably larger than the rest, simply because it handled far more people than any other office.

Today, the interior hall was likely already packed, as a large crowd was milling about outside the entrance.

Maximus told his wife to wait to the side with the children while he hurried over alone.

As he approached and overheard the heated discussions, Maximus realized why everyone had gathered. Yesterday, every census registry branch in Thurii City had posted a notice: the processing of citizenship applications for registered freemen was temporarily suspended until further notice.

Maximus had arrived full of excitement, only to feel as though a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head. A suffocating disappointment gripped his chest.

The other registered freemen presumably felt the same. They lingered near the entrance, refusing to leave, venting their frustrations to one another while clinging to a sliver of hope that the situation might change.

Maximus squeezed into the crowd, listening to their speculations about the suspension.

This was not the first time this had happened. Before the Western Mediterranean War, the Kingdom of Daunia had implemented the exact same measure due to a lack of available land. A few people suspected this might be the case again.

However, the majority quickly shot that theory down. Following the Western Mediterranean War, the Kingdom of Daunia had acquired massive tracts of territory. Much of that land remained idle to this day, desperately needing manpower to develop it.

Someone would propose a possible reason, only for another to immediately debunk it. The arguments outside the Census Registry Department raged on endlessly.

But then someone offered an idea that no one dared refute: they suspected that Hades had delivered an oracle to King Davos, leading to this sudden decree.

Astonishingly, this bizarre notion actually gained some traction. A few people even suggested heading to the Temple of Hades to pray and beg the great deity to retract the command.

Maximus listened for a while, concluding that it was all baseless speculation. It made sense when he thought about it—these registered freemen were all newcomers with no roots in the kingdom. How could they possibly have access to reliable insider information?

Maximus's mood gradually calmed. He looked back at the street corner, where his wife and children were waiting expectantly. Since he could not apply for citizenship right now, they needed to find a place to settle down first.

Maximus forcefully squeezed his way to the entrance. The guarding Patrol Unit member immediately demanded his business.

"I want to rent a house," Maximus replied.

The guard looked him up and down before letting him in.

Maximus had already asked the laborers at the slave camp about the process. There was no need to go door-to-door in Thurii City looking for housing, as most rental listings were consolidated at the various district branches of the Census Registry Department.

Stepping inside, Maximus found himself in a spacious hall. Quite a few people were already queued up at various counters, handling their affairs.

Naturally, the Census Registry Department did not solely process citizenship applications for registered freemen. It handled a multitude of other duties. For instance, it recorded the criminal histories of the kingdom's populace—information provided daily by the adjacent Patrol Station and Urban Court.

It also registered the populace's meritorious deeds. Mass commendations for warfare or large-scale public engineering projects were reported directly by the relevant departments. However, for individual accolades, the person had to bring official proof from the issuing department to register it themselves. If anyone was caught forging these documents, the punishment was exceptionally severe.

Furthermore, it tracked changes in residency. Whenever a resident moved from one town or district to another, they had to register at their new local branch. All of their previous records would then be transferred over. This procedure was notoriously convoluted and time-consuming, and documents were easily lost in transit, resulting in significant headaches. As a result, permanent residents rarely changed their registered addresses. Registered freemen who had not yet applied for citizenship were the exception; they moved frequently, but they were still legally required to register immediately upon arriving in a new area. This strict management ensured that anyone caught unregistered by the Patrol Station faced likely deportation.

Anyone living in the kingdom interacted with the Census Registry Department more than any other public office, making its workload the heaviest in the government. This was manageable in small towns, but in a massive metropolis like Thurii, with a population reaching into the hundreds of thousands, the registry personnel were run ragged every single day. Consequently, it employed more staff than any other department in the kingdom.

The reason each registry branch occupied such a massive building was that more than half of its floor space was dedicated solely to archiving the residents' records.

The unique civil registry system of the Kingdom of Daunia created two major challenges. First, it required a massive workforce of literate record-keepers. This might have been an insurmountable obstacle for other city-states, but Daionia had been promoting public education for nearly twenty years. The graduates it produced were more than enough to meet the demand. Second, it required a colossal amount of writing material. Because Egypt was an allied nation, the vast majority of the Papyrus it produced was exported to the Kingdom of Daunia, and the price increased year after year. This financial burden was not only overwhelming the Census Department, but the Ministry of Treasury also complained incessantly. After all, the Census Department wasn't the only massive consumer of Papyrus; the Ministry of Commerce, hospitals, schools, and even the Ministry of Finance itself chewed through vast quantities. The entire Kingdom of Daunia was a nation built upon the collection, recording, and statistical analysis of data.

This predicament finally forced Davos to cast aside his internal reservations and resolve to manufacture cheap, practical paper himself. Drawing on his memories of his past life as a village official, he recounted the production methods used by rural paper mills to his wife, Christoya. She had assigned her subordinates to research and develop the process, and they had recently made some promising breakthroughs.

The walls of the registry's grand hall were painted completely black, which gave off an oppressive vibe at first glance. However, this was by no means an attempt by the department to curry favor with Hades by recreating the gloom of the Underworld. Rather, the dark walls served as giant boards where clerks could use white chalk to write public announcements. For example, the notice suspending applications for registered freemen was written on the main wall in massive, eye-catching letters. Other notices included confirmations of specific citizens' military merits, alongside various administrative updates.

These announcements were written neatly and clearly across the walls and were typically left up for two or three days. Residents who had filed paperwork could simply read the boards to check their status rather than queuing up to ask, saving the clerks countless hours of answering repetitive questions.

Naturally, posting these details publicly also allowed anyone who knew the truth to raise objections, facilitating the investigation of fraudulent claims.

Like the rest of the crowd, Maximus craned his neck to read the walls.

After staring for so long that his neck began to ache, he still hadn't spotted any rental listings. Forced to ask the Patrol Unit guard at the door for help again, he finally learned that housing rentals were handled in a small side room branching off the main hall.

Thanking the guard, he hurried over.

Compared to the chaotic bustle of the main hall, this room was a haven of peace. Aside from a single clerk sitting behind a wooden counter, it was entirely empty.

Seeing Maximus enter, the clerk greeted him warmly. "Here to rent a house?"

Maximus nodded.

"Have you already applied for citizenship, or have you not applied yet? Or are you a preparatory citizen?"

"I was planning to apply today, but I saw it was suspended."

Upon hearing this, the clerk's attitude didn't cool; in fact, he became even friendlier. Pointing to the opposite wall, he explained, "Since you haven't successfully submitted an application, you don't qualify for the kingdom's public housing. You'll have to rent a private residence. All the private rental listings are written up on that wall. Take your pick."

Ever since the founding of Daionia, Thurii had developed at a breakneck pace. As its population exploded, the rental market had always been booming, though private landlords had exclusively reaped all the profits. Eventually, Marigi, the Minister of Commerce, submitted a proposal. During the initial urban planning of the kingdom's towns, including Thurii, numerous empty lots had been left open in both the inner and outer districts. Instead of letting them sit idle, Marigi suggested constructing massive blocks of temporary housing on these lots. The government could then rent them out at slightly below-market rates to preparatory citizens and registered freemen with pending applications. This would serve as a welfare benefit for those who didn't own land yet, while simultaneously generating a steady stream of revenue for the national treasury.

Since the land was already available and there was a limitless supply of free labor—courtesy of the kingdom's state slaves—costs were minimal. The kingdom also possessed highly productive stone quarries and endless deposits of volcanic ash from two local volcanoes. Thus, building vast quantities of public housing required very little capital. Davos immediately adopted the proposal, and the Department of Construction swiftly put it into action.

Considering that the primary demographic seeking housing consisted of immigrants, registered freemen, and preparatory citizens—people who frequently visited the Census Registry Department anyway—the responsibility for managing these public rentals was delegated to the Census Department. This was also Davos's way of compensating the heavily burdened department: while the Census Department had to turn over the majority of the rental income to the state treasury, they were permitted to keep a small percentage for themselves. This allowed them to hire extra temporary clerks whenever they were short-staffed.

Although the kingdom deliberately left some breathing room for the private rental market to survive, the introduction of public housing still dealt it a massive blow. The glaring flaws of private rentals—extortionate prices, shoddy facilities, and terrible service—were suddenly thrown into sharp relief. As a result, many newcomers preferred to stay in the town's inns until their citizenship applications were approved, at which point they would immediately apply for public housing. Even though private landlords had since been forced to improve their accommodations, their business prospects remained bleak.