The Emperor's Proposition
Daiyen was accustomed to dealing with people of higher status than herself. In this medieval era, a single noble spent more money than a thousand commoners combined. The pocket money a young noble received could sustain ten commoner families in comfort, highlighting the vast gulf in spending between classes. Merchants yearned desperately to trade with nobles for that very reason. Daiyen herself had invested heavily in studying noble etiquette, honing her manners through encounters with various aristocrats, and she was confident in her ability to handle them.
But even Daiyen trembled from head to toe when standing before imperial royalty.
"Hmm, so this is Nautilus."
At the sudden news of the imperial party's arrival, Daiyen had rushed from her work to the entrance of Nautilus. Seeing Princess Aurelia Valentia Bolontarius waiting there with a modest entourage nearly made her collapse in shock. Thanks to the artifact stabilizing her mind, she managed to regain her composure and offer a proper greeting befitting royalty.
The reverence imperial citizens held for the imperial family bordered on faith. They would believe blood flowed not through royal veins, but gold itself—the respect was that profound, rooted not just in imperial authority but in the royals' exceptional qualities. Their golden hair and eyes shining brighter than gold, godlike features and elegance were mere bonuses; the true value lay in their abilities.
Royals excelled in diverse fields, unmatched by any. The youngest knights and mages were all royals, and most of the empire's powerhouses belonged to the imperial household. What citizens praised wasn't raw talent, but achievements. Royals rarely stirred from their positions, but when they did, they solved problems decisively.
If irrigation was scarce in farming regions, a royal's command mobilized mages to build massive reservoirs, dams, and canals; if roads were impassable, soldiers paved them. When monster nests threatened near territories, royals and troops eradicated not just the nests but surrounding threats. With summary execution rights, they judged noble crimes on the spot, beheading countless offenders.
Tales of a count who extorted peasants through near-illegal means and defied imperial law only to have his head lopped off by a royal's decree—his seized fortune redistributed—remained balladeers' most popular songs even decades later.
Commoners rarely encountered royals and had nothing to fear, but the guilty saw them as the grim reaper.
"Yes, Your Highness."
Stabilizing her mind with the artifact while cold sweat trickled down her back, Daiyen desperately scanned her thoughts for any issues, serving Aurelia with flawless etiquette.
"Hmm, no need to be so tense. I'm not here for anything sinister."
"How could I skimp on hospitality before the Ministry of Finance's fairest flower and sharpest blade?"
Daiyen wouldn't tense like this for other royals. It was Aurelia Valentia Bolontarius herself that terrified her.
Spotting irregularities from documents alone was nearly impossible in a manual system reliant on human verification. Yet Aurelia uncovered flaws amid the errors, her prowess a terror in merchant circles.
She detected perfect tax evasions, grasped every detail, and dismantled caravans through cunning contracts, beheading their heads. Hundreds had vanished under her hand, including giants dwarfing Daiyen's operations—ones handling city budgets. Politically untouchable due to noble ties or aristocratic leaders, they were shredded regardless, their masters hanged high.
Thus her moniker: the Ministry's most beautiful flower and sharpest blade. At an age one might call young, she already led an independent department, smiling at Daiyen as every merchant in the empire quaked.
"It seems we'll be meeting often."
"May I inquire as to your meaning?"
"Hmm, you'll know soon enough. I've come to request use of space inside Nautilus. Is that possible?"
At the princess's words, Daiyen barely suppressed tears with superhuman willpower.
"Might I ask your intentions?"
Stroking Nautilus's wall, the princess replied, "As a merchant, you must gauge Nautilus's value."
"Yes, with my humble abilities, I've tried to estimate it."
Daiyen had earned more in under a month on Nautilus than a lifetime outside—at a fraction of its current scale. She couldn't predict its full potential now.
"I received a letter from Eira."
Daiyen's heart sank, fearing issues with using Nautilus to elevate Suhyun to nobility.
"No need for worry. I found your plan intriguing and wish to assist."
Relief washed over Daiyen inwardly, though she silently begged for mercy. The help she'd hoped for was a nudge via Eira's connection for territory approval—not a personal visit.
"You still don't grasp Nautilus's true value, it seems."
"My inadequacy shames me."
"Huhu, no need to belittle yourself. Even I don't know it all."
With a subtle smile, like a judge pronouncing sentence with absolute certainty of compliance, she said, "I'd like to meet Suhyun, owner of this immensely valuable Nautilus. Will you arrange it?"
A request in form, a verdict in substance—like a courtroom enforcement order. Daiyen could only bow and assent.
Imperials never craved absolute power. As if castrated of ambition at birth, they pursued diverse goals. Some built mighty armies to shield citizens from monsters and foes; others perfected bureaucracy for smooth empire function. Watching kin burn for near-impossible aims, Aurelia Valentia Bolontarius couldn't comprehend.
She simply wanted comfort. Yet idleness bred guilt. Everything she wore, ate, slept on came from citizens' taxes; raised on those taxes, she owed repayment. That debt drove her to unwanted tasks.
Reviewing dozens of caravan ledgers daily, cross-referencing against imperial records to expose fraud—it was grueling but the easiest way to earn her keep. Yet it only multiplied.
"Investigate these documents and verify if the warehouses hold the listed grain."
"Confirm if this caravan truly stores that much cash."
Her word toppled heads and firms. One fall ruined livelihoods, demanding more effort to safeguard them.
"Don't dismantle; sell off regionally. List local merchants."
"This one reeks of issues. Order a Finance Ministry audit."
"This transports and sells fairly. Grow it."
Skill didn't mean love. Reading money flows, spotting anomalies, adjusting them—Aurelia excelled but loathed it. She yearned for what she loved, not duty-bound tasks. Then salvation appeared.
"Pleased to meet you. I am Imperial Princess Aurelia Valentia Bolontarius of the Empire."
"The honor is mine. I am Suhyun, licensed mage of Sage's Cauldron Tower."
Gazing at the black-haired, dark-eyed man, Aurelia marveled. At a youthfully tender age, his body brimmed with profound, dense mana—sensed via royal gift. Overwhelming power. More startling was his aura.
A person's life etched into their presence. Even handling the same documents differed: caravan clerks frantic like chasing dropped coins; tower scholars methodical analyzers; battlefield staff curt slicers. Life colored every gaze.
Suhyun's was multifaceted. Gentle, affectionate slacker vibes clashed with arrogance and boldness. Artisan paranoia mingled with laziness; blood-scent of killers with warm human fondness. His lazy self-gaze struck her as novel.
Enigmatic, yet must-be-known. Observing reactions, she continued.
"I bring His Majesty's edict."
"Grateful for His Majesty's grace; I shall obey."
Caution, annoyance.
"Nautilus is recognized as territory, granting baronial title and castle status. First, discuss terms via Princess Aurelia Valentia Bolontarius. Mage Suhyun, speak freely."
"His Majesty's grace overwhelms."
Slight surprise, absurdity, annoyance.
"Aren't you pleased? New territories and titles are rarer than five a year—even for multi-generational pioneers."
"Titles bring duties; how can I rejoice alone?"
"Duties won't be heavy. I can dispatch administrators, cut taxes—such authority I hold."
Other lords would beam; Suhyun's face stayed stone.
"Rights demand duties, which can't be delegated. Faults fall on the delegator, unfit chooser."
His responsibility surprised her, revising her view. She'd pegged him as a tower elder's foe, stirring chaos without care for fallout or influence. Wrong. Power-shy, she'd thought isolationist; yet communal.
"Shouldn't the capable bear duties and claim rights?"
"True, but I want neither."
Communal ideals, personalist leanings—Aurelia glimpsed him: idealistic self abandoned as unattainable, yet clung to.
Interesting. Common in incompetents. But Suhyun was capable, shunning ideals. Promising fun, she smiled pleasantly, entering his prepared room.
Finishing with Aurelia, Suhyun sighed entering his room, where Daiyen waited.
"You did well."
Handing him tea she'd brewed, she listened as he outlined the emperor's terms.
Simple: Join the imperial faction, aid in return for compensation. Maximize imperial logistics. Assist disaster relief.
The over-tailored contract repelled more.
"How much do they know about me?"
"Who knows? Some say they track every bastard in noble houses."
Know thyself and foe for victory; if foe knows you but not vice versa, never fight. Negotiation mirrored war—know opponents or tread lightly. Suhyun's hard lesson from naive tower entry.
"Still, on surface, no major issues."
Reading the cautious contract—minimal duties, maximal rights—Daiyen found it generous. She couldn't craft better for Nautilus.
"The sweeter, the cagier."
Suhyun hated this. Laws twisted to strongmen's tastes, spawning myriad interpretations. Their plan exploited ship-territory law ambiguities; others could wield unforeseen clauses.
It became a stubborn contest—might wins. Against the emperor? Any hook spelled doom.
"Ugh, I'll review thoroughly."
"Good. Me too."
Staring at elastic laws stretching by insistence, Suhyun grimaced, opening the tome.