The Iron-Blooded Princess's Ultimatum
Despite your utter incompetence, I'd sent Baynen especially for you. Habid and I stepped into the Deharm Mansion.
Habid rattled off everything that had happened at the mansion during the week I'd been away—mostly trivial matters about the slaves in the workshop or the servants' daily dealings. Nothing out of the ordinary, it seemed, so I nodded along vaguely as he spoke. When he finished, he handed me a letter.
"This arrived while you were away from the mansion, my lord."
"I see."
I'd frozen in place, then turned sideways to look down at it. I'd heard about this letter beforehand from the count. Sealed with the roaring lion's crest, it was unmistakably from the imperial palace. I took it with feigned composure, broke the seal, and read the contents.
I've taken an interest in that "Artificial Rainfall" magic you've been researching for the past eight years. If your theory holds, even prolonged droughts wouldn't pose a major problem.
Once completed, it would advance not only agriculture and hydrology but could even sway the tides of battle on the field.
Yet why, three years ago, did you suddenly refuse the imperial research funding? I hear the progress stalled, and out of burden, you declined the support—but isn't it a vassal's duty to accept the palace's aid and pour all effort into it, especially when progress lags?
I understand the mental strain of manipulating the climate, which is to command the heavens themselves. But an unfinished study is a mark of sloth and a deception against the crown.
Moreover, I do not take kindly to the indolent.
Thus, one week hence, in the afternoon, I shall dispatch auditors along with a few palace mages. Report every detail of your Artificial Rainfall research progress.
Benelia von Esteban
The stark name, devoid of any flowery rhetoric, sent a chill down my spine.
Benelia...
The unprecedented, peerless Iron Blood Princess. The youngest daughter of His Majesty the Emperor—who had two sons and three daughters—and the renowned Minister of Military Affairs commanding the palace's direct combat unit, Dawn's Footsteps. She'd undergone her coming-of-age ceremony last year. Though lowest in the line of imperial succession, she was a rising force in the court, whispered about even among the ministers as she solidified her position.
Why is someone like her fixating on me...?
I understood the appeal. In theory, Artificial Rainfall could become a cradle of abundance for the entire empire once perfected. But that was just theory.
The real reason I'd refused imperial funding three years ago wasn't slow progress.
...Artificial Rainfall is a magic that can never be completed.
My ambitions had outstripped my talent. It was too vast and complex for me to handle, and the more I delved, the clearer it became that realization was all but impossible. So I'd given up. Continuing with palace support would be like pouring water into a bottomless jar.
Yet now they demanded a progress report—on a week's notice, no less?
Why are you doing this to me?
I felt like bursting into tears.
I knew the count thought highly of me and had vouched for that to the palace, but for them to take that praise and summon a mere two-legged beast like me from on high—it was suffocating.
"Butler."
I let out a low sigh and tucked the letter into my bosom.
"Do you know when this arrived?"
"Precisely four days ago, my lord."
"Four days ago?"
It felt like a hammer blow to the head.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"My deepest apologies. I merely wished not to disturb you in your regency duties, and the witch who delivered it said it wasn't urgent..."
My head spun. That left me with barely three days.
I couldn't blame Habid, though. Reading an imperial letter before the recipient was borderline treason. And with the witch claiming it wasn't pressing, he bore no fault.
With no one to blame, emptiness gnawed at me. I opened my mouth, closed it, hesitated in the ensuing chaos, then finally forced out words.
"Understood. I've heard everything, so go to the carriage, wake the elf slave, and fetch the box from the count."
"Yes, my lord. The box, you say?"
"The gold and jewels the count gave for your fine regency work. It's extra-budget revenue, so treat the workshop slaves to fine meat and liquor, and give the servants about a third more in bonus pay as thanks for their hard work. Store the rest in the vault."
A kindly smile spread across Habid's face.
"Most generous, my lord. I can already picture the servants and slaves rejoicing. On a side note, some slaves—despite their service terms ending via contract with you—have refused emancipation."
Huh? That was news to me.
"Why on earth would they refuse freedom?"
"I asked out of curiosity, and they said life as your slave is far more prosperous and leisurely than as a free commoner. They claim you're the only master who buys slaves for a fortune only to free them."
"That's utter nonsense on every level. Freedom is the essence of life. You're not pressuring them against emancipation, are you, butler?"
Habid drooped his brows in indignation.
"I've served the Deharm family my entire life. Would I dare defy your orders and treat them as mere limbs?"
"Of... course it was a joke. I trust you completely."
Only then did Habid's face brighten.
"Such words are too kind for the likes of me."
Unlike the wastrel Baynen, Habid took my every word to heart—enough to worry me a little. Then again, he'd served the family longer than I'd been alive. He surely desired its prosperity as much as I did. No way he'd lie to me.
Realizing I'd suspected him without cause made me feel guilty. I started to grin awkwardly, then gasped and stumbled back a step.
"Master."
The elf.
The elf who should have been asleep in the carriage was rounding the corridor corner, approaching me—holding the box from the count in both hands.
"You left without waking me... I had to search forever."
Clack, clack. Her heels struck the floor, sending chills up my spine.
As cold sweat beaded on me, the elf fixed me with an icy glare.
"You can't just leave behind that precious box from the count, right? Isn't that so?"
"Th-that's..."
"Answer properly. Why did you leave the box His Excellency the count bestowed—"
"You scoundrel!"
Habid bellowed and thwacked the elf's head.
She flinched to a halt and turned to him, but Habid flushed red and roared on.
"How dare a mere slave glare like that! Do you take the noble head of the esteemed Deharm family, Viscount Theorad, for some friend of yours?!"
No, old man, don't. You might get yourself killed.
"Hah? Getting bolder by the minute, now glaring at me too? I've spared you corporal punishment because of the master's favor, and you've forgotten your place. Looks like you need a proper thrashing to come to your senses!"
Veins bulged on the elf's forehead like a grid. This was dangerous.
Sensing crisis, I placed a hand on Habid's shoulder. My trembling fingers—against my will—drew a puzzled glance from him.
"What's wrong, my lord?"
"Butler, ease up. She's just an ignorant slave unversed in the world."
"Even so, this is beyond the pale. If she doesn't know the ways of the world, isn't it right to teach her? I'll handle the discipline, so don't worry."
Habid's wrathful gaze swung back to the elf.
"You, who broke an urn worth a whole house, standing there all stiff-necked? There's no slave as arrogant and clueless under heaven. Do you not realize you're alive only thanks to the master's mercy?"
The elf said nothing. That must have irked him, as he rolled up his sleeves, fuming.
"Fine. Let's see if you or I drop dead today."
Hey, old man, you'll definitely die, so stop.
"Refusing to answer, eh? Good. I was quite the athlete in my youth—time to show you what a real beating is—"
I gripped Habid's shoulder hard.
Any more, and a bloodbath would sweep the mansion.
"Butler, I'll discipline this elf myself, so don't worry."
"Pardon? But, my lord..."
"That's an order."
At "order," Habid deflated and stepped back.
I sighed inwardly in relief and looked down at the elf.
"Insolent wench. You'll get your separate scolding, so go clean the study first. Hand the box to the butler."
"Y-yes... sure..."
Thankfully, she didn't lash out at me. Her expression softened as she gave the box to Habid and scurried past me down the hall.
Watching her go, Habid clucked his tongue and scowled.
"What a hopelessly rotten slave. Had she met any other master, she'd have ended her life long ago."
"...You're right."
The master would have ended his life, more like.
"In any case, I must fulfill the imperial command..."
A foreboding chill silenced me. How long had the elf been at that corridor corner? If she'd been watching when I opened the letter, depending on the angle, she might have read it too.
I'd turned sideways to read it.
By my knowledge, the elf's hearing and vision far surpassed humans'. If she'd read the imperial letter and decided to sabotage me out of spite...
Shit!
The thought hit; I bolted, kicking off the floor. Habid shouted something behind, but I had no time.
I vaulted stairs two at a time to the study door, flung it open—and there she was, holding my research journal, just as I'd feared.
Spotting me, the elf jolted with an innocent look.
"Ah."
The journal hovered perilously over a flickering candle. Cold sweat poured as I swallowed hard, forcing calm.
"Put it down nicely while I'm asking."
No, I couldn't calm down.
"Put it down, you crazy bitch!"