Kind Only to Me (1)

Ever since the day he had spoken the words aloud—that he would become the Lord himself—Aiden no longer hid his ambition.

Or, to be more precise, perhaps it was the first time he had realized he was even the type of human capable of having such desires.

Aiden had never particularly craved money or fame.

In any case, he had come to the North as an administrative officer, so he was receiving a salary. However, the pouch containing his monthly pay always went straight into a jar in his bedroom, and it rarely ever saw the light of day again.

Meals were provided by the kitchen for every sitting, and as for daily necessities, the head maid ensured his supplies were replenished like a bottomless well the moment he returned from work, so there was simply no reason to spend money.

The same went for fame or the need for recognition.

He had always considered being a civil servant his true calling. Of course, there were plenty of civil servants who aimed for rapid promotion, but for Aiden, it was enough to know that the community he served was improving, bit by bit, through his administrative work. That alone was gratifying enough.

He was already perfectly satisfied, so there was no reason to harbor further greed.

In the past, he had occasionally thought he needed a position with more authority to accomplish more work, but now, as an administrative officer, there was nothing he couldn't do in the North. Even the smallest shred of greed had vanished.

Once a man who had been perfectly content with his given station finally realized his first true desire, there was no holding it back.

They say a thief who starts late is the most dangerous.

"Wait, wait a minute!"

The bard, Cereban, grabbed the muscular man who seemed at least somewhat reasonable, replacing Aiden who had already vanished out the door.

Jamie, unexpectedly, let himself be held back.

"What did I do wrong? You clearly liked me at first! I can tell just by looking into people's eyes!"

"You should have just performed the act you did last night. You know, that adventure epic about the beggar king who gets mistaken for a knight and ends up in all sorts of trouble."

"If I did that, I would be nothing more than a mere actor!"

"Aren't you an actor?"

"That is..."

"If you're an actor, you should act like one. It's pathetic for an amateur actor to try and dabble in politics."

Jamie, who until just a moment ago had been laughing and joking with a demeanor far too light for his imposing physique, gave this advice with a suddenly somber expression. Cereban was left speechless.

However, there is no such thing as a timid actor who can make strangers weep and laugh by plucking a single string on a crude stage.

"Is the ability to do politics something you're born with?"

"What?"

"I mean that I don't believe politics is something reserved only for nobles with blue blood or administrators who have been sitting at desks studying since they were children."

Cereban knew it instinctively. This was the moment to make his move.

Fortunately, the burly man didn't just scoff and walk away; he gestured for him to finish his thought.

"Politics isn't just about sitting in a high place, chin held high, looking down upon the world. Politics is also about weeping and laughing with the lowliest of people in the deepest mud. If that’s the case, why shouldn't a wandering bard be able to do it?"

Cereban had been a master of manipulating human hearts since he was a child. Even when saying the same things as others, his words somehow seemed laced with sincerity, and people were, quite simply, bewitched by his words and actions.

Back in the back-alley organization he had briefly joined before he was even an adult, they used to cackle that he would either become a great con artist and eventually a noble, or have his head chopped off and displayed on the city gates before he turned thirty.

But because he didn't like either end, Cereban had fled in the dead of night.

He pondered where he could use his innate abilities to live without going hungry, and ended up wandering as a bard.

Standing on stage was quite satisfying. He felt he could live like this for the rest of his life.

But while he was satisfied, it wasn't *fun*. It lacked the thrill that constricted his heart.

After much thought, Cereban began to mix a little bit of intent into every performance.

If he got caught by someone sharp, he’d have to run for his life, but the thrill of it was so exhilarating that he felt he could die right then and there and call it a good life.

And with that, his greed grew.

'My plays sway public sentiment this way and that. What makes me any less than a noble? What makes me any less than a Lord?'

Politics?

He didn't know how to do that sort of thing.

But if he could eventually manipulate people to his will, wasn't that politics? At the very least, the people he had seen who called themselves politicians or nobles were all exactly like that, so it didn't look particularly difficult.

Then, he heard stories about the North.

Among the poorest territories in the Empire, it was a place that didn't even deserve to be called a territory, always the first to be named if one were to pick the worst of the worst.

Strange rumors began to trickle out about that place, which didn't even have a proper ruling family and was simply called 'The North.'

They said the new administrative officer was a peculiar person, but he had the ability, and the neighborhood that used to be a total dump was now actually looking like a place where people could live.

They said that because there were no stuck-up nobles or high-and-mighty figures, it had become a land where anyone with ability could provide for their family.

They even said that although he thought it was a trash can filled with beast-kin, refugees from fallen nations, and wanderers, they were living together in a surprisingly harmonious and fun way, just like a village in a children's fairy tale.

'If the rumors are true, he will value my services!'

Cereban decided this and immediately turned his direction toward the North. He believed that an administrative officer who had conquered the North as a commoner would surely know that one must grasp the rumors of the bottom-dwellers firmly in one's hand.

"That's exactly what's wrong with you."

However, Jamie's eyes seemed to pierce right through such a Cereban.

"Still, wouldn't it be better to talk a bit more?"

Aiden, having gone out to enjoy a hobby only to have his mood ruined. Roland, reading his expression, carefully interjected.

"He was arrogant, but couldn't we polish him and put him to use? In fact, our North is starting to need an intelligence organization."

Roland, who had learned politics and administration in the center, knew well how nobles managed public sentiment. A Lord's direct intelligence organization was so common it wasn't even a secret.

"Obtaining information is important, but utilizing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it is just as important, so if we just use that bard well..."

"That's exactly why it won't work."

But Aiden's assessment was ruthless.

"The moment you mix politics into art, how can it still be art?"

"But-"

"I have no intention of censoring, and even less intention of creating a state-sponsored theater troupe."

It wasn't that artists shouldn't do politics. It wasn't that they should completely exclude political intent from their work.

"He should have been a bard and an actor first, even if he held those intentions. If he had been, I would have valued him. But how was that man?"

Aiden had lost interest the moment he saw that attitude—the way he immediately offered himself as a tool of power.

"Being able to hold and sway public opinion in my hands. It is attractive. No, it is very attractive. I cannot deny that."

"...Yes."

"But what can you know from that?"

Aiden sighed low and sat down at a makeshift eatery that had begun to appear one by one on the street, ordering a beer and a plate of dumplings.

Because of the cheap price, the beer, not stored in a cool place, was lukewarm, and the dumpling filling was stuffed with potatoes instead of meat. Compared to the lunch he had at the inn, it was a humble meal, but Aiden was quite pleased with it.

The scenery of the residents who had finished their work gathering in groups of three or five at the surrounding makeshift chairs, laughing and chatting, became his side dish, so there was no reason to obsess over the food on the plate.

"The real public sentiment is right here."

Clack.

Aiden, having downed the lukewarm beer in one gulp, shouted, "One more!"

"Someone who can distort public sentiment can also blind my eyes. There's still a long way to go and I'm already gasping for air; I can't afford to run while wearing shackles."

At those words, Kalisa tossed out a remark.

"Those shackles, even if you can't put them on your own feet, couldn't you put them on someone else's?"

"Hmm?"

"Even if you can't keep them in your own house, it seems like they'd be quite useful if you turned them outward."

Public sentiment and public opinion—they don't necessarily have to be needed only inside ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠your own house, do they?

At Kalisa's addition, the corners of Aiden's mouth rose instantly.

"...That's right. You're right. There's no need to cast away something dangerous. I just need to not keep it in my house and release it into someone else's."

"Yes?"

Seeing Aiden nod, Roland's eyes widened like a rabbit's in surprise. He rolled his eyes, opened and closed his mouth, and tried to telepathically send a message to Kalisa to explain it to him.

"Why? What?"

She pretended not to know, even though she had understood perfectly well just a moment ago.

"Ah, no, that's... It's nothing."

Roland, feeling dejected, shouted, "Give me a beer, too!"

When the beer arrived, Aiden stood up, saying he would take a look around the area for a moment. Usually, Roland would have followed him like a puppy, but this time he kept his butt firmly planted and leaned toward Kalisa.

"What is it? Why is the administrative officer suddenly making a decision like that?"

"What do you mean?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"No, it's strange, isn't it? It clearly looked like he didn't like that bard earlier, but suddenly he says he'll use him in an important capacity. He's not the type to say one thing and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mean another... And again..."

"And what?"

"I mean, that..."

Roland couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence. Kalisa smirked and asked.

"You think our administrative officer is very kind, don't you?"

"...Uh?"

"That's why you're surprised. Seeing him decide to release someone who can turn public opinion and sentiment into a complete mess onto someone else's land."

"......"

Struck to the core, Roland couldn't say a word and bit his lip.

'Then, he's not?'

The Aiden that Roland had seen until now was literally 'a man who could live without laws.' He had thought that if all the Lords in this world were as kind as his superior, the common people would never have to suffer.

"Our Lord. He works very well. And he overflows with affection for the residents of the territory."

"Yes."

"But tell me. If someone works well and is overflowing with affection, does that necessarily mean they are kind?"

No. You misjudged the man.

"Our Lord just loves what is *his*. Well, actually, that is the greatest virtue for a Lord of a region."

Whether others do well or not, what does it matter? If he wanted everyone to live well together, his dream should have been to be an Emperor, not a Lord. Don't you think?

At Kalisa's cackling words, the images of Aiden's behavior until now flashed through Roland's mind like a revolving lantern.

"Why don't you know what even Jamie knows?"

"...Even Jamie knows?"

Ah, that was a blow to his pride.

Roland scratched his head vigorously and pouted his lips.

Was he disappointed?

Not a chance.

'Isn't it cool?'

A protagonist who is kind only to me is always in high demand.