Ancient City Arville (1)

Servio Viscount's office.

"You insolent bastard!"

Servio Viscount slammed his fist down on the desk.

The inkwell toppled over, staining the letter black.

The letter's tone was impeccably polite, but its content was anything but.

To sum it up: 'I got splattered cleaning up your mess, so take responsibility and handle the fallout. Pay for the dry cleaning too.'

"Huff, huff! That damn lucky bastard Calix!"

He felt like luck had utterly forsaken him.

And for good reason. A mere greenhorn had entered a dungeon, barely survived, and by sheer coincidence, the Red Wolf Mercenary Corps leader who'd gone in with him had emerged with a mana breathing method. All their plans had gone up in smoke.

Of course, he didn't buy the nonsense about the dungeon being restructured.

No ragtag mercenary could pull off something like that.

He figured they'd just scavenged a few artifacts from a corpse that hadn't vanished by some stroke of luck and spun a tall tale out of it.

Pacing his study, he sank into thought.

'Nothing's going right. Just the other day, I got a report confirming all the silver ingots in the secret vault were gone, and now this—failure in the Poznyu backroom dealings too?'

At this rate, he could lose the marquis's trust. His current power and status all stemmed from being the marquis's lackey.

Once that backing vanished, the hordes of enemies he'd made would swarm like ants and tear him apart.

'Cover up the Poznyu failure for now. It's just entertainment for the marquis anyway. The real issue is those silver ingots. Who the hell has them?'

Moving that massive quantity from a monster-infested deep mountain hideout was nearly impossible by conventional means.

They'd vanished without a trace in no time, so it had to be a lightweight magic box.

'If they used a lightweight magic box, it couldn't have been some two-bit tomb raider like Gerard claimed. Must be a merchant or noble who deals with the Magic Tower. He's suspicious since he lied about it... but still, several wagonloads gone without a single trace? How the hell did they move those ingots?'

Questions piled upon questions.

It seemed an unsolvable riddle.

He rubbed his throbbing temples.

That persistent headache, which had dragged on for so long, vanished weeks later due to an utterly unforeseen event.

The capital, Elesina.

The morning audiences held daily in the palace's audience chamber were crucial ceremonies where the nation's major and minor affairs were deliberated and decided.

Only counts and higher nobles, or top royal officials, could attend. Simply being present marked one as a top-tier power player.

In other words, securing a position that granted entry skyrocketed one's political standing.

Especially now, with the kingdom split into two fierce factions vying for power, who got which office was a matter of utmost importance.

The side ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with even one more voice held the advantage.

Particularly in this round of regular appointments, whether Gail Prince would receive an official post was the hottest topic.

In a gathering of the kingdom's power elite, showing one's face boldly versus skulking in the shadows made all the difference.

That was why the First Prince's faction was pulling out all the stops to shove Gail into a central office.

In that context, Gail Prince personally inviting Servio ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Viscount carried profound implications.

Servio had hesitated long and hard before accepting.

There wasn't much justification for refusal, and he was confident he wouldn't yield to anyone in a war of words.

Guided by a servant to the banquet hall, he entered to find Gail Prince raising a hand high and calling out loudly.

"Ah, come on in!"

"An honor to meet you for the first time, Your Highness. I am—"

"No need for such stiff formalities. Care for a drink?"

As the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠prince lifted his glass, a waiting attendant poured wine.

Servio bristled at being swept into the prince's rhythm, but he couldn't openly defy royalty over something trivial.

"The reason I summoned you today is to seek your understanding on one matter."

"What might that be...?"

"I poached one of your prized subordinates without permission. I wanted to offer my apologies."

Servio's confusion cleared the moment he saw the face that appeared.

"Mmgh...!"

Gerard Millers.

The hunting dog who'd bitten a huge chunk out of his master's shin and fled.

Displeasure clouded the viscount's face.

"Your Highness, what is the meaning of this?"

"Allow me to explain from here."

"How dare you! I'm in conversation with His Highness. Who gave a lowly commoner like you leave to speak?"

"Calm yourself, Viscount. Can't you at least hear him out?"

"...Your Highness, bringing a man like this into the royal presence is a grave mistake."

"Heh heh heh. I'll handle my own affairs. But let me ask one thing. Are you content with your current position?"

Servio racked his brains to divine the prince's intent.

But before he could organize his thoughts, a shocking proposal dropped.

"What if it were something like the Royal Archivist?"

"!!"

In truth, the Royal Archivist wasn't a high post with formal audience rights. But as the name implied, it involved recording everything that transpired there.

No direct speaking rights, but for a viscount like him, it was one of the few offices allowing uncontroversial entry.

"...What is it you want?"

The answer came not from the prince, but from Gerard beside him.

"Help ensure His Highness ascends to the Inspector General's seat."

"You...!"

"Are you content remaining number two forever?"

"What?"

"Thanks to Marquis Antonio, you're living large now. But how long do you think that'll last?"

"What do you know to spout such nonsense?"

"I know well. Wasn't I the same for you, Viscount?"

"What?"

"A slave, that is. Doing whatever the master commands, but all the fruits going to him. I was in that spot until recently, so I know better than anyone."

"So that's your justification for betrayal?"

"Betrayal? Think of it as independence, if it pleases you."

"Insolent...!"

"Calm down. Forget the past and consider future gains. If you speak up, convincing the marquis won't be hard. He's just a piglet with good bloodlines."

The prince's offer boiled down to swapping offices so both could attend audiences simultaneously.

Of course, behind Marquis Antonio's back.

Servio realized it was already too late. He should have stormed out the moment temptation reared its head.

Greed had stayed his hand.

He was, at heart, a vassal house under Antonio Marquis. If the marquis stripped his title, everything ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠crumbled.

But a formal office like Royal Archivist granted some independence. Even if abandoned by the marquis, the royal post endured without separate dismissal proceedings.

A faint hope of escaping this fate—serving a master superior in nothing but blood—set Servio's ambitions ablaze.

He ground his molars.

'Think rationally. If the prince and I both enter the audience chamber, which side benefits more...? Ultimately, it's who outperforms the other. Heh, I won't lose.'

Eyes closed in contemplation, he spoke.

"Wouldn't Inspector General be too lofty for Your Highness now? Royal Hunt Grounds Keeper, perhaps..."

Gerard shook his head.

"Heh heh, we're both in dire straits—why the haggling? If Inspector's too much, Development Officer should suffice."

The viscount stared silently at the man before him, then slowly nodded.

"Development Officer... That'll do. I accept."

The prince burst into laughter, clapping heartily.

"Hahaha! Excellent, splendid! Raise your glasses. Can't have a day like this without fine liquor. Hey! Bring the imperial brandy!"

Throughout the banquet, Servio couldn't refuse the prince's relentless toasts.

Finally shaking off the persistent royal, he staggered, thoroughly drunk, toward his carriage.

Then Gerard, who'd followed, asked.

"A gift for you. By chance, are you looking for some silver ingots?"

Servio's buzz evaporated in an instant.

Turning slowly, he saw Gerard smirking slyly.

"Hmph! Planning to toy with me to the end, eh?"

"Who knows... I wouldn't mention it if it didn't benefit us both. Not interested?"

He reassessed Gerard anew.

Once just a useful hound under him, nothing more or less.

Now, with the First Prince's solid backing, he'd become a schemer who matched him blow for blow.

"...Speak."

"When we had a tap in the Szczecin County household, some intel came through."

"Before you stabbed me in the back, you mean."

Gerard brushed off the viscount's sharp jab with an oily smile.

"Ha ha, just hear me out. Around when the ingots vanished, young Lord Calix disappeared secretly for about a month. And the one with him? That assassin bitch who stuck a dagger in your daughter's ribs."

"Hmph! You saying that greenhorn Calix has the ingots? Isn't that a bit flimsy? Makes me suspect you're holding them and stirring trouble."

'Young Lord Calix is a greenhorn, huh... Keep underestimating him like that, and you'll regret it big time. But no point telling you—you wouldn't believe it anyway.' Gerard found amusement in knowing facts the viscount didn't.

"If you won't take my word fully, why ask? Investigate, and you'll see."

Servio glared steadily at the smirking Gerard.

"...What do you want?"

"Thanks to meddling in shadow unit ops, I know intel agencies inside out. Once an assassination order drops, it's rarely rescinded."

"You know well."

"Hard to maneuver with restrictions. Remove me from Variegata and Execution Squad kill lists."

'Hmm... He's already the prince's confidant—no need to stir up trouble.' Quick calculations done, the viscount nodded.

"If your words prove true, consider it done."

"Ha ha, as expected from you, Viscount—decisive in grudges and grace. My thanks."