Organizational Reform (2)

Strictly speaking, Artraia hadn't lied.

All she'd said was that I wouldn't be serving as Minister of the Executive Ministry anymore.

She never claimed she wouldn't install me as minister of this unholy stew of a department called the Foreign Executive Ministry.

"Arto Virtorius Seveli, Duke of the Empire—will you devote your utmost efforts to carrying out the will of Her Majesty the Great Empress?!"

"...I will."

"Then as of this moment I appoint you Minister of the newly established Foreign Executive Ministry. Continue to serve the Empire with dedication. Thus decrees the Empress of the Holy Sevelian Empire."

"Long live Her Majesty the Great Empress! Long live the Holy Sevelian Empire!"

Still, whatever the circumstances, the task right in front of me had to be handled properly. I finished the appointment ceremony as Minister of the Foreign Executive Ministry with as much dignity as I could muster, then took my seat among the designated chairs for newly appointed ministers and looked down over the platform.

"It's been a while, Minister of the Executive Ministry... or rather, I suppose I should call you Minister of the Foreign Executive Ministry now."

"...Indeed. A pleasure."

Of course, even that brief moment of solitude was instantly stolen by the other appointees already seated nearby.

While Arto sat there wearing that ambiguous expression, Riel stood below the platform pretending to stare blankly into space, quietly collecting and storing every scrap of gossip and rumor drifting around her.

Unfortunately...

"...Selling out his own subordinate just so he can snatch a new plum post for himself."

"Even if his predictions about the last war turned out right, isn't that far too much power for someone his age?"

To Riel's regret, the entire atmosphere of the appointment ceremony ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was thick with hostility aimed squarely at Arto.

"Tch. Her Majesty herself is shielding him—no one can touch the man."

"Even so, tossing aside a subordinate who offered him loyalty like that... do you really think that's acceptable?"

Yet every single conversation was the sort that would have made both Riel and probably Arto himself react with pure bewilderment.

Was the implication that their Arto had, without even realizing it, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠decided to purge a perfectly loyal subordinate?

What on earth are they talking about?

Riel cranked up her audio-gathering sensitivity another notch, determined to scrape together more information.

"Next—Alimus Orteia, appointed Third Vice Minister of the Ministry of Immigration."

...Alimus?

The name was far too familiar for Riel to miss when it came from the master of ceremonies on the platform. Following the instincts etched into her programming, her gaze shifted to the stage—and there she saw him.

"Yes!"

"...Heh."

The former Vice Minister of the Executive Ministry stood there with a face so bright and clear it was almost unrecognizable from the days when he had served under Arto.

"Repay Her Majesty's grace with your utmost efforts."

"I shall devote this body entirely and serve with absolute loyalty!"

The sheer vitality radiating from him looked nothing like someone who had been "demoted" or offered up as a "sacrificial pawn."

Of course, Riel ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was an artificial intelligence who could proudly claim to be the finest in the Empire, and her processing power was exceptional. It didn't take her long to piece the situation together.

...So it was nothing but baseless rumor after all.

All the gossip she had been diligently collecting turned out to be pure garbage.

Wasting memory on useless crap—so annoying.

Irritation began to bubble up at the thought of the time she had wasted... until her eyes, still idly fixed on the platform, caught the exact moment her master Arto locked gazes with Alimus.

"...!"

"!"

"...Heh."

Arto looked utterly crushed beneath the dreadful weight of the Foreign Executive Ministry that had been forced upon him—the very picture of a man who wanted to die. Alimus, by contrast, looked refreshed and radiant, having escaped the den of lunatics and reclaimed his freedom, happiness, and that precious thing called work-life balance.

This is going to make excellent teasing material later.

The contrast between the two was so stark that it was impossible to tell at a glance who had been demoted and who had been promoted.

"...Arto the Duke was promoted, right? Definitely?"

"Yeah, they merged the Foreign Ministry and the Executive Ministry, so... probably?"

"Then why does the 'demoted' Vice Minister Alimus look so happy while Duke Arto looks like he's drowning in despair?"

"...Beats me."

And every civil servant attending the ceremony was watching the scene unfold in real time. Not long after, Riel discovered that an image of Arto's face mashed together with some bizarre cat expression had begun spreading across the entire Imperial internet.

One week after my ministerial appointment ceremony.

"Uuuuugh..."

"Don't die on me, Minister."

As the newly appointed Minister of the Foreign Executive Ministry, I was busy enjoying the most delightful, blissful days of my life.

Of course I had heard about "that" incident at the ceremony through Riel, but...

It ended on a warm note, so that's a relief.

Thankfully it hadn't turned into some vicious smear campaign—just something that wrapped up with a reasonably humorous tone. If things had crossed the line even a little further, the Imperial Palace would probably have stepped in and purged everyone involved without me lifting a finger.

I suppose that's why it ended on that oddly positive note.

I don't know how it works in other countries, but in this one, whenever slander or conspiracy theories about a noble start circulating, nine times out of ten it's another noble stirring the pot. Which means that if the Palace had gotten involved, the nobles who had been meddling in this affair would have taken damage as well. So they had offered us a sort of conciliatory gesture. And in Sevelian noble style, simply not responding to such a gesture counted as acceptance.

"Haaah..."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's nothing."

The headache-inducing thoughts had pulled a sigh out of me before I could stop it.

Honestly... what good is power and prestige if I've got nowhere to use them?

I wasn't money-obsessed like the other nobles. I didn't even have a family house I needed to pour effort into. Sure, I had a goal—but that goal was simply clearing this damn game before it hit year twelve. It wasn't about living it up and sucking honey out of the Empire.

And I had one more problem.

"Riel, something I've been feeling lately... isn't my social circle ridiculously narrow?"

"Yep, that's right. Even compared to ordinary commoners it's pretty tight, and for a noble? You're basically a reclusive shut-in!"

Just as the blunt robot girl said, my human relationships were in a catastrophic state. Other nobles at least had fellow aristocrats they could turn to for help—or at least share the damage with—when things got dangerous.

"..."

Meanwhile I had climbed to one of the absolute peaks of power, yet my personal and social connections were utterly, completely, catastrophically destroyed.

It wasn't that I had no one I could exchange favors with. There was Admiral Zeidler of the Third Fleet, whom I'd met before. There was Vice Minister Alimus, now at the Ministry of Immigration but still in contact. And... I wasn't sure this counted, but Empress Artraia herself.

The problem was that none of those ties were the sticky, complicated blood-and-kinship bonds the other nobles relied on. At best they were mutual-trust relationships. And no matter how friendly Artraia and I might be, she was still the Empress ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of the Empire. Personally she might help me, but she couldn't operate on the same level as noble-to-noble networking.

Lately I was starting to wonder whether she even intended to help at all...

—Bang!

"Minister? Could you approve these reports for me?"

"...Vice Minister, do you not knock?"

"Ah, sorry about that."

The sheer casualness of the man made me question whether he was actually of noble birth at all. And yet this walking embodiment of nonchalance had been parachuted into the brand-new Foreign Executive Ministry as its "Vice Minister"—a completely baseless title created just for him.

...Don't tell me she's still sulking because I told her to hold back that time?

I was overworked enough that even absurd theories like that were starting to sound plausible. Of course I knew that wasn't the real reason, so I didn't actually resent Artraia...

Today, once again, I had the damned status window to thank—casually spoiling everything while mixing formal speech, casual endings, and clipped military shorthand all at once.