Meeting the Emperor
Around the time the sparring session wrapped up, Clone No. 2 met with the emperor alongside Yuri. Before the audience, he'd heard plenty from her. The stipend was gone, but they'd improved his treatment by assigning escorts and the like, and though it hadn't been many years since he'd started handling state affairs directly, he was already hailed as a rare wise ruler. In any case, the gist was that I—who'd vanished for over a decade—was the villain. She called it ingratitude, which pissed me off enough to flick her on the forehead. She glared at the empty air, her gaze sharp as an axe.
Then came the emperor. He calmly explained that he'd never meant to slight the Guardian Spirit, and he was well aware of the immense grace the Guardian had bestowed upon the empire. He seemed better than Yuri, at least. Who knew if it was sincere, but at least he knew how to speak prettily. Still, there was some payoff. Bringing up Germain's predicament, he requested one aide to assist Germain. Surprisingly, the emperor agreed without hesitation. Half of it was probably surveillance, but having a court official connected to the emperor would make managing the territory far easier.
With my adoption into that fallen count's family all but sealed, I answered Yuri's summons and headed back to the Telmaier barony at her behest.
"Welcome, Young Master Germain."
Yuri greeted me with a ladylike smile. Infuriating woman—my face nearly twisted, but I held it back.
"It's an honor to see you again, Madam."
I offered a proper bow, and Yuri let out a small gasp of delight.
"Oh my! The moment Young Master Germain debuts in high society, it'll cause a real stir."
Would such a day ever come? I certainly had no taste for it. Even when living with the François family, my parents had urged me several times, but I'd never gone. I knew all too well how noble soirées were the pinnacle of time-wasting. Even as a soul with time to burn, watching those parties made me feel like my existence was being squandered.
"I'm not one for standing before crowds, but I appreciate the high regard."
I laid some groundwork flattery and a touch of humility. The mark of a fine noble, that.
"That aside, there's a family eager to take you as their adopted heir. Wouldn't that solve your status issue in one fell swoop and give you a foundation?"
I already knew, but from Germain's perspective—or Yuri's view of it—he didn't, so I played dumb.
"Might I ask which house?"
I knew it was a fallen count's family, but not the specifics.
"The Akasha count's house. They were quite prosperous once, but honestly, their fortunes have waned badly now."
"Why seek an adopted heir from a place like that?"
"Well, Count Akasha has no children. He had a son who died long ago. And it's not the count's will driving this adoption."
"Pardon? What do you mean?"
An heir without the family head's say? What nonsense was this, goblin ass-backwards drivel?
"It's the retainers pushing it. The count's in poor health and does nothing these days. The retainers handle all the territory's management, in fact."
"So, without an heir, they lose their jobs?"
"Exactly."
I got the picture. But if so, why bring in an outsider? Why not just shove one of their own sons into it? I had a hunch there, too. Human nature runs in predictable patterns, after all.
"I see. When might I learn their intentions?"
"A message would probably have them rushing over at once. They've been commissioning searches far and wide for ages, but no suitable candidates have come forward."
How dismal must it be that even as count's heir, no one bites? At this point, I was curious enough to scout the territory's state myself.
"Then send word, by all means."
"Oh my! Young Master Germain, you're so refreshingly decisive."
Yuri beamed like a cat with a thorn plucked from its throat. She was starting to look more odious by the minute.
On the way back from the Telmaier barony, I sorted out Brother Frmain and summoned Clone No. 1, who'd lingered in the Propen Empire. Clone No. 3 had been shadowing a reclusive alchemist I'd luckily found nearly a decade ago, picking up alchemy over his shoulder, so he couldn't move easily. Effectively, only Nos. 1 and 2 were mobile for me. I needed more clones. Should've mass-produced them before reincarnating, in hindsight. I could still make more now, but it'd take months to adapt, hampering my actions—and what if it spawned a puny Germain like that tiny soul once did? Sure, I could just kill a runt Germain, but that felt off.
And so I waited for word from the Akasha count's house. It was about a week from the capital, they said. Allow three weeks at most, and Clone No. 1 would join by then.
I sparred with Jayke once a day. But my battle sense was sharpening slower than his skills were skyrocketing. I found myself on the defensive more and more.
A subordinate improving wasn't bad. I explained the adoption to Jayke. He wasn't just simple—he was sharp—and immediately suggested calling it off. I brushed it aside with "I've thought it through."
See that? If even Jayke says it, Yuri, you've done me wrong. Better avoid using her when possible.
I'd already dispatched Clone No. 2 to the Akasha house for intel.
A few days later, through No. 2's eyes, Akasha territory looked worse than expected.
"Haha! What the hell is this?"
I muttered to myself while alone, of course. The populace barely topped a hundred souls. The lord's "mansion" was a laughable two-story house—more village headman's hut than noble seat. The land wasn't tiny, at least. So what kept these retainers fed and busy? Obvious: the steadily shrinking territory and wealth had padded their pockets. And they'd schemed me as the sacrificial lamb for their final feast. Fine by me. A normal person might balk, but I could fix this easily.
I checked on Count Akasha. He lay motionless in the upstairs bedroom, eyes open but unfocused. Done for. Even healing grace might not mend this— it fixed flesh, not shattered minds.
Yuri's herald arrived, meeting the so-called retainers: administrator, security chief, steward. Just three.
Once the herald left, their masks slipped.
"Finally hooked one."
"From Propen nobility? Bit iffy, no?"
"A truly great or clever guy wouldn't end up here."
"True enough. Heh heh heh."
"Time to escape this godforsaken backwater."
"Marquis Illibard'll clean up after, right?"
"Has to, if we're scooping the last scraps."
Hey, I am great and clever—but a new name dropped: Marquis Illibard. Land-grabbing meant a neighboring lord, no doubt. Border skirmishes sucked. I'd win, sure, but victory or defeat both spelled trouble. Needed a plan for that. For now, handle what I could.
I started buying essentials in the capital. Lots needed. And scouted merchant guilds for ongoing trade.
That's when the emperor's man showed: a scholarly type in his mid-20s, knocking at my inn. Impressive soul size, face vaguely familiar.
"Greetings. I'm Dorbi Agellahim, junior baron. His Majesty tasked me to assist Young Master Germain for a time."
The name clicked. One of the Guardian's children. I'd found and sent him myself—naturally memorable.
"One of the Guardian's children, I see. Pleased to meet you. Germain François—at least until it becomes Akasha. I'm a Guardian's child myself. Looking forward to working together."
Dorbi startled, then clasped my outstretched hand.
"How did you know? Few do."
"The Guardian mentioned you seniors once and showed a list."
Dorbi nodded, suspicion lingering.
"I heard the Guardian found you surrounded by wolves, in dire peril."
I added that tidbit. When I'd spotted Dorbi, he was wolf-bait in the mountains, tears, snot, and piss everywhere.
"Ah, even that got shared?"
Suspicion eased—that was known only to the Guardian and him.
"Were you in a palace department, Junior Baron Dorbi?"
"Treasury. Why?"
Perfect. Ideal hire. The emperor's doing?
"Akasha county's so backward, no guilds trade there regularly. I'm lining up some ahead of time—can you help?"
Treasury meant guild knowledge.
"Hmm, finding guilds for small trades that far out will be tough."
"Akasha'll soon have specialties. Exclusive rights would tempt guilds."
"What specialties?"
"I dabble in magic items, especially subspatial ones."
These past days' frantic shopping? Materials and tools for magic crafting.
"Oh, those are rare. That might snag a guild."
But Dorbi's eyes doubted my skills. Fair.
"Here's a sample."
I opened subspatial storage right there, pulled out a subspatial bag, and handed it over. He tested it, inspected closely.
"This is high-grade subspatial gear."
"Holds about four wagons' worth."
"Steady supply, and guilds'll line up... eh?"
Dorbi froze mid-sentence, then lunged forward.
"What did you just do!?"
"What?"
"You pulled a subspatial bag from subspatial storage!"
"Yeah."
Subspatial doesn't nest—that's common knowledge. Without Inklonius, I was the world's only user.
"That's impossible!"
"Nothing's impossible in the world. Just a matter of can't."
I struck a haughty pose as Dorbi flushed crimson, yelling.
"Feeling motivated to help now?"
He probably resented the assignment from the start. I'd feel the same.
Dorbi composed himself, sighed deeply.
"Forgive my unseemly display. Yes, no more doubting your skills. Got more surprises?"
"Plenty."
I grinned like Ether.