Whack-a-Mole (1)
The morning at the Arbina estate was quieter than one might expect. Not that it was silent—noble households rarely descended into outright chaos.
Servants walked briskly rather than ran, doors closed with care instead of slamming shut. The noise came in the form of paper. Invitations piled up, reports accumulated, and rumors about who had met whom arrived neatly sealed in envelopes.
Roelyn Arbina sat at the center of that quiet commotion. A cooling cup of tea rested beside her, next to a half-opened invitation. In her hands was a draft response to the Normalization Decree. She muttered under her breath.
“Ugh, nothing but unpleasant things first thing in the morning.”
The maid standing across from her lowered her eyes, pretending not to hear. The Arbina maids were quick on the uptake. That was fortunate—everyone knew to ignore Roelyn’s occasional habit of talking to herself.
“What’s next on the schedule?”
“You have breakfast with the head of the house this morning, followed by a visit from Lady Lien.”
“Lady Lien?”
“Yes. She wishes to inquire about your attendance at the previous ball.”
“…That’s not an inquiry. That’s pressure to attend.”
“……It would appear so.”
Roelyn leaned back in her chair. Balls. Just the word made her tired. Ever since the Normalization Decree, high society had taken on a strange atmosphere.
People whispered that the Emperor had changed, that the imperial family was finally turning its gaze on the nobility, that certain houses would be the first to fall. The excitement had been palpable.
Now, however, that energy had faded—several nobles had already been expelled or stripped of power. Of course, those nobles had been notoriously corrupt and incompetent.
The aristocracy was on edge. After all, who could openly defy the Emperor? He commanded military strength rivaling entire legions, possessed the empire’s greatest wealth, and wielded absolute authority. There was a reason the empire had remained stable despite its generous aid to neighboring kingdoms.
“The invitations?”
“I’ve sorted them.”
When the maid placed several envelopes on a silver tray, Roelyn began examining them one by one. Countess Lien’s tea party. Marquess Marcel’s recital. Viscount Nordin’s evening banquet. And then—
“This one’s unfamiliar…”
Roelyn picked up the final invitation.
An Unofficial Gathering for the Stability of Noble Society Following the Imperial Normalization Decree
The name alone was pretentious. “Unofficial gathering” usually meant they planned to discuss things that couldn’t be said officially. Roelyn set the invitation down.
“Decline it.”
“How should I word the reason?”
“Say I’m not feeling well.”
“Are you unwell?”
“Not yet.”
“…Pardon?”
“I’m fine now, but I suspect I won’t be if I attend that gathering.”
The maid nearly smiled, but caught herself. She was every bit the dignified Arbina servant. Roelyn lifted her teacup, then set it down again. The tea had gone cold.
“.....”
She disliked cold tea. What she disliked even more was having to smile through cold tea at gatherings she didn’t want to attend. And lately, there were far too many such gatherings.
The Normalization Decree. The Imperial Inspectorate. Unofficial subjugations. Reexamination of foreign aid. Those words had become fashionable in high society. People smiled as they spoke.
“His Majesty must finally be setting the empire straight.”
“Or perhaps he’s trying to rein in the nobility?”
“I heard the Inspectorate is on the move. Whose house will they visit first?”
The words were gentle, but every sentence carried calculation. The Arbina family was no exception.
Roelyn unfolded the draft response to the Normalization Decree once more. Records of military deployments. Requests for merchant caravan protection. Details of trade route security measures. Nothing but exhausting words.
“……”
She closed the document. This wasn’t the time to dig deeper. Or rather, digging deeper would push everything else aside. And whenever she did dig into these matters, one person kept coming to mind.
Cian Kaindel.
Roelyn let out a short breath.
“Haa…”
She didn’t like that his name had surfaced. She had first met Cian when he appeared as the heir to Count Kaindel for their arranged engagement.
It had been a match decided by their families. Tea had been prepared, the adults had smiled, and the two of them had been expected to evaluate each other naturally.
Roelyn remembered the Cian from that day. He was handsome—that much was undeniable. He had also been surprisingly easy to talk to.
For a man chosen by the family, he had been rather decent. Most of all, she had oddly liked that he didn’t bother hiding who he was.
During their first walk, Cian had admitted he didn’t know the names of the flowers. For the heir of a noble house to be ignorant of garden flowers was rather careless, yet he had said it without shame.
“If they’re pretty, isn’t that enough?”
Roelyn had laughed at the time. Looking back, it was absurd. He had always been strange, yet she had somehow taken that as a virtue.
The engagement hadn’t been unpleasant. They drank tea, smiled appropriately in public, held hands at balls… and sometimes did more. Occasionally they had laughed so hard that tears came to their eyes.
Roelyn tapped the teacup with her fingertip. A small sound rang out.
The Cian she had seen a few days ago had been different. He looked tired, sharp-edged, and yet somehow amused. Even in front of the imperial inspector.
Sera Klein.
Roelyn naturally recalled the name. Gray eyes, impeccable posture, a gaze that seemed to read documents even when looking at a person. An uncomfortable woman. But what had been more uncomfortable was something else.
Cian had acted surprisingly natural around her. Complaining, retorting, never crossing the line yet never backing down. It resembled the Cian she had known during their engagement, yet felt slightly different.
“My lady.”
At the maid’s voice, Roelyn stopped thinking.
“The head of the house is waiting.”
“Hm? Ah, right.”
Roelyn rose from her seat, muttering inwardly.
Honestly, what a nuisance.
That, at least, was a clear complaint.
**
Meanwhile, a commotion had broken out at the Kaindel estate—all because of their precious only son and heir, Cian.
“Cian, how many days has it been? Letters have been arriving for you nonstop.”
“Just a moment! I’m almost done searching. It’ll be over soon!”
At the sound of Cian’s voice from inside the room, Count Kaindel shook his head and turned away. He didn’t have the courage to look inside. It had been three days since Cian had shut himself in. When the count finally couldn’t stand it any longer and opened the door, he had been rendered speechless by the sight that greeted him.
Papers flew everywhere. Maps and merchant photographs covered the walls. In the middle of it all, Cian was furiously digging through ledgers and accounting records. It was quite the spectacle.
“Ah, Father! When Roman wakes up, please tell him to come here!”
“…Very well.”
Even the unfortunate butler Roman had been dragged in and forced to stare at documents all day.
A few years ago, Cian Kaindel had come to him directly.
“I would like to receive heir training.”
Before long, he had begun participating in territorial governance and achieved results. He had also thrown himself into swordsmanship and mana training with such intensity that he now toyed with most knights. The count had believed he could spend his remaining years without worrying about succession.
Recently, however, Cian had been acting strangely.
“…He’ll be fine.”
The sound of rustling paper coming from the room made that reassurance feel hollow.
**
A few days earlier.
News had arrived that another noble territory had suffered logistics disruptions due to bandits. After reading the report, I had been at a loss for words. It had seemed like an ordinary bandit incident, but to my eyes it looked different.
“This… it’s the same bastards.”
I immediately gathered every related document I could find. Ah, and in the meantime, Sera Klein had left the Kaindel territory. She said the Ramal incident couldn’t be concluded as a simple bandit case, so she would report it to the Inspectorate and conduct further investigation if necessary.
Good news? Who knows. Without her calmly arguing beside me, the place felt strangely empty.
“No, what kind of crazy thought is that…”
I began sifting through the mountain of documents again.
“Young master.”
Roman spoke in a dying voice.
“You really must rest now.”
“If I rest, who’s going to find it for me?”
“That is……”
Instead of answering, I spread three ledgers across the table. Ramal. Eastern Arbina. Neighboring noble territories. The locations were different, the scale of damage varied. Yet large merchant caravans were frequently absent from the records. There was no perfect proof, but something smelled off. Definitely smelled off.
“Aron.”
The logistics appraiser crouched in the corner looked up.
“Yes, young master.”
“You said this sealing string isn’t used anywhere currently, right?”
“Yes. To my knowledge, no one uses that type anymore.”
“Last time you mentioned it came from the capital.”
“When I first received and appraised it, I thought so as well. There may have been an error.”
I mulled over the words in my head. Currently. Capital. Error.
…No. That can’t be right.
Can’t be helped. I slipped the sealing string into my pocket.
“Roman, prepare the carriage.”
“Where are you headed?”
I grinned.
“To catch the mole.”