Eastern Stroll (3): Purging the Verda Marquisate

Verda Marquis Territory. The vital crossroads linking the Empire's heartland to the east—a strategic chokepoint. Any imperial force dispatched eastward had no choice but to pass through here. Which meant the territory should have been overflowing with supplies for the soldiers.

'Spearmen with wooden poles should at least have full cheeks.'

The soldiers before my eyes were a far cry from "overflowing." If you ignored their wooden spears and wooden armor, they looked less like city guards and more like peasants conscripted from some rural village. There was a massive gap between the reports on paper and the reality staring back at me.

'The imperial family never did their jobs properly in the first place, so why would those beneath them...?'

With royals too busy slacking off and handing resources to foreign kingdoms, did anyone really expect the nobles below them to work diligently? They'd figured no one was watching.

'They must've siphoned off the weapons meant for the soldiers... along with the metals needed to make them, pocketing it all for themselves.'

It was such an obvious embezzlement route that there wasn't even any need to investigate. The imperial palace—supposedly the very center of the center—wasn't functioning properly anyway. Falsify a few documents from the provinces, and who would notice? No one ever came to inspect. The first time was the hardest; once you got away with it, you realized you were untouchable. From then on, it was open season—feasting on the Empire at will.

"Seeing this, I'd say it's been going on for at least two years."

"Indeed, Your Highness."

"Now that's proper deference for once."

"This lady is diligently adapting, sire."

"...."

Arbeda... what the hell was she, really? I didn't know the details of the Empire's Executioners either.

'But I'll probably find out soon enough.'

I'd have to ask later if I could just call her "Kkaman" casually. Muttering to myself, Arbeda and I slowly made our way into the heart of Verda Marquis Territory.

Normally, outsiders trying to enter a domain would at least get a perfunctory identity check from the guards.

"Hey! You two! Nice weather we're having—why hide your faces like that? Whatever, your call! Drop some coin in the tin and get in!"

"...."

It had clearly been ages since they'd last bothered with identity checks. A soldier poked his head out from the sentry post, boldly demanding tolls as if it were the most natural thing.

The walls looked like they desperately needed repairs, guarded by men in wooden armor. And right in the middle sat a battered tin can showing faint signs of "maintenance."

"By the way, knight training got canceled again this time, right?"

"Yeah? I was hoping to catch a glimpse of those knight sirs. What a shame."

"What good's looking gonna do ya?"

"Huh? What're you talking about? We had that bet last time—whether they'd gotten fatter or not."

"Oh, that! Isn't that all settled? We both went all-in on 'fatter,' so we called it even."

"Right, right, yeah."

Clink.

"Whoa, silver? Heh, you look big and full of stories... but stories don't pay the bills, I guess. Fine, whatever—you paid."

"Why bother checking the amount now? Can't do business like that."

"True, true—through you go!"

Overhearing the guards' chatter, Arbeda and I passed through the gate.

The domain that filled our view the moment we crossed was wretched—the word fit perfectly.

"Ha."

Children who looked malnourished to anyone with eyes roamed the streets in a territory bridging the Empire and the east. I'd assumed even the worst lords kept up minimal standards.

'And that talk about the knights earlier...'

How the hell could knights get fat? These weren't just any knights—they were stationed at a strategic hub between the capital and the east. The first to respond if anything went wrong on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠either front. And not only were they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fat, they were betting fodder for gate guards?

"...Arbeda."

How rotten did things have to be for the bloody winds from the palace not to have reached here yet?

"Yes, Your Imperial Highness."

"I planned to inspect things incognito, but that's pointless now."

"...."

A foul maggot stench pierced my nostrils. An odor so horrific it overpowered even the palace's blood-scented gales. Despite our steady cleanups at court, I now understood why the Empire Status Window still listed Corruption as Worst.

"Inform the marquis's residence that I've arrived."

"Just inform them, sire?"

"Kill everyone except the innocent."

"How shall I distinguish them?"

At Arbeda's question, my vision sharpened, taking in the faces of the starving masses one by one. Reports said Verda had stopped sending tribute ages ago, citing "for the prosperity, happiness, and welfare of the domain." The crown prince—me—had approved it, trusting the excuse, and hadn't monitored further.

This was the result of that trust.

"Those barely clinging to life without food—they're the innocents."

"I'm truly at a loss for words at my lord's incredible foresight!"

"Haha, always quick to gild my face as usual."

"You literally apply gold to it, sire."

"More like I'm wearing it. What do you think of this new gold mask?"

"It shines like the sun that illuminates the nation!"

"Mm, you always had the sharpest eye."

Verda Marquis was in high spirits these days. Any lingering guilt had vanished. He'd once fretted over misusing state funds, but now it felt foolish not to. No more worries in life.

The Empire was mighty, imperial authority strong, blah blah blah. All irrelevant. It had scared him at first, but once he peeked under the lid? Just a shiny exterior.

No matter how strong, power unused was meaningless. Reduce tribute? Approved. Stop entirely? Approved too.

'Might as well ignore the center completely.'

Just don't get delusions of emperorship, and he could laugh it up under the Empire forever.

"Daddy! Can I handle the ones who tried to run?"

"Sword practice again? Haha, sure, go wild."

What need was there to rule a nation? Even in a small fief, lordship was enough. Imperial-grade armor and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠weapons arrived, promptly melted into ingots or sold after scraping off the crests—easy money while sitting pretty. They even supplied the goods themselves; pure profit.

The only hassle was converting gear to cash.

'Might as well demand straight gold next time.'

Imperial gear fetched top prices, but selling was getting tedious. Gold upfront would skip the bother.

'Brilliant idea, even if I do say so.'

His wife could indulge more too. Word was Maselin had rare baubles lately—he'd buy them all at a premium.

Lost in happy fantasies, Verda heard a soft thud.

"Hello?"

Someone landed lightly on the window ledge and spoke.

"Wh-who are you?!"

"This lady? Can't say."

Even cloaked head to toe, her tiny frame screamed girl. Something poked from her head—not horns, probably a hairstyle. Could pass for a lunatic...

'Wh-what eyes...!'

Locking gazes crushed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠him with pressure. Vertically slit pupils like an opal abyss. Staring longer felt like losing his mind.

But then—

"Where do you think you're dying so peacefully? Even this oblivious lady knows... His Imperial Highness won't want you going easy. No, everyone here—except the innocents—must die in agony."

Her calm words snapped him alert. Then—

Crunch-crack-snap.

"Gaaarrrghhh!"

Agony tore through his limbs. The true cleansing of Verda Marquis Territory had begun.

"...."

Screams from the mansion reached my ears as servants—blank-faced—fled the estate. The innocents. Those without food for today. The ones the marquis should have protected.

The message confirmed a flawless purge. Removing one corrupt marquis dropped it by a measly 0.5%. No "fate altered" or "worldline changed" notices. I could guess why.

'Too many like him. Endless.'

How many nobles would vanish on this eastern trip?

'The prime minister's got his work cut out.'

A marquis's sudden vacancy would ripple; we'd need to fill it fast to avoid weird fallout.

Screeeeech!

My precautionary messenger bird, Pyrande, swooped in smartly.

"You'll have your hands full too."

Screech.

With a nonchalant cry, it took the letter from my foot and soared off.

Five hours into my eastern stroll, one marquis cleanly purged. In just five hours.

"Ha."

Not all bad news, though. Unexpected gains too.

!!!

Instinctual revulsion, soul-crushing pressure, mind-shattering terror gripping the marquisate—it all made sense now. Her awkward formality? No wonder, knowing what she was.

'At least twice my age... exponentially so. Why serve the Empire and use honorifics with me?'

Her true nature floored me anew.

'The Second Prince tried sending Executioners... no, these Executioners to Maselin?'

And he blocked it, despite five at this level, yet the nation falls in five years?

'What the hell is the Empire in Jupiter?'

A land where dragons heed the crown prince and join casual strolls—how does it collapse in five years?

The more I learned, the dizzier I got. And the more certain.

"The Empire's male leads in Jupiter... they're hardcoded to destroy it."

I was dying to see the Eastern Grand Duke right about now.