Liquor Diplomacy and the Northern Oath

Yeah, thanks for the tip. The empire's atmosphere has been downright ominous lately. In fact, it was impossible not to notice, even if I tried to ignore it. The heads of the Eastern Alliance nobles were already hanging at the gates of their territories. The Eastern Grand Duke was packing up to be exiled from the empire, his dantian shattered. And the nobles who'd been laughing it up in the central capital? They were walking around with their heads bowed like the dead. One wrong move, and their knees would be sliced off on the spot. How could they possibly hold their heads high?

"We can't live like this! What's the difference between us and convicts waiting on death row?!"

The noble who said that didn't last long. They caught him siphoning off the empire's treasury.

"We all need to band together! We can't just die pathetically like this, right? We have to fight back!"

That noble died too. Turns out he'd been taking bribes from the East and blocking central access to Eastern intel.

"It's suffocating. I can't breathe. Is it right to attend council meetings wondering if death awaits?"

The noble who just said that survived. He'd lined his pockets with personal gain, sure, but he hadn't betrayed the country. And he'd done his job to the best of his ability.

Hmm?

What? You can get away with personal greed and still live? The moment that thought hit, the central nobles' mood flipped completely. They'd assumed His Highness the Crown Prince was squeezing them without mercy, demanding spotless integrity. But no—he was surprisingly flexible.

"Do what you gotta do, then slack off. Who's gonna complain?"

Of course, there was a ton to do. Especially lately, with the imperial edict that every citizen of the empire must learn to read and write. The nobles panicked the second they heard it, sensing a threat to their status. A world where everyone could read? How fragile would the power structure become? And His Highness was talking about actively nurturing talent, dragging hidden heteroraces into the light, and building an academy open to anyone competent, regardless of birth.

...Isn't this dangerous?

Even if he's flexible, he purges nobles mid-meeting.

Will there even be a place for us later? No matter how hard we work...

I'm not saying revolt, but... it looks blatantly risky.

Naturally, the old power holders were uneasy. New blood meant danger to the incumbents.

But that got resolved quick.

"Haha, just recently, His Highness praised my hard work and gifted me some ridiculously expensive liquor."

"...His Highness sent a reward?"

"I was shocked too. He sent liquor as a gift, along with a letter apologizing for being too busy with state affairs to deliver it personally."

The mood flipped the instant word spread that the Crown Prince was sending gifts to hardworking nobles. The boss they'd feared as a merciless throat-squeezer actually recognized their efforts—and rewarded them? What better payback was there?

And that sparked something else.

"Is there anyone who hasn't tasted the liquor from His Highness?"

"Hmm, those who haven't probably need to work harder... or have something shady hanging over them."

They started forming factions on their own: those who'd received the liquor and those who hadn't. The recipients busted their asses for more gifts. The others cut sleep to earn one. It became a badge of honor.

"We who received this liquor? We're clearly a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cut above the newcomers, right?"

"Obviously! Haha!"

"Only the guilty get punished anyway. Why were we so scared?"

"Exactly! That's what I've been saying!"

Ah, so His Highness does appreciate our efforts! The once-terrifying superior ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠felt approachable now—a miracle. These weren't nobles too broke to buy fancy booze themselves. A gift from an overwhelmingly powerful ruler had unimaginable ripple effects, boosting the recipients' wives' status in salons sky-high.

"Oh, pity—we're all obsessed with this one liquor lately."

"Oh my... Isn't this the stuff His Highness recently bestowed...?"

"Yes. Once you try it... you can't escape that refined taste? My husband brought it, so I wanted you all to experience it."

The superiority of having sipped the Crown Prince's gift first? It defined salon hierarchy.

Of course.

"Hah."

His Highness the Crown Prince hadn't anticipated his casual liquor gifts snowballing like this. He'd just tossed out bottles to ease the tension at council meetings. Who knew it'd motivate the central nobles so massively?

I can milk this later.

That was on my mind when—

"Your Highness."

"Oh, Prime Minister."

"The talents dispatched to the Maselin Kingdom, whom Your Highness awaited... have returned."

"All of them?"

The Prime Minister delivered the welcome news I'd been hoping for. But.

"Those from the center have all returned. The East are en route, and no word from the North yet."

"...No word from the North?"

There was interesting news too.

"Treat the central dispatchees with utmost respect—they've suffered much."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Also, recall everything they saw and heard in Maselin and prepare full reports."

"Understood."

The return of the aid personnel from Maselin. I ordered rest for their fatigue, demanded every scrap of intel, then pondered the next group.

The gifts for the aid will come with the East's free dispatchees.

The East should be departing soon. The North ought to prep if they had any sense.

I summoned them myself, and still no word from the North?

Whether out of fierce loyalty to the Northern Grand Duke or just sending lunatics, their obedience to him over me was arrogant. No chance they hadn't heard. With imperial citizens mobilizing right next door? Absurd.

If they truly don't know? Some remote outpost?

Still arrogant. They sent pigeons lickety-split for Mirne's crises but ghosted on pulling their kids? If they wanted a silent image, no pigeons.

"They're out of touch with the empire's rapid changes."

The empire was transforming at breakneck speed. Yet they folded their arms?

The North's job is blocking monsters from the north.

Monsters, beasts—they were all the same. Some took the shape of animals; others were utterly alien. Why the North was so infested, or why they emerged from there at all, remained a mystery. It had simply been that way from the beginning.

Without us, the empire falls from the North to monsters! So we can strong-arm!

Curious, I asked at council if anyone knew about the North.

"Your Highness, the North is isolated."

"What?"

Shocking intel.

"In the past, to fortify the North, the Grand Duke insisted no info leak out... so communication with the empire is minimal."

"Did I approve that?"

"The Grand Duke was so stubborn, we had no choice but to turn a blind eye, as I recall."

The North cut off from the center.

What the hell?

How could a region isolate in the same empire? Reports showed steady central aid. They took it silently? No resources, no monster byproducts?

How's the empire even surviving? What's the structure?

How solid were the foundations to still function? Amid swirling thoughts, I pressed on with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the meeting. Plenty more issues besides the North.

"I'd like the academy completed swiftly—perfect timing with the central talents back."

"May I inquire the planned scale?"

"Unrivaled anywhere. Our empire's academy must be the continent's finest."

Processing agendas one by one, one thought swelled in my mind.

Northern stroll.

Northern Grand Duke—we'll meet soon.

Word of the Crown Prince's northern stroll hit the Executioners immediately. They gathered from their palaces in the center.

"Okay! I can go this time too, right?"

"...Even if so, you went first last time. Is it right for you to go again, Arbeda?"

"Hey, Tin Can, got a problem? Wanna throw down? Somewhere private?"

"How your insolence straightens up before His Highness is a mystery."

"I know how to save face, y'know?"

The "Second Who-Goes-With Conference" kicked off.

"But why do you three show up if you're always silent?"

Arbeda eyed the mute trio. Tin Can clearly wanted in this time, aiming to eliminate rivals.

Then the burly silent one spoke.

"Does Bellos remember the oath?"

Off-topic, abrupt. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠But the other two reacted.

"Does Bellos's bloodline remember our oath?"

"The time is not yet. But it comes."

Cryptic talk. No one challenged it.

"...I'll confirm it this time. So I'm going."

"Hah! I'm going!"

"Among Executioners, I'm freest from the oath."

"...."

Arbeda clamped her mouth at Tin Can's words. Eyes admitting defeat. He nodded and headed not to his palace, but the imperial palace.

Time to finally see the man everyone buzzed about: the Crown Prince.

This northern stroll would bring one Executioner too. Tasks mirrored last time: purge suspicious nobles. And scout the Northern Grand Duke's moves.

Pity his spirit affinity isn't rock-bottom like the Eastern Duke's.

If he couldn't even see spirits, I'd send Silpiner. But the North was hostile to spirits anyway. And he was sensitive to that side—needed eyes on.

"Count on you. Bellon here."

"Pavan at your service. Honored to accompany."

Androgynous voice, 3-meter height. Fully armored head to toe, massive flail, greatsword, spear on back. Pure war machine.

Not stroll-friendly for stealth.

That thought passed.

"Others see me as an ordinary girl. Worry not."

Pavan answered as if reading my mind.

"Got it."

Fine then. No worries. As I set off north—

Yeah, thanks for telling me.