A Tiny Sprout (3)

A glass shattered, and the servant's face flooded with panic.

Well, fair enough — for all that I'd accused him of watching where he was going, it was I who had struck first. From his perspective, the audacity must have been staggering.

But I'd found what I was looking for.

The ash-gray affinity box hanging beneath his name. A reading of -35% made it abundantly clear: this one harbored hostility toward Karsein.

But this character called Kiyan wasn't simply hostile to Karsein alone.

Reading that description right below the notification, there was certainly a sense that he'd come to wreck this party. And in reality, that was exactly the case.

Kiyan, as a character, caused a terror attack at the banquet hall, got caught, and even after taking his own life, spewed unrelenting rage at the nobles to the very end. In other words, this wasn't hostility aimed at Karsein alone.

Hostility toward the nobility. Rage born from the events of the past. This terror attack was a branching incident — a flag that opened the first act of an episode for the player.

And I intended to resolve it. Right now. Before it ever began.

"All three of you. Follow me."

At my command, the three servants trailed after me, exchanging wary glances.

A Warning Zone, huh. That's good enough for me.

Entering a Warning Zone as Karsein was, from a player's standpoint, a rather poor decision. But what if you actually considered the current circumstances?

This was a space reserved for nobles — yet the Karsein of House Bagrand was using it. No servants had any business coming here. The nobles were no different. Given my little outburst, those oil-slicked schemers weren't about to come see me anytime soon — not unless some trigger went off. Which meant, paradoxically, this was the perfect spot to have a word with these three.

After all, I had come here specifically to dress them down.

I took a deep breath, looked at the three ash-gray boxes reading -35%, and spoke bluntly.

"I can guess what you were thinking, sneaking in here like this. But you'd be better off stopping."

"Young Master. We're the ones who don't understand what you mean—"

I held up a finger.

"Cut the act. Those traps set along the roadsides — that was your doing, wasn't it? Placed to startle the horses, shatter wheels, or throw riders from their saddles. Am I wrong?"

"...!"

"And that's not all. I know you've had a hand in the banquet hall as well. For wrecking a party like this, nothing spreads word faster than a carriage careening off a road because its horses went wild."

The atmosphere among the servants shifted completely. I had seen through their intentions a move ahead and sealed off every avenue of denial — and a distinct crack showed in their eyes.

-Ding!

I know. I know perfectly well that provoking them like this isn't wise.

But there was another way to handle it.

"Count Modrich. That's the man, isn't it?"

"...Pardon?"

"The one who ran over your villagers, then had the gall to punish you instead of taking responsibility."

"How did you..."

"Because the only nobles with any real use for the roads of Rusmayer, even in the east, are the House of Modrich. And the only fool brazen enough to commit such an outrage would be that same man."

The game never explained their backstory in detail, but knowing the Eastern Noble Conference was coming, I'd done my homework. These men were residents of Rusmayer — people of a village so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠isolated it belonged to no family in the entire east.

By virtue of its geography, Rusmayer was abandoned land. This little patch of ground had, in the past, frequently served as the site of territorial transfers, and now it functioned as a borderland, belonging to no noble house whatsoever.

Self-sufficiency was about the best it could manage. Aside from that single stretch of road leading to this banquet hall, it had no use at all, and with no buried resources to speak of, it carried the lore of a land locked in grinding poverty.

Yet even after surrendering that one vital road, Count Modrich had gone and committed his outrages against them. Of course resentment festered. They would have begged every family bordering Rusmayer for help over this — and every noble would have turned them away.

With excuses like, annexing that place means nothing but higher taxes, or taking on a territory with no merits just bleeds money.

In a word: they were isolated. Utterly alone.

"So what?" One of them squared his shoulders. "You speak as if you know everything. Do you actually intend to stop us?"

"Yes."

"Don't underestimate us! Even if you are the Young Master of House Bagrand, the three of us can subdue you!"

"The moment we set foot in this banquet hall, there was no turning back! We came with nothing in our hearts but revenge on the nobles here. If our lives are forfeit now, so be it — we're not afraid!"

Considering what I'd dealt with from Bruce and Theo Ramstair, putting down these three wouldn't be especially difficult. I could just as easily slip away without being subdued, call the guards, and have them thrown out.

But that was not the correct way to clear this sub-episode.

"Catch."

"Huh...?"

-Whoosh!

A pouch arced through the air and thudded squarely into the chest of the man standing dead center. The three exchanged glances, hesitated — then opened the pouch.

"Th-this is...!"

"Gold coins?! This many of them?!"

"...What is the meaning of this?"

"Saving the people run down by that carriage comes first. If you go stirring up terror like this, Rusmayer will only suffer more for it."

"So what is this, then? Hush money to keep us quiet?"

"No. It isn't hush money. It's a promise that I won't leave Rusmayer as an abandoned, isolated land."

"What are you...?"

The three ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bewildered men swallowed hard.

"Rusmayer will soon become part of the Bagrand Ducal Territory."

That was the correct way to clear this sub-episode — and at the same time, the way to keep the main episode from going wrong. It was to buy up the land called Rusmayer in advance, before the story ever reached that point.

Well, that's more or less settled.

This item was a cord braided from the coarse, stiff rice straw that grew only in Rusmayer — and among the people of the Rusmayer territory, it was known to be given only to those they truly trusted. With this in hand, if I visited next time, they wouldn't doubt me deeply. A fine harvest indeed.

Besides, I'd gleaned something else valuable too.

Unlike Chapter 1, Chapter 2 unfolded outside the ducal estate, in the wider world — which meant episodes had to be sought out and resolved ahead of time. But a lingering question had remained: whether early progression was even possible. And just now, that question had finally been answered.

So it's confirmed. Main episodes don't have to be cleared in the order the system designates — I can choose the sequence myself.

I had retried that game hundreds upon hundreds of times, and every single time I'd stared only at the threat in front of me, obsessing over dialogue options and affinity gauges. Looking back now, I can't understand why I never once thought of this. I was so busy staring at the trees, I never once saw the forest.

Well, whatever. This is no time for navel-gazing.

There was still unfinished business at the banquet hall.

Back when I'd gone to fetch our drinks, Harnie hadn't even noticed my return — she had her head buried in her hands.

"Harnie?"

"Hyah?!"

I hadn't even raised my voice, and she jolted like she'd been struck...?

Seeing that reaction, a certain suspicion began to creep over me. I pushed the dread aside and asked her carefully.

"...How did it go?"

"W-well... I'm sorry, Karsein."

My worst expectations were not disappointed. Harnie apologized again and again, watching my face anxiously the whole while. Apparently, no matter how she'd tried to smooth things over at the terrace, no solution had presented itself.

So in the end, I have to become the male lead of a medieval morning drama?

...Damn it all.

Oh well. There was no way around it. The only escape was to wield the power of the K-morning-drama — marinate those bastards in their own oil until they choked on it — and walk away.

When we stepped back out, the party was in full swing. Harnie and I, having become the hottest potatoes of this gathering, were naturally drawing the most attention of anyone present. You could read it as a declaration: this time, they wouldn't bite the back of our necks and let go.

First, the ladies came forward one by one, fans raised to their lips, and the questions began.

"We all know perfectly well how dearly Lord Karsein adores Lady Harnie — which is precisely why we're so curious, you see?"

"Lady Harnie did seem rather evasive with her answers earlier, didn't she? We'd love for you to answer in her place. Shall we begin with your first date?"

"Yes — the place where the two of you first went out. You said it was somewhere none of us would know. Do tell us just how romantic it was?"

"Surely it was one of the usual noble haunts, of course. You couldn't possibly have walked the same streets as commoners."

"We hear your itinerary was imaginative beyond anything we could dream. They say it was one of the happiest days of your life, no?"

On the surface, they read as pointed questions. But I could well guess the tar-black malice seeping out from behind those delicately folded fans.

"We truly do hope you'll enlighten us. After all, scions of two such influential houses as Bagrand and Theresia must surely uphold the proper courtship culture befitting your station?"

They'd nailed the doors shut so we couldn't even flee. Invoking our families' names, they'd christened our relationship "courtship culture" — laying down a trial on this very floor: go on, then, produce an answer worthy of it.

I figured I'd just deflect with a morning-drama quip and move on, but it seems I won't even need to?

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

No — strictly speaking, I couldn't let this pass gently. Among these people, there would certainly exist actual de facto standard date spots, well-known courtship routes. The unspoken rules of the aristocracy, in other words.

That was why they'd bared their teeth, certain that Harnie knew nothing of how nobles conducted their romances — and in the same motion, unsheathed their claws to tear into me as well.

But this, paradoxically, could be shattered in an instant — by simply denying their rules outright.

"The Snowflower Festival Street."

"...Pardon?"

"You can't be serious? The Snowflower Festival Street, of all places...?"

"A commoner's thoroughfare — and that was your first date?"

Mocking smiles began to bloom across the young ladies' faces. The men would be sinking their fangs in next — how could a gentleman possibly take his betrothed to such a shabby place?

"A first date on that vulgar little street... Heh heh."

"And here she was praising it so proudly. I never imagined it would be that sort of hovel."

"At this point, one might as well say he's lowered himself to the rank of commoner, wouldn't you agree?"

The bastards started snickering at me openly.

"How amusing. So what you're telling me is that we should bore ourselves to tears, dragging each other to the same places, down the same routes, every single time — because that's what you want?"

"P-pardon? No, that is..."

"Shouldn't nobles behave like nobles?"

That's right. This was exactly what I'd been aiming for from the start.

Because you look at me and see a baseborn nobody. Because your eyes carry the conviction that I am not a noble like yourselves. Because you mean to pin a brand on me — the likes of you has no right to stand here.

And that is precisely why, by blowing the affair up even larger, I can drive my blade straight into your gaping flaws.

-CRASH!

"Listen to yourselves. You've well and truly crossed the line. Am I to take this as a declaration of war against House Bagrand?"

I slammed my hand down on the table and roared.

"Wh-what... what do you mean by that?"

"You sought to deceive me and my betrothed, did you not? Then surely it's only fitting that our family names now enter the conversation."

"Th-that's absurd! We merely took an interest in the two of you, that's all—!"

"Then by all means, answer me. Since when were my betrothed and I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠required to run through our itinerary on schedule, like puppets dancing on your strings?"

Go on. Say it again to my face. Say it the same way you just did.

You worthless idiots.