The Shame of Shatren (1)
“Sniff... hic...”
Flora had arrived at the ducal estate, escorted by Camilla.
She had no idea how many streams of tears had fallen down her cheeks on the walk over. Even now, her blue eyes still brimmed with tears that refused to spill.
Just like that time, it had happened again.
She had done nothing. Nothing at all.
She'd been thrown out before she could even get a single word out.
And the truth of it was unbearable.
“Flora? Where have you been?”
“Big sister...”
“Have you been crying? Why are your eyes all—”
The moment the word crying left Claire's mouth, Flora swallowed a panicked breath.
I—I can't cry. If I cry, then again...!
Karsein might end up taking the blame for this.
At that thought, Flora hastily wiped her tears away with her sleeve.
“What happened? Tell your sister.”
“Huh? Oh, it's nothing! Nothing at all—”
In that instant, something in the pit of Flora's heart dropped like a stone.
If she said it was nothing, if she let it pass—
Wouldn't that be exactly the same as back then?
“Flora? Flora!”
“...”
How would hiding it be any different from deceiving Karsein and keeping it from him?
It was the same thing.
Calling it nothing didn't make it disappear. She had always hidden things. Covered them up. Told her lies.
And she couldn't just paper over it again this time. She knew she couldn't.
That's right. She had to say it.
Even if it meant being scolded, she had to say it with her own mouth.
“Flora? What's the matter with you?”
And the person standing before her wasn't Arina.
Eldest sister scolded Karsein back then, said he was in the wrong... but little sister, wouldn't she be different?
Flora swallowed hard.
She didn't want to be punished. But she had to be.
Because she had done something terrible.
Because she had done things she should never have done.
Because she had even lied.
She couldn't keep burying this any longer.
“...Claire. There's something I need to tell you.”
“Okay. Tell me everything, Flora. I'll listen to all of it.”
Hiccup.
“I... I did horrible things to Karsein.”
“What?”
“Back then... I dumped salt in his food. I stuck needles in his clothes on purpose, and put sand in his water pitcher. That was me.”
“...!”
“I told Emma, and she had the maids do things too... and I lied and swore up and down that it was all Karsein's fault...”
Right there, sobbing between every word, Flora laid out every one of her sins.
She left nothing out. She put every single thing she had ever done to Karsein into words.
“...”
Claire's mouth fell open, sheer shock rooting her to the spot.
She had known that Karsein suffered unjust torment in the ducal household, but the culprit had never been caught. She'd assumed, vaguely, that it must have been the joint work of Theo Ramstair and Emma Urnen, and that punishing them as harshly as possible was the right way to swallow her anger.
But what was it they said about it being darkest under the lamp?
If the string of incidents, woven together like thread, had been threaded through the bead called Flora—then of course such things could have happened, in any number of ways.
Because it had never once crossed her mind that the culprit could be her own little sister, a suffocating weight had been pressing on Claire's chest all this while.
“Hic... Sister. I was wrong. It was all my fault.”
There was no need to ask whether she truly meant it.
The youngest of them all—the last person who could ever have done such a thing—was confessing her wrongdoing with her own lips.
“Come with me. Flora.”
Claire knew that for now, she had to lower her voice and deliver the rebuke.
To the whimpering youngest. To the little sister she had never once laid a hand on.
It hurt, but a stinging chastisement was what was right.
Having brought Flora to her own room, Claire ordered Heron to prepare something. Before long, the old butler returned, carrying a switch as commanded.
“Hold out your hands. Flora.”
“Sniff... sniff...”
Even knowing what was coming, Flora obediently extended her hands.
-Whap! Crack!
From the sound alone, one could tell that Claire swung the switch without restraint. Flora's palms flushed a burning red.
The sound of weeping rang out again.
“...Hic. Hnngh.”
But she didn't pull her hands back.
Again and again the switch raised red welts across her youngest sister's soft palms, and still Flora never once said it hurt.
Because the one who was truly hurting was someone else entirely.
The switch fell again and again. Astonishingly, neither sister spoke a word.
By the time the switch's marks had settled deep into Flora's palms, Heron stepped inside and spoke in a low voice.
“Lady Claire. I believe it would be best to stop there.”
The switch, raised mid-air, froze.
“...”
Only then did Claire realize that Flora's palms were on the verge of bruising.
“Sister...”
“...Say it.”
“Wh-what am I supposed to do...? Karsein keeps—keeps throwing me out. Hic...! What am I supposed to say to him...?”
To that question, even Claire could not find an answer.
Because she, too, was among those who had carved wounds into Karsein.
The first main episode of Chapter 2 begins with a sub-episode.
Since Karsein must secure the right to participate in the Eastern Noble Conference, the branching of the story hinges heavily on this sub-episode's achievement rate.
I had weighed several reasons and chosen the Rusmayer Territory, and now, to clear this episode, I had to bring it to life through thorough investigation.
And yet...
Even just the material Camilla had gathered told me something was off.
The answers to every choice I'd seen while playing the game were written out right here. What counted as a Dead Flag, which option was the optimal decision—I could see it all, without missing a single one.
“...Well, that leaves just one thing.”
Turning my head slightly, I caught sight of the stats I hadn't been able to raise any higher for lack of time.
“Guess I'll have to train like hell starting tomorrow.”
Right. What I needed immediately to clear the Rusmayer episode was training.
I was thinking it was about time to sleep when—
“...Wait, I've been sitting here without even washing up?”
Now that I looked, the night had grown deep. It was well past the hour when I ought to have been in bed. Cut down on sleep to study, and apparently even this body loses all track of time.
▶ Status Abnormality: Fatigue, Sleep Deprivation ◀
Even the Status Window was chiming in.
You're exhausted. Go lie down and sleep. Or else I'm imposing a penalty. —that was the gist of it.
“I never bothered worrying about this kind of thing back in the real world... but maybe I should be a little careful here.”
After all, it would be a disaster if a penalty made me collapse at some crucial moment.
“Her Imperial Highness, Princess Arcien, has arrived!”
The seated nobles rose as one and bowed.
Her silver hair sweeping behind her, the princess carried herself with lofty dignity as she took her seat—though for some reason, a faint weariness clung to her.
“Your complexion seems rather poor today, Your Highness.”
“If you require an elixir, our house would be honored to—”
“The herbs gathered in our territory this season are of exceptional quality. Brewed as a tonic, they would—”
So that was why she looked tired.
As if she could not bear to hear one more word of this flattery, Arcien rapped her gavel and cut them off.
“Is everyone assembled?”
“Yes, Her Imperial Highness Princess Arcien.”
One minister confirmed it as Arcien's gaze swept across the seats. Just as he said, not a single seat stood empty.
And so, once more, the weariness in her expression deepened.
“Then we shall now hear the supplementary agenda for the Eastern Noble Conference.”
This was the assembly where the adjusted framework for this year's Eastern Noble Conference would be announced.
The Eastern Noble Conference. To the nobility, it was a trial set by the Imperial Crown—but looked at from another angle, it was also a certificate: pass the trial cleanly, and you held undeniable proof that you had met the Crown's standards.
“Your Highness. If I may ask first—why have you barred the household heads from attending?”
“Hmm. It is because I feel it would erode the very essence of this conference.”
“And by essence, you mean?”
“Think it over carefully, all of you. Each year at the Eastern Noble Conference, certain houses have distinguished themselves with fine results. But the overwhelming majority of those were the household heads themselves. Am I wrong?”
“Hmmm...”
“Now that you mention it...”
“There were exceptions, of course. The two daughters of House Bagrand stepped forward in person. But if things continue this way year after year, what gets measured is nothing but the household heads' capability. Do you truly believe time alone will change that?”
It would never change, Arcien declared flatly. Nothing in the Empire would ever move on its own.
“Which is precisely why I am ordering you to have your heirs prove their own worth. There are surely those among them content to lounge comfortably beneath their parents' wings.”
“But, Your Highness—asking this of such young lords and ladies seems rather—”
“I regret to inform you that I have no intention of retracting it. These are the ones who will one day ascend to their fathers' seats, who will stand as the mistresses of their houses. Nobles who will become the pillars of the Empire deserve nothing less than to be tested.”
At Arcien's steely resolve, the nobles fell silent.
“Rest assured, however. The evaluation method remains unchanged. We will simply judge more fairly, more equally—and more strictly than ever before.”
Arcien further advised that since this year's conference would center on evaluating those who would lead the Empire's future, not a word of its contents would be permitted to leak outside these walls.
The same old seat-wrangling and rank-jockeying had long since lost all meaning, after all.
A few exchanges passed over the question of whether any other adjustments were needed. And with that, the broad strokes of the Eastern Noble Conference were settled.
Then.
A man raised his hand.
“If I may, Princess Arcien. Is there not one... problem here?”
“And what would that be, Count Retelvick?”
“I believe that those who do not even possess the qualifications of nobility should not be permitted to participate.”
The corner of Arcien's eye twitched.
One who lacks qualification. There was no ambiguity about whom he meant.
“Does the one who once stirred up scandal and brought about the worst catastrophe truly deserve a place at this table?”
“Count. Mind your tongue.”
“Is that because the Duchess is present? Then all the more reason we must be certain. Where is the guarantee the same disaster will not strike twice?”
At Count Retelvick's words, other nobles began nodding along.
It wasn't only those bent on checking House Bagrand's dominance—even the neutral lords and the Crown's own ministers agreed on this point. Even Bagrand's own vassals had no rebuttal to the Count's objection.
The catastrophe that erupted when production of Shatren's signature rare crops plummeted and the territory's people rose up in fury remained, to this day, a great stain upon House Bagrand—and beyond that, a shame upon the entire nobility.
“The fall of the Shatren Territory, which Lady Arina and Lady Claire could not contain despite their efforts, is a grievous disgrace for any noble to bear. Such a thing must never be allowed to happen twice.”
Isabella could no longer hold her tongue.
“And so, what you are saying is that my son Karsein Bagrand should be stripped of his right to attend?”
“Naturally, that is what must be done, Duchess.”
“Count—!”
Isabella's brow knotted as she cried out. As though she herself had been struck with insult, her lips trembled.
“My, my. The Duchess Isabella seems unable to keep her composure. However dear the child, is this not a matter concerning the Empire? Your sleeve bends far too far inward, my lady.”
“Well said.”
“A perfectly reasonable argument, I'd say.”
“Karsein Bagrand is not fit for that conference.”
One by one, the other nobles began to echo him.
Left unchecked, Karsein's privilege might well be revoked before anyone could stop it.
And at that very moment—
“Hmm. I, for one, hold that we ought to admit Karsein Bagrand.”
Of all people, it was Arcien who rose to Karsein's defense.
“Your Highness?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Karsein Bagrand is merely reckless, and lacking in knowledge—”
“He was denied the tutelage of noble instructors from childhood. Where, pray tell, could he possibly distinguish himself?”
“To speak frankly, I have seen no potential in him whatsoever. I trust you all agree.”
Even as the nobles' words edged toward open protest, Arcien did not bend.
“Reckless. Lacking in knowledge. Denied a noble's education. Those are the words on your lips—and yet the one who showed the single greatest transformation at that trial was none other than this very Karsein Bagrand.”
“The greatest transformation, Your Highness?”
“Have you forgotten the trial held at the ducal house?”
In that instant, the image of the scoundrel Karsein was wiped from the minds of every noble present, replaced by the Karsein who had stood in that courtroom.
“By any measure, Karsein Bagrand's odds in that trial were vanishingly slim. His past conduct alone would have sunk him—and once the old incidents were dragged up as well, the air of defeat hung over him thicker than ever. And yet how did it end?”
“...”
Every minister in the hall fell silent.
The verdict in that trial had been an overwhelming victory for Karsein—one delivered through a flawless, brilliant argument and sound evidence to back it, which cleansed him entirely of the slanders that had clung to him.
“More than that—his judgment, in provoking neither the cornered culprit nor endangering the hostage he rescued, was in one sense the soundest course imaginable. Consider, too, that Theo Ramstair, who held his younger sister hostage, was a Probationary Knight—one must concede the boy possessed martial ability as well. He is plainly no longer the man he once was. If anything, he has become someone all the more worth watching.”
Could such a man truly be dismissed as having no potential at all?
That one affair had already proven Karsein's merit on both fronts—in letters and in arms.
“The agenda is settled here. Lay aside your one-sided views, all of you.”
With those words, Arcien closed the council. The household heads and ministers filed out one after another.
The moment the hall emptied, Isabella turned to Arcien and offered her thanks at once.
“Think nothing of it. Surely we must not squander the chance of one who may yet become a rare treasure to this Empire.”
“...A rare treasure, you say?”
“Indeed. I saw clear potential in young Karsein. And not only at that trial—I glimpsed it once before, you know.”
The Snowflower Festival. With a knowing smile, Arcien recalled what had happened that day—everything Isabella had failed to see during the royal audience.
But that smile did not last long.
I have laid the groundwork, but there is no telling how Retelvick's faction will move. Young master, you had best prepare thoroughly.
This year's Eastern Noble Conference was, somehow, thick with a chill, ominous air.