The Expulsion Committee (1)

The dawn air still held a bitter chill over Seorigol.

I sat at the battered desk in the room that served as both office and bedroom. Outside the window, the sky was paling toward daybreak, and the faint sounds of villagers beginning to stir drifted in one by one.

The nightmare of the Eclipse had passed, and the fief had grown dramatically because of it — but the hard reality of rebuilding a ruined territory was only just beginning.

"We've somehow secured housing. Next is food, obviously."

I had to feed and keep alive a refugee population that had suddenly swelled several times over. The problem was that Seorigol was hardly fertile ground. We had stockpiled supplies for the moment, but those would last another week at most.

The road ahead looked bleak — and yet a method was already taking shape in my mind.

If this were Teore right now…

The fief had ranked up. That meant special buildings should have become available. Whether the game system applied one-to-one was uncertain, but—

I'm sure I can find something close enough.

I was fleshing out the plan, jotting necessities into a notebook, when—

— Knock knock!

"My lord, a letter has arrived."

Some kid showed up holding an envelope.

"Who are you?"

"…You told me that if I didn't have the strength to raise buildings, I should at least do odd jobs."

The boy mumbled it with a sulky, put-upon look. Right — I remembered now. A refugee kid who'd drifted into the fief alone, no parents. He'd been dragging a log half his own size around, getting in everyone's way, so I'd reassigned him to miscellaneous chores.

Apparently he'd taken that to heart and kept working.

I was briefly lost in thought.

"Does this world even have child labor laws?"

"…What?"

Damn. Said that out loud.

"Nothing. Keep doing what you're doing."

"Yes, sir!"

The boy beamed, handed over the letters, bobbed his head in a full ninety-degree bow, and trotted out with a cheerful I'll be going then!

…Why does he look so happy about being told to work?

Strange, but I set it aside and focused on the mail. Two letters. One bore the familiar crest of the Darkest family. The other was stamped with the clear seal of the Imperial Royal Academy.

I opened the family letter first. Exactly as expected. The contents were brutally concise, and every line dripped with naked pressure and malice.

"…One hundred million rené?"

A hollow laugh escaped me. Even pooling Seorigol's entire budget for three years wouldn't come close. Hell, ten years might not be enough. And the deadline was a single month. This was a final ultimatum in all but name.

Lionel. That snake of an older brother had finally started tightening the noose in earnest. I didn't know what kind of report Caelen had filed, but the result was barreling toward the worst possible outcome.

"Hmph. A hundred million? Even the lord's life isn't worth that much."

A cold voice from beside me. I turned my head — and there was Anya, somehow already behind me, peering down at the letter.

When did she get here without a sound?

"Obvious, nyang. You'll squeeze the villagers dry again and scrape together the money somehow. To stay in the family's good graces. Right?"

Anya's words were ice-cold.

Well. Hard to deny that. The old me probably would have done exactly that — crushed under family pressure, bleeding the people dry, thrashing around for every last coin. But…

"No."

I shook my head firmly.

"Not anymore."

Anya's eyes widened slightly at the unexpected answer. I met her gaze straight on.

"The people of this fief are my subjects. I have no intention of sacrificing them for my own safety. This money… I'll handle it another way."

"…Hmph. Easy words, nyang."

She still didn't drop her suspicion, but she stopped needling me. She studied me for a moment with a complicated expression, then shifted her attention to the other letter.

I unrolled the second scroll from the Academy.

Two days from now?

"…They're convening an Academy expulsion committee?!"

Anya, reading over my shoulder, cried out in my place.

"W-what is this, nyang?! Expulsion?! The money problem is already bad enough — if you get kicked out of the Academy too…! Weren't there a lot of things you were getting from there, nyang?!"

Looking at her, Anya had a sharp grasp of how the world worked.

Growing up under Grandma Elara, maybe?

A grandmother who weighed every single thing in terms of profit and loss. Combine that with a beastkin's natural edge, and you got this little monster called Anya.

"We're… we're finished. Seorigol is finished, nyang……."

The color drained from her face. I, on the other hand, was surprisingly calm.

Lionel's handiwork, no doubt. Roella had warned me about it, too. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠schedule moving up was unexpected, but this was a step I'd already seen coming.

"…Hah."

I let out a short breath and stood. Then I dug the Academy uniform out of the corner of the wardrobe where I'd stuffed it and started putting it on.

"W-where do you think you're going, nyang?!"

Anya blocked my path, voice urgent.

"You're going to the Academy in a situation like this? If you go, they'll definitely…!"

"I'm going to class."

I straightened my tie and answered as if it were nothing.

"C-class? Are you joking right now, nyang?! It's an expulsion committee! One wrong move and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you could lose everything, nyang!"

Anya was nearly in tears, clinging to my arm. She looked exactly like a frightened kitten.

I hesitated a moment, then reached out and gave her silver hair a light stroke. I felt her flinch of surprise under my fingertips.

"Don't worry, Anya."

I looked her in the eyes and spoke quietly, but with force.

"I'll handle this. You take care of the fief."

My composure left her momentarily speechless; she just stared at me blankly. I left her behind and walked out of the room.

Lionel. And the disciplinary committee. Annoying business — but there was no dodging it. Which meant the only option was to meet it head-on.

The lecture hall of the Department of Fief Management.

It was one of the most lavish and imposing classrooms even within Vermouth Hall. Gilded ornaments, expensive carpets, and cutting-edge magical engineering equipment filled the space, as if flaunting the wealth and authority of the Empire's elite.

Marcus Beloff sat near the front, surveying the room with smug satisfaction. He was only the second son of a mid-tier baronial house, but he had Lionel Darkest as a powerful backer. That alone let him throw his weight around among these arrogant noble brats — and he had made a particular specialty of tormenting Ian Darkest, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the thorn in Lionel's side.

Where the hell has James gotten off to?

Marcus frowned, thinking of James, who'd gone dark several days ago. Another of Lionel's underlings — part of the same pack that used to harass Ian together.

Probably chasing some girl's skirt. Useless idiot.

He dismissed it with a shake of his head. Lackeys like James were replaceable. What mattered now was the new assignment Lionel had handed down.

Manufacture negative public opinion against Ian Darkest.

Word had been circulating that, since the Eclipse, evaluations of Ian had begun to shift in subtle ways. Rumors that he'd foreseen the disaster, that he'd successfully defended his fief — nonsense, all of it. Lionel found it deeply offensive.

Hmph. Either he got lucky, or he made a deal with a devil.

Marcus sneered inwardly. Today, at this fief management performance presentation, he intended to strip that bastard bare for everyone to see.

Seorigol survived the Eclipse? Don't make me laugh.

Marcus knew Ian's territory well. No money, no people, nothing but potatoes for resources — the worst scrap of land imaginable. Even if he'd somehow avoided or fended off the monster attacks, that was only "defense." Seorigol's damage was real, and it had neither the capacity nor the wealth to recover. Ian should be worrying about bankruptcy, not development.

Ian's momentum was about to break. This was the second management performance presentation since the Eclipse. The first had been more of an emergency briefing; the one that actually counted toward grades was this one. At the Imperial Royal Academy, incompetence was a sin — and nowhere more so than in the Department of Fief Management.

Once your pathetic results are announced today, I'll laugh you into the ground.

Then the classroom door opened and a familiar figure walked in. Ian Darkest. Marcus shot him a smile thick with open mockery.

The presentations began. When his turn came, Marcus strode to the podium with full confidence. Working from materials Lionel had prepared in advance, he skillfully inflated how brilliantly his own fief had grown. A little falsehood, a little exaggeration — and the audience still gasped in admiration.

"…That concludes my report."

Basking in satisfied applause, Marcus returned to his seat and glanced smugly toward Ian. Next up was that bastard. He cleared his throat, ready to sneer to his heart's content.

"Next — Ian Darkest."

At Professor Valerius's call, every gaze in the lecture hall locked onto Ian again. The murmur held expectation, curiosity, and a contempt that still hadn't faded.

Ian mounted the podium with a calm expression. He projected data onto the magic blackboard. Same as last time — nothing but a handful of crude, simple charts. But one item stood out this time that hadn't before: Change in Fief Population.

In fief management evaluations, the single most important metric was population. The number of residents was labor force, consumer base, and the most fundamental engine of territorial growth.

"I will now report on the change in Seorigol's fief population."

Ian opened his mouth — then stopped. Instead of continuing, he suddenly pulled a worn notebook from his coat and began flipping through it.

Marcus crowed inwardly.

Pfft. Look at that. Nothing to present, so he's stalling.

Obvious. No new residents would ever move into a backwater like Seorigol. If anything, the Eclipse would have reduced the numbers. He was hesitating because he had no figure worth announcing.

This is the perfect chance to send his reputation straight to hell!

Marcus raised his voice on purpose, loud enough for every student nearby to hear, putting on a humorous tone as he needled.

"Hahaha! Darkest, what are you rummaging around for? Don't tell me someone's actually moved into that Seorigol of yours? Come on, as if! No matter how rough the world gets, who would willingly set foot in a remote dump like that? Then again — maybe the location isn't the problem. Maybe it's the lord!"

At Marcus's blatant mockery, snickers rippled through the room. A few students outright giggled.

Success!

Marcus wore a smile of pure triumph, savoring the imagined sight of Ian's face twisting with humiliation.

And right then—

Ian looked up from his notebook. He regarded Marcus for a moment, then let a faint smile touch his lips.

…What's with that expression?

Marcus faltered. Not the reaction he'd expected. Instead of humiliation, Ian's eyes held something almost like leisure — as if he were the one doing the mocking.

Ian spoke again. His voice was low and even, but clear enough to carry through the entire lecture hall.

"Seorigol's fief population is…"

He paused, then looked Marcus dead in the eye once more. The corner of his mouth lifted a little higher.

"…compared to the previous presentation,"

Gulp.

Not just Marcus — every student in the room swallowed without meaning to. A strange tension settled over them.

Ian's voice continued.

"an increase of three hundred thirty-three percent. Sixty-five people."

The lecture hall plunged into a silence so complete it was hard to breathe.