The Saintess (1)
"Um, Tax Collector, sir? I know this might be a little awkward to bring up, but… isn't the Fief Tax outside our jurisdiction?"
Inside the rattling carriage bound for the North, Rhea watched my face carefully as she asked.
"What can you do? When the people upstairs say jump, you jump."
"Huh? Ah. Well. That is true."
"Still, I'm impressed you already knew the Fief Tax doesn't fall under the Ministry of Finance. As expected of the written-exam valedictorian."
"Hehe. Thank you."
"Then do you also know why the Fief Tax isn't under the Ministry of Finance?"
At my follow-up question, Rhea—who had been scratching the back of her head with an embarrassed little smile—nodded with sudden, vigorous energy, as if she had been waiting for exactly this.
The girl was wound tight.
"Yes, sir! Because the Fief Tax is a tax created for the sake of justification!"
"Oh-ho. Justification, is it. Not wrong—but I doubt the textbooks put it quite that bluntly."
"Ah. I-I'm sorry. I was trying to summarize what was in the book, and it just… came out that way…"
"It's fine. Continue."
"Yes, sir. First of all, every fief differs in size and scale, and with the limits of current surveying technology, accurately assessing a Fief Tax is extremely difficult. On top of that, regional differences in climate and terrain mean that applying the same tax to fiefs of equal size creates serious problems of equity!"
"Excellent."
She was reciting the textbook almost word for word. Her memory put computers to shame.
"Therefore, the Fief Tax is customarily paid under the guise of sponsorships or donations to major imperial events, and is sometimes substituted with tribute goods. Lastly, there are cases where it is fulfilled by dispatching knights or soldiers to the Imperial Court."
"Right. Which is why the Fief Tax is managed directly by the Imperial secretaries, not the Ministry of Finance."
I kept my face carefully neutral at Rhea's crisp answer, but inwardly I couldn't help being impressed.
Even a seasoned veteran couldn't explain it that cleanly. How is this girl supposed to be a rookie?
I stared at her for a moment in hollow disbelief, then shifted my gaze back to the documents in my hand.
Did Count Richmond do something stupid?
As Rhea had said, the Fief Tax was a tax in name only. It was written into law, sure—but as long as you covered it with donations, sponsorships, or the like and more or less behaved yourself, it never became a problem.
So why did the Fief Tax even exist?
So the Emperor could legally squeeze money—or anything else—out of the lords.
Say a war broke out in the Empire. The nobles were expected to provide troops and supplies of their own accord. It was the social duty that came with high birth. But of course there would always be those who tried to sit it out and contribute nothing. The Fief Tax existed as a pretext to crack down on nobles like that.
Something along the lines of: Oh? You're not sending troops while the rest of us are at war? You refuse? Then pay your Fief Tax. Don't, and it's treason.
A tool for applying pressure.
The Richmond family is a big deal up North. The war's already over—why suddenly make an issue of the Fief Tax?
Which left me thinking Count Richmond had either gotten tangled in some political fight, or he'd pulled some kind of stunt. There was no other reason to pick a fight over unpaid Fief Tax after the war had ended.
And it's strange they dumped this on me—someone from the Ministry of Finance—instead of the Imperial secretaries.
Damn it. If you're going to dump work on someone, at least explain it properly first.
Honestly, I was at a loss. Under normal circumstances, this was the kind of job I would have refused on the spot.
Tch. If the Dream Team had just done their jobs properly, I wouldn't even need to go all the way to the North.
This was all because of those damned non-humans. Orcs handing out meat to people? Dwarves repairing houses? Thanks to them, there was nothing left I could do in the capital to get myself fired. For the time being, I could take a dump in the middle of the street and people would still applaud.
But outside the capital—somewhere like the Richmond fief—things might be different. And since this was a task the Emperor had handed down to Elena, if I spectacularly botched it, I'd be one step closer to resignation.
So how should I play this? Storm in out of nowhere and throw a fit demanding the overdue Fief Tax? Or tear the lord's castle apart looking for anything worth money and clean the place out?
There were plenty of options. Of course, "go collect the Fief Tax" was basically an order to commit legalized thuggery—but since it came from the Imperial Court, there was still a line I was supposed to respect. The problem was that the line was extremely fuzzy.
I planned to use that. Walk the tightrope right along the edge and goad Count Richmond into crossing it first.
Richmond is famous in the North as a magical powerhouse. The other lords who follow them won't just sit quietly either.
Richmond wasn't some nobody house. And the North was already seething with resentment after the long war. It was a harsh land with bitter weather where scraping by was hard enough—and while they'd been holding the line against the Kingdom Coalition, the nobles from every other region had been living it up.
Handled right, this could end with the Emperor clutching the back of his neck and keeling over.
The Imperial Court is probably hoping I'll cleanly take down Richmond and only Richmond, no loose ends. Not a chance.
And so I sat there turning over every possible way to get under Count Richmond's skin, thinking and thinking again—
When the carriage suddenly lurched to a stop. A moment later, the coachman's trembling voice came through.
"I-I'm sorry, but I think you need to come out and see this."
"What is it?"
"Ah. Well… the road is blocked…"
The road was blocked? Bandits, maybe?
Well, we were heading into the North with a single carriage and no escort. It would have been stranger if bandits hadn't shown up.
"I'll handle it. You stay put right here."
I left a flustered Rhea behind and rose from my seat.
"T-Tax Collector, sir?! N-no! It's dangerous! Let me go instead…"
Rhea seized my sleeve in a panic. I lightly shook off her hand, straightened the collar of my uniform, and spoke again.
"You can't use a sword and you can't cast magic. What exactly do you plan to do out there?"
"Th-that may be true, but you're the same, Tax Collector…"
"Haa. Senior Secretariat Rhea. Have you forgotten I came out of the Intelligence Bureau?"
"Ah…!"
"And for the record, I graduated from the Academy's Magic Department."
"……"
"Tsk tsk. Just sit tight and organize the documents."
How could an aide know so little about her own superior? Ugh. Who was I to blame anyone? I was the guilty party here.
I shook my head and climbed straight down from the carriage.
Hey. Time to wake up.
At the same time, I roused Greed from its sleep.
-I am not "hey." My name is Greed.
An irritated voice answered at once. I ignored whatever grumbling the thing was doing, peeled off my gloves, and walked toward the driver's seat.
"Th-there, up ahead, if you look…"
The coachman scrambled down the moment he spotted me, bowed at the waist, and pointed straight ahead. I followed his trembling fingertip—
And saw several carriages stopped some distance away, blocking the road.
Bandits… don't seem likely.
Using obstacles to seal off a narrow stretch of road and ambush travelers was a common enough tactic. But looking closer, that didn't quite fit. The horses were still properly hitched, and the carriages themselves were in surprisingly good condition.
Sharp eyes on this coachman.
The distance was considerable, too. How had he spotted that and stopped us in time? Maybe surviving this long really was proof of competence. When Rhea first brought him on, I'd worried he was too old to handle the horses properly. Maybe this was why people kept going on about hiring veterans.
"You're more capable than I expected."
"Aigoo. I've been making my living at this nonsense my whole life—of course I am. What do we do? Turn the carriage around and take another road?"
"Wouldn't that take longer?"
"Probably a few extra days…"
"What's your read? Do they look like bandits?"
"Feels that way to me. The only people who block a road this blatantly are bandits."
"For bandits, those carriages are in awfully good shape."
"Doesn't hurt to be careful. Bandits these days have gotten clever—they don't just draw steel and charge in anymore."
"Hmm."
I fell silent for a moment, turning the coachman's words over. I hated hassle more than anything—but spending several more days cooped up in a carriage? That was worse.
I had no choice. I started walking toward the carriages blocking the road far ahead.
"B-be careful!"
At the sight of me, the coachman vaulted back up onto the driver's seat in the blink of an eye and seized the reins. Ready to run if things went south. The living had to stay alive—a wise choice.
But the ones who should have been worried right now were the bandits. Demons showed no mercy.
And yet, the closer I got to the carriages, the more a strange sense of wrongness settled over me. The absence of people was odd enough, but no matter how I looked at it, these did not feel like bandits.
Sure enough, before long I had no choice but to stop dead in my tracks.
Because what the carriages had been hiding came into view: an entire group of people kneeling on the ground in unison.
That is…
For a split second, I felt a jolt of dread. In the Empire, there was only one group of lunatics who pulled stunts like this.
The Temple—the fanatical order that stood shoulder to shoulder with the Imperial Court itself. They had a special talent for draining the life out of anyone who got involved with them. Crossing paths with those people never ended well.
Damn it. Of all the rotten luck.
They looked deep in prayer. Best move was to pretend I hadn't seen anything and turn right around.
But whether the gods took offense at my impious thoughts or not—the instant I started to turn away, their prayer ended.
And every single one of them snapped their heads toward me as one.
"Who goes there?!"
"Protect the Saintess!!"
As if they had known I was there the entire time. Armored holy knights came thundering forward and surrounded me.
Wait. Hold on. What did they just say…?
I was fairly sure I had just heard a word I absolutely did not want to hear.
Had I misheard?
S-Saintess?
-Shit…
The demon spat a curse at the same moment.
Only then did it sink in.
I had not misheard at all.