Chapter 72
Chapter 72
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 72
Chapter Title: Great Leap (4)
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In Joseon, the position below one man and above ten thousand—the highest a vassal could reach—was called the Chief State Councillor. In the West, that role belongs to the duke.
And its prestige towers incomparably above even Joseon's Chief State Councillor.
The vast lands boasting economic might worthy of the realm's pinnacle nobility, subjects numbering in the millions, and raw power that elevates them to near-equals with the direct imperial bloodline.
No—some dukes even claimed seats above imperial kin at official Elrain Empire ceremonies.
Their stature truly pierced the heavens and echoed through the peaks.
The mansion of the Duke of Brussels, who clutched such power and riches in his iron grip, gleamed with splendor.
No—dazzling beyond words, blinding to behold.
The ceiling boasted vibrant murals of Deus's legends, while walls bore scattered masterpieces depicting Deus himself, the goddess of beauty, and celestial angels.
Blank expanses shone with pristine white marble, their edges inlaid with intricate golden filigree.
I'd always dreamed of beholding masterpieces from absolute monarchies like Versailles Palace—who'd have thought reincarnation into Europa would make it real?
Ella and Chris seemed to share my awe, their eyes wide as they scanned the opulence, voices brimming with wonder.
"Wow, Master... it's incredible. The ceiling paintings look just like living people—so beautiful."
"I never imagined a house this stunning could exist. I wonder if heaven's palaces are like this."
"Yeah, those ceiling murals are as lifelike as gazing at real people."
Moments later, a man in black silk formal attire appeared before us. He inclined his head slightly toward me in greeting.
"Baron Paul von Brinschwitz at your service, Your Excellency Count Kroitel. It's an honor to meet you in person."
Though I'd seized full control of the Counties of Nant and Helsman, roles like this greeter were typically filled by a duke's steward...
A baron emerging just to guide me?
The Duke of Brussels must rate me highly indeed...
I matched his esteem with utmost courtesy.
"I am Siel von Kroitel. This young lady is Ella, my concubine. And beside her stands Chris Belladora, my secretary."
The baron betrayed a flicker of surprise at bringing my concubine here, yet his face remained impassive as I introduced Ella, attentive throughout.
But at Chris's mention, his eyes widened in astonishment.
"Your Excellency's secretary... a woman? You have quite the unique tastes, sir."
"She's invaluable. Without her aid before the Nant count's defeat, we'd have clashed with 18,000 infantry while exhausted from shattering over 2,000 knights. I treat her no differently from any man."
The baron scratched his head, chuckling.
"I see. I'd assumed she was a 'concubine' masquerading under the 'secretary' title."
In Europa, viewing women as mere subordinates to men was bedrock common sense, so his assumption was inevitable.
Yet his frank admission—even if puzzling—marked him progressive on gender equality for this era's nobility.
I steered the conversation elsewhere.
"Not at all. Anyway, Baron, when might I meet His Grace the Duke?"
"Likely the day after tomorrow. Rest at ease in Brussels Mansion until then. We'll fully support your 'tour' in the interim. Name your desires—women, food, anything at all."
"I'll rest today and explore tomorrow. Show me the finest spots."
The baron grinned at me.
"Shall I send attendants? A touch inferior to Lady Ella, but..."
"No need, Baron. I appreciate the gesture. Haven't had much time lately to... indulge with Ella."
My words masked the truth: he was brazenly testing me.
'How's our spy? Pretty face, killer curves.'
Even if I bit, a duke wouldn't be swayed much by a count who'd already proven himself—but it'd still shave 5-10% off my worth. Foolish ploy.
I'm no Schwein to swallow such bait.
I stifled a yawn behind my hand, then gripped Ella's shoulder firmly as she nibbled snacks with Chris over tea.
"Baron, Ella and I share a room, naturally?"
He smirked, caught out.
"Of course. You'll have the Royal Suite reserved for His Grace's direct kin. As for servants..."
"An older maid suits me fine. Much obliged."
With that, Ella and I retired to our chambers.
That night, to hammer home 'no other women spies,' I devoted myself to Ella until my back nearly snapped.
Even the maids, accustomed to spying on far lewder trysts, were taken aback by the fervor.
As an aside, this marked Ella's first mild complaint about our bedroom exploits...
To soothe her, I promised a haul of gorgeous dresses tomorrow.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Even after our fervent night, duty called: touring the fief. I rose at noon.
Dressed under Ella's care, I stepped out—greeted once more by the baron.
He cleared his throat upon seeing me.
"They call you the White Messenger of Kroitel for your battlefield prowess... Turns out you're a reaper in bed too. Our maids passed along the details."
In modern Korea, that'd be jailbait for privacy invasion and harassment. Here? Routine.
Joseon folk drilled peepholes in newlyweds' doors; medieval Europe flaunted noble wedding consummations.
By extension, eavesdropping barely warranted rebuke—especially if the maid was 'standing by just in case.'
Besides, tales of nocturnal ferocity ranked as peak manly praise, Korea or Europa.
I beamed.
"The honor's mine, Baron."
"Thought I'd conquered beds at your age... but your legends humble my glory days."
We bantered some twenty minutes in true Europa noble fashion—chivalry and macho swagger reigning.
No desire to broadcast Ella's boudoir charms, so I stuck to her tastes: outfits, treats, endearing quirks.
Soon, a woman in a flowing light-pink dress approached.
"Your Excellency, apologies for the wait."
"Miss Belladora, is this Count Kroitel himself?"
I inclined my head regally toward the vision in pink.
"Siel von Kroitel, Count of Kroitel, Nant, and Helsman. And your name, milady?"
"Anna Brunhildt of House Brunhildt, a branch of Baron Brinschwitz's line. I've been tasked to keep you entertained until His Grace receives you. A privilege to stroll the city with so distinguished a gentleman."
Ella, off a ways, watched a stray cat wag its tail before me—her cheeks puffed in evident pique.
Normally I'd reassure her, but wartime demanded focus. I let her stew and pressed on with Anna.
"A pleasure, Brunhildt. I'd like luxury goods, finery, delicacies... and a barracks tour. Feasible?"
"Absolutely, Your Excellency. His Grace instructed that even the family vaults or confidential library lie open if you wish."
Vaults were one thing—but the secret archives?
A deliberate signal of trust, lest I turn foe and doom his throne-war bid.
Not that I'd risk the insanity of actually entering.
"Splendid. Barracks first. Luxuries peak evenings anyway."
"Wise counsel."
I glanced at Ella and Chris, then addressed the baron.
"These women mean the world to me. Chris isn't my concubine, but a treasured secretary all the same. Might you provide massages and fine fare while I'm out?"
"Naturally, Your Excellency. On our baronial honor, they'll be pampered as supreme guests."
With farewells, I left them in the mansion and headed to the barracks.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The duke's barracks sprawled on Brussels city's outskirts.
Low but immensely broad walls enclosed efficient layouts: barracks, drill yards, armories.
Suddenly, thunderous roars filled my ears.
"You brainless idiots!! Pros at boozing and whoring in dives, but quake when it's time to man up?! Cowards or rats?!"
"Mercy, sir!!"
"Quiet! Grip that spear and soldier on! Ten years gets lifetime pension, marriage rights—can't hack it? Maggots!!"
"Decurion, sir..."
"Full prone—now!!"
Press-gang recruitment sans outright kidnapping—the very tactic I used for rookies?
Assumed it'd take a genius ages to adopt this centuries-ahead method. The duke implemented it already?
I bolted toward the drill yard for a closer look, decorum be damned.
Anna hurried after in her dress, dignity intact at max speed.
Ignoring her, I collared the yard's finest-armored man and slipped him gold pieces.
"One question?"
"Er... Your Excellency. I'm the centurion here—won't fold easy..."
"Nothing vital. Just recruitment curiosities. Answer true, and booze plus meat for your century. Personal boon."
The centurion grinned wolfishly.
"That I can swing without betraying His Grace. Come draft time, we fund our sergeants handsomely and hit slum taverns. They round up 10-30 able poor lads, twenties to thirties."
"Go on."
"Crucial bit: rounds for dozens or hundreds must equal 'their weekly pay.' Skimp, and rookies bolt later, figuring we'll stiff 'em. Once breached, slum boys mass-deserted..."
I merely adapt history's lessons situationally. This duke glimpsed fragments and retooled them optimally for his lands...
Better never cross him lightly.
"Grave matter."
"Ironclad rule. Booze 'em up, spin war tales, wages, futures—nine in ten enlist. Advance pay follows, then public-square baptism: vets form spear-tunnel gauntlet. Deduct armor, spear, helm costs—advance covers exactly that. Recruits thus forged, drilled mercilessly."
How did this duke glean a tercio-style elite system from my conscription seeds—best-suited, efficient for the era?
Spies or not, assembling shards into this? Monster.
No pike blocks yet, but his draft outpaced the age by 1-2 centuries on my hints alone...
Stunned, I wandered the barracks under the centurion's lead.
Pay scales, quarters, promotions, HR, gear, supply chains—all probed.
Over 100 gold spent, but priceless intel on a titan foe...
As explanations wrapped and I turned toward luxuries, Anna interjected.
"Your Excellency Siel von Kroitel, His Grace awaits in the barracks' innermost depths."
Just as I'd foreseen—strike while awed by his setup. Duke through and through...
Old lions like him laugh off Schwein's trollery, survive backstabs—and rattle even vermin like me who'd clawed past that pig...
Ah, I wanna go home.