Chapter 18
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 18
Chapter Title: Julius Caesar (9)
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The empire's history wasn't all that long.
Of course, if you counted back to its days as a kingdom, it stretched a bit further, but it had been less than thirty years since it formally proclaimed itself an empire.
There were four families that could be called founding contributors, the ones who had elevated what was once just another minor kingdom to its current position.
The Estrías family of Duke Berthus was one of them.
But founding contributors were routinely purged to solidify imperial authority.
Duke Berthus couldn't escape that pressure either.
Not just from above.
Lately, the populists and those damn elves were targeting him too, sinking their teeth in.
In a situation where he desperately needed to turn public opinion around.
"Who knew that guy was such a lunatic."
Duke Berthus's attempt to woo Congressman Asterik, the leader of the exposé campaign, in order to broaden his base had ended in abject failure.
Not only had the joint press conference they'd held elicited a lukewarm response.
- From this moment, all congressmen appearing in His Majesty's stead will be treated as defendants! Defendants! Criminal defendants!
The incident exploded during the regular assembly.
Right after Congressman Asterik entered the chamber carrying a bizarre bucket and sternly rebuked the other congressmen.
- I brought this to punish those stealing the nation's wealth! Here's the people's sugar! Accept the people's gift and repent! What I'm saying isn't an insult—it's the voice of the people!
No one knew how he'd smuggled it into the assembly hall, but spraying shit water in every direction at the congressmen's seats had made the situation gravely serious.
It was an action without even a word of warning to Duke Berthus, who had been protecting Asterik all along, so he inevitably drew cold stares by association.
Recalling that day brought a surge of reverse-flowing blood, along with the nauseating sensation that shit still clung to his clothes, which he swallowed down with effort.
"Has that writer friend accepted the invitation?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Prepare. We extended the first invitation, after all—we must show sufficient sincerity."
Duke Berthus was checking on the progress of his recent orders.
Normally, a duke wouldn't deign to meet a novelist from humble origins.
But after reading up to the latest installments.
Duke Berthus was convinced that what Ulysses was writing couldn't be dismissed as mere fiction.
The concise punches of description, the subtle political undercurrents wafting from every line of dialogue.
Just as it had cunningly rattled the psyche of someone like Asterik, the narrative subtly revealed a resistance to vested interests.
Ulysses had the makings of an expert.
An expert in public opinion manipulation and incitement.
Legitimacy was something built up gradually, after all.
If such a person played cheerleader for his plans, gaining popular support would be that much easier.
Since the novel he was writing continued to enjoy mass appeal.
He could subtly project his own personal narrative onto the character of Caesar and ride that wave of popularity bit by bit.
Even just laying the groundwork in future installments—or a new work—for pretexts to attack the emperor, while goading that mad Asterik into action, would produce results.
"A person's usefulness depends on how you use them, after all."
And moreover.
Panto Count had surely pulled some trick, but the mere fact he was still alive proved a certain competence.
.
.
.
A week later.
Duke Berthus got to witness that competence firsthand.
"Waa! Duke Berthus, long time no see! All good?"
"...Saintess Roselin has been well, I trust. When did you arrive in the empire?"
"Not long ago. You're as steadfast as ever?"
"The old don't change easily. Come, sit."
He'd thought him just some overeager young writer, but to have the Saintess as backing.
Only then did Duke Berthus feel all the puzzle pieces click into place.
In that case.
It wouldn't be amiss to interpret the intent behind The Fallen Noble Excels at Politics as harboring the Holy Nation's designs.
He tossed all the schemes and plots he'd been mulling into the trash and shifted his persuasion strategy.
The Holy Nation's relations with the empire weren't exactly cordial lately either, so if he could fold even that monster Saintess into his plans?
He couldn't avoid criticism for Holy Nation interference in domestic affairs, but executing the plans would be far smoother.
Duke Berthus smiled contentedly.
Me, the one who came up with the devilish idea of bringing Roselin along.
Praise me.
I'd initially planned to drag crafty Gilford into a corner with a water ghost tactic.
But the moment I ran into Roselin pretending it was coincidence, lightning struck my head.
A Saintess would make the perfect figurehead.
So if I traveled with Roselin and tossed her to the duke as conversation fodder, wouldn't I be super comfy?
My prediction hit the mark perfectly.
"Is His Holiness still hale?"
"Aigoo, don't even ask. He's grown quite frail lately. Might change popes before his term's up. Not the natural order."
"Haha... The Saintess remains as blunt as ever."
"Is that so? Hm, lying's never a good thing, you know?"
They seemed well-acquainted, chatting amiably with the duke and Saintess.
I just ate.
Delicious.
So delicious...!
Delicious enough to bring tears...!
Without nutrients in the lab, I'd have faced nutritional deficiencies by now—my recent diet had been downright abnormal.
Bread.
Soup.
And occasionally, when in a good mood, meat.
Grass clippings?
That's not food.
Anyway, I'd crammed in just enough convenience foods for bare survival.
The duke's table was indeed something else.
Bread soft beyond the neighborhood bakery's league.
Soup chock-full of meat chunks.
Perfectly medium-rare steak!
"Yul? Picky eating's bad for you."
"I'm afflicted with a disease where veggies kill my writing."
While watching the salad plate vanish like magic from in front of me.
I savored the happy feast.
Of course.
"Writer Ulysses. Does your current work carry any particular message?"
"Hm... No such thing as eternal power? Something like that."
Caesar's journey was exactly that—thrusting a challenge at stagnant old power to seize it.
And ultimately getting stabbed by Brutus for it.
Could call it the overarching theme.
"No eternal power... Haha, hahaha! Indeed, a fine tale."
I don't know what tickled him so much about my answer, but the duke laughed heartily.
Good.
They say laughter brings fortune.
I flashed a bright smile back at the duke.
.
.
.
After the meal.
"Lots left. Pack to go?"
"Pack...? The food?"
"Yes. Family at home."
"Hahaha! Naturally. One moment. I'll have the servants prepare fresh."
Wow.
This is class?
Mom! I wanna be a duke when I grow up!
Or a revolutionary stabbing the duke with a spear!
Mountains of untouched dishes on the table, yet he'd toss them and remake new ones.
Fine by me.
We'd barely started living together, but Historie nagged daily: 'Kim Yul, this isn't food. Just nutrient lumps.'
I'll fridge the long-lasting ones from the estimate and nuke 'em in the microwave later.
This is living off rice.
I bowed politely to the duke slipping into the mansion and bid final farewell.
"Mr. Kim Yul. You're bolder than I thought."
"Bold? Call it overflowing survival instinct."
The Saintess, raised pampered, wore an expression clueless to the solo liver's woes.
Make that face? Then pay up.
Well...
Forgive her today.
"Thanks for accompanying on such short notice."
"Ahaha! No problem, I had a blast? Nice seeing shady Duke Berthus—who knows how many snakes he's swallowed!"
...?
She'd been laughing and chatting all friendly just moments ago, now this ambush roast?
I put a 1cm gap between me and Roselin.
What words for my benefactor who paid and fed me.
"Haha, hahaha!"
In the study, with even the servants dismissed.
Duke Berthus laughed long and clear.
Whopper.
Far exceeded first impressions.
- No such thing as eternal power? Something like that.
A signal that power struggles in the empire could be seen as natural order.
And.
- Lots left. Pack to go?
- Yes. Family at home.
A hint of greater backing, plus a metaphorical request for political funds.
The Saintess kept slipping barbs into her words, subtly criticizing him—that nagged a bit.
But bringing the Saintess along, letting her handle talk while leisurely dining.
Clearly, a Holy Nation high-up had infiltrated the empire incognito.
No, it had to be.
Despite black hair and eyes that screamed suspicion, her gaze on him held warmth.
She'd cleared the veggie dishes around his place without protest at his childish whining.
And crucially, called him "Yul" instead of Ulysses.
No room for doubt.
"The Goddess smiles upon me."
Duke Berthus poured a drink, rolling it savoringly on his tongue.
He'd sleep soundly tonight.
"Ugh, damn."
What the hell's in this food basket to make it so heavy?
Feels like gold bars lining the bottom.
Anyway, after parting with the Saintess.
Hands full of heavy food, I hurried home.
Historie'll love it?
Pondering 67 ways to tame with food, I entered the first-floor communal lounge of our new shared housing.
"Indeed, as a superior dragon rather than an uncivilized, unenlightened human, you have an eye for literature. Here, Esthea. Give this a read."
"Kyak, kyarruk!"
At the bizarre scene before me, I lost my words for a moment.
Why's that rascal dragon here?
Why's she sitting on our tin can's lap?