Chapter 30
Chapter 30
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 030
Chapter Title: Truth and Sincerity
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Dispatch investigator Baron Millen Gafner was escorted to the government office.
"Sit down, Senior."
"Thank you."
Arun himself pulled out a chair for the baron at the twelve-person table in the central hall, then walked back and sat opposite him.
"Pendersen, did you find it?"
"Yes. Here it is. We'll serve the meal right away."
Pendersen handed over the faded document and quietly withdrew.
If the way one treats superiors reflects their loyalty, then the way they treat those beneath them reflects their dignity. In that regard, Arun's manner toward the servant was beyond reproach.
Arun extended the bundle of parchment to the baron.
"It's the report of the late Sir Brad Cahill. I hope it proves helpful."
"I've heard the name Brad Cahill. A report from him should be quite useful."
The baron brightened at first, but his expression hardened from the very first page.
"Hmm."
"Of course, I didn't believe it myself at the time, but the results are as you can see."
"......"
Baron Millen Gafner flipped through the parchment with a grave expression.
It bore clear traces of being erased and reused multiple times—a report crafted by Brad's torturers, supplemented with battle reports from the intervening period.
A short while later, the baron set the report down and raised his voice.
"Even if we accept the detailed casualty figures, orcs operating reserve forces? What on earth are 'flank attacks'? The possibility of an Orc Lord's appearance? What is this......"
"I remember tossing the report aside back then. In hindsight, it's fortunate I didn't burn it."
Arun shrugged.
"I salute my own patience."
"Ahem, hmm."
It came across as though he were confessing his own foolishness out of consideration for the other man.
He had spent a lifetime mediating territory disputes, sorting out titles for local power brokers, and balancing diplomacy with neighboring countries. More often than not, it was his role to calm the excitable and remind them of harsh realities.
'He's strangely likable. At any rate, excitement is the last thing we need.'
Just then, the door opened, and servants carried in the food.
"Freshly baked bread and soup. The main course is beef steak."
The head chef explained the ingredients and preparation before withdrawing.
The soft bread served on bronze platters, the meat stripped of any gaminess and paired with a fragrant sauce—it lacked nothing for a royal table.
Arun handed him a damp cloth.
"Please, eat. The judgments will be left to those above us."
"Sigh... well, you're right."
Cruel as it was, the will of the higher-ups outweighed truth itself. Reports like this were endlessly malleable to suit political winds; he merely compiled and submitted his observations.
Pour.
Arun filled his glass with wine. Whether by design or not, the familiar aroma soothed the baron.
"Dalmatian vintage."
"The best in my possession."
Not so rare as to be unattainable, but with only limited quantities circulating in the capital each year, the young lord's boast rang true. He took a sip.
"Excellent. My thanks. You've ended up consoling me instead."
"Wasn't it a grueling journey? This is only proper hospitality."
He had enjoyed countless lavish receptions and been offered bribes enough to turn heads. Yet today's felt uniquely special.
The fortress he'd pierced the biting chill to reach was mired in war, his escort troops thrown straight into the fray. He'd witnessed the raw aftermath firsthand, been personally guided by the young lord who'd charged the front lines himself—a day piled high with heavy shocks in so short a span.
"Attach it to the end of my report for now."
"Thank you."
A clear line between duty and personal sentiment, yet not without goodwill.
"And on a personal note... you've endured much."
"I won't deny it was partly for my own safety, but I believe the border's stability is the Empire's stability."
A touch textbook, but an impeccable response all the same.
"No objections here."
'Nor any face to show.'
The baron subtly averted his gaze.
As far as he knew, the Emperor had no interest in the welfare of some border count. The Waves had faded to dim memory for most.
In the worst case, they might simply wait for mutual annihilation with the orcs, then claim the territory directly or bestow it on a loyalist. He pitied this solitary junior in such a merciless world.
'What can you do? That's politics for you.'
He wasn't in a position to preach right and wrong—even politics could exterminate bloodlines. Lose a war, and your house falls; lose in politics, same end.
Talk of communal benefit or the nation's future belonged in scholars' lectures. The royals' concern was immediate gain, with the Emperor at its pinnacle.
"Reinforcements may be delayed. Any other plans?"
The brief question carried the weight of seasoned advice.
"You view it skeptically as well. Sir Brad, Sir Bolt, my Royal Guard Knights, the fortress elites—all met the same end. How could I be any different?"
"You've left me speechless."
"I'll hold out as long as I can, but time will decide everything."
"Is all you can do to hope it's not a Wave?"
The baron sighed.
Could this affable junior survive? Today, he might be facing history's latest victim... or hero.
'Heroes aplenty in continental history.'
Some had broken away after the Empire's founding to establish surrounding kingdoms. Heroes whose loyalties couldn't be verified were threats to the realm. The Emperor's wariness was perhaps justified.
Even if the truth reached him, whether sincerity would shine through remained uncertain.
"Too many words only cloud the essence. Tell me about the capital. Hardly graduated, and I already miss it."
"As long as the wine flows, the stories won't dry up. What about this year's first-quarter tournament?"
"Oh? The winner will be an Empire native, of course?"
"And that native is the talk of the town."
The baron tapped his glass, producing a clear ring.
"Ah, one moment. Hey, Pendersen—more wine."
The banquet, fueled by drink, stretched into the dawn.
When the wily capital noble and the young border noble set aside their burdens, the laughter echoed through the night without cease.
The next day, the baron rose late and shook his head.
"Surprisingly clean aftertaste."
"Master awake? Shall I bring wash water?"
"Yes, do."
With his servant Sevain's assistance, he washed his face and dressed. Draping the fur coat Arun had provided over his shoulders marked the start of his schedule.
"Breakfast is cream soup; we can add whatever you like."
"Soup will suffice. It should warm the stomach."
A short while later, he was led to the terrace on the government office's second floor.
"The lord said the weather's mild for once after so long—enjoy the late autumn ambiance with your meal."
"Pendersen, was it? Convey my thanks."
"Thank you for remembering. The meal will be served shortly."
The young lord's servant bowed and withdrew.
Late autumn or not, ice gleamed in the shadows—what ambiance? But Sevain's words revealed the meaning.
"Head cool, everything below warm... it's refreshing, somehow."
"I see. Is this what they mean by savoring the chill?"
The morning breeze felt crisp, the coat's thick fur tickling his cheeks. Perhaps this was why noblewomen insisted on mink coats even on snowy days.
A moment later, servants wheeled in a dining cart.
"Still hot. Please cool it before eating."
"My thanks. You as well."
"Yes, Master."
Sipping steaming soup on the chill morning terrace, blowing on each spoonful, carried a special savor. The tea served at the end was fine too. What next drew his eye was the crowd gathering at the government office.
The baron set down his teacup, his gaze turning to the terrace below.
"What's that?"
"I'll check."
Sevain returned moments later, wearing an incredulous expression.
"They're paying consolation money to the families of the recently fallen."
"Consolation money? To conscripted troops?"
Grants of coin were common for knights who'd given full loyalty or mercenaries faithfully upholding contracts. But drawing from the territory's own coffers for consolation made no sense.
"Can't imagine. This isn't a place swimming in gold."
"The lord emptied his personal coffers."
"......!"
His grip tightened on the terrace railing.
Before long, the government office grounds were thronged with people. The crowd's clamor momentarily evoked the capital's bustling streets.
Awnings shaded rows of tables in the courtyard.
Soldiers did initial checks, sending some away or forming lines, while administrators verified fallen rosters one by one before handing out gold coins.
"Quiet! Keep it down—the lord is watching."
"Ah, the lord."
"My lord."
Arun, seated behind the administrators, waved a hand, and the commotion gradually subsided.
"You must provide a personal effects proving relation to the fallen, and a witness. Effects limited to gear from their lifetime; witnesses to surviving soldiers only."
"Guess we'll have to go back home."
"Go on. The lord keeps his word—no penalties for delay."
"My husband never brought comrades home..."
"Lady Husdon, by chance?"
"Yes. My husband's surname—ah! Instructor, sir."
"No need for 'sir.'"
Instructor Harrig waved it off and glanced back. Meeting Arun's eyes, Arun nodded.
"Blair Husdon's widow. Handle it right away."
"Yes, Instructor. This way, please?"
Ten gold coins were paid out on the spot.
"Here—gold coins and a document granting ten years' tax exemption. Sign."
"I can't read..."
"Then dip your thumb in the ink and print it."
On the other side, supplementary inquiries for the injured were underway.
"Our second son lost use of his leg in last year's battle."
"Regrettably, battles before the lord's arrival don't qualify."
"That's not fair! Some get it, some don't."
"Hmm, well..."
As contentious matters often were, even the usually overbearing administrator faltered momentarily.
"The world was never fair to begin with. Didn't you know?"
"L-Lord."
"I'm no god to erase the world's inequities. As one man, I fulfill my duty—that's all. If you're dissatisfied, take up a sword. I'll face you squarely."
Arun laid it out with cold finality.
"Forgive this lowly one's rudeness."
"I forgive it, in honor of your son's devotion."
Intentions aside, human endeavors inevitably showed flaws and overreaches everywhere. Each time, Arun intervened directly to set the standard, speeding the process along.
Dispatch investigator Baron Millen Gafner observed it all without missing a beat.
"It's real. They're truly handing it out."
"I've confirmed—the gold coins are genuine."
His nose bridge chilled; he looked up to see snowflakes drifting across the overcast sky.
"First snow?"
"First snow, indeed."
Arun removed his gloves, brushed snow from his shoulders, and stepped inside.
"Oof. Pendersen, tea, if you please."
"What kind, my lord?"
Arun silently pointed to Baron Millen's empty cup. Pendersen bowed in acknowledgment and withdrew.
"I heard you liquidated assets for the fallen families."
"As you saw."
Arun tilted his head back for a quick glance below, waving with a smile that flashed his even teeth.
"Oh, the lord's waving!"
"Long live the lord! Thank you!"
"My lord, we'll never forget this day."
He wrapped it up with a dismissive wave onward, then turned back with a nonchalant reply.
"Five thousand twenty gold to the five hundred two fallen—ten each. Injured still being tallied; we'll pay differentially based on disabilities and aftereffects."
"I can't fathom it. Why go so far for those simple folk?"
"Of course it's a loss, but what's dead is useless anyway. Survivors can rebuild their wealth."
"You've truly wagered everything."
"Survival first. I won't flee, and before winter sets in, I'll do all I can."
The young noble displayed iron resolve, only to deflate moments later.
"Though who knows how long that'll buy."
"Small mercy, at least—supplies seem solid."
"Unlike before, it's the one thing functioning properly."
The disaster thirty years ago wasn't solely the orcs.
The real killers were cold and starvation. More froze to death than were devoured by orcs, and more starved than the sum of both.
"Now I understand the truth. And your sincerity."
Baron Millen Gafner nodded, his heart heavy.
A noble house's foundation was its territory; money kept it standing. No territory meant no inheritance, no money meant not even a day—such was nobility.
The young noble before him had exhausted his fortune to prove the truth.
"This concludes the investigation."
'A Wave. I must inform the Emperor.'
Investigator Baron Millen hastened his preparations to return.