The Shield's Legacy
The conference hall in Muller was packed full. That was because nearly everyone responsible for running the castle’s day-to-day affairs had been dragged in.
“Next, the tax-rate administrator… Tunnel. Step forward.”
A man climbed the platform with a visibly nervous expression. The atmosphere in the room was starkly divided. The faces of the Franz people carried an air of easy confidence, while the Müller contingent looked frozen stiff with tension. Zeke wore his usual sour scowl, as expected. I sat in the highest seat, gazing down at them all with relaxed detachment.
“That section has always been handled this way, my lord.”
“Which is precisely why it’s inefficient,” Zeke shot back. “Given the budget originally allocated, we should have seen commensurate results. Yet there are no results to speak of, and the reports don’t even contain proper documentation. Care to explain?”
Zeke’s really tearing them a new one. Yeah. Win or lose, if you’re an idiot either way, better to be the winning idiot—especially if that idiot is on our team.
He had already reviewed the preliminary reports and was now systematically dismantling the summaries prepared by the vassals who had been stationed here. The middle-aged Müller official was sweating profusely, desperately offering excuses, but even I could tell they were nonsense.
Embezzling in the middle of it was bad enough, but if he had at least produced decent results, I wouldn’t have bothered touching him. Cross no lines and we can coexist. But when there are zero results, the conversation changes entirely.
And if you’re going to make excuses, they should at least be convincing. None of what he said was remotely appealing.
Yep. He’s fired.
I tapped the attendance list twice. Chloe, standing at my side, immediately noted the name on her paper.
“W-wait! If you would just let me explain—!”
“That’s quite enough. I expect a properly prepared report next time. Next, Lord Tzen from the land management division.”
“H-here, my lord…”
The Müller officials who had been watching my every move turned deathly pale and lowered their heads. They understood exactly what this meant. The sheet Chloe was writing on might as well have been a death warrant in their eyes.
The man who had been grilled by Zeke withdrew with a ghostly complexion. The next official summoned climbed the platform with a similarly ashen face. I felt their stares boring into me like daggers and flicked my eyes toward them without turning my head.
……
Soft navy-blue hair. Violet eyes. A woman radiating an almost mystical beauty sat in the foremost seat among the Müller delegation. When our gazes met she flinched, body trembling faintly, but quickly steadied herself and continued watching me.
Staring at someone’s face isn’t a crime, so I let it slide. Still, her gaze was remarkably intense.
Triana Müller. The sole direct descendant of the Müller line. Her wishes were to preserve the Müller bloodline and, in some far-off future, reclaim this land. I could respect the courage it took to declare such ambitions before my father, but that was separate from this.
How should I make use of her?
While those thoughts drifted through my mind, the meeting was already winding down. The excruciating four-hour session had been Zeke’s one-man show from start to finish.
“As previously stated, I expect far more efficient, waste-free operations going forward. Additionally, submit detailed reports on all necessary expenditures to date.”
“B-but that’s—!”
“Do you even comprehend the sheer volume of work that represents?!”
“If you had kept proper records from the beginning, it wouldn’t take long at all. That will be all.”
It’s not that difficult. Zeke probably wasn’t seriously expecting them to manage it anyway. Still, if my boss had been like that back in my previous life, I would have quit on the spot.
Zeke turned away with his usual stiff posture, but I caught the glint of pure ecstasy in his eyes. The man really is a sadist.
“Ahem…!”
“Hah… How could this…”
After Zeke’s rampage, the conference room was a mosaic of despair—some looked utterly defeated while others wore expressions of barely contained rage. To draw their scattered attention, I rapped my knuckles on the table.
-Tap!
I had only meant to focus their eyes on me, but it was as if someone had suddenly cut the broadcast. The faces staring my way looked like they were seeing a ghost. Wasn’t that reaction a bit much?
“It seems we’ve covered the main points.”
My voice echoed alone through the vast chamber.
“Naturally, you’ll come better prepared next time than you did today, yes?”
“……Ahem.”
Everyone was suddenly very interested in anything that wasn’t my face.
“Still, with this many people, the conference room really does feel rather cramped.”
I smiled at the confused looks.
“Though I doubt we’ll see about half of the people here next time, so there’s probably no need to renovate.”
“Correct,” Chloe replied calmly.
The atmosphere in the room instantly dropped several degrees. I sipped my tea leisurely while observing their bloodless faces. It was a shame none of them had touched the cups placed before them. All that expensive tea going to waste. They could have drunk the cheap stuff like me.
I savored the sweet aroma that tickled my nose and took a slow sip.
“As you all know.”
The sweet flavor danced across my tongue. Its only real drawback was the slight dryness it left in the mouth, but for pure sweetness this was unmatched. A mint afterward would take care of that.
“Once word arrives from the capital, Muller will officially become a vassal territory of Franz.”
Triana Müller’s gaze sharpened noticeably. It wasn’t outright hostility, but I couldn’t quite read the emotion behind it. Still, for someone who desperately wanted to inherit the Müller name, this could hardly be welcome news.
“As the saying goes, new wine belongs in new wineskins.”
Does that saying even exist here? There must be something similar. The world is the same everywhere.
The people here seemed to guess what was coming; their expressions began to harden.
“Shouldn’t we discard the old name of Müller and adopt a new one?”
The already quiet room turned downright hostile.
Being a noble wasn’t simply about possessing strong magical blood. It meant having deep, generational ties to the land one ruled—just as the Franz clan had worshipped the Golden Lion for centuries. To erase those names and replace them with new ones was essentially cultural erasure. It wouldn’t be wrong to call it ethnic conquest, and many realms had employed the practice. It was simply part of accepting a new ruler.
The difference here was that, while rare, cases of one kingdom’s territory being absorbed as a vassal weren’t unheard of. At least we shared the same kingdom, language, and broad cultural identity. Commoners would barely notice the change. The ones who possessed power and status, however, were another matter entirely.
“……Lord Leoric Franz.”
“What is it?”
A gentleman with snow-white hair and deep wrinkles spoke up. Unlike the others, he had maintained a stern expression throughout the entire meeting. If memory served, he was the head steward who had managed this castle.
“The name Müller does not belong solely to our viscount family. It has been the designation for this land since ancient times.”
“And?”
Light flickered in my golden eyes. The sun is singular and lofty. They said that simply radiating magic power was enough to crush most people beneath the pressure of my gaze. I wouldn’t know. Still, watching him maintain his upright posture despite the cold sweat rolling down his face earned my quiet approval.
Managing the castle would remain essential moving forward, and experienced veterans like him were difficult to replace in this era. It wasn’t as if internet job boards existed.
“Since time immemorial, Müller has meant ‘the shield that protects the west from invasion.’ Not only we nobles, but countless residents of these lands have lived with pride in that name. I humbly beg you. Please, at the very least, allow the name Müller to remain. I ask for Lord Leoric Franz’s mercy.”
He rose, stepped forward, then knelt and bowed deeply. The sight of an elderly man older than Hans lowering himself like this wasn’t pleasant, but as a noble I had to view him with cold objectivity.
I scanned the room. Several people had tears in their eyes. Others turned away in shame. Triana Müller sat with her fists clenched tightly, eyes squeezed shut.
“……Hmm.”
He must have carried the name Müller longer than anyone else present. I’d heard he had tried to remain neutral, which earned him considerable harassment from the firstborn faction. Yet here he was, stepping forward for the sake of his family.
There were always people like this. Among the Müller officials, fraud, murder, and various other crimes had occurred with depressing regularity. Our job was to reduce such incidents to a minimum. Yet there were still those who valued emotion over practicality—like loyal ministers who offered sharp counsel to a king whose eyes and ears had been stopped up by treacherous advisors, knowing full well it might cost them their lives.
People who stepped forward despite knowing the end would likely be ugly deserved respect. That was the education my father had given me, and the honor the Franz clan pursued.
“Heh.”
My soft laugh echoed through the hall.
“We’ll discuss this matter again another day.”
“……Thank you for your mercy, Lord Leoric Franz.”
“That form of address doesn’t suit me. Call me ‘My Lord.’”
His head lifted slightly, and our eyes met. The old man’s brown eyes were clearer and more resolute than those of most young nobles.
“Thank you, My Lord.”
“This concludes the meeting. When you return with properly organized materials next time, I expect a much improved showing.”
With that, I rose from my seat. As the Franz contingent—including Chloe—followed me out of the conference room, the old steward remained kneeling exactly where he was, motionless.