Scatter the Consolation Money! ...But Why Is the Money So Heavy? (1)

It hadn’t even been an hour since the Magic Tower was split in half. The majestic self-destruction show in which Archmage Elias held a public reading of a 19+ romance novel before the entire nation, lost control of the spell, and slammed a Meteor straight into his own headquarters. I was savoring the afterglow, lounging on a sunbed beside the open-air bath while polishing off my second dessert plate. Edible gold dust—sprinkled by a master chef himself—glittered across it. Genuine 24K. It melted on the tongue like a sinful dream. The ultimate luxury of literally eating money.

A salty night breeze drifted over the golden hot spring water. Clotilde, submerged up to her shoulders, swept back her wet hair and let out a deeply satisfied sigh.

“Ah, today really will go down in history. The pillar of military power collapsed yesterday, and the pillar of magic has crumbled today by its own hand.”

“The two pillars that held up the empire have toppled one after another in the span of two days,” I replied, gently scraping the gold dust on my plate into a neat little pile with my fork. “The Holy Knight Commander was waving his discharged holy sword around like a broken remote, and the Archmage read a story about the Crown Prince in heat in front of every citizen before dropping a Meteor on his own tower. Both of them self-destructed without us lifting a finger. Wouldn’t you agree it’s remarkably efficient?”

“The terrifying part is that you only swapped out a five-gold magic stone and changed the novel’s cover.” Clotilde glanced at me over the rim of her champagne flute. “That’s a rather cruel butterfly effect. An entire country is about to take flight.”

“It isn’t me who’s cruel. It’s those lunatics who dump the national defense budget the moment the Saintess sheds a single tear. I simply slipped one invoice into their madness.”

I shrugged and set the dessert plate aside. “So. With both military and magic having obligingly destroyed themselves, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠only one pillar remains.”

“The Crown Prince.” Clotilde lifted her glass, the corner of her mouth curving. “He’s the real heavyweight. Both Cael of the sword and Elias of magic were ultimately just his subordinates. The actual financier was someone else entirely.”

“Correct. The most reliable sponsor of every scam we’ve run, and our very best client. The moment we slide a document in front of him, he stamps the imperial seal without bothering to read a single line.”

I traced a lazy signature in the air with one finger. “As long as the justification contained the words ‘for the Saintess,’ he approved even the most astronomical budgets without complaint. In my entire life, he is the first and last superior who ever signed off on requests so willingly.”

“So what nonsense will that final pillar cook up now?” Clotilde rested her chin on the edge of the bath, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Both military and magic are gone. He wouldn’t actually try to flee on an airship while carrying the Saintess, would he?”

“Who knows. That brainless man’s behavioral patterns have always exceeded my predictions with ease. Running away by airship feels too ordinary, so I doubt he’ll do it.”

“True. If he were capable of ordinary behavior, the country would never have reached this state in the first place.”

Exactly then—

Crackle. Beep.

The magic communication orb hovering above the table flickered violently again. Even though half the broadcasting station’s antenna had been blown away in the Magic Tower explosion, one stubborn military drone continued circling the capital’s skies, stubbornly transmitting footage.

The night view of the imperial capital on the screen was, in a word, a powder keg on the verge of detonation.

Beyond the sizzling noise, the central square in front of the imperial palace came into view. Tens of thousands of citizens holding torches had filled the plaza until it was pitch black.

The walls had been breached, the Magic Tower had collapsed, and prices had soared into the stratosphere. Stomachs were empty, homes had burned, and there were no knights or mages left to protect anyone.

There was now only one place for that rage to turn.

The furious roars of the crowd pierced the communication orb and blended with the sound of the waves. On one side of the screen, the massive iron bars of the palace’s main gate were already being shaken violently back and forth by hundreds of hands. Citizens who had tied ropes to it shouted in rhythm as they pulled, while others were already scaling the walls.

“Wow, the rioters have finally risen up,” Clotilde said, chin still propped on the bath’s edge as she watched. She slid her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose; her eyes glittered. “At this rate, storming the palace is only a matter of time. What on earth is the Imperial Guard doing? They’re supposed to be the royal security force.”

“Half of them were pulled to the walls to stop the monsters, and the other half already deserted two months ago when their salaries stopped coming,” I replied indifferently. “The national treasury that should have paid them is completely empty. I assume I don’t need to explain who emptied it, why, or how.”

“Hoho. We’ve been quite industrious, haven’t we?” Clotilde tilted her glass slightly. “The marble for this open-air bath was purchased with the money meant for the Imperial Guard’s wages. The texture beneath my feet is so smooth. I can practically feel the loyal soldiers’ hard work.”

“Those same soldiers have probably realized their pay was stolen and joined the mob by now. At least they won’t starve on the streets. They’ve gone to loot the palace with torches in hand.”

At my joke Clotilde let out a soft “Pfft.”

At that moment the enormous balcony doors of the imperial palace swung open. The roaring crowd filling the square froze for a single breath. A man slowly stepped onto the balcony covered in a red carpet. Even in the dead of night with no trace of sunlight, a blinding golden radiance poured from his body. A cloak woven from pure gold thread. Rings set with jewels the size of fists on every finger. Atop his head sat the imperial treasury’s prized golden crown. Even the tips of his shoes appeared gilded; every step sent yellow ripples of light across the balcony floor.

“Crown Prince Ludwig…!” The military journalist’s trembling voice leaked from the orb.

On screen, the Crown Prince looked down at the tens of thousands of furious citizens and slowly lifted the corners of his mouth. It was the arrogant, leisurely smile only someone who believed the entire world lay beneath his feet could wear.

“That bastard really can’t read a room,” I let out a hollow laugh. “The people have gathered with torches to put his head on a pike, yet he walks out covered head to toe in gold. Isn’t that basically suicide?”

“Exactly. Flaunting that much gold in front of an angry mob of beggars usually ends with you being torn to pieces on the spot, doesn’t it?” Clotilde clicked her tongue in disbelief. “But look at that expression. He genuinely believes he’s their savior.”

“……What?”

Clotilde’s hand, which had been lifting her champagne to her lips, froze in midair. The instant the words golden secret vault left his mouth, her cool eyes narrowed to slits.

“Receive it! This is the infinite wealth and dignity of the imperial family!”

Ludwig arrogantly raised his hand. At his signal, the servants lined up along the palace roof tilted enormous golden sacks all at once.

Whoosh— Clatterclatterclatter—

From the balcony, countless gold coins poured down onto the square like rain. Tens of thousands—no, hundreds of thousands—of gold pieces caught the torchlight and sparkled as they filled the night sky. It looked like a colossal golden waterfall cascading down the palace walls.

The very same people who had been waving torches and screaming for the Crown Prince’s death moments earlier now threw their torches aside and scrambled madly across the ground, snatching up coins. They shoved, trampled, and fought tooth and nail to grab even one more piece. The mouths that had shouted “Give us bread!” were now desperately trying to stuff as many coins between their lips as possible.

The square that had been a furious riot ten seconds earlier had transformed into a madhouse of beggars crazed for gold.

“Behold! This is my greatness! My wealth is an inexhaustible spring, and I shall bestow it upon you forever! Hahaha!”

On the balcony, Ludwig looked down at the scene and burst into hearty laughter. His face was drunk with satisfaction at having quelled the people’s rage with a single wave of his hand.

Before long, Saintess Piora appeared on the balcony with quick, light steps.

“Oh my! Your Highness, you’re truly amazing! Look how happy the people are!”

“Haha, for Lady Piora I would do far more than this. If it would protect your smile, I would gladly gild every roof tile in the palace with gold.”

Ludwig haughtily kissed the back of her hand. The Saintess blushed and smiled radiantly. The two of them created an utterly romantic picture atop the balcony as gold rained down around them.

What a load of absolute bullshit. While the citizens below were literally tearing each other’s hair out over a few coins, these two were staging a love scene against that backdrop.

“……Ilario.”

Clotilde leaned her arms on the edge of the bath, eyes narrowing to thin crescents. The reflection of her face in the golden water was not one of panic, but of cool, sharp ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠interest—the look of someone who had just realized something.

“That lunatic. He’s emptying the imperial secret vault entirely, isn’t he?”

“That does appear to be what he’s saying.”

“Oh. I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten what we filled that vault with.”

Clotilde’s red lips slowly drew a beautiful arc. “We hauled away all the real gold bullion eleven months ago, hidden inside grain sacks. You packed the empty space with counterfeit coins minted at the treasury.”

“Your memory remains flawless.”

“So right now the Crown Prince is—” She pointed at the golden rain on the screen and let out an incredulous laugh. “—happily showering our counterfeit coins over his people’s heads? The idiot actually believes he’s giving them real gold.”

“Precisely, my lady.”

I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reached over and tapped the small tower sitting on the side table. It was a block-stacking toy built from heavy, lustrous rectangular gold bars—our private, most extravagant plaything, carved from the real bullion we had stolen. I slid out the bottom block with one finger.

Clatter—

The precariously balanced golden tower collapsed across the table with a heavy, metallic thud. The deep, rich clink that only 99.9% ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pure gold bullion could make.

“The real stuff is being put to good use as my building blocks.” I rolled one of the fallen pieces across my palm and jerked my chin at the screen. “So what do you suppose those hundreds of thousands of coins raining down on the square are?”

Clotilde stared at the citizens frantically scooping up the coins on screen. I lifted my champagne glass—still dusted with edible gold flakes—in a light toast toward the image.

For a moment the camera zoomed in on a single coin clutched in a citizen’s hand. The surface shone with a brilliant golden sheen. Yet along the edge, where it had been roughly handled and the plating had chipped away, a dull, dark, leaden color peeked through.

“Thin gold plating over a core that’s ninety percent lead,” I finished with a sly smile. “The very items we minted at the treasury and packed into that vault ourselves.”

“To think he’s raining those very coins over his people’s heads like some benevolent gift.” Clotilde leaned back elegantly in the bath and lifted the corners of her mouth in a truly wicked smile. “……Ilario Bern. I never imagined the trap we laid last year would detonate so spectacularly after twelve months. You really are the most beautiful villain I’ve ever seen.”

Beyond the screen where the golden rain continued to fall, the Crown Prince was still laughing, utterly intoxicated by his own greatness.