The Capital at Six — 2
I slowly opened my eyes again. I'd been so tired lately—maybe I'd just misread it.
Still the same. I'd read it right the first time.
Good grief.
The wretched feeling came flooding back. I'd always heard that a duke's epithet was bestowed by the Emperor himself—so what in the world had possessed the current Emperor to hand this woman the name Wise Duke?
If the Emperor still had eyes, he must have wanted to call her the Booze Duke, the Drunkard Duke, or the Absolute Wreck Duke. Maybe he'd fought that urge and settled on Wise Duke as a backhanded jab. Please, for the love of everything, act like your name.
She does live up to it, though…
Remembering this absolute wreck—no, this dog—no, this duke's actual capabilities only made me sigh again. To the Emperor's eternal regret, the Wise Duke was a monster who somehow combined alcohol and intellect in the same body.
Honestly, the alcoholism felt like balance adjustment. The way I saw it, Enen must have poured way too much intelligence into her when he made the Wise Duke. He had to slap "permanently plastered" on as a passive just so the scales would even out.
"When this child grows up, she will astonish the Empire."
Back when the Wise Duke was still tiny, a cardinal who visited House Salon had said that after looking at her.
Of course, her father—then known as the Pious Duke—had been a devout follower of the Dawn Church, so it might have been pure lip service. But in the end, the Wise Duke really did astonish the Empire. Just… for reasons other than ability.
A little strange, but hey—if people were astonished, mission accomplished, right? Cardinals really did have a gift for that sort of thing.
Shit.
I'd been trying to clear my cluttered head for a second, but the Wise Duke refused to tolerate even this pitiful civil servant's brief escape. The cruelty of it—nagging like a ghost the moment I let my thoughts wander.
And the letters were slowly starting to look like real words, which meant she was burning off the alcohol. If that happened, she'd keep harassing me until I answered.
No choice.
Brief annoyance right now versus days of torment later. Faced with those two options, I naturally picked the former.
I let out a small sigh and activated the communication orb. I had no talent for deciphering a drunk's typing, so I might as well look at her face.
"Nepheeeeew—!!"
The instant the call connected, a voice loud enough to haunt my dreams greeted me.
Jokka…?
That subtle pronunciation somewhere between "ka" and "kka." It made me flinch every single time.
And for the record, I am your husband's nephew. Not your nephew.
"Heir of House Crassius, Ministry of Finan—"
"Ah, ah, enuuuugh, enough! Between uuuus~ what formalities do we need!"
The Wise Duke cackled, then tipped an entire bottle of wine straight down her throat.
I'd thought she was clearing her head. Turns out she was doubling down. So that pushy message earlier had been a miracle of accidental legibility.
I quietly dropped my gaze. I simply could not look at that visage of pure madness any longer.
Between us?
And she was saying weird things. I wanted zero "us" with her. Please never go around calling us family.
…Not that she ever left her territory, so there was no one to tell anyway.
"Nephew! Nephew!"
"Yes, Your Grace. I'm listening."
"Nooooo don't call me thaaat!"
"…Yes, Auntie."
She nodded rapidly, looking thoroughly satisfied.
It was enough to make a man weep. She was still young, and her face was perfectly fine—so why had she been cursed with a personality like that?
Long light-green hair, golden eyes. Honestly, she had every ingredient to be a mysterious beauty. And then alcohol addiction had to go and ruin it.
"Our nepheeeew~ I missed seeing you so much I had to call!"
"We last saw each other at the New Year's Audience, so it has been a while."
I carefully wrapped the real meaning—you never leave your territory except for the New Year's Audience, so of course it has—in polite packaging.
It bounced right off that invincible wreck. Whether she was too drunk to understand or just pretending not to, I couldn't tell.
"Pffhh— right? So I thought I'd only see you next year— but lately nephew's news has been scorching hot, huh?"
I had no answer. If society gossip—not even policy—was reaching the ears of a shut-in drunkard in her corner of the world, then the entire Empire was already on fire.
When I fell silent, the Wise Duke cackled again and downed more wine.
"Even the Magic Lord's such a shy little thing!"
"Excuse me?"
The utterly incomprehensible claim made my mouth open on its own. Who was shy?
In what universe?
A public confession at the Crown Princess Consort's birthday banquet. Rumors spread so thoroughly the entire Empire knew.
That was the opposite of shy. Even someone made of pure courage and confidence would have hesitated at that move.
"She's so embarrassed she can't even talk to nephew— just circling around and around~"
Whether I was dumbfounded or not, the Wise Duke barreled on without a care.
"She confessed but can't go to nephew, only meets with the young ladies around him— she's saying 'I like you so notice me already!'"
She slammed the table and laughed, a flash of genuine madness in her eyes. That "pyahaha" laugh was so cheerful it somehow made me feel worse.
Anyway, it was baseless nonsense I couldn't follow. If anyone else had said it, I'd have written it off as drunk rambling.
But of course it had to be the Wise Duke.
A message's reliability always depends on the messenger. Unfortunately, when the Wise Duke said something, you couldn't just dismiss it no matter how much it sounded like garbage.
Can't trust a drunk's ranting? The woman had a terrifying legend that said she'd been plastered for every occasion in her life except her parents' funeral and her own wedding.
And even while permanently drunk, she ran the Cenes Duchy—former Apels core interest region, the Empire's greatest granary, home of the Elf Sanctuary, basically every headache piled into one territory—without a single noise. She was a SimCity veteran. Words from someone like that were impossible to ignore.
"Auntie. Forgive me, but what exactly do you mean by…"
"Pffh, nephew's curious tooooo?"
The retort You're the one who made me curious rose to the tip of my tongue and sank back down.
After cackling for a long while, the Wise Duke drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Even through the communication orb I could see pale red smoke billow from her mouth.
Something only the Wise Duke in this entire world could do—her personal magic that burned the alcohol in her body with mana and expelled it as smoke.
The end times are upon us.
I squeezed my eyes shut. A world that produced magic like that was too terrifying to face with open eyes.
"Our nephew~ the Magic Lord kept spreading rumors and meeting people around you~ you were scared, weren't you?"
"No, well, not quite that much."
Her energy was still high, but she sounded more lucid than before.
I'd almost admitted it and only barely held back. It was too embarrassing to confess.
"But nephew. When a duke decides to get serious, does it really end at just that level~?"
"No."
"Right?"
That one I could answer instantly. No. Absolutely not.
In the Empire, a duke's power was absolute. If they wanted something, they got it. Overturning the people around me instead of me directly? It wouldn't be ineffective, but it was an absurdly slow method.
"She made a public confession but said nothing after, just appealing to the people around you. That makes it obvious!"
Nodding to herself, the Wise Duke smirked and raised her index finger.
"She wanted nephew's attention so she just blurted out a confession, but going further is too embarrassing."
Then her middle finger unfurled quietly.
"But if she stays quiet other young ladies might swarm, so she spreads the rumors."
Having said that much, she flopped onto the table and shook so hard with laughter her shoulders heaved.
"Our Magic Lord is just too much of a little girl! First love, right? I'd believe she was twelve, not a hundred and twenty!"
I felt the blood drain from my face. That was the kind of courage even the Emperor wouldn't dare show.
Was alcohol really a potion of courage? The Magic Lord would never hear the Wise Duke's words, but saying them while looking at something the Magic Lord had made still felt a little… fraught.
"…Didn't she just give me time to sort out my feelings? She said she'd wait until the New Year's Audience."
"That was running away. She wanted time to sort out her own heart."
I forced the words out past the fear, but the Wise Duke answered without mercy.
"She's probably rationalizing it right now~ 'I'm doing this for nephew~ I'm giving him space~' Elves and mages are good at controlling their own minds, after all."
I'd never even considered that angle. So the Magic Lord had been making excuses to buy herself time to run?
"Nephew. If it feels like the Magic Lord's dragging you along, poke her first. She'll be so happy she'll pass out."
You think I've only met one or two elves?
That little addition from the Wise Duke left me staring blankly at the communication orb.
The conversation full of chaos and madness ended when the Wise Duke cracked open a fresh bottle of whiskey.
"Theeeeen! For our nepheeeew's path to marriaaaage!"
She downed half the new bottle without pausing, then poured the rest over the communication orb and hung up.
That's… wisdom?
I seriously had to wonder, but the occasional fragment of real insight she showed somehow made me keep putting up with her.
Same as now. A viewpoint and thoughts only possible because she was a drunk lunatic.
The Magic Lord is hesitating.
If I summarized and cleaned it up, that was the core. The Magic Lord I'd thought was so bold was just as confused as I was, catching her breath.
Is that it?
Assuming the Wise Duke's words were true, it actually made a weird kind of sense.
No contact with me after the confession? I'd thought it meant "prepare your heart by the New Year's Audience," but the Magic Lord had no reason to wait that patiently. But if it was time for her to settle her own heart?
And scattering every possible rumor around me? Pressure telling everyone else not to outbid on the item she'd already bid on. Though technically Margarethe had bid first, if we were being precise.
"She's probably rationalizing it right now~ 'I'm doing this for nephew~ I'm giving him space~' Elves and mages are good at controlling their own minds, after all."
And the Magic Lord herself was only pretending to have room to breathe—self-rationalizing.
"Nephew. If it feels like the Magic Lord's dragging you along, poke her first. She'll be so happy she'll pass out."
So if I approached first, she'd actually fall into even more confusion.
Is that real?
I was thoroughly confused. It felt true and like complete nonsense at the same time.
The way to check was simple. If I went to the Magic Tower first and met the Magic Lord, I'd know immediately.
If the Wise Duke was right, the Magic Lord wouldn't be able to react at all—
And if she was wrong.
I'd be walking into the tiger's den myself. The Magic Lord would probably go, "You came on your own, so little one must like me," and just tie me up on the spot.
I needed to think more carefully. Even if it came from the Wise Duke, this wasn't a decision to make lightly.
…And for the time being, going to the Imperial Capital felt a little scary.
I rolled my eyes under the prickling weight of a stare.
Strange. It was a communication orb—there was no way I should be able to feel a gaze.
"Eri."
"Y-yes. Your Highness the Crown Princess."
"Don't suddenly go formal."
"…Yeah, Senior."
When I answered glumly, Senior Aria let out a deep sigh. My shoulders instinctively hunched.
"Eri. Don't you want to get married?"
My head dropped even lower at those words.
I knew this was coming.
I'd once borrowed Senior Aria's hand for the sake of beautiful love with the Director.
And from that very moment, this situation had been inevitable.
"Are you just going to work in the Audit Department forever? Stay a section chief for life? Don't you want to become a countess?"
Senior Aria's voice sounded a little angry, and I couldn't lift my head at all.
Senior… you're scary when you're mad…