They Call Me the King of Inspection – 3
In the Empire, status divides into three: the imperial family, the nobility, and the commoners. Anything below the commoners is closer to a matter of wealth than of rank, so we can set that aside.
Even among the nobility, the gap between titled nobles and ordinary ones is considerable. No matter how high-born a scion of a great house may be, he is still expected to show proper respect and deference to anyone who actually holds a title. Of course I know—and you know, and everyone knows—that a duke’s son is stronger than some random baron. But on paper, at least, the titled noble still stands above him.
In other words, a title is the symbol of wealth, honor, and power in noble society. For anyone without one, it is usually a treasure to be coveted.
Title succession…?
I, however, am one of the minority. I do not want a title.
To me?
With trembling eyes I checked my father’s message again. Unfortunately, it really did say “title succession ceremony.”
I could not accept it. If Father were in his seventies, maybe. But he is still only in his forties—in the prime of his life, the age when vigor and experience finally begin to meet. And besides, why would the Emperor ever allow a title succession like this?
So I hastily contacted Father. This was not something my common sense or my information could explain. I needed to hear it from the man himself.
Please.
At the same time I prayed with everything I had. I had only just received a countship, and now I was the minister-designate. If an Imperial Countship got piled on top of that, the mental burden would be too much.
“Karl?”
Perhaps because I had been spamming prayers all day, Father answered almost at once. I had been worried the Imperial Diet’s business would keep him from picking up; I was relieved.
“I’m sorry to contact you so suddenly. If I’m interrupting—”
“No, it’s fine. I was resting anyway.”
The look on Father’s face as he gently shook his head was complicated in a way I could not quite name. Confusion at having his work cut short, or pleasure that his son had called—neither quite fit. Some strange mixture of both.
Cold sweat broke out on its own. Father, who had never once shown any sign of wanting to hand over the title, had unilaterally announced a succession. The Emperor had approved the retirement of a man still only in his forties. And now Father was wearing an expression I could not read. It was enough to drive a person mad.
“You look as though you have a great many questions.”
Apparently it showed on my face; Father spoke first.
“…Yes. I’m a little taken aback, to be honest.”
“I understand. I would have been the same.”
He nodded at my frank answer. I was grateful for the empathy, but for someone capable of that kind of empathy to be the one causing the problem—
“Yesterday His Majesty recommended that I retire.”
?
“Not only me. Count Gibelt is also due to retire, and Count Bardon will step down once he finishes handing over the speakership.”
The moment I heard that, I understood.
Damn it.
This was pruning.
Last year, the previous Count Horfelt—a man of impeccable health and character—had suddenly retired. If his health had deteriorated to the point he could no longer work, that would have been one thing. But the former Count Horfelt was a sturdy warrior who had even served in the recent war.
So his retirement had taken place amid bewilderment and envy. No matter how you looked at it, the man had no reason to retire—yet somehow he was now enjoying a peaceful retirement life.
But now that Father and two other assemblymen had confirmed their own retirements, the reason for the former Count Horfelt’s departure finally became clear.
Clearing out the meritorious retainers.
The Emperor, who had spent decades navigating the political arena from a branch line of the imperial house, handled the Imperial Counts with ease. When imperial authority threatened to collapse, the Imperial Counts—bound by a shared fate with the imperial family—had cooperated diligently in any case.
Those Imperial Counts who had assisted the Emperor in governing the realm were a solid base of support from his perspective. But when one considered the Crown Prince who would soon inherit the throne, they became an awkward presence to leave untouched. It is common enough for the meritorious retainers of one generation to become obstacles for the next.
And this was the result. Because the Imperial Counts who had served him might cause problems for his successor, he had simply erased that possibility.
Not through a bloody purge, but in a peaceful, honorable way that benefited both sides.
So the whole thing had been building since last year.
I almost barked out a hollow laugh. Father, the former Count Horfelt, and Count Bardon had all ranked among the upper tier of Imperial Counts. They were weighty middle-aged men in their forties.
And now those three heavyweights were all set to retire over the span of two years. The elderly Imperial Counts would fade away on their own after the Crown Prince’s accession; the younger ones the Crown Prince’s own ability could handle. So the Emperor had targeted exactly three men—men in their forties with substantial power.
As for the oldest of them, Count Gibelt, being included… well, if only the middle-aged ones retired, the old men would feel slighted, so he had been added as a courtesy.
…I can’t stop this.
Once the thought reached that far, I simply gave up. This—no, this too, just like the post of Minister of the Inspectorate Ministry—was not something my own ability could prevent. The Emperor was clearing the way for his heir by retiring his meritorious retainers. Standing in the way of that could set off his paranoia in a spectacular fashion.
In fact, I would not even get as far as the Emperor. The retirees themselves would grab me by the collar. Who was I to interfere with their retirement? Count Gibelt in particular would probably fly into a rage and demand to know if I had no parents. If that man could not retire now, he really might work himself to death.
The more you know, the more you see.
And once I understood the situation, I thought I could make out a faint joy in Father’s expression, which had looked no different from before.
It was something to be happy about. Father had not simply dumped the work on his son on a whim; he had been going about his duties as usual when the Emperor himself invited him to step down with honor. The only thing that might weigh on him was worry for the son who was about to receive a title out of nowhere—
“It seems His Majesty was moved by Father’s devotion. This must be his way of telling you to rest easy from now on.”
“It is such an excessive kindness I almost feel embarrassed.”
Because that son had just spoken as though he accepted the sudden title succession, Father’s expression softened considerably.
Right. I was already finished, but at least Father should be happy.
“Ah, and I will keep the assembly seat until Erich graduates.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
I nodded at Father’s consideration. When an Imperial Count holds a high post in another ministry, a blood relative is supposed to serve as proxy assemblyman—but Erich is currently a student at the Academy.
Of course there was the option of having him drop out and become an assemblyman, but Erich is close friends with the royal heirs of other nations. The thought of those princes and the next saint falling into despair because their friend had suddenly vanished made it better for Father simply to hold the seat as proxy. The Emperor was checking the “sitting” Imperial Counts, not the “proxy” members of the Imperial Diet; he would be generous about the latter.
And above all, I wanted Erich of all people to earn his diploma.
There are already more than enough people in our family who never finished school…
For a moment I doubted my own ears.
“Billy, can you say that again?”
“The Inspectorate Ministry will be founded before long. Karl is expected to serve as its minister.”
I could only stare blankly at the communication orb. The content was exactly the same as what I had just heard.
Minister? Karl? That boy who is still only twenty-two?
“I-is that even possible? Founding a new ministry—no, more than that, Karl becoming a minister…”
“It is an extraordinary affair. You would probably have to dig through the entire history of the continent to find even a roughly comparable precedent.”
Billy’s certainty left my head ringing again. He was saying it was not merely unusual for the Empire, but rare even by historical standards.
I quietly turned my gaze toward Laura. She too looked dazed, as though she could not believe the news either.
What on earth…
I truly could not believe it. Only a few days ago I had been astonished to hear he had become the godfather of the imperial grandson—and now he was to become a minister of the Empire.
The summit that countless bureaucrats spent their whole lives chasing, a height that decades of effort could not reach—he was ascending to it.
…Is this really all right?
Anxiety coiled slowly in my chest.
As a mother, it is a joy to see one’s child recognized and successful. But even joy has its limits. Rising this fast is bound to draw other people’s envy. Even a normal pace of promotion produces gossip; this would certainly do the same.
What if people with ugly hearts attacked Karl? What if they spread strange rumors or plotted against him?
“My dear.”
It was Billy’s voice that cut through the spreading anxiety.
“I understand what you are worried about, but there is no need. That boy is stronger than you think.”
“Even so…”
“If there were going to be problems, they would have appeared when he became a division chief. A minister in his twenties or a division chief in his teens—what difference does it make?”
At the faint smile in his reassurance, I managed a small nod.
If Billy said so, it must be true. Unlike me, whose information went no further than exchanges among the wives, Billy could observe the administration from the Imperial Diet. As someone inside the political and bureaucratic world, he would know far more.
“So do not worry about the boy. Congratulate him.”
“…All right, Billy. I will.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
At those words I too offered a soft smile. As a mother, I would celebrate my son’s promotion—
“Ah, and I intend to pass the title on to Karl. I will keep the assembly seat for the time being, though.”
The voice was so calm and casual that I almost nodded without thinking—then stopped.
Who speaks so lightly about the most important matter a noble possesses—the title?
It really is all right… isn’t it?
Anxiety returned. Was even the claim that Karl would be fine just something said lightly?
I prayed that was not the case.
Rumors travel at a speed no mere human can keep up with.
“Congratulations, Advisor!”
Ryutis striding into the clubroom was living proof. If even Ryutis—who was neither a civil servant nor so much as an imperial citizen—was offering congratulations, just how far had the rumor spread?
“You heard too?”
“Well, when the news is about you, Advisor, it tends to reach my ears rather quickly.”
With his usual booming laugh, Ryutis’s gaze flicked toward Luise.
That explained it. Luise had been the secondary transmitter. The primary one was, of course, Erzebet.
“In any case, congratulations again. To think a precedent that will go down in history is standing right in front of my eyes.”
“Thanks…”
I mumbled weakly under the weight of congratulations I had already heard countless times in a single day. I still did not understand why the phrase “a precedent that will go down in history” hurt so much to hear.
After that, an energized Luise set about baking a celebration cake, and the other club members offered congratulations loud enough to make my eardrums bleed—but I simply laughed it all off.
Even so, sticking twenty-two candles on the cake felt a little wrong.
Today is not my birthday. If anything, it is the day I climbed into my coffin.
Damn it.
How many years would it take to escape this coffin called “minister”?