Northern Grand Count (Not Grand Duke) - 2
Thirteen letters had first set out from the North and made their way all the way to Wiridia. They were dreadful missives that carried not fortune but despair, yet one could hardly ignore correspondence from great lords, so I examined each one myself.
And once the greetings, the flowery flourishes, and the ceremonial phrasing were stripped away, every single one of those thirteen letters—without a single exception—contained the same proposal, or rather the same request wearing the name of a proposal.
A blunt, straightforward plea for me to become their Wolf Punch.
This is going to be hard to refuse.
I nearly let out a dry laugh. The great lords of the North had not merely written down their business; they had poured into those letters a desperate humility that thoroughly abased themselves. Refuse them, and the awkward future that would follow was plain for anyone to see.
They had even sent advance payments in the hope that I would choose favorably. A not-insignificant number of nomads had already flowed into the Wiridia domain, and the markets of Wiridia were growing lively through trade with those thirteen great lords. However voluntary those deposits might be, taking the money and then wiping my mouth would make me nothing more than a scammer.
What am I supposed to do?
I was genuinely torn. Objectively speaking, it was not a bad offer at all. In fact, one could call it a good one.
As the great lord of a domain that bordered the North, to forge friendly ties with the northern powers, and to have the collective will of the North support me? No matter how I looked at it, the situation was pure profit with no downside. The stability and development of my lands would improve, and my influence at the center would rise at a rapid clip.
Of course, if a member of my faction caused an incident I would have to take responsibility as its leader, but getting disciplined because a subordinate made a mess was something I was already thoroughly used to. Nothing new there.
Yes, it was profitable. Profitable… and yet…
I don’t need it.
Profitable, but unnecessary. I was already the godfather of the Crown Princess, Minister of the Inspectorate Ministry, and every other title under the sun; what good would raising my influence any further do me? I already had a bastard of a superior sitting above me, and the subordinates I did have were overflowing with personality problems. Frankly, I was no weakling who needed anyone else’s help.
Stability of the domain? Unless the great lords of the North completely lost their minds, they were not going to cause trouble in my territory—or even near it. Those men possessed far sharper wits and situational awareness than any ordinary criminal.
Which was exactly why I was stuck. Refuse, and things would grow awkward with my northern neighbors. Accept, and I would be saddled with rewards and responsibilities I never wanted.
“Come to think of it, Minister. There may be no problems in your domain, but I hear something rather interesting has come up.”
Ah.
In the middle of my brooding, the Emperor’s earlier words floated back to me.
The Emperor was not the sort of bastard who would simply sit and watch great lords of nomadic origin make contact with the mainland nobility. A new faction was about to appear on the political stage; if he showed no interest, he would be failing as a ruler. The man had personality problems, not intelligence problems.
Yet even though he clearly knew what the northern great lords were doing, he had merely called it “interesting.” He had not made a single remark that seemed intended to check my connection with the North.
Which meant, for all practical purposes, that the Emperor wanted me to become the head of a northern faction.
…
I’ll take it, then.
I let out a quiet sigh. Once the Emperor’s will was set, the easiest path was to follow it as closely as possible. Refuse for no good reason and I would only rack up resentment stacks.
Besides, the birth of a northern faction itself was a future that could no longer be stopped. Even if I rejected the great lords of the North, they would simply approach some other mainland noble and form a faction anyway. If a faction was going to appear no matter what, they had apparently decided it was better to entrust it to an Imperial Count (pending promotion) and the godfather of the Crown Princess than to some unknown figure.
“They’ve waited long enough. I should send a reply quickly.”
“Yes, my lord. I shall prepare it at once.”
The moment I spoke, the chief magistrate who had been waiting bowed swiftly and brought paper and pen.
From this moment on, I was the Northern Grand Count who would manage the North.
It sounded rather like a knock-off title, but that was what it was.
The mage who had delivered me to Wiridia also served as courier, so the replies went out with remarkable speed. I really ought to mention to Beatrix that there was a particularly helpful mage in her service.
And not long after the mage departed, the communication orb began to glow.
—It has been some time since last we spoke, Count.
It was Marquis Barandiga, the only marquis in the North.
“Yes. We saw each other at the abdication ceremony, though we never even exchanged greetings then. Have you been well in the meantime?”
—Thanks to the grace of the Imperial Family, I have been spending days that leave nothing to be desired.
Marquis Barandiga answered the ceremonial inquiry with a hearty laugh.
That aside, I was a little surprised. I had included a line in my reply suggesting we discuss a more constructive future through the communication orb, but I had not expected him to contact me the moment he received it.
…Don’t tell me I’m going to have to speak with all thirteen of them one after another?
—I am glad to see you appear in good health as well, Count.
“Haha, I’m still of an age where I ought to be sturdy. It would be troublesome if I were already frail.”
—Ah, of course. That was a slip of the tongue on my part.
Unease welled up, but I decided to focus on the conversation for now. Marquis Barandiga was the nominal leader of the northern great lords; if I could simply finish this talk with him properly, half the matter would be settled.
The problem was that “this talk” amounted to the transfer of that leadership.
“Had I been able to see Your Lordship more often, I might have had more chances to demonstrate my good health. For neighbors, we have had rather few opportunities for exchange, have we not? A truly regrettable thing.”
At those words the marquis’s smile deepened further. First the reply about discussing a constructive future, and now regret that neighbors had not been able to exchange more freely—anyone listening would take it as a positive reception of the northern great lords’ request.
—Please do not say such things. You are busy with the work of the administration, are you not, Count?
“I can step down from the administration at any time, yet the fact that I am Your Lordship’s neighbor will not change.”
That was a lie, of course. Passing the County of Wiridia to my children might actually be faster than getting out of the administration.
But Marquis Barandiga still did not understand how the Imperial Family used its civil servants. Ignorant of that brutal truth, he simply smiled with pleasure at the white lie.
Don’t you go becoming a civil servant.
Roughly five hours after the Minister departed for Wiridia, his communication arrived.
—Long live His Majesty the Emperor. This humble servant of Your Majesty, Karl Crassius, offers his greetings to the sun of the Empire.
I was pleased by the earlier-than-expected contact. He must have sensed what I wanted and moved the matter forward with speed.
“Well then, Minister. Seeing that you have already made contact, I take it the business is concluded.”
—…Yes, Your Majesty. It has been handled without incident.
Satisfying indeed. In truth, so long as the Minister was prepared to embrace the great lords of nomadic origin, the matter would have concluded cleanly anyway; still, finishing that resolve so promptly deserved praise.
“Well done. Did I not tell you? It was not that any problem had arisen in your domain.”
I saw the Minister’s pupils tremble for a moment, but I ignored it.
I had not lied, after all. It was true that nothing was wrong with the domain. Something interesting had simply happened to its lord, the Minister.
Now I need not worry about the North.
The corner of my mouth lifted slightly. The North was distant from the capital and barren, a region difficult to administer smoothly; yet if the Minister, who held a domain in the northern lands, became their leader, there would be nothing to worry about.
The Minister had taken part in two wars and twice performed the decisive feat of slaying the enemy’s chieftain. It was only natural that the nomads, who valued martial prowess, would respect and revere such a man. Even as a noble rather than a nomad, they would follow the godfather of the Crown Princess and an Imperial Count.
It might seem that I was heaping excessive honor and authority upon the Minister as an individual, but if someone was going to bind themselves to the North, it was better that the Minister hold the reins.
And I have a safety measure of sorts as well.
Should the Minister ever run wild, Father-in-law’s faction, which was spread throughout the northern regions, would stand against the Minister’s northern faction. That bizarre scenario of tens of thousands of nomads charging toward the capital could be avoided.
Of course, I could not imagine a future in which the Minister ran wild and collided with Father-in-law in the first place.
—Your Majesty.
Just as I was about to smile at the thought of the now-solidified northern security, the Minister spoke.
—I am most abject, yet there is something I would dare inquire of Your Majesty.
“Of me?”
—Yes, Your Majesty.
Unexpected words. It was extremely rare for the Minister to ask me anything. Whether because he believed opening his mouth would only bring more work down upon him, he preferred to keep his speech to a minimum.
Interest began to rise in place of surprise. If even that man was asking a question of his own accord, I found myself looking forward to whatever it might be. From his expression, at least, it did not appear urgent.
“Speak.”
—Long live Your Majesty; I am grateful for your grace.
At the brief permission the Minister bowed his head and continued.
—What is to become of the magistrates who administered the Wiridia region?
“There are many directly administered territories, so the ordinary magistrates will be reassigned elsewhere, but the chief magistrate will remain in a holding pattern for a time. There is no vacant chief-magistrate post, so it cannot be helped.”
—Then, Your Majesty… may this subject take the chief magistrate as a retainer?
The interest that had already been rising began to surge even faster.
“The chief magistrate?”
—Yes, Your Majesty. There is no one more thoroughly versed in the Wiridia region than the chief magistrate. Therefore I wish to bestow a viscountcy upon him and make him my steward.
A viscount…
I felt my cheek twitch. The sheer audacity of appointing a mere magistrate to a viscountcy simply because he was an expert nearly made me burst out laughing.
Certainly no one would know the region better than the chief magistrate. The post was not called “chief” for nothing. Yet if one merely wished to make use of that ability, ordinary employment would have been sufficient; instead he intended to take the man as a retainer—and not only that, but to give him a viscountcy, the second seat of a county, and make him steward.
“The distribution of titles within a domain is the right of its lord. If the chief magistrate accepts the Minister’s invitation, I shall relieve him of his post, so do as you will.”
I barely suppressed the laughter and returned the answer.
Even if the chief magistrate received a viscountcy, several baronies still remained within Wiridia. Once word spread that the Minister had casually handed a viscountcy to a chief magistrate he had only just met, ambitious talents would flock toward him.
Imagining the Minister being hounded by them was simply too amusing to endure.