The Empire's Hollow Splendor
The letter from the thoroughly rotten Northern Grand Duke wasn't something the chief eunuch was supposed to read in principle. He could proclaim it on the Emperor's behalf, but it wasn't within his casual purview. Yet the words from that piggish chief eunuch struck Jamuchin as utterly, profoundly strange. He'd heard the Empire obsessed over ceremonies even more than the North did.
"I hurried here as soon as I heard I could have an audience with His Majesty."
"Hmph. It's not as if country bumpkins can just gaze upon His Imperial Majesty whenever they please."
"Please, just this once, I beg you."
At that moment, Dorgon rose and approached Jamuchin and the chief eunuch with quick, mincing steps. A bribe—nothing could be more precise. According to Dorgon's intelligence, a certain amount would get them an audience with the Emperor. Indeed, the chief eunuch took great liking to the pouch Dorgon pulled from his bosom.
Jamuchin smiled, but inwardly, he felt utterly displeased. For the Northern Grand Duke to have to bribe his way to the Emperor...
"Heh, follow me. His Majesty is in the bathhouse."
"Thank you."
He bowed his head deeply and followed behind the chief eunuch. Jamuchin and Dorgon surveyed the palace as they went. Outside the windows stretched a landscape of slaves, including scenes of whippings that made Jamuchin furrow his brow slightly. It had been a full ten years since such practices were strictly banned in the North.
The bathhouse was inside the palace yet remarkably filthy. The chief eunuch pointed toward where the Emperor was. Did that mean they should enter? Steam filled the bathhouse interior. The Emperor sat in the center, surrounded by naked women and men dancing or engaging in all sorts of debauchery. He seemed immensely pleased by the spectacle, but his sunken eyes, aged skin, and long white beard were thoroughly repulsive. Lord de Wintergard had a long white beard too, but it carried dignity. The Emperor's did not.
"Who are you?"
At the Emperor's question, Jamuchin and Dorgon bowed their heads. The clamor in the bath gradually died down, but the Emperor bellowed for them to continue.
"Envoys from the North, Your Majesty."
"From the North? It's a long way here. Why come all this distance?"
"It is our honor to have an audience with Your Imperial Majesty."
That was the end of their meeting with the Emperor. At his dismissive wave signaling he was done looking at them, they were all but chased out.
Jamuchin and Dorgon exchanged glances, their faces a picture of absurdity.
"The Crown Prince is nearby too. How about a quick visit?"
"Ah, if possible..."
"Then we'll need another pouch, it seems. What do you say?"
As Dorgon slipped a few more gold coins into his hand, the chief eunuch led them to where the Crown Prince was. Not inside the palace proper, but in one of the garden spaces that adorned it. There they saw the Crown Prince with a certain woman. The maids wore blindfolds. Black ones—what did that signify?
"Greetings?"
"Gah!"
The Crown Prince suddenly shouted. He pointed accusingly, furious over something. The table was laden with exquisite delicacies. That was probably why the maids were blindfolded.
"Can't you see I'm spending time with my fiancée? Get lost!"
"Oh, fiancée? Is that what she is, Your Highness?"
"Cartina..."
Jamuchin watched them quietly. In the end, the Crown Prince never even asked who they were. Jamuchin and Dorgon promptly departed.
They retrieved the loyalty oath sent to the Empire, confirmed it formally, and returned it to the chief eunuch. With farewells that they were leaving now, Jamuchin boarded the carriage. Dorgon was already inside. As the palace guards shut the gates, the carriage set off.
Dorgon spoke first. Jamuchin leaned against the carriage window, silent.
"What do you make of it?"
"No answer there."
That summed up their impression of the palace. But Jamuchin wondered more deeply.
"If it had been the Grand Duke, Hexon would've slit his own throat on the spot. I'd have followed suit, and Bildo would've died there too to prove his loyalty."
"Indeed."
"Yet in that palace, not a soul. Did you know the state of things in the Empire, Dorgon?"
"This is my first time seeing it firsthand."
Silence fell again. The carriage exited the palace grounds, heading toward the outskirts of the Academy in the capital—the lodging chosen for the Northern envoys. Cardo de Bill stayed there too.
"The world's changed. The North might as well be paradise."
"Is that so? Even with winters that harsh?"
"No matter how cold winter gets, if your heart's frozen too, that's hell. You know that, don't you, Dorgon?"
"Hahaha..."
Entering Cardo de Bill's lodgings, the North's planted agents began to gather. They moved with utmost caution to avoid detection, but Jamuchin didn't touch on secrets. It was clear now. The imperial family didn't see the North as an enemy. More precisely, they didn't care at all. Or rather, they knew nothing.
"How was it, Minister?"
"De Bill, I can't imagine living in a dump like this. Revolting neighborhood."
"Even I miss the North's mountains."
Cardo de Bill. Foreign Ministry spy. One of Dorgon's intelligence operatives. Now a professor teaching literature at the Academy. Originally from the Empire, he'd been exiled north during the art purges and recently released. He lived quietly on the surface—but truly, he was the North's spy.
"It's confirmed, de Bill. You can return north soon."
"Really? Finally out of this place."
"Haven't met the nobles around here yet, but they're probably all small fry. No reason to expect any standouts."
Jamuchin propped his chin and yawned. Dorgon and the other agents showed more documents. Today was just an appetizer.
"Starting tomorrow, we'll meet several nobles for a few days. This is probably what the Grand Duke wants."
"Hm. Factions even in this mess. Fascinating. Alright, let's review."
He memorized faces and names. Jamuchin had called them boring, but per the Grand Duke's orders, he noted them precisely.
"Tomorrow, one more. The Foreign Minister. Roland von Bart. The Grand Duke will be thrilled after this."
"Oh...?"
The next day, they met various nobles. Faction leaders. Commanders responsible for the Empire's armies. He marked the ones to watch and filtered out the rest. But Jamuchin's conclusions grew ever more pessimistic. Almost no one capable of shining if they came north. Starving populace, untapped resources...
Jamuchin wrapped it in smiles, but he could sum up the Empire in one sentence, with utter conviction.
"Hollow inside, flashy exterior. No substance whatsoever. Nobles driven by greed alone, people starving to death. How has it not collapsed yet, this weak?"
Dorgon chuckled at Jamuchin's question. It was nearly time to meet the Bart family head.
Dorgon could only give the standard answer.
"Because His Grace hasn't fought the south."
"The Grand Duke? Well, he doesn't care for war much."
"Haha, no. It's that the Grand Duke crushes any foreign powers that could invade the Empire, leaving them helpless."
"...It always comes back to that."
"It just means rotting from within takes longer. That's my take, Minister."
"Standard line."
No more words, but they ran the calculations. If the North turned its blade on the Empire? It would surely fall. And with the North's power now...
"Marquis von Bart has arrived!"
Jamuchin and Dorgon rose. A clean face, etched with fatigue. He'd heard the Empire had gold veins in Bart territory, but this noble was fending off all the underhanded schemes against it. Jamuchin and Dorgon knew the full backstory—and held hopes for some agreement.
"No reason for the North to meet me, is there?"
"Not at all, Marquis. We're always open to talking with southern families."
"Didn't the North always keep silent? Never even attended a single noble council."
"Hahaha... The North's such a harsh place."
A sly smile. Jamuchin was an expert at it. Even nomads warned not to trust that grin. Nobles didn't grasp the cunning behind it. Sure, nobles had their own backdoors, but dealing with nomads built greater savvy. Nomads would cut your throat at the slightest whim.
"If you have ideas, we're always open. Any sort of cooperation."
"Cooperation..."
Bart's eyes gleamed. No one knew the North's resources exactly. Getting there was hell, leaving was hell. Simply put, no one saw the North as generous enough to offer much.
"...Let me be direct. If the south faces an emergency, what will the North do?"
Jamuchin and Dorgon exchanged glances. One spoke.
"We can't give a firm answer yet, but we'll do our utmost."
"And that utmost is..."
"The North has a proverb: Help your friends with all you've got, but when someone wants saving, first ask if they're your friend."
"...I see."
"Good proverb, isn't it?"
Jamuchin smiled again. Bart would grasp the implication. Could we be friends? Are you worth the North's aid?