The Emperor Investigates the Alcohol Thief

The next morning, the quarters of the Feast were even more chaotic than usual. Long before the sun had even reached its peak, a furious roar echoed from the dilapidated warehouse deep inside, tearing away the final, lingering threads of sleep.

"Which bastard was it?! What kind of goddamn thief dares touch my booze?! My booze! The alcohol that is literally my lifeblood is gone!"

The owner of the voice was unmistakably Bruka. It was a pitch higher than usual, vibrating with pure, unadulterated rage. Her thick Dwarven accent blended with her fury, creating a low, rumbling resonance.

A moment later, she burst out of the warehouse, her wild, tangled red curls flaring around her like a lion's mane. She slammed the door behind her with a deafening BANG! that threatened to splinter the wood. Her face was a mask of sheer, murderous hostility, practically screaming that she was ready to pulverize anything and everything in her line of sight. Yet, in stark contrast to her terrifying expression, the corners of her eyes were glistening with tears. It was a testament to just how deep her devotion to alcohol truly ran.

"Dwarven malt! I got it as a special reward after pulling off that massive job last time! I was saving it, hiding it deep in the back of that warehouse just so I could savor a single glass! Just one single glass! And someone stole the whole damn thing?! This is a crime! An insult to the sacred art of brewing! You might as well have stolen my last shred of hope and my only sanctuary, you godforsaken thief!"

She punched the air with trembling fists, her voice cracking. To her, alcohol was no mere luxury; it was the life-giving elixir that got her through the grueling days, the sole thread connecting her to the homeland she had left behind.

Just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠then, accompanied by heavy, thudding footsteps, Goluk—the massive orc manager tasked with maintaining order in the Feast—strode into the room. Crossing his thick, muscular arms, he loomed over Bruka with an imposing presence that felt heavy enough to crush the floorboards beneath him.

"At it again, I see. Lately, I've been getting constant reports of someone sneaking into the warehouse and skimming the alcohol. It has reached a point where I can no longer turn a blind eye. And it's not just your booze, Bruka. Other valuable goods have been vanishing bit by bit. Starting today, every single member of the staff living in the Feast will be subjected to a thorough search. No exceptions! I will find the culprit and snap their thieving wrists myself!"

His booming, menacing voice instantly blanketed the room in a suffocating tension. What a disastrous way to start the morning. At Goluk's declaration, the women of the Feast began to murmur. They were clearly disgruntled by the invasion of privacy, yet equally anxious that their own belongings might have gone missing.

Then, in the very next second, the gaze of every single woman in the room shifted. Like iron filings drawn to a magnet, they all turned slowly, in perfect unison, toward a single target. Their eyes locked onto me—Luciel. More specifically, they were staring right at the top of my head. It was a collective, glaring accusation, as if they were all screaming, You're the culprit! Had the rumors about what happened with that elf brat yesterday already spread that far?

"...Why is everyone staring at me like that? What did I even do?" I asked, trying my best to sound calm yet sharp, though I was inwardly baffled and slightly indignant. Their gazes were thick with blatant suspicion and disdain.

Bruka was the first to growl, glaring at me with eyes like a hawk. "It's always the quietest bitches who are the most suspicious! Acting all meek and innocent while plotting behind everyone's backs! Just look at her! Can't you see that gloomy, shady aura around her?"

Sia chimed in as well. Unlike her usual timid self, her voice was quiet but firm, her eyes tinged with a hint of resentment. "Bruka-eonni is right. You're always by yourself, Luciel-ssi, and nobody has any idea what you're doing in your room. Besides, you must be secretly consuming something at night... because sometimes, just sometimes, I hear these strange groans coming from your room. Are you sure you're not drinking yourself to sleep?"

Her innocent speculation only served to fuel the misunderstanding. At Sia's words, the suspicion in the other women's eyes deepened.

Miren wore her signature sly, seductive smirk, delivering the final blow as if presenting the ultimate piece of evidence. "On top of that, last night, after that spoiled little elf lord left, our newbie was stumbling down the hallway looking like a total zombie, completely wasted. I saw it with my own two eyes. She even banged her head against the wall. Isn't that more than enough proof? Heheh. So, what do you say? Ready to confess?"

Several women nodded in agreement. Luciel felt a surge of injustice, but she couldn't easily refute the claim.

Right at that moment, as if on cue for a theatrical climax, Madame Tana made her entrance, her presence elegant and utterly overwhelming. Today, she wore a black lace dress with a plunging neckline and a deeply scooped back, exuding an aura that was far more seductive and dangerous than usual. She observed the commotion with a relaxed, thoroughly amused smile.

"Well then, I think our newbie, Luciel, would make the perfect special detective to solve this troublesome yet intriguing alcohol theft. What do you think? Isn't it a wonderful idea? Rather than being falsely accused as the culprit, wouldn't it be much more exciting to clear your own name using your outstanding abilities? That is, assuming you aren't the actual thief."

Her proposal was delivered softly, but it carried the unyielding weight of an absolute command. The madame's golden eyes seemed to pierce right through Luciel's innermost thoughts.

Dumbfounded, Luciel let out a dry chuckle and retorted, "I am no detective, Madame. Leave such matters to Goluk or someone else."

"Starting today, you shall be both. Who knows? You might just discover a hidden talent. We must provide some small amusement to break the monotony of this tedious Feast, shouldn't we?"

The madame gave a playful wink. Her eyes made it abundantly clear that refusal was not an option.

Forced into the role of a detective against her will, Luciel reluctantly began her investigation. To think that a former Emperor would be reduced to investigating petty thefts... It was utterly absurd.

The first suspect was Sia. Her room was surprisingly tidy, but her drawers were packed with all sorts of colorful ribbons, glittering accessories, and lingerie of incredibly exotic and provocative designs. There wasn't a single alcohol bottle in sight, let alone the smell of booze. However, a fragment of a high-quality men's shirt, seemingly torn in haste, was found tucked beneath her pillow, raising a slight question.

The second was Lahara. As expected, her room was incredibly sparse and practical. In one corner sat a pair of sweat-stained dumbbells and a heavy barbell set, while a small table held nothing but a few pieces of dried chicken breast and some withered cucumbers. It was completely devoid of anything related to alcohol. If anything, it resembled the cell of an ascetic monk.

The third was Miren. As was always the case, her room wafted with the faint scent of men's cologne, mingled with the sweet, rich aroma of high-end wine. Three wine glasses sat precariously on her table, but there was absolutely no trace of the Dwarven malt Bruka was so desperately searching for. Only stains of red wine remained in the glasses.

The fourth, and perhaps the most likely suspect—as well as the victim—was Bruka. Her room was strange. It was far too clean. Considering her usual easygoing and boisterous personality, it was utterly unnatural. The spotless, gleaming room gave off a strong, awkward impression, as if she were desperately trying to hide something. Luciel couldn't help but frown deeply.

Finally, Luciel headed to the crime scene: the warehouse. It was a dark, damp space filled with the musty smell of dust and cluttered with all kinds of junk piled haphazardly. It felt like a place where rats would scurry out at any moment. There, in a corner of the weathered wooden wall, Luciel discovered a very faint but unusual trace. There were several dim handprints left on the wall—a mix of small and large prints—and the floor bore clear, deep scratches that looked as though something heavy had been repeatedly dragged or pushed across it.

Drawing upon her insight as a former Emperor and her analytical skills as a master strategist, Luciel followed her intuition. She squatted down and gave the most suspicious-looking wooden panel a firm push. With a dull CLANK, the panel slid aside, finally revealing a secret space hidden in the darkness. And inside...

There were several sizable kegs of alcohol, stacked neatly in five rows like soldiers on parade. They were incredibly rare vintages. And sprawled on top of those kegs, snoring loudly like a stuck pig with a look of absolute, heavenly bliss on her face, was Bruka. In her hands, she cradled a half-empty bottle of Dwarven malt as if it were a precious newborn baby.

"Hey, Bruka. So you were the one stealing your own booze. And you hid such a massive stash here, too. I must say, your acting skills are top-tier."

Luciel's voice was a mix of disbelief, exhaustion, and a tiny hint of genuine admiration.

Bruka blearily opened one eye. Without showing even a shred of embarrassment, she casually pressed a finger to her lips, speaking as if she were sharing a monumental secret.

"Shhh! Keep your voice down, newbie! If we get caught, we're both dead meat! You can't tell the other bitches about this. This... this is essential fuel for our line of work! Without this, I'd lose my mind from all the stress! It's a survival ration, a mental stabilizer!"

"This warehouse is a communal space for all of us, not your private cellar. And don't say 'we.' I have no intention of becoming your accomplice," Luciel said, crossing her arms. Her voice remained cold and detached, but her eyes wavered slightly.

"That's why I'm saying we should share it, just the two of us, in secret. What do you say? From what I saw yesterday, you can hold your liquor. Just one sip of this Dwarven malt and you'll think you've gone to heaven. Loyalty! We've got loyalty between us, don't we? Huh?"

Bruka winked, offering a tempting proposal that was hard to refuse—or perhaps, one that Luciel simply didn't want to refuse.

That night, Luciel accepted Bruka's offer and shared the Dwarven malt with her. At first, the alcohol tasted incredibly bitter, carrying a strange, burning, pungent aroma. Yet, strangely enough, with each subsequent sip, it slid down her throat smoother and smoother. Her entire body flushed with heat, and her mind grew pleasantly hazy—a sensation that wasn't bad at all. Perhaps this is the taste of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠freedom, Luciel thought to herself for a brief moment.

"Whew, it really is delicious. It's strong, but that's exactly why people drink it," Luciel said, setting down the now-empty bottle. A faint blush ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dusted her cheeks.

"It's terrible for your body. The hangover the next day is brutal, too. But it feels ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠damn good. That's life for you, heheh. In a shitty world like this, how else are we supposed to survive without booze?"

Bruka cackled, her words slurring as she grinned, already half-drunk.

A quiet moment passed. Inside the pitch-black warehouse, completely cut off from even the faintest moonlight, Bruka—now thoroughly buzzed—asked casually, as if it were nothing.

"Hey, newbie. Why... why did you actually end up here? No matter how I look at it, a girl like you doesn't belong in a shithole like this. Do you have... some kind of massive secret?"

Luciel hesitated. In the darkness, her gaze sank deep. Whether it was the alcohol or something else, she felt a sudden, uncharacteristic urge to be honest. Then, she spoke calmly, though her voice carried a trace of bitterness.

"I lost a gamble. A massive one. I wagered everything I had on a single hand, and I lost spectacularly."

"So you drifted all the way to a place like this just to pay off an astronomical debt? Just like that? With the way you carry yourself, I thought you'd ruined an entire country or something."

Bruka's voice held genuine surprise, mixed with a touch of melancholy.

"Well, yes. Isn't that easier to understand than some long, convoluted story? In the end, selling my body for money remains the same."

Luciel shrugged, a self-deprecating smile playing on her lips.

Bruka nodded in silence for a moment. Then, she raised the bottle and took a long swig.

"Simple enough. Yeah, alright. I can understand that. I hate complicated things. Living life simply is the best way, isn't it?"

A moment later, Bruka tilted the bottle again, her voice growing slightly more serious.

"You know, newbie... I knew there was something about you from the moment I saw you. You're definitely hiding some massive secret that makes you different from the other girls. But you keep your mouth shut so tight that it makes you even more suspicious. Still... that's why you're so interesting. You never get boring."

"Well, aren't I flattered? Is that a compliment, or are you trying to probe me?"

Luciel chuckled softly, giving Bruka a playful nudge in the ribs.

"Neither. It's not a compliment, and I'm not probing you. It's just... how it is. That's the kind of girl you are. I'll be keeping an eye on you, so don't go getting boring on me, got it?"

With that, Bruka let out a loud burp and leaned her head against Luciel's shoulder.

The next morning, the grand investigation into the alcohol theft that had caused such a stir in the Feast ended with a whimper, officially closed as an unsolved case. Madame Tana's formal announcement was as follows:

Yet, everyone in the Feast knew, either vaguely or with absolute certainty, that Bruka was the true culprit and Luciel was her primary accomplice. Perhaps even the madame saw right through it all and simply chose to turn a blind eye. In a place like this, such unspoken agreements and secrets were a dime a dozen.

Waking up late that morning, Luciel pulled the blanket over her head, clutching her throbbing temples with both hands as she groaned. Whether it was from the Dwarven malt she had shared with Bruka or the sheer absurdity of the entire situation, her hangover was exceptionally brutal.

"At this rate... am I really going to end up as just some ordinary, booze-stealing whore of a thief...? No... absolutely not... I was an Emperor..."

Yet, her voice lacked its usual resolve and fury. Perhaps, just a little, she had realized that she was growing accustomed to this hellish life—and that she was beginning to form new bonds within it.

It was a subtle, yet undeniable shift in her daily life.