Gibraltar's Invitation (3)
Nostrum Kingdom's old political system had been an absolute monarchy centered on the king. Even just twenty years ago, the king wielded unchecked power over everything in the realm.
But King Saint Geo Nostrum's actions were disastrous in every way. The late king's will had even hinted at it to someone specific: "If Saint seems lacking, then you must lead this country." The ministers, who valued royal authority above all, rose up in outrage. No matter what, how could a subject become king of Nostrum? Even if he carried some Nostrum blood, the legitimate heir was still alive—how could they hand over the throne?
So the ministers enthroned Saint Geo Nostrum. Even if he was an incompetent crown prince, they figured the ministers could guide him properly from the sidelines.
"Stamp it yourself. I'm going hunting."
The ministers sensed the danger about three weeks after his coronation.
"Handle it yourselves. Don't bother me with it. If you really want to work, talk to those people my father mentioned before he died, yeah?"
Though he was drunk, the king's order from the throne stood. The ministers reorganized the administration around those people. Palace affairs centered on Queen Carmen Morgania Nostrum, while national administration fell under the de facto prime minister, who held full authority over all ministers.
So who was this figure overseeing the government—who could even command the military in the king's stead if needed?
Grand Duke Winchester Morgania. The late king's sworn brother, tutor to the current king Saint Geo Nostrum, one of the kingdom's masters—and Queen Carmen's father. Many voiced concerns when he became prime minister. Wasn't Nostrum in danger of becoming Morgania instead? Countries where in-laws dominate always decline.
Some self-proclaimed loyalists cried out.
"Your Majesty, you mustn't! Uphold the king's dignity. How can the grand duke and queen consort wield royal power at will?"
They pleaded with the king at the hunt, ready to lay down their lives. But his response was always the same.
"Why? It's so easy and nice leaving it to them."
In the end, with an unspoken agreement that "the kingdom will fall like this," the ministers gathered under the grand duke. If they didn't do their jobs, leaving it to the king would shake the nation. And so they endured for ten years.
Praying, please, just today, no headaches.
"An invitation from Gibraltar."
The ministers tore at their hair.
* * *
The administrative office in Nostrum's capital. Once the Morgania grand duke's capital mansion, it had become the bureaucrats' hub. At its center sat a round table for thirteen.
Ten years ago, it hosted ladies' tea parties. Now it was the arena for national debates—and a decade had passed.
Unless ill, the thirteen ministers including the prime minister always gathered. Today, excluding the prime minister grand duke, only one attended.
"Foreign Minister."
"Yes, Your Grace."
The white-haired veteran with a long beard dangling down pulled an envelope from his pocket.
"Do you know what you and I have in common? We didn't receive this. Everyone else did."
"......"
"Gibraltar's invitation. The last party was three years ago, right?"
"On the first anniversary of the youngest, Letar Gibraltar's birth."
The haggard foreign minister adjusted his round glasses.
"Likely to show off the countess's unchanged beauty after postpartum recovery."
"And you and I have a terrible relationship with that countess."
"Well... isn't it obvious? A Sword Master son-in-law could have joined Morgania."
The prime minister as the duke's daughter father back then. The foreign minister as her cousin.
"I still can't stand the margrave who didn't choose my daughter. And the countess who stole him."
"And the margrave despises us for insulting her when she was young."
"Wasn't it true? Back then, her head was full of flowers."
"True. And the margrave still holds that grudge."
Even after over ten years, some ill feelings never fade.
"Yet that woman sent this letter to the ministers."
"Who gave it to you?"
"The Maritime Minister. Read it."
The foreign minister took the envelope dubiously and unfolded the invitation inside.
"......She's changed a lot. Matured, perhaps."
"That's not the issue. Look at the bottom."
"...Orphanage?"
"Yes. That's the nominal core."
The grand duke stroked his beard down to his chest.
"Inviting so many dignitaries just for an orphanage? Doesn't make sense. But I can't discern any other purpose."
"Our spies in the count's house..."
"Dead. Makes it more delicate."
"Don't worry."
Creeeak.
The round table room door opened.
"I'll handle this."
The grand duke and foreign minister rose to bow to the black-haired woman who entered—Queen Carmen Morgania Nostrum.
"Your Majesty, why come here?"
"Call it a daughter's filial duty to keep her father's white hair from growing more from overthinking due to lack of intel."
Queen Carmen snatched the invitation from the foreign minister's hand.
"Orphanage. Ha. I can see exactly whose idea this is."
"The margrave's?"
"Why her?"
"......Well."
The grand duke lowered his voice seriously.
"Nobles build orphanages to gather talented boys and girls for knight training."
"...True. Hm, accounting for that too."
"Your Majesty, another guess?"
"I thought it was to collect donations under the orphanage pretext and fatten their pockets."
"Gibraltar?"
"Yes. Gibraltar."
"No, why? What are they after?"
"Father."
Snap. Queen Carmen snapped her fingers, and the meeting room door shut tight.
"Gibraltar has ulterior motives."
"......"
"Not joking."
"Why?"
"Because your son-in-law sexually harassed the countess?"
"Hm......"
The grand duke sighed deeply.
"The margrave's love is truly beyond common sense."
"Yes. But it works in my favor, so accept the invitation."
"We didn't receive one."
"They didn't send it to us. Sending to me is to the royals, to you? From Gibraltar to Morgania?"
Gibraltar had shown audacious selectivity in invitations—skipping the royals and Morgania. Sending would have been odder.
"I get they couldn't send it, but attending uninvited is too burdensome."
"We have an excuse. The transport unit's ready."
"...Sending rebar as a celebration gift. What a present."
An uninvited guest on official business—Gibraltar couldn't snub them.
"Yes. So go once?"
"Your Majesty, Nostrum's prime minister can't leave the capital for a day without paralyzing administration."
"Oh? Refusing so politely makes me look bad. Daddy?"
"......No. Still can't."
"Tch. Then......"
Queen Carmen and the grand duke's eyes turned to the man in the middle.
"Brother Hex. Go. By royal order."
"Prime minister's command. You go."
"...Wow."
The silent foreign minister, Viscount Hex Romana, gaped in shock.
"Sending the man who slapped the countess to the margrave's house?"
"Royal order."
"The queen and grand duke invoking royal orders? Treason."
"So, you won't go?"
"......"
Foreign Minister Viscount Hex bit his lip, trembling.
* * *
Gibraltar margrave territory was wider than expected. Nothing but roads between the canyon and castle, but toward the capital: people, well-paved roads, vast farmlands, and pastures.
In short, we could build an orphanage anywhere we chose.
"Grey."
My father, mounted himself, opened the carriage window and called me.
"This is the last candidate site."
"Perfect."
I stepped out, climbed atop the carriage, and surveyed the barren wasteland.
"Barren enough, no pastures nearby. I like it."
"Then spit it out. Why an orphanage?"
No one else around. Father had driven himself to draw out my true intent.
"Father, care to guess? My real goal."
"Our father-son dynamic's shifted. Making me guess your thoughts now."
"You might say what I overlooked."
"Fine. I'll play."
Father gripped the reins, halting the carriage.
"Politically, an orphanage gives nobles a pretext to visit later."
"Exactly."
A reason for other nobles to come to Gibraltar. Just checking on the orphanage kids, then private talks.
"Economically, profitable. More donations than costs for building or feeding."
"Yes. Run it right—no steaks or fresh fruit daily—and it's surplus. And..."
"And?"
"Not full-on human trafficking, but raise them well and sell—er."
Too blunt.
"Correction. The orphanage becomes a talent incubator."
"Selling kids elsewhere, right?"
"Crudely put, yes. But Father, isn't it about phrasing?"
Some might call it no different from selling.
"Just sending talented kids where their talents shine. Haha."
"Taking a cut in between is slave trading. Slaves are illegal in the kingdom, you know?"
"No money changes hands. Money makes it trafficking; gifts for introductions aren't."
Father winced, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Born in the empire, you'd be their prime minister for sure."
"Thanks for the praise. Haha."
"Not praise."
"Means I'm essential to traitor Gibraltar."
"Yes. Sigh. Continue."
Father drew his sheathed sword from his belt.
"Typical noble orphanages train knights. You're considering that."
"Yes. Kingdom common sense."
"But you're not satisfied with knights. We train plenty at the castle."
He pointed the sheath tip at the ground.
"Raising soldiers? Private army under orphanage guise?"
"That'd be instant treason."
"If not soldiers, what's the point of free feeding?"
"Letar's friends? Mother's joy in raising more kids?"
"Mere side benefits."
Oof. No overlooking Mother.
"Planning lots. Explaining verbally tires my jaw."
"Go on."
"Orphanage is a facility. And 'facility' prefixes endless things."
Politics, diplomacy, science, religion, military, commerce, tech, culture, medicine, arts, alchemy, magic.
Gibraltar's talented 'children,' spread across fields, would join the rebellion as our blades.
"Father. I'll make this orphanage a paradise."
"Where anyone would wish to come."
"Yes. Rumors across the kingdom, winds carrying them over the canyon to the empire. Thus."
"Stealing the empire's future."
"Yes. Not just empire—the kingdom too."
This was my immediate high ground against the emperor.
"Gather orphans continent-wide. Who knows? A master's talent might flow here. Worst case."
This was sincere.
"One future Sword Master nets profit. Heh heh heh."
Ideally, empire-bred.