Internal Cleanup (2)

Müller had sent a letter to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Marquess's house.

Which meant he wasn't merely an embezzler lining his own pockets — he was a mole inside the Grand Duchy. While gnawing away at the treasury, he had almost certainly been leaking internal information as well.

So that was why the Marquess had been able to strike so precisely at the Grand Duchy's weak points in the original story. A spy. Of course.

"What was in the letter?"

"We couldn't confirm. It was sent sealed, through the relay post."

Disappointing, but an entirely expected result. Men don't stake their lives on betrayal only to leave the evidence lying about.

"The letter went out because of the special envoy incident."

Lucas nodded.

"From Müller's perspective, the young master suddenly began to move. It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would have been alarming."

Exactly. The shut-in eldest son, who hadn't left his room in years, had abruptly cut off an imperial envoy's hand and tongue, drafted official documents, and started reciting legal clauses. A mole would have no choice but to report that upstairs.

Here, timing was everything.

If Müller had reported to the Marquess, orders would come back down — destroy the evidence, or obstruct us more aggressively.

Which meant I had to finish everything before that letter reached the Marquess's estate.

"Lucas, how many days does it take the relay post to reach Lawrence territory?"

"One day, my lord. And another day for a reply to return."

"So two days."

Two days to clean up all three of them.

"What about the other two — Becker and Schmidt?"

"Outwardly, no different from usual. However…"

"However?"

"There are reports that Becker has been visiting the warehouse on the fortress outskirts with unusual frequency."

A logistics officer visiting a warehouse was perfectly normal in itself — it was the frequency that bothered me.

"What's in that warehouse?"

"Storage for the knights' decommissioned equipment. My lord, could it be…"

"Hiding the goods he skimmed, I'd wager."

If Becker hadn't just pocketed the inflated sums in the ledgers but had actually walked off with the supplies themselves, the evidence would be sitting in that warehouse.

"Let's go check."

"Now, my lord? It's the middle of the night."

"Tsk. Lucas, you have no sense of drama."

I said it offhandedly to my bewildered butler.

"That's exactly why we go at night."

The warehouse on the fortress outskirts sat beneath the northern wall.

Not a soul stirred at this hour. Lucas unlocked the door with a spare key. A butler's master key, it seemed, was a cheat code in any world.

When we lit the mana-stone lantern, the interior came into view.

Near the entrance, rusted armor and chipped, toothless swords lay heaped in a pile — legitimate decommissioned equipment.

But the deeper we went, the more the condition of the goods changed.

Wooden crates stood stacked in tidy rows. Inside them: swords still gleaming brand-new, knights' breastplates, shields. Equipment that had been written off as purchased under military replacement budgets lay sleeping here in the dark.

"These men… they recorded these items as purchased, hid the physical goods here, and planned to quietly sell them off later."

Lucas's voice trembled, if only faintly.

I pried open another crate. Smoked meat and sacks of grain. A portion of the food bought at inflated prices through the Heinz Merchant Guild had been diverted here as well.

The knights cried out that they lacked equipment, the territory's people grew anxious over shrinking rations — and the goods themselves were rotting in a warehouse.

I stared at the crates in silence.

I knew I ought to be furious, yet strangely I felt calm. Things like this had been commonplace in my past life, after all. Embezzle the company's money, pad the expense reports, call it a day. Human nature is the same wherever you go — even in a romance fantasy world.

To end this kind of rot, someone had to draw the sword.

"Lucas, have a second lock fitted to this warehouse. No one gets in before I've confirmed the contents myself."

"Understood, my lord."

"And arrest Müller, Becker, and Schmidt. Lock them up separately. I'll interrogate them personally."

Lucas fell silent for a moment. It must have felt as though his faith in the Grand Duchy itself were being torn up by the roots.

I met the old man's eyes steadily.

"Lucas, I trust you. So use only people you can trust."

My reason for trusting him was simple: in the original story, he had died alongside the Grand Duchy's fall. A butler who had served the house for forty years had no reason to betray it. But there was no need to say any of that aloud.

Lucas hesitated, then finally spoke.

"I confess… it gladdens this old body, to feel you leaning on me more than before."

He soon dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief.

"Even amid all this, you keep your footing so firmly. It truly steadies me, my lord."

"It's all for our family. Now hurry along."

Moving the butler to tears hadn't exactly been part of the plan. Just how long had the original eldest son been shut up in his room, anyway?

Lucas bowed with perfect formality, a full ninety degrees.

"I will not disappoint you."

Past midnight. The underground cells.

The man called Müller sat bound to a chair, the flesh beneath his eyes dark as soot, his lips cracked dry.

In the next cell, Becker and Schmidt had been locked away separately. Lucas had handled the arrangements flawlessly, as expected.

"Müller."

At my voice, the man raised his head. There wasn't a trace of fear in his eyes — only something closer to resignation.

"The Heinz Merchant Guild, Martin Arms Dealer, Nord Stone Merchant. All ghost companies. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠And I've confirmed the supplies spirited out of the warehouse."

Müller's lips moved, but no words came.

"And the letter you sent to the Marquess's estate last night."

Müller closed his eyes.

"Where is Volph, the treasurer?"

Silence.

"Müller. If it comes from your mouth, you're an embezzler. If it doesn't, you're a mole. You understand the punishments are not the same. Think of your family."

Embezzlement was survivable — return the assets, and you might keep your head. But collusion was treason. A capital crime that extended the executioner's blade to one's entire bloodline.

Müller's dead eyes wavered. The word family had reached something inside him.

"…He is in Lawrence territory. At the Marquess's estate."

Once his mouth opened, the rest came pouring out.

Volph had gathered the embezzled funds in the wake of the late Grand Duke's death and fled to Lawrence territory. The Marquess had been his backing all along, and after Volph's departure, Müller had continued the embezzlement under the direct supervision of the Marquess's steward.

Becker and Schmidt, for their part, had known nothing of the connection to the Marquess — simple embezzlers riding piggyback on the system Volph had built.

"Good. Your family will be left untouched."

The tension drained from Müller's shoulders.

Becker and Schmidt were dealt with through full restitution and dismissal from their posts. Müller was imprisoned on charges of collusion.

The internal cleanup was complete.

But this was not the end.

I sat in the study, organizing my thoughts, Lucas standing watch at my side.

Volph was in Lawrence territory. The Grand Duchy's own treasurer had embezzled public funds and fled under the Marquess's wing.

This was no ordinary crime, no mere deviation from the norm. The Marquess had bribed the Grand Duchy's internal officials to bleed its finances dry — and had aided and abetted a fugitive's escape besides. Under Imperial Aristocratic Law, bribing and turning another house's officials constituted encroachment between noble houses.

It was grounds enough to declare war.

The problem was military strength.

We could not take on the Marquess with a knight order on the verge of collapse. But neither could I pretend not to know and sit on my hands.

The envoy affair had taught me something. If your justification was airtight, there was nothing to flinch from. Create a situation where your opponent couldn't draw his sword, and numbers meant nothing.

"Lucas."

"Yes, my lord."

"I'll be paying a visit to the Marquess of Lawrence."

Lucas nearly jumped out of his skin.

"…I beg your pardon?"

"I'm going to demand, in person, that they hand over the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠masterminds of this affair."

"My lord, that is no different from walking into enemy territory to die!"

"What happens to those who mistreat a guest?"

The old man bit his lip, at a loss.

"Before we depart, we send official letters to the Imperial court and to the five neighboring houses. 'The legitimate heir of House Eberhardt will pay an official visit to the Marquess of Lawrence to resolve an inter-house dispute.' Now — if I were to come to harm at the Marquess's estate after those letters have gone out?"

"…It would appear to be the Marquess's doing."

"Not appear. Proven. Lay a hand on a legitimate heir during an official visit, and you're looking at a violation of Imperial law compounded by provocation of war between houses."

I could see Lucas working through the logic, slowly and carefully.

"The Marquess is a man who prizes justification above all. With an official visit, he could hardly act rashly. But…"

…Which meant my safety was by no means guaranteed. In the worst case, he could post assassins along the road home.

"Perfect safety doesn't exist. But sitting here waiting isn't safe either. If I do nothing, those other nobles will only learn to underestimate the Grand Duchy all the more."

Lucas studied me for a long moment, then at last bowed his head as if bending at the waist.

"…I will see you there, my lord."

"No, Lucas. You're staying. Someone has to hold the house together."

Or more precisely — someone had to stand as the last line of defense when my family descended into chaos. Not that Lucas needed to know that.

Lucas lifted his head.

"You go alone, my lord?"

"Hans and two knights will do. It's ceremony, nothing more."

Lucas's brows twitched with unease, but he raised no further objection.

"And one more thing."

I added it as I rose from my chair.

"I'll tell Mother right before we depart. If she hears any earlier, I'll never manage to leave at all."

Lucas was in for a rough time holding off my family's relentless pressure while I was gone. Sorry, old friend — but you're the only one for the job.

I headed for my room.

The door swung open with a clunk — and there was a lump bulging on top of the bed.

Stella, burrowed under the covers, breathing soft and even in her sleep.

"Ha… again?"

The way she clutched a pillow told me this was another premeditated invasion.

A sigh escaped me, but I couldn't bring myself to wake her. Wake this one up, and out would come her signature move — "I had a scary dream" — and then it would be my loss.

I tugged the edge of the blanket up over her shoulders and spread the spare one on the floor.

Tonight, the floor was my bed.

"…This is all part of the plan, too…"

I closed my eyes to her murmured excuse — muttered, apparently, to convince absolutely no one.

"They'd fall apart without me, wouldn't they."

In the end, I would be settling accounts with the Marquess myself.