Lemon Verbena's Hidden Empire
Thinking back, Lancel hadn't held much expectation or worry for Marygold as a regressor. Watching her live leisurely in Baron Ivil Shen's mansion made it hard to feel otherwise. Even her alias, Lemon Verbena—something without any real substance, obviously—didn't stir much in him.
'Newbies act all weird at first after regressing.'
Every time he received letters flying in via raven, that's all Lancel thought. Like a veteran regressor eyeing a rookie... yeah, pretty much spot on.
A life with no real danger, but no opportunities either. This loop for regressor Marygold seemed destined to fizzle out around there. Probably. Unless he intervened midway, the odds were high.
...That's what he'd thought until yesterday.
50 gold coins donated to the Imperial Cathedral in the name of ‘Marygold’!
"...Am I still half-asleep?"
Lancel doubted his own eyes.
'50 gold coins? Not silver—actual gold, 50 of them?'
The notification that Marygold had donated a fortune of 50 gold coins lingered on his retinas like an illusion. No mistake. It was 50 gold.
It had been exactly one week since the letter he'd sent—without a shred of expectation—arrived at Lemon Verbena, instructing the maid ‘Marygold’ to receive the status of sub-baron.
One week. Just one.
For reference, during that time, Marygold had faithfully played the role of rice-guzzling maid, lounging around as usual.
But when? How the hell did she pull that off?
'What the fuck are you up to, Marygold!'
Around this time, strange phenomena started popping up around Lancel.
"Take a look at this, Sir Lancel. Doesn't anything special strike you?"
"...?"
Lancel glared at Baron Ivil Shen, who had suddenly appeared before him with a smug grin, his brows furrowing deeply. He hadn't expected the pot-bellied merchant to shove his outfit in his face for appraisal, so his irritation showed plainly.
"What's with that reaction? You're embarrassing me here."
"...What do you want me to say?"
"Ah, check this out."
He pointed, and there was a necklace. Something very familiar dangled from it in Lancel's eyes.
"Coral?"
"You know it! Why pretend otherwise? It's coral, lad. Straight from those distant shores."
A necklace strung with colorful corals. When dried and pocketed, they gave off a refreshing scent, serving as a sort of air freshener for the archipelago folk. Back when Lancel was writing his seafood travelogue, he'd worn something similar.
'How the hell did this make it all the way here?'
Lancel eyed the necklace with half joy, half bafflement that it had reached the capital.
"Need one? Word is, among the capital nobles these days, you're seen as a total backwater hick without it."
"I see... But how did something from so far away become trendy?"
"Just recently. At first, when a noble or two started flashing 'em, I thought it was some weird trinket. Then boom—turns out even His Highness the Prince is wearing one. Spread like wildfire after that."
The Prince? Wearing that?
Lancel, with all his loops, figured odd fads like this cropped up now and then.
'Weird trend.'
...That thought flipped when Baron Ivil Shen came barreling back into the mansion, panting.
"Damn it, I should've stocked up earlier! If I'd known, I'd have hoarded the shit out of it!"
"Why're you kicking up dust like that?"
"The coral! Coral!"
Baron Ivil Shen tossed the answer over his shoulder amid the frenzy of gearing up to dash out again.
"The shipment to the capital got jacked by bandits—whole lot gone! No supply for months, they say. Prices already jumped tenfold! This ain't right!"
"...How much was it before?"
"Twenty silvers a pouch till recently."
Twenty silvers a pouch, up tenfold—that's two golds. Pricey, sure.
"Gonna skyrocket more. Gotta buy now, or I'll be watching others rake it in! Can't stand that!"
Baron Ivil Shen huffed, grabbed a fat stack of cash, and bolted. Looked like the merchants who'd stockpiled were printing gold sitting on their asses—and it burned him up.
'Hold up.'
Something felt off. Lancel glanced down the mansion hall. There was Marygold, cleaning paused, tucked in a corner.
"Lulu. Lulululu."
Wiggling her toes, humming some mysterious tune.
'No way.'
Couldn't be. Look at her.
'...'
But suspicion bloomed in a corner of his mind anyway.
'Might be overthinking it.'
* * *
"...That's what happened."
"Yes, Sir Lancel."
The next day, Lancel summoned a man to the mansion. The one more plugged into capital gossip than anyone: the Thieves' Guild master.
"Curious why that stuff suddenly trended and prices exploded. Got any intel?"
"Nobles' greed and faith, Sir Lancel."
"Greed and faith?"
"Yes."
Greed made sense, but faith? As Lancel tilted his head, the guild master continued.
"This, right?"
He rummaged in his pouch and pulled out a coral sachet.
"It's just a luxury now, but when it first blew up, they called it a holy relic that drove out demons. Believe it or not."
"Holy relic? Coral?"
Lancel narrowed his eyes.
"Isn't it just scented junk?"
"Pretty much. But nobles claim they chucked it at a demon and it dropped dead on the spot. Just rumors, though."
"...How'd that superstition spread?"
"Who knows. So many nobles swearing they saw it themselves—whaddya gonna do? Everyone just rolls with it."
The guild master dumped the coral from his pouch onto his palm.
"They say sprinkling it on a living corpse made it collapse into dust. Take it or leave it—that's how it got branded a demon-slaying relic."
Living corpse.
'Black magic.'
The shock hit Lancel like a hammer; he blanked out for a sec. Baron Ivil Shen hadn't mentioned this—he'd never buy superstition without eyewitness proof.
But Lancel knew. There was a black mage lately raking in suspiciously huge cash.
One who'd casually drop 50 gold at the cathedral without blinking.
'Marygold, your doing.'
Spreading superstition with black magic, then cashing in? Classic.
"Not long after, a merchant guild starts flooding the capital with bulk coral..."
The guild master spoke up again.
"Gave free shares to a few bigwigs, and boom—mega trend."
"Smart merchant. Knows sharing the pie with nobles pays better."
"Exactly."
"So that's the greed and faith bit?"
"Yes, you catch on quick."
"Cut the bootlicking."
"Ah, yes."
Curiosity struck Lancel.
"What's the guild?"
"That's..."
The guild master scratched his head.
"No one knows."
…
"Benefactor."
A sly voice. Marygold's eyes gleamed in the dark.
-Sir Lancel.
Not just one. Countless Marygolds materialized around Lancel.
They swarmed him at once.
-Master.
-Holy one.
-Young Master Lancel.
Heavy. Arms like snakes coiled tight around him. Couldn't budge.
-Hehehe, come here!
Lancel thrashed against the onslaught from all sides until—
His eyes snapped open.
"...?"
He spotted himself sprawled on the sofa right after. Must've dozed off while resting.
"A dream, huh."
Nightmare or whatever. Throat parched. Reaching for the nearby pitcher, he noticed—
"Mm."
Marygold plastered to his side. In full maid garb, drooling in sleep.
No way. The nightmare culprit?
"Hey."
No reaction even pinching her cheek. A maid cuddling a noble? Lancel flicked her forehead.
Snap!
"Eek!"
After that, Marygold got a month of punishment cleaning. On Lancel's orders.
—It's Dark Hood.
As per your instructions, a certain "Mary" has joined our secret organization as an executive.
Recommended by Lancel Dante, she seems exceptionally talented in many ways.
'Self-praise, huh.'
Word is she's doing punishment cleaning for some minor slip-up. Being such a good soul, perhaps forgive her generously?
'...?'
She's deeply remorseful, from what I've seen. Skipping walks and snacks for two days—quite heartbroken.
If generous Lancel could look the other way, we'd be grateful.
Pathetic, Marygold. Leaning on her Lemon Verbena cover to beg mercy—this audacity.
Lancel curled a lip, muttering 'fat chance?'
A month's cleaning was already lenient for the nightmare she'd caused.
P.S.: Our first gathering is in a week. If possible, please attend. Disguise to avoid exposure.
—From Lemon Verbena of Dark Hood.
"Gathering?"
No hesitation—he snatched a quill. He wanted to know what her secret group was about.
Once he RSVP'd yes, a reply came quick: location and date.
—Location: Baron Ivil Shen's mansion.
—Time: Midnight, one week later.
"Here?"
No way she picked it to avoid travel, right? Reasonable suspicion.
Perfect time for Marygold, who flipped day-night like clockwork to goof off.
'...How'd a slacker like her make that much cash...'
Anyway, a week flew by.
Gathering night arrived.
Met ‘3rd Prince Yuri Langris Phrigia’.
Met ‘2nd Prince Arwen Louis Phrigia’.
There, Lancel met two princes.