Civil Servant Marygold (3): The Bureaucrat's Gambit
—Official. A term for mid-level executives in the Administrative Bureau. From this point, nobles start showing a modicum of respect.
—High Official. The upper echelons among officials—managing the managers. At this stage, nobles finally begin to take notice. It still wasn't enough to fully reverse the power dynamic, but for a commoner-born to command that kind of deference from nobles was no small feat.
In that sense, becoming a high official was the quintessential rags-to-riches story in this world. Among purely merit-based paths, it was the pinnacle, the endgame boss.
A route no ordinary person could even dream of.
But Marygold happened to be an administrative official right now.
Why not shoot for the high official route this time?
After lunch.
"Mary Record Keeper?"
Lancel had come looking for Marygold. Still reeling from the public humiliation in front of the townsfolk and the shock of having her report confiscated, she'd holed up in her inn room all afternoon, refusing to come out.
"Mary Record Keeper? Can I come in?"
No response to his knock.
He cracked the door open and peeked inside.
There she was, hunched over her desk, deeply absorbed in something. Papers spread out, pen flying across them relentlessly.
Door's not even locked—what's she up to?
Lancel slipped behind her.
"Hmmmmm."
So focused she didn't notice him even when he deliberately made noise.
Studying? Or rewriting the report from scratch?
He leaned over her shoulder for a peek. Her pen danced ceaselessly over the paper. What he saw was unexpected.
A drawing?
And a damn good one, at that.
Marygold was meticulously sketching a portrait of "some man" on the page.
"What're you drawing, Mary Record Keeper?"
"……!"
She jolted upright like she'd been electrocuted.
"Eek!"
The chair toppled, the paper she frantically tried to cover crumpled, and in her haste, her toe slammed mercilessly into the desk corner.
"Guh, ahhhhh……!"
Curling into a ball against the surging pain, Marygold groaned silently. Tears welled up in her eyes.
Lancel raised both hands innocently, as if to say I didn't do anything. He just stood there, watching the chaos unfold.
Right then, her bag on the desk tipped over, spilling a cascade of papers onto the floor.
What the hell?
Dozens of sheets, all crammed with dense, intricate drawings.
How much time had she poured into this to achieve such skill and volume? It was baffling.
She'd always claimed to be writing a diary in secret, but it was all artwork?
"Mary Record Keeper, you've got some unexpected talent."
"N-no, it's nothing, absolutely nothing, just a hobby or whatever, anyway it's nothing! Give it back, Sir Lancel!"
Still wincing from the pain, she scrambled to gather the scattered drawings.
He picked up one that fluttered to his feet. Something familiar about it.
The train interior, a uniformed man tilting a teacup, a slightly weary face, the imperial knight insignia on his collar, even the hat on the table edge…
This is… me?
A bit overly idealized, but unmistakably Lancel's likeness.
"Kyaaaaah!"
Marygold snatched it back from his hand in horror.
"Hmmm……."
"It's not! It's not like that at all……!"
"I haven't said a word, Mary Record Keeper."
"Anyway, it's not! Definitely not! Forget you saw it!"
Face crumpling, she scooped up all the papers and dove onto the bed, burrowing under the covers completely.
"Sob, I'm done for. As an administrative official, as a human being—everything's over. I can't do anything right, they took my report, I'm just a worthless worm. Leave me alone forever. Please."
Her voice cracked with sobs. Lancel scratched the back of his neck.
"Mary Record Keeper."
"……."
He poked the round woolen lump with a finger. It flinched and scooted away.
Once, twice, three times. Each prod sent it wriggling further.
An armadillo?
A living, breathing ball. Kinda fascinating.
But no—he couldn't let himself get hooked. He'd poke forever.
Lancel withdrew his hand and sat on the bed, placing his palm on the bundled blanket.
"I get that you're upset, Mary Record Keeper. Having that report you worked so hard on snatched away for some bullshit reason—must sting like hell."
"……."
"You pulled an all-nighter on it. Of course you're exhausted, hurting. I know."
The lump began to tremble. Sniffling sobs leaked out.
"Count Runter probably didn't mean any real harm. The real villains are those idiots whispering nonsense in his ear, misleading him. That's how lords are. Talk to them face-to-face, and they listen—but it always goes through layers of filters, piling up misunderstandings."
A sliver of Marygold's face peeked from the blanket. Her emerald eyes, glistening with tears, fixed on him.
"……So if I go straight to him and ask for the report back……."
"At least it'd open the door to talking it out."
"R-really?"
"Of course."
Lancel gave a thumbs-up.
"Dialogue! Yes, that's it!"
Marygold burst from the covers like she'd chugged an energy potion straight from ice bath to hot tub.
"Sir Lancel! I, Mary, Record Keeper of the Imperial Central Administrative Bureau, cannot go down like this! I won't tolerate the dishonor of botching my first assignment from the start! Watch me—I'll become the empire's greatest administrative official!"
Her heart boiled with resolve. With steely eyes, she threw on her outer coat.
"Let's go! Time to get that report back!"
"Ah, I've got something to handle first. Go on ahead—I'll catch up, Mary Record Keeper."
"Got it. By the time you arrive, I'll have wrapped up all negotiations. Come with a light heart, Sir Lancel. See you there!"
Lancel watched her bolt out the door from the inn window. She was sprinting busily toward the distant lord's castle.
Several hours later.
Marygold has been thrown into the dungeon of Count Runter's castle.
Too cocky for a rookie official, Marygold!
"So that's how it went."
Lancel finally stirred, events unfolding just as expected.
Hold on just a bit longer, Marygold!
He could picture her now, eyes dead, slurping down her ration of barley gruel in the dungeon.
"Count Runter wasn't always so harsh. He used to be a good man."
"Yeah? What was he like back then?"
"Just one example: he waived taxes for families in dire straits."
"Sounds like a saint."
"Exactly."
Every story from the locals left Lancel's thoughts on the count more tangled.
Back when Lancel was rampaging through borderlands and battlefields, his view of Count Runter boiled down to one thing.
The first lord to latch onto the rebel faction.
No matter how rotten the empire was—a gangster state swarming with scumbag tyrants—jumping to treason first was hard to forgive.
Treason was a crime, after all.
Of course, the empire would later splinter into a Warring States era, making "treason" a punchline. But in this era, with the empire still intact, plotting rebellion first was just abnormal.
This land would become a battlefield someday. The Runter Plains, full of wheat fields, would blaze, corpses piling like meat underfoot. It was one starting point for the empire-spanning great war.
"You must know how great Runter was, how famed for chivalry. Everyone wanted to settle here—merchants in passing carriages raved about it."
"So why the change now?"
"Yeah, about ten years ago. Maybe age has muddled his mind…… Ah!"
"Don't worry. Pretend you didn't say that."
"Thank you, sir."
Putting the locals' tales together, Lancel had sent Marygold straight to him.
No exaggeration in their words—Lancel could tell. She'd rampaged through the territory unchecked, yet he'd only bound her to the pillory for a day without escalating.
Milder than Lancel's expectation of "she'll screw up, get locked up a week."
And a knightly house like the Dantes.
"Time to go."
Lancel donned his cloak and headed for the lord's castle. To rescue the sniffling Marygold on barley gruel. To forge her into the empire's greatest official.
5.
"What business brings you?"
"Here to see Count Runter. Tell him I'm picking up Mary Record Keeper—he'll understand."
Moments later, two guards opened the gate.
"No audience. Leave."
Clubs in hand, ready to bash if needed.
Lancel subdued them effortlessly at the gate and entered.
"What?"
"What's that noise!"
Guards swarmed at the screams. Dozens of armed soldiers encircled him.
Lancel drew a deep breath and bellowed.
"Count Runter!"
His voice thundered, shattering the night's silence.
"Lancel Dante of Viscount Dante's house has come to prove his chivalry!"
The flustered guards exchanged uneasy glances. They knew he was a knight, but not a viscount's son.
"I know you can hear me, pretending otherwise! Come out! Lancel Dante of Viscount Dante's house has come to prove his chivalry!"
How long he shouted.
The guards parted.
The elderly lord appeared, flanked by his knights.
"A reckless fledgling knight in my territory—turns out it's Dante's youngest."
"First time meeting you, Count Runter."
Lancel placed a hand over his heart in brief courtesy, then drew his sword.
The others flinched, hands to hilts.
"What're you—!"
But Lancel defied expectations. He hurled the sheathed sword to the ground.
Claaang!
The metal chunk screeched across the dirt.
The knights, knowing exactly what it meant, couldn't hide their shock. Eyes wide, they alternated stares between the hilt at their feet and Lancel.
"You just……."
The count's face twitched. Lancel's expression didn't waver.
"Mary Record Keeper's honor, and my own chivalry."
Calm voice.
"I stake both."