Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: The Incompetent Minister Wants to Retire
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I, Erwin Barrmut, am just an ordinary man.
"...And so, we've identified and secured the distribution routes for the new designer drug 'Fairytale' that's been spreading through the capital lately. With your approval, Minister, we'd like to raid the transaction site tonight."
I listened to my subordinate's report while idly toying with my fingers, lost in a haze of indifference.
I always wonder why they bother seeking my counsel after they've already reached a definitive conclusion. It feels like a performance without an audience.
Of course, I recognize their relentless dedication. Even if I'm nothing more than a hollow figurehead, I am still the Minister of the Acherus Empire's Intelligence Department. Every organization is bound by its procedures—sacred rituals of bureaucracy, no matter how redundant or formalistic they may be.
In the end, all I can offer is a silent, practiced nod of approval.
"Understood. Proceed with the operation."
With those few, hollow words, the suffocating atmosphere of the meeting finally dissipated.
I hadn't contributed a single meaningful thought, yet I felt a crushing exhaustion, as if I were on the verge of collapsing right then and there. Or perhaps, that weariness stemmed precisely from my own absolute uselessness.
I rose from my seat and hurried out of the meeting room, my pace bordering on a frantic flight.
I needed to escape this place, and fast. If I didn't reach the sanctuary of my office to be alone soon, I feared a paralyzing panic attack would seize my chest.
Unfortunately, as a Minister, the dignity of my office forbade me from running through the halls like a fool or wandering unescorted, no matter how much my soul craved it.
"Minister, I know it's an unreasonable request, but could you at least offer a word of encouragement to the agents once in a while?"
Trailing a few steps behind me, openly addressing my incompetence with a sharp tongue, was none other than my secretary, Celine.
She is a remarkable woman—a commoner who ascended through sheer talent and academic brilliance, securing the prestigious position of Minister's Secretary the moment she reached adulthood. She is the antithesis of everything I am.
If you know it’s unreasonable, then don’t ask.
"My apologies. That was overstepping."
When I failed to respond—having no idea how to even frame a reply—she offered a flat, clinical apology. We returned to my office in a shared, heavy silence. The moment we arrived, I slumped into my chair with a jagged, weary sigh.
I am utterly spent. I don't want to touch another piece of paper today. I just want to sit here in this void until it's time to clock out.
"Is something bothering you?"
Celine's question carried an unspoken edge, as if she were asking why I was performing such exhaustion when I hadn't lifted a finger. Lacking a worthy retort, I resumed toying with my fingers before shifting the subject.
"What's on the schedule after this?"
"Nothing. Prime Minister Erickson requested an audience, but I turned him down."
I hadn't even been aware of the Prime Minister's request, yet the news didn't surprise me. Celine handles the actual machinery of this department anyway. All I do is press my seal onto pre-reviewed reports or nod like a puppet in meetings.
And now, it seems she has grown powerful enough to dismiss the Empire's Prime Minister on my behalf. Impressive. Honestly, you should just take the title and be the Minister yourself.
"...Minister?"
Lost in a daydream of her taking my place, I didn't notice Celine tilting her head, waiting for me to acknowledge her. Ah, I’m so dense; she was waiting for her dismissal.
"Got it. You're dismissed."
"Yes."
The moment the word left my lips, Celine spun on her heel and vanished like a fleeting breeze, without a single backward glance. As the door clicked shut, another heavy sigh escaped me.
Ten years. I’ve occupied this seat for ten whole years. In all that time, I haven't grown, haven't evolved, haven't learned a thing.
I’m starting to think I can't even claim the title of 'ordinary' anymore. Even a common man would have stumbled into some useful skill after a decade, wouldn't he?
"I want to quit..."
I muttered the words to the empty room, but if quitting were an option, I would have vanished the very day I started. That’s the original sin of my career.
Why did someone like me—devoid of any outstanding quality—end up as the Empire's Intelligence Minister? The overly generous reality is that I am the eldest son of the Barrmut Ducal Family. In a word, I am a 'parachute appointment.'
Back when I was a barely-adult loafer with no ambition, my father finally lost his patience. He essentially forced me into this seat with a blunt command: "If you have nothing better to do, be a Minister."
It was a blatant abuse of power, father or not. Regardless, for the sake of the family's prestige—and because I had no other means of survival—I’ve clung to this half-baked post for self-preservation. And suddenly, a decade has vanished. To retire now, I would need a decisive trigger. A catalyst.
"Haa." I just want it all to end.
--
Within the depths of the Acherus Empire's Intelligence Department lurks a shadow organization. Its name is 'Owl.'
While the department at large focuses on the harvest of information, Owl is built for a different purpose. They are the Minister's direct blade; their core duty is assassination. Its members are elite killers, secretly cultivated or scouted by the imperial crown.
"With your approval, Minister, we'd like to raid the transaction site tonight."
A raid on a transaction site. In the language of the Owl, that meant the total extermination of every soul present. If it were a mere arrest, the Knights would have sufficed. But this incident had to be erased from history, as if it had never occurred. That is why Owl was mobilized.
"........."
Yet, even after the full report, the Minister offered no immediate reaction. He simply toyed with the ring on his right thumb, appearing lost in a fathomless depth of thought. The massive emerald set in the ring glimmered with a cold, brilliant light.
In that silence, Owl's leader, John Burckhardt, felt a chill of realization. What is it? What did I miss?
Over the last ten years, the Minister had never felt the need to explain himself. His style was surgical: strip away the noise, present a single, inevitable path to his subordinates, and let them walk it. All they had to do was follow through.
It was a kindness that bordered on spoon-feeding, but it possessed a fatal flaw: They were not the Minister. More precisely, they were not Erwin Barrmut.
Everyone in the room felt that single second stretch into a terrifying eternity. The unbearable tension made cold sweat trace lines down their spines. It was common knowledge that the Minister showed no mercy to the incompetent—but Owl knew that was an understatement. The Minister didn't lack mercy; he simply had no interest in those who could not keep up.
Think. Please, figure out the Minister's true intent!
These battle-hardened killers trembled like children awaiting a parent's wrath. Warriors whose names alone could make targets draft their wills were now frozen like mice before a cobra, barely daring to breathe. John, though terrified himself, steeled his nerves to probe for the Minister’s hidden meaning—
—when the Minister finally nodded.
"Understood. Proceed with the operation."
With those words and the Minister’s departure, the meeting—which had felt like a walk across thin ice—concluded. The moment he left with Celine, the members of Owl exhaled in a ragged unison.
"Ha... I say it every time, but these meetings are hell on the heart." Christina, the unit’s sole woman, took deep breaths to steady her racing pulse.
"I thought we were done for..." Valdemar Bazet, a man with twice the bulk of any soldier, wiped his brow with a trembling handkerchief.
"But he nodded. That’s a passable approval, right?" Alexander Lanzink, the slender, handsome strategist, tried to inject a note of optimism.
"What did we miss, though? Was there something missing from the briefing materials?" Sergei Azar, the androgynously beautiful youth, frantically rifled through the documents again.
John shook his head, his expression grim. "We didn't miss anything. That's exactly the problem."
"What do you mean?"
"Think. What was the decisive reason we were called in for this job?"
Alexander scratched his cheek. "Because government bureaucrats were mixed in with the core distributors of Fairytale, right?"
If word leaked that imperial officials were peddling a drug that caused such horrific agony and addiction, the government’s prestige would be annihilated. Total annihilation was the only way to make the scandal vanish—and Owl was the tool for the job.
John slid the files detailing the officials' backgrounds across the table. "Look at their departments."
"It's right here... Imperial Executive Branch... oh, damn it!"
Indeed. The head of the Imperial Executive Branch was Daniel Erickson—the leader of the Anti-Noble Faction.
"They weren't selling drugs for gold. Their goal is the collapse of the nobility. They targeted the upper crust to turn them into addicts." Once the elite became hollow wrecks, the Anti-Noble Faction would seize the moment to claim 'nobles are obsolete' and demand the abolition of the aristocracy.
"So the Minister's real objective is..."
"To secure leverage to crush Erickson if needed. He knows Erickson won't have left direct evidence, but even a shadow of circumstantial proof is enough for the Minister to cook him." John finished with a tone of self-reproach, mirrored by the others. The answer had been obvious, yet they had fixated on the surface and ignored the essence.
"The Minister was telling us to broaden our view. To stop clinging to the options he provides and start thinking for ourselves."
"I get that, but why can't he just point it out if we miss it?"
John shook his head at Sergei’s grumbling. "He would have if it were necessary. The Minister isn't heartless. But he likely predicted this exact conversation. That's why he nodded."
"...Yeah. That sounds exactly like him."
Relieved to have finally caught up, the members of Owl rose as one. Reflection was over. It was time for blood. "No more mistakes. We disappointed him once; this time, we do it right."
In the darkness, the owls took flight toward the sky. They were heading out to hunt for their master, their wings beating a silent, deadly rhythm.