Punish Them for Me (1)
I knew who it was even before turning around, thanks to that familiar scent.
"Administrator."
"How'd you know?"
Hildeva leaned in beside me, stretching her arms.
"I smelled you, Administrator."
Hildeva smiled with her eyes and sat down next to me.
"What a mess, huh."
"The royal guards came and went. Those guys don't know the meaning of restraint."
"You seem to know them well."
"I saw them often when I worked at the palace."
Hildeva nodded thoughtfully.
"Right. You mentioned you'd worked at the palace, Bertrand."
"Just for a bit."
She didn't pry further, just like always. Hildeva had a keen sense for what not to dig into. Sure, she had her suspicions about me now, but she wasn't the type to make a fool of herself by showing it outright.
"One of the palace mages stopped by City Hall. He laid out the damage recovery support plan for this mess before heading out."
A palace mage... I could guess who.
"What're they offering?"
"They're confiscating the land and properties the merchant guild bought up and returning them. Tax breaks too. Plus compensation for the civilians injured or killed fighting the guild's thugs."
"And of course, they'll squeeze the guild for those tax breaks and compensations."
"Naturally. The palace doesn't print money from thin air."
"Anything for our inn?"
Hildeva's eyes went wide as she stared at me.
"How'd you know?"
"Huh...? Just a shot in the dark... There is?"
"That plot next to the inn where the guild was building another one? They're granting it to you for free."
My eyes widened too as I met her gaze.
"Why?"
"Beats me?"
We just stared at each other blankly.
Why give me that land? If even Hildeva didn't know... Elua's orders? But why would that crazy bitch do something like that?
"They really mean it? Giving it to me?"
"Yeah. There's an official document—want to see it?"
"Nah. If it's in writing, that's that..."
Free land? No complaints there. But if they try pulling some shady crap later claiming I owe them... just try it.
"Oh, and I'm getting promoted to fifth-grade. The order came with the rest."
"What?! For real?!"
I blurted in surprise, and Hildeva nodded with a beaming smile.
"For my 'upright conduct' and 'merits in defending the direct territory from external threats,' blah blah."
A fifth-grade administrator in a major city like Rosens earned the title of mayor. Going from a seventh-grade desk jockey in a dying town to fifth-grade mayor in under a year? Unprecedented in kingdom civil service history.
"Congrats. Mayor Hildeva it is."
"Hearing it straight like that is embarrassing."
We shared a laugh, eyes meeting.
Still smiling, Hildeva spoke up.
"Isn't it wild, Bertrand?"
"What is?"
"I told you before—you're my lucky charm. Looks like it happened again."
She gazed out at the camp.
"It was so hopeless and exhausting. Then, like a fairy tale, everything cleared up. Even the palace stepped in personally."
"Yeah."
"On top of recovery aid. And I was worried about disciplinary action—instead, I get promoted?"
"'Cause you're that capable, Administrator."
She fixed me with a serious look.
"No. It's because you came to this city. Everything started falling into place like miracles after you strode in with that flashy sword."
"Haha... yeah... Glad you see it that way. Thanks."
"I don't know exactly what you did in the past. But I like the Bertrand you are now. Without you, I'd probably have submitted my resignation and gone home by now."
I just smiled silently. Nothing much to say. No urge to boast about my history, and Hildeva wouldn't want that anyway. Like she said, what mattered was our bond right here, right now.
"What would you do at home, anyway?"
"Dunno. Learn housekeeping and knitting to snag a husband like you?"
"You knitting?"
I burst out laughing. The camp workers packing up turned to stare, wondering what was up.
"Why're you laughing?"
"Just... hilarious. Who lands a husband by bragging about knitting these days?"
"You don't like girls who knit well?"
"Dunno? Not a dealbreaker, but not my thing either. I go for smart ones like you, Administrator."
"Oh yeah? You knew I placed second in the central bureaucracy exam?"
With that, she suddenly took off her glasses, bit them in her mouth, and redid her ponytail. I stared, dazed by how stunningly pretty she looked. She knew damn well how hot she was.
Once her hair was up, she held her glasses and said,
"Come to the mayor's office tonight. Got it?"
That blatant come-on had me roaring with laughter again.
A few days later, on a clear afternoon, I inspected the half-built construction site from the Grancis merchant guild. The plot was nearly as big as our inn, right next door—prime real estate for something useful. With the inn and bathhouse already, what to build here? Maybe use the marquis's letter of intro to pull in big money and go grand. Pack in a casino like at Grace Bay?
Ukun was still around. Time to brainstorm with him. I headed to the bathhouse to find him.
From behind the bathhouse, where they stored water drawn from the Buren River, came explosive coughing. There was Della, crouched by the firebox under the water vat, tears streaming as she hacked away.
"Ugh... eyes burning..."
The bathhouse had two vats: hot and cold. Cold was fine, but hot needed constant fire. Ukun built a great firebox, but stoking it with firewood was manual labor. So Della and Ukun took turns, eyes watering and noses running.
"Wish the fire never went out. Even without logs."
"Where's that kinda fire? Ask Idi?"
"Did. Magic fire still needs logs or it dies."
"What about Ukun?"
"Explained something technical. Didn't get a word."
"Guess no choice, then..."
Della poked the logs with a furious poker, face scrunched in misery.
Mornings and evenings brought visible breath now—it was that cold. We hung thick wool curtains on every window, but the old building still let in drafts we couldn't fix.
Pelle happened by, so I grabbed her.
"Hey, Pelle. Any monsters opposite of Asenaris? Winter's coming."
"Dunno. Fire-breathers are common, but they'd burn the place down."
"Right..."
Ukun lounged in the inn hall, refusing to leave for the mines.
"Hey. Didn't you say a month?"
"Send me to Kazahur in this cold? Wait till it warms, you bastard."
"Bullshit. Free food, bed, and beer—that's why. Pay up starting now."
"Oh yeah. Gotta check the firebox."
He bolted from his chair, beer mug in hand, vanishing down the bathhouse hall.
And so Ukun became our rare long-term guest. Rosens was a pass-through for north-south travelers—no one stayed over four days. Now the one guy we wanted to stay wouldn't, but the dwarf did.
Fine. Time to put him to work. Repairs, maybe heating if possible.
Days later, Hardo visited. He always dropped by with hot rumors or intel.
After eating, he dabbed his mouth genteelly with a napkin and sat across from me.
"Grancis Trading Guild's under royal treasury tax audit."
"Just a matter of shaking every speck of dust now."
"Survival won't be easy. Retaliation for attacking Rosens."
"But wiping them out hits the kingdom economy hard. More likely they oust the guildmaster and absorb into a state guild."
Hardo read the currents sharply.
He leaned in, sipping beer, voice low.
"Remember what I told you about Myanfeld?"
"Myanfeld..."
I did. When Hardo and his mercs first came, he'd shared rumors of odd happenings there. Signs the dragon Aterugar might return... Monsters fleeing nests meant dragon inbound.
"Months since, no dragon sightings."
"This time, one really showed."
"Hm..."
I was skeptical; Hardo lowered his voice more.
"Myanfeld sailors saw blazing eyes offshore. Storms hit those nights, ships sink."
"Sailors, huh..."
Sailor tales? Mostly bunk. Superstitious lot, cowards at heart. Probably misread lights from a passing ship, or sunset on sea mist.
"Captain, sailors exaggerate sea tales and love myths."
"True, but wrecks are up lately. Weird deep-sea fish washing ashore. Folks call it dragon signs."
"Typhoon season in Myanfeld. More wrecks, ocean churns up fish. Same as last year."
"But boss, our office's getting sketchy jobs we can't touch."
"Like what?"
"Escort requests for kin in Myanfeld—get 'em out safe."
"Rumors spook the nervous. I'd worry too if a dragon loomed over my hometown."
"Some're fleeing Myanfeld already. Might've stayed here incognito."
"Huh..."
Hardo looked dead serious. But I couldn't buy it easy. Aterugar got pummeled near-death by me and fled to the deep sea. To a dragon's lifespan, that was yesterday. Sane? She'd never return.
But... if she did? How much chaos? Kingdom legions and mages couldn't stop her. Would they beg me again?
Days later, Marim rushed back from deliveries, darting through the inn in a panic.
"What's the fuss?"
"Boss! Come quick! Hurry!"
She blinked out the door like teleporting. I followed to the yard and learned why she'd sought me so desperately.