The Dancing Whale Merchant Guild
It wasn't until well past noon—time for serious lunch deliberations—that the archbishop's chamber, which had swallowed up the emperor, the Sachsen Duke, and Manrmursk's Border Count early that morning, finally spat out only the Border Count.
His face was that of a kid who'd just remembered the chocolate he'd hidden from his mom. With feather-light steps, Byeon Gyeongbaek approached Gustav.
"You seem to be in high spirits, my lord."
"Who? Me?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Nah? Not at all?"
He spun away with a bratty expression, clearly with no intention of sharing his chocolate with anyone.
The second meeting must've gone even better than expected.
It was hard to believe this was the same man who'd flung open the archbishop's door yesterday like he meant to smash it, snatched a bottle of liquor, and bellowed like a madman. In noble society, where people would invent gossip out of thin air just to chatter, Byeon Gyeongbaek's antics yesterday were like ribs so tender and flavorful you could chew them forever without running dry.
"Where'd that guy go, anyway?"
"If you're referring to Vice Warden Suhwa Romanov, he was at lunch the last I saw."
"Yeah? Eh, no need for me to track him down. Hey, Knight Commander, you not hungry? My stomach's practically glued to my corset."
Speech and mannerisms. They might seem trivial at a glance, but they were the fundamental elements that defined a person's aura. No matter how starved or ragged their clothes, those born into high nobility carried an innate grace. Conversely, no amount of flashy attire or guzzling expensive liquor could hide crude speech and behavior.
In that sense, to Gustav's eyes, Manrmursk's Border Count—his own lord—seemed endlessly frivolous.
He wasn't like this when he was younger...
Byeon Gyeongbaek had just chomped into a nearby waffle like a brute, leaving sticky apple jam smeared around his mouth.
"...I could eat, myself. They say today's luncheon features meats from every corner of the continent."
The loyal knight commander, instead of pointing out the mess, hypnotized himself into seeing it as the bold action of a true man.
"Oh, really? Aish... why didn't you say so sooner? I ate sweets 'cause I was starving."
He unceremoniously dumped the half-eaten waffle onto a nearby servant's plate, a sight that made Gustav briefly dizzy.
* * *
"Three-tenths of the total employment cost is excessive, Your Majesty."
"Even three thousand is not too much, Duke."
The mood had sunk like laundry lines overloaded to their limit.
A hookah sat on the table between the emperor and the Sachsen Duke, its smoke shifting colors with every glint of light as it rose.
Liquor and hookahs, no less. If the priests who'd originally stayed in Palatium saw this, they'd foam at the mouth and launch into sermons—these were worldly indulgences through and through.
"Manrmursk already handles border defense, plus it has the special correctional facility called Utopia. Forcing more on them would be problematic."
"If it were truly problematic, they wouldn't have accepted, Your Majesty. You mustn't take the nobles' complaints at face value."
"Aren't you a noble yourself? One of the noblest—an Elector Count, no less."
The smoke scattered, disrupting the space. Amid the sacred statues of the archbishop's chamber, an utterly profane scent began to overlay everything.
"That's precisely why I know. If Your Majesty were making truly unjust, excessive demands, they'd resist by any means necessary. But they haven't."
"Because of 'checks and balances'?"
Or because the nobles know it's you, Sachsen, hiding behind my name?
In a fleeting moment, he inhaled the rising irritation deep into his lungs and exhaled it. Maybe it was his imagination, but this smoke seemed a bit murkier.
"Checks and balances, plus the Elector Counts' compensatory psychology, Your Majesty."
"Compensatory psychology?"
"No matter how much you tighten security—even in a secret chamber no one else can enter—by day's end, those around will know; by the second day, the guards on duty will know; and by the third, the bards in the marketplace taverns will be singing songs about the meeting's contents."
"What does that have to do with compensatory psychology?"
"There's no shame in questioning the unknown, Your Majesty, but abandoning your own thinking is a mindset a sovereign must avoid."
"Is this the Academy's hall of learning? I don't recall ever having a teacher named Sachsen Duke."
The sunken mood began to tighten again. When his glare changed nothing, the emperor fell silent and puffed on the hookah. The Sachsen Duke, who hadn't even glanced his way, quietly sipped the last of his coffee.
The late emperor would've ended the meeting right there. The current one is still too soft.
But that's why he suited the empire's postwar domestic affairs. The empire now was a powder keg of festering issues suppressed by force. It might look like a strong state on the surface, but if things continued, chaos far worse than the recent war would erupt.
The late emperor had sought to crush that chaos with raw power, channeling internal discontent outward through expansionist wars—and he'd won. But now, no single external foe remained to challenge the empire.
Thus, the current emperor, who ruled through conciliation rather than brute force, was what the empire needed.
"During your recent tour and now in Manrmursk, Your Majesty has visited each Elector Count's domain and made demands that might seem, at a glance, excessive."
"Some of those were your ideas, weren't they?"
A mutter like a teen hitting puberty echoed faintly, but the Sachsen Duke ignored it cleanly.
"The content of the demands isn't the point. It's the fact that you made them."
His expression said he'd laid it all out plainly as he leisurely puffed the hookah. Depending on the smoker, the espeho—as the hookah was called—wreathed the Sachsen Duke's mouth in gray clouds.
"The demands became known to the other Elector Counts? It wasn't exactly a state secret."
"But you didn't proclaim them in the name of the emperor and empire, either."
The gray grew sharper, settling between them.
"People get curious about even trivial stories if they're someone else's business. Especially if it's political matters between the emperor and an Elector Count."
"Do you remember when you first entrusted the Sukan Kingdom with magical artifacts, Your Majesty?"
"They rejected it so fiercely I didn't want to think about it twice."
"What about when you gave Fraia the horses and griffins next, then Moribwe the cryogenic weapons?"
"Less than Sukan... They grumbled a bit but ultimately accepted."
"Because they already knew. They'd heard you'd demand something upon arriving and had prepared accordingly."
"But knowing doesn't make the burden any lighter... Ah! Compensatory psychology. That's what you meant."
The emperor and Sachsen Duke's demands burdened the lords—the Elector Counts. They'd dump those burdens onto their vassals and knights in turn, inevitably weakening their forces.
If the emperor had targeted just one, the resistance would've been fiercer—far fiercer than now. Why weaken alone while the others stayed strong? They'd bite back hard.
Sukan had done exactly that, as the first target. But the emperor had followed up equitably(?) with Moribwe, Fraia, and now Manrmursk, demands that eroded everyone's power.
The news reached the Elector Counts fastest of all, and the thought of "Not just me"—that compensatory psychology—made them acquiesce to the emperor's requests to some degree.
But tell me, Sachsen Duke... is that all the news that reached them? Just the demands?
Hiss— The charcoal heating the hookah leaves let out a final sputter, signaling its end. At the emperor's casual wave, servants flung open the windows as if they'd been waiting.
During the tour, with you—the one making the unpopular noises—always at the young emperor's side... how do they see you?
"So, Your Majesty, simply press forward with your will. Your humble servant Sachsen shall stand by your side and share in the empire's cause."
Whether encouragement or surveillance, the Sachsen Duke's expression was as gray as the espeho smoke.
* * *
"I never imagined goat meat could be this good."
"Kehahaha! Everyone says the same their first time in Manrmursk. Ah, not you, Helena?"
In front of Seolhwa and Jepeto, savoring the afterglow of lunch, towered a pile of bones from what had once been goats.
Was there anything more rewarding for a chef than guests devouring their food? The gaze from the cook at the hall's central prep station dripped with honey-like satisfaction.
"Meat's not my thing."
Even so, a tidy array of bones from various meats—though not quite matching Seolhwa or Jepeto's piles—lay before Helena.
"You ate plenty for someone who doesn't like it."
"What can I do when the main theme's meat?"
Helena propped her chin at a sulky angle. As Seolhwa shrugged and leaned back, someone approached their table.
"Well, well, if it isn't Warden Cervantes and Chief Clerk Helena!"
A sleek-looking man greeted them with a friendly smile. At the same moment, his apparent subordinates offered baskets brimming with tropical fruits.
"Who'd have thought—Luthus, it's you. How'd the southern trade run go?"
"Whoa... how'd you know I went south?"
"You can't get tropical fruits around here, can you?"
Amazed, Luthus the man responded with exaggerated gestures of surprise. While Seolhwa pondered post-meal drinks or dessert, Jepeto peeled a banana.
"And how have you been, Chief Clerk Helena?"
"Surviving. I heard your latest venture was a success."
"Haha, back safe and sound—that's a win. Here's to more good business ahead."
His tone was affable but toed the line just right—pure merchant.
After Jepeto and Helena, Luthus's gaze naturally turned to Seolhwa.
"A pleasure to meet you. I'm Luthus Soros, vice head of the Dancing Whale Merchant Guild."
Biting into a child-fist-sized strawberry, Luthus extended a hand with a disarmingly affable smile.