The Check
“Everyone~~~ attention! Salute the warden!”
“Sir!”
While Seolhwa was being trumpeted among the noble ladies thanks to the lord... no, Border Count Byeon Gyeongbaek..., Jepeto and Helena had returned to Utopia a full day early.
“What are you lot doing?”
“Isn't it only natural to salute when your direct superior returns from a dispatch mission?”
The iron gates of Utopia—thick enough to withstand a siege engine without flinching—swung open silently. Beyond them stood Boris Lesner, acting warden and mobile patrol captain, at the apex of a triangle formation: guards on the left flank, outpost sentries on the right, all snapping off perfect rifle salutes.
“Boris, it's been how long since you mustered out... and you're still dripping with that soldier stink?”
“Sir! If anything, I've realized I need to return to my roots. Once an aide, always an aide!”
“I thought you came through that duel with the vice warden unscathed... but now I see your head took a real hit.”
Giggling leaked from both sides of the triangular formation. Who dared...? The mobile patrol captain fired laser beams from his eyes, but he couldn't stem the infectious laughter.
“With popularity like this... aren't you retiring a bit too soon, Warden?”
A hint of mischief colored Helena's impassive face.
Jepeto cleared his throat awkwardly and tugged the reins of the horses pulling the wagon.
Hiiing!
With a resounding whinny, the sturdy wagon halted before the saluting triangle.
“Popularity, my ass. What those louts are waiting for and cheering ain't me—it's what's in this wagon.”
The wagon had been empty when Jepeto set out for Palatium. Now it brimmed with hefty sacks and bulging oak barrels.
“What're you waiting for? Move it to the mess hall before the booze freezes! Boris, while you're at it, hit the PA from central control. Got some grub packed from Palatium—dig in and whet your appetites.”
Woooaaah!!!——
The roar tripled the volume of their salute, shattering the triangle formation. The ground shook, startling the wagon-tethered horses into rearing. The lead guards flinched back, but Boris strode forward, stroking their manes. Already bearish in build, with winter boots on, he naturally towered over them. Sensing a top predator, the horses quickly calmed.
“There, all settled. Take 'em away.”
“Yes, sir! Thank you!”
Grinning ear-to-ear, the guards led the horses toward the mess hall. The rest dispersed to outposts, central control, cell blocks—back to their posts.
“Once more: hard work on the Palatium dispatch.”
“Keep that up and I'll turn into a snowman. Let's head in.”
Jepeto, seemingly embarrassed by Boris's earnest revival of old army habits, spurred his mount onward.
Kreeeek—Bam!
Unlike its silent opening, the gate's closing boomed like a severance from the world. But no greenhorn remained to startle at the sound. Without so much as a glance at the clamped steel jaws, they sauntered off into the snow.
“So, how was it?”
“How was what?”
“The warden's seat. I put you there, sure, but you dueled for it. What's your take on sitting in the big chair?”
“Don't even ask. This kind of spot just ain't for me.”
Jepeto smirked, reins loose in his easy grip.
“Even in a hellhole like this, Utopia's still a proper state organ. Doesn't that chair make your shoulders square up and your chest puff out?”
“The paperwork piled up too. Didn't realize how much crap needed minding in under three days.”
Like the fairy-tale puppet whose nose grew with lies, Jepeto's schnoz shot skyward.
“Mm. Mm. Yup. Finally someone gets how I suffer under the grind, even if it looks like I'm loafing.”
“Hm~ I see.”
Helena's subtle deadpan drew no reaction from him.
“Speaking of paperwork... any fun news?”
“What fun is there in paperwork...? Ah!”
“What? Spill it. Juicy article in the paper? Peasant revolt? Local lord's rebellion? Gold Mountain debt collectors?”
Jepeto leaned forward like he'd leap from the saddle, eyes gleaming like a beast starved for thrills, leashed by an invisible chain.
“If it were that big, word would've hit Palatium too. It's an internal approval matter here at Utopia.”
“Pfft... thought it was something. Told you, acting warden—you can sign off on that yourself.”
His excitement melted like a snowman in midsummer blaze, slumping back.
“You said before leaving for Palatium you'd left everything to me. Except for one thing.”
“Did I? Wait... no... don't tell me!?”
The snowman revived in dramatic fashion.
Whoa! Hiiing!!!——
Not even waiting for Boris's reply, Jepeto spurred his horse into a cavalry charge toward central control. Helena and Boris watched his snow-spraying retreat with awkward glances.
“Uh... ahem. Shall we?”
“Yes. Let's.”
A touch faster than before, but still leisurely compared to Jepeto, they followed to central control.
* * *
The impregnable winter fortress. Jokes abounded that it wouldn't fall until every snowflake in Manrmursk melted. Invaders had failed in the last war, the one before, and every era before that.
“It's been ages here too.”
“Has it?”
“Yes. Just once after I checked into Utopia B-304, I visited the Manrmursk capital. Fifteen years ago? Twenty...? Time blurs.”
Ilka chuckled heartily, fiddling with his lush beard.
The lord's castle sat in Manrmursk's capital—practically its first city, so most just called the whole place Manrmursk. Grid-like roads spanned wide enough for four military wagons abreast. Radial avenues linking key points—from the castle on down—hinted at the meticulous military urban planning. Major hubs without congestion. Smooth traffic with muscle where it counted. Reconciling spear and shield through near-artistic city design, Manrmursk was urban engineering incarnate.
“Heh heh... changed much since then?”
“Changed, yes. Not just Manrmursk—the whole world.”
Ilka's expression, faintly wistful, layered years like tree rings. Best not to answer rashly; silence it was.
“But some things haven't.”
A crinkle of paper, and Ilka popped a Manrmursk ice cream into his mouth, rolling it around.
“The besth thing 'bout exthile ith thith.”
“You savor it fiercely, Lord Ilka.”
Admiring his two-handed ice cream twirl from horseback, they rode the central boulevard for some ten minutes. A temple-like edifice loomed—fit for a mythic hero seeking an oracle. Thick ivory pillars bore carvings of dragons, lions, beasts galore. Looming larger still, twin merchant statues overlooked the entrance.
At the temple's peak center, a radiant golden mountain crest gleamed.
[Gold Mountain Manrmursk Branch]
“And this place... probably hasn't changed. Ever.”
Even with the weather thawing, Ilka had melted and devoured his ice cream whole, murmuring.
“Gold Mountain's coffers never run dry.”
“Like 'you can't drain the sea with a bucket'?”
“Dizzying.”
The entrance statues grew massive up close. How much marble went into those...? Lost in estimates, they reached the gate.
“Just you two?”
“Yes.”
“Leave your mounts with us? Or stable them yourself out back.”
A crisply uniformed guard inquired. Ilka gently stayed Seolhwa, who was dismounting to check the rear stables himself.
“Valet stable for us. Throw in some blankets—they'll chill standing.”
With fluid grace belying his age—Jepeto's peer—Ilka dismounted, slipping a pristine platinum coin into the guard's rein hand.
“We'll treat 'em like kings!”
The guard, grin splitting ear-to-ear, led the horses off with a spring in his step.
“Did you just tip the valet a whole platinum?”
“Yes. Covers hoof care, prime hay—think of it that way.”
“No wonder you're the continent's richest.”
“Haha! I've got nothing to my name. Come on in.”
* * *
'Every day just like today~.'
VIP counter staff at Gold Mountain Manrmursk Branch savored a blissful workday. Peak hours should bustle, yet the bank echoed empty—no ant in sight.
“Wish His Majesty threw parties every day.”
“Totally. Never knew this place could be so serene.”
Post-war, nobles, merchants, bishops, professionals—even village heads—flocked to Palatium's outskirts for a glimpse of the emperor's first Manrmursk visit. Downtown Gold Mountain thus notched its quietest, peacefullest moment ever.
Ding~
Then two oblivious customers shattered it.
'Why aren't they gawking at the emperor?'
'No clue. They won't hit VIP, right?'
Gazes forward, faint smiles fixed, they inwardly shredded the intruders. Anyone not emperor-spotting now wasn't important. No business for VIP—back to bliss soon.
...Wishful thinking, shattered five seconds later.
“Ah, over there.”
A cottony-bearded middle-aged man pointed dead at VIP. Faint sighs crossed: relief from general counters, dread from VIP.
“Welcome, sir. Gold Mountain Manrmursk VIP desk. How may we assist?”
“Pleasure. Here to withdraw some funds.”
Classic type. Why VIP when general's right there? Da Hong Chi Ma and all.
“Terribly sorry, sir. Simple withdrawals go to the general desk beside us.”
“Oh yeah? Changed while I was away?”
“Fifteen, twenty years ago? Could be.”
Beard looked mildly flustered. His uniformed youth was handsome enough, but a nuisance now.
“Humor me—check this? General won't cut it...”
Swallowing a throat-tickling sigh, she took the proffered check.
'Huh? What the—?'
No issue date, branch, or amount. Top-grade paper whispered luxury under fingertips, emblazoned with Gold Mountain's crest and...
“S-sorry, sir! One moment pleeeease!”
The branch manager's personal magic seal, sharp as ever.