Chapter 25
Chapter 25
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: People-Making Expert (1)
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Camillia didn't even meet with the Grand Elder.
She might have ended up asking me to take good care of her own son if he were sent here.
She left Berryhill and returned to the Northern Imperial Palace.
Before departing, she left me one meaningful remark.
"Soon, some good news will come your way."
At first, I had no idea what that news might mean.
Eh, at best, it was probably just a gold bar or something.
I spent the day thinking that way.
Then, while reading the morning paper, I realized what the Princess meant by her "favor."
"Bakar-Noston: New Trade Route to Open."
A front-page exclusive splashed across the newspaper.
It announced that a new road would stretch all the way to Bakar and Noston.
And incredibly, the route passed right through Berryhill.
Thanks to that, the value of the land I'd bought up near the prison skyrocketed.
My fortune ballooned twentyfold in an instant.
"You seem in high spirits."
Clea was perched on my desk, munching on some tea snacks.
Like a blue-furred fox, she peeked slyly at the newspaper in my hands.
"Yeah. Who'd have thought a trade route would suddenly pop up in Berryhill? Should've bought more if I'd known."
"That might be tough. Someone anonymously snapped up a ton of it recently."
An anonymous investor, huh...
I'd have to look into who it was later.
"It's a bit odd, though. Trade routes should be laid out efficiently, but routing it through Berryhill is a loss."
Clea pointed to the trade route sketched on the newspaper.
It could've gone straight as an arrow for speed, but it detoured specifically through our prison.
"Did you strike some deal with Her Highness the Princess, by any chance?"
"No way. What could a lowly warden like me in this backwater have to offer?"
I shrugged as if to refute the idea.
"Her Highness's aim is probably to check the lord of Berryhill."
"Because most of the northern nobles are pro-crown prince?"
"Exactly. She doesn't want her enemies profiting from the trade route. Better to hand it to a weak civil servant like me."
"Hmm..."
Clea narrowed her eyes and studied my face intently.
If before she'd just seen me as a pathetic wastrel...
Now, it was like she was looking at the youngest son of a family plotting a comeback.
"Ahem. Let's finish the paper."
"Northern Commander Dalman, Favored by Tutton Grand Duke, Assassinated!!"
Cause of death: a stab wound from an unknown assailant.
He'd been beheaded in a single stroke by overwhelming skill.
The culprit remained at large.
His aides speculated it was at least the work of a Swordmaster.
The witness described the perpetrator as a black-haired woman.
But that was just circumstantial for now.
Most investigators insisted a lone woman couldn't kill a commander like him in one strike.
'Who the hell did this?'
In the previous playthrough, Dalman had been Tutton Grand Duke's right-hand man.
A hunting dog who executed any order to perfection.
He was no one to die so pointlessly.
I first suspected Myoran.
But the barrier kept her from leaving the prison.
"..."
Well, whatever—it was good news, so I calmly turned to the next page.
It could be a butterfly effect from the Princess not dying this time around.
"Conan Takes Over as Northern Commander Following Predecessor's Death."
Conan, huh...
From my memory, she was a decent person.
As the Princess's cousin, she'd wept the most bitterly when the Princess died.
In the previous round, without Camillia, she'd been pushed out of politics and exiled to some remote post.
This time, for some reason, she'd risen to power in the north.
It was a win for Camillia.
Now she had a solid ally in a place full of pro-crown prince factions.
The Princess would be even safer now.
I stretched languidly, savoring this rare streak of good fortune.
Myoran was quietly tending her peaches.
Anje was off writing her hobby novels.
I didn't know the content, but the Princess said it wasn't anything about brainwashing the masses.
The Grand Elder would stay quiet as long as the Princess and his son were well cared for.
Speaking of which, his son was due to arrive here soon.
"Clea, I'm heading to check on prisoner Dark for a bit."
"You've gotten pretty chummy with the Elder lately."
As I stood, she naturally slipped into the warden's chair.
Like a fox taking over after the snake had slithered away.
"He's an imperial heavyweight. Gotta stay on his good side for some crumbs."
"Safe travels."
The warden's office door closed.
Left alone, Clea took out her monocle and put it on.
"A weak civil servant, my foot... If he's hiding it even from me, his close aide, he's plotting something big."
With her high charm and intelligence stats from the game, she coolly assessed the situation.
The land the warden had bought in Berryhill had originally been worthless dirt.
No one gave a damn about this backwater.
Yet the moment he bought it, the Princess laid down a road here.
Quite the coincidence.
And now, the Grand Elder's son was being transferred here too.
Clea lifted her monocle and analyzed coldly.
"Derek Minster... Called a wastrel on the surface, but he had top grades at the academy back in the day."
She'd already gathered all the intel on him from the capital.
The vice warden suddenly wondered if this snake of a man had intentionally come here.
"No way his wastrel image was all an act."
Clea popped a sugar cube into her mouth.
With an air of indifference to who he really was.
If her boss rose high, it benefited her as a subordinate.
If he was actually a top agent dispatched from above, even better.
She'd finally hitched a ride on a real golden line.
"I hate faction wars, but since I'm on the same boat, I should help."
Clea pulled a piece of paper from her uniform's inner pocket.
The deed to the land she'd anonymously bought.
"Still, better than those lecherous royals groping women."
She glanced around cautiously, fox-like.
In her elegant handwriting, she'd planned facilities for the purchased land.
A training academy for educating guards.
A logging camp to harvest timber from the dense forests.
These went beyond prison operations—perfect money-makers for running a territory.
With the local commander now one of the Princess's people, permits were a done deal.
"But who bought the other half? Not the Grand Elder."
Clea owned half the anonymously purchased land.
The rest had been snapped up quickly beforehand.
A massive villa was already under construction there.
Like a lofty retreat for some exalted figure.
The first-floor cell where Grand Elder Dark resided.
A rich aroma of black tea always wafted from there.
Today was no different.
The dignified blond man stood alone by the window, gazing out.
"Elder, I hope you've been well."
"It's you. Camillia stopped by, I hear."
"Yes. She said she was too busy to say hello."
"Makes sense. She's at the peak of building her record now."
Dark nodded slowly, pride evident in his eyes.
"So, what brings you? Something always pops off when you visit. I'm looking forward to it."
I did have one massive bombshell.
"It's about your son. Vice Commander Damas Angard."
"What about that fool?"
His tone grew serious at the mention of his son.
Family matters hit him hard, as expected.
"He'll be transferred here soon."
"...So that's why Camillia skipped seeing me."
The Grand Elder instantly grasped the Princess's intent.
"Worried I'd ask you to go easy on him?"
"Exactly. Even the coldest people bend for family."
His thick brows twitched faintly.
He chuckled heartily, admitting the point.
"True enough. I don't go easy on family matters."
Damas had graduated the academy with honors.
Then enjoyed the privilege of direct appointment as vice commander of the knights.
And as the rumors said, he'd lost a war... and been arrested for abandoning his men and fleeing alone.
"Does he strike you as the type to ditch his subordinates and run like a coward?"
"I wouldn't know. I wasn't on that battlefield."
"Right. You can't know the full story without being there."
"Meaning your son's crime might be a frame-up?"
The king of nobles, with fierce wrinkles like a beast's brow.
He asked for a cigar from me.
I lit it, and his eyes—those of a man who'd weathered life's storms—flashed.
For that moment, he looked like his younger, warrior self.
"Yeah. He's reckless, but not the type to send his men to die and save his own skin. He might've just been the sole survivor."
"But you weren't there either, Elder. How can you be sure?"
I asked without flinching through the acrid smoke.
The old man chuckled and nodded.
"You sure don't hold back, unlike my boy."
The Grand Elder rose from his chair.
Despite his age, his tall frame still backed by the sun.
"Damas didn't cooperate fully in his interrogation. Like he was hiding something."
"Sounds like there's a story behind it."
"Yes. Figure that out, and whatever punishment he gets, I won't interfere."
Even for his own son, the Grand Elder stayed neutral rather than protective.
I smiled inwardly at the sight.
Unlike the Princess's fears, he knew what truly mattered over personal gain.
"Can you look into it for me? What happened to him."
Shadow draped his face, backed by the sun.
His brilliant violet eyes gleamed within.
A father's genuine worry for his son, mingled with a leader's stern duty to the many.
"Whether he truly abandoned his men and fled, or just luckily survived alone."
One of the empire's mightiest powers after the Emperor.
Dark—the second cataclysm—was asking me for a favor.
"Any methods okay?"
"Of course."
"Understood."
I humbly accepted his request.
It was a prime chance to avert one bad ending this round.
The Grand Elder gave a faint smile at my resolute expression.
"Camillia was right to take a liking to you."
"The Princess? No way."
I shook my head, calling bullshit.
She'd threatened to collar and lock me up—what liking?
"You haven't noticed? Lately, she's had a villa built near someone's estate for the first time in her life..."
The Grand Elder paused, then abruptly stubbed out his cigar.
As if telling me to forget what he'd said.
"What was that just now?"
"...Nothing. Time to go."
The casual meeting ended, and I stepped into the corridor alone.
Just then, the sound of a carriage approached from the distant window.
A special prisoner transport wagon from the capital.
Inside, one prisoner knelt.
A young man of barely twenty, the spitting image of Dark but reeking of street thug vibes.
"Hey, we're here—let me up already! How long you gonna keep me like this?!"
Straight-up spoiled by a doting mom while dad was busy.
His voice carried enough for the cellblock prisoners to hear.
Enough to wake a drowsy Myoran.
Enough to break Anje's writing flow amid her inspiration.
And even his stern father heard it.
For the first time in ages, I narrowed my eyes viperously.
Then leisurely descended the stairs toward the prisoner.
"Alright, coming to raise you up now."
Perfect for a good beating.