Chapter 34
Chapter 34
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: Internal Discipline (1)
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Rupert Mansion stood out starkly against the drab atmosphere of the frontier, boasting walls of pristine, platinum white.
It was an expansive estate, complete with a grand fountain that exuded an air of elegant grandeur—a fitting showcase of the wealth and splendor belonging to a frontier count.
My reason for coming here was simple.
The lord of the manor, fully aware that his son's scandalous reputation was on the line, had suggested we change venues to somewhere more private.
Eri, who had accompanied me, waited outside by the fountain.
I had told her she didn't need to stay, but she worried I might get dragged into serious trouble because of her.
Looking at her, I couldn't help but think how wonderful it would be if our own Anje had inherited a heart even half as gentle to match her beauty.
With those thoughts lingering in my mind, I took my seat at the long desk in the conference room, directly facing Berryhill's lord and a row of knights who were currently glaring daggers at me.
"......"
Gunther Rupert sat at the far end of the long table in silence.
Known as Count Rupert, he came from a somewhat infamous lineage—and not the prestigious kind.
Generations ago, his ancestors had dared to lay hands on a princess, an act of treason that nearly wiped his family from existence.
It was Gunther himself who had salvaged the ruined house.
Thanks to his sharp business acumen, he now ruled this backwater territory like a king.
"So, you've finally bothered to show proper respect, Warden Derek Minster," the count said, his sharp eyes burning with the intensity of a self-made man.
The knights flanking him appeared utterly devoted. It was clear the count had lured me into his domain in an attempt to reassert his dominance.
"I've looked into the matter," the count continued, his tone carrying a note of rehearsed indifference. "And yes, my boy was in the wrong. You have my apologies."
It was a classic deflection, delivered as if he had been entirely ignorant of his son's schemes until now.
"But tell me," Rupert leaned forward, his gaze narrowing. "How did you uncover it? Even I, his own father, had no idea."
"What kind of civil servant would I be if I couldn't dig up what ordinary citizens miss?" I replied.
Without realizing it, I had slipped into the clipped, formal tone I used to employ when grilling corrupt successors during my days as Prime Minister.
The count's brow furrowed at my unusual cadence. He likely assumed I had powerful backing to have sniffed out Aintz's plot so easily.
"Who is pulling your strings?" Rupert demanded. "Who gave you the authority to be this brazen with me?"
Naturally, he wanted to pivot the conversation to my backers. But playing along with his line of questioning would only make me look like a pawn.
"Shouldn't we address your house's missteps before prying into mine?" I asked calmly, setting my teacup down.
The clear, sharp clink of porcelain on the table reverberated through the quiet room.
"Count Rupert, you are the one under scrutiny here. I suggest you remember your position."
I tilted the brim of my uniform cap slightly upward. One does not remove their hat when entering the domain of a subordinate.
"Cheeky bastard," one of the count's cronies snarled. "Even if you have powerful figures covering for you, this insolence is unacceptable."
"He's right," another added. "I'd heard the Minsters were scum, but this takes the cake."
I idly brushed a speck of dust from my cap, entirely unfazed by their outburst.
"It is rather amusing, isn't it? A family as rotten as ours, yet we manage to cling to survival so stubbornly."
I met their gazes, offering them the cold, piercing stare the Minster family was infamous for.
"We may have built our reputation on loan-sharking, but we have never broken the imperial law." I pointed a finger toward the lord's profligate son—the failed novelist who spent his days cozying up to noble ladies. "But your house? I doubt the Ruperts will last much longer with an heir who drags your name through the mud."
"A single mistake by my boy will not topple this house," the count shot back, his voice tight with defensive pride. He had built this dynasty himself, and he refused to watch it crumble. "Our lineage dates back to the founding of the Empire. Your family is a mere sprout compared to our ancient oak."
If his pride was his shield, then he had everything to lose. I met his declaration with flat indifference.
"You are merely mushrooms sprouting from a rotting oak," I remarked. "Have you forgotten that your family has already fallen once before?"
The word *mushrooms* caused a visible twitch in Rupert's brow.
"Control your temper," I said smoothly. "I am simply giving you an objective perspective from a capital noble."
"Do not forget that our main estate is also in the capital," the count hissed, his hand clenching into a fist atop the desk. Unlike his flashy manor, his knuckles were scarred from his years of hard work.
"I am well aware. But weren't you exiled from there?"
"You were exiled to this post as well!"
"I am a youngest son striking out on my own. It is hardly the same as your heir, who is currently begging for bail after his ghostwriting fraud was exposed."
"You impudent...!"
The count finally lost his composure, slamming his hand down onto the desk. His violent reaction to the mention of his son only confirmed his deep anxieties regarding his successor. It explained why he had allowed his boy to be used in Aintz's smear campaign in the first place.
It was time to use that vulnerability as leverage.
"When even the supposedly 'trash-tier' Minsters are mocking your house, what do you think will happen when a criminal record is officially stamped on your heir's name? It will be over for you."
"It won't affect me," the count retorted, forcing himself to calm down. "I have a patron backing me who is just as powerful as whoever is supporting you."
"Are you referring to the prince?" I asked, watching his hand tighten once more. "For a frontier count, I imagine you rank rather low on his list of priorities."
"What makes you think my standing is low?"
"The fact that you know nothing about me, or the true state of Berryhill Prison, proves you are a mere afterthought to him."
I casually toyed with the expensive fountain pen tucked into my jacket pocket—a luxury gift from Count Ort of the north.
"Count Ort of the north recently requested to join my circle. Surely you've heard?"
"What...?" Rupert muttered.
Count Ort was the ruler of the northern breadbasket, a massive and notoriously neutral political player. The revelation that such a figure was aligning with a young warden left the count visibly shaken.
I pressed the advantage, deepening the creases of worry on his forehead.
"You didn't know that either? How out of the loop can you possibly be?" I looked at him with the quiet pity of a senior official educating an amateur on the harsh realities of politics.
"You're nothing but capital trash with a low rank yourself!" one of the count's aides barked, desperate to defend his lord.
I swirled the dark tea in my cup and met his shout with a calm reply. "My rank may be low, but my position is entirely different. Tell me, how many wardens have survived more than a few weeks while keeping the Grand Elder locked in their cells? Only me."
The weight of my words settled over the room. They knew the fate of my predecessors—all of whom had ended up dead or disgraced.
"I shared a cup of tea with the Grand Elder before coming here today. Tell me, Count, how many private audiences have you had with the prince?"
The count stammered, unable to find an answer. His aides remained completely silent.
"Not a single one, I take it."
"......Hold your tongue," the count growled. "I have the authority to request your immediate dismissal from this post."
It was true that local lords could demand the removal of imperial officials if disputes arose. However, that only worked under normal circumstances.
"Go ahead and try," I replied. "Do you truly believe the Grand Elder will stand by and watch?"
I had already secured networks far superior to his.
"The outcome is already decided. If you hand your son over to the Grand Elder, even the prince will not step in to save you." I tapped my spoon lightly against the rim of my teacup. The clear ring echoed like an ominous warning. "The prince has no desire to spark a direct conflict with the Grand Elder."
A clash with the Grand Elder would trigger a political war. Furthermore, if the prince's involvement in the ghostwriting scandal among the young nobility were exposed, it would cause a public relations disaster. The Grand Elder's mastery over public opinion would ensure their ruin.
"The prince would sooner cut you loose than risk his own position."
"Do you truly think the prince is that faithless?" Rupert countered, though his voice lacked conviction. "Discarding his own supporters would destroy his political base."
"Perhaps. But your direct connection isn't even to the prince himself, is it? It's his subordinate, Prime Minister Aintz."
"......"
At the mention of the Prime Minister's name, the lord and his knights exchanged tense, wary glances. My knowledge of their secret backer convinced them that I possessed far more authority than a mere warden should.
"Aintz is a man who pulls strings from the shadows and incites mobs for his own gain. Do you truly expect loyalty from someone like that?"
"That is mere speculation," the count muttered.
"It is a certainty. One only has to look at the contrast between Prime Minister Aintz and Grand Duke Tutton to understand their true character."
One was a scheming centipede operating in the dark; the other was the 'Red Lion' of the front lines, a fixer who took care of his subordinates.
"When the recent aphrodisiac scandal blew up, Grand Duke Tutton personally stepped in to clean up his faction's mess. But what did Aintz do?"
The count looked down the long table at his silent advisors. They all knew the answer, even if they refused to speak it aloud.
"Aintz abandoned every single associate who became a liability. If you doubt my words, feel free to ask your contacts in the capital."
I took a slow sip of my tea, inviting him to verify the claim. Then, I paused, offering a wry, apologetic smile.
"Ah, my apologies. I forgot that you don't have any contacts left there. Would you like to borrow my intelligence reports?"
"......"
The anger completely drained from Count Rupert's face. He knew the truth. When the scandal hit, the high-ranking capital nobles had cut all ties. His son had bragged about being clever enough to avoid trouble, but the count's instincts told him otherwise. They had used his son for a cheap fraud, and if it failed, they would discard the Rupert family without a second thought.
Yet, a rural noble seeking influence had little choice but to rely on whatever networks they could find. Aintz had been their only option, and they had taken the bait.
Now, it was time to guide his desperation.
"Stop acting as their errand boy," I said. "You have played the fool long enough."
"Are you suggesting I betray Lord Aintz now?" the count asked. What had started as a simple confrontation over his son's ghostwriting had escalated into a matter of survival for his entire household.
"This is absurd, my lord," one of his aides whispered anxiously. "Retaliation from the Prime Minister would be ruinous."
"Do not make hasty decisions," another cautioned.
A massive, unavoidable crisis loomed over Count Rupert. Amid the frantic whispers of his advisors, he sat in agonizing silence before finally looking up at me.
"If I cut ties with him... will you connect me to the Grand Elder's faction?"
He had taken the bait.
"Specifically, you will enter the Princess's orbit," I clarified, offering him a glimpse of the reward. "The Grand Elder intends to align with the Prince, much like Grand Duke Tutton's faction."
"How could they align?" Rupert frowned. "The Princess has always been wary of him."
"That is merely the public perception," I replied, looking at him with mild amusement. "They maintain a cold facade in public to prevent the Prince from panicking over their alliance. The Grand Elder dotes on his niece, Lady Camillia, more than anyone."
I watched the realization sink in. My access to such highly classified information convinced the count that I was far more than a simple regional warden.
"You speak as though you are a member of the Grand Elder's inner circle," the count murmured.
"The Grand Elder and the local nobility aligned with my interests long ago," I stated simply.
"What...?"
"It is a development that third-rate players would naturally fail to notice."
The count rubbed his temples, a deep scowl settling on his face as he struggled to process the sheer scale of the situation.
"Enough. Refrain from using such insulting terms. I still hold a noble title."
"And your indecisiveness is exactly why you deserve them," I retorted.
"This is a betrayal of the Imperial Prime Minister," Rupert said, his voice heavy. "The risks to my house are immense. I cannot make this choice lightly."
"The risk was self-inflicted the moment your son committed the crime," I corrected him. "Do not play the victim now."
The count groaned, unable to argue. Having applied enough pressure, I decided to offer him a final, stabilizing thought before leaving.
"Allow me to leave you with one reassurance while you deliberate." I rose from my seat, standing tall before the seated count and his advisors. "At the very least, I do not treat my allies as chess pieces."
I clasped my hands behind my back, adopting the calm, authoritative posture of my past life.
"If my ally is in danger, I protect them. If they are my enemy, I show no mercy. That is my rule."
"Is that the truth...?" Rupert asked, looking up at me.
"Indeed. Real allies do not force you to commit crimes just to gain leverage over you."
Leaving the count to ponder the difference between an ally and a master who keeps him on a leash, I turned and walked out of the conference room.
Behind me, Count Rupert rested his head in his hands, weighed down by the gravity of the decision before him. He glanced at his eldest son—a young man of the same age as the warden who had just walked out, yet possessing a fraction of his maturity and presence.
"Did the Grand Elder train him to be like that?" the count muttered to himself. The sheer weight of my words and presence had shaken him to his core. Long after his advisors had departed, he remained seated in the quiet room, staring blankly ahead.
I left the brooding lord behind and walked down the hallway. The hushed whispers of his aides followed me until I stepped out of the mansion.
Once outside, I noticed that the watchful eyes monitoring my movements had suddenly vanished.
'Classic Aintz,' I thought with a silent click of my tongue. 'Deploying spies even to watch over his minor subordinates.'
I kept a casual pace, heading toward the mansion's back garden. However, the elite imperial-caliber spies who had been tailing me seemed to have disappeared entirely.
"Where did they go?" I muttered, glancing around. The manicured lawns stretched out quietly in the afternoon light, empty of any movement.
***
Behind the dense shrubbery, a silver-haired woman stood watching the courtyard.
It was Myoran, the Eastern Sword Sage. Her dark, feline eyes were fixed intently on the warden. In each of her hands, she casually held an unconscious spy by the scruff of the neck.
From her vantage point, she watched as Derek made his way back to Eri.
Eri, waiting by the fountain, caught sight of him and offered a bright, relieved smile.
Myoran’s gaze narrowed as she observed the scene, her expression growing cold.
"Look at that vixen flirting," she murmured to herself, adjusting her elegant hat.
To Myoran, capable men always attracted dangerous, sweet-talking women. She resolved to keep a very close eye on the delicate flower snakes attempting to slide their way into her favorite viper's shadow.