Chapter 134

“E-engineering corps, you say?”

“Yes. You’ve seen what kind of men they are, haven’t you?”

“Of course…”

He had seen them.

It was back when the water supply system was being installed.

They were soldiers who had spent their entire careers in civil engineering. Their work had been impressive.

“But why would you need soldiers from my domain to expand that corps…?”

“Overcoming disaster requires everyone’s participation, does it not?”

“……”

Lloyd’s calm tone made the viscount’s mouth go dry.

He immediately understood the hidden meaning behind those words.

“You mean…”

“Yes, you’ve guessed it. And your guess is correct. Why do you think the Countship of Frontera was designated as a special directly governed city? Her Majesty’s intent was to make this the central hub of reconstruction following the monster domino disaster, wasn’t it?”

“……”

“If you’re unwilling to lend a hand in that reconstruction, well, I look forward to the first quarterly report. I’ll make sure Her Majesty is fully informed of the Viscount’s objections to the reconstruction effort.”

“W-wait! That’s not what I meant…”

“Then what did you mean?”

“Well, I just…”

“Will you provide soldiers or not?”

“……”

The Viscount of Lacona was left breathless.

This wasn’t support — it was conscription, pure and simple.

And yet the other side held too firm a justification.

‘The reconstruction is Her Majesty’s command. The engineering corps leads that reconstruction. If I refuse to contribute men to the corps? Even if I so much as hesitate?’

He’d be branded disloyal to the Crown.

In the worst case, accused of treason.

‘That devilish brat would absolutely twist it that way. He’s more than capable.’

The Viscount trembled as he looked at Lloyd Frontera — a man who kept a dozen demons on his tongue.

If anyone could paint him as a villain before the Queen with that venomous eloquence, it was him.

In that case, he would end up executed without question.

The Viscount could only nod.

“Understood. Then… how many soldiers were you thinking to draft into the corps…?”

“Why don’t we leave that to your conscience and sincerity?”

“……”

Please, spare me.

Just tell me the number.

The Viscount wanted to cry.

Lloyd smiled radiantly.

It was the same as when someone answered “anything’s fine” to a question about what to eat — the most troublesome response possible.

Now was no different.

Leaving it to his conscience and sincerity, asking him to decide what was appropriate — those vague words were crushing him under an invisible weight.

And Lloyd drove in one last, beautiful wedge.

“Set the scale of support for the engineering corps as you see fit. Submit the report by noon tomorrow.”

“A… report? By tomorrow noon?”

“Yes.”

“And how many should I say I’ll send…?”

“I told you — decide for yourself. Conscientiously. Sincerely. Write a number that preserves our friendship. I’d hate to be saddened. Understood?”

“……”

“Good. Now, on to the next matter.”

Flip.

Lloyd briskly turned the pages of his documents.

His plans unfolded in sequence.

Food and clothing support for refugees.
Provision of lumber and other materials for various constructions.
Requisition of all technicians residing in the viscounty.

They were all listed as “support and requisition plans,” but in reality, they were “exploitation plans” — a parade of one-sided orders.

The Viscount had no way to resist.

He lacked both the justification and the power to oppose.

All he could do was bow and nod powerlessly.

“…Understood.”

As expected.

This was the price of having lived wickedly.

He should never have scorned and mistreated his poor neighbor lord.

Now regret seeped into his very bones — far too late.

‘Of course. Once I mark someone, I make sure to crush them completely.’

People are not meant to be reused.

Especially those who had once tried to harm him.

The moment they saw weakness, they would do it again.

That was Lloyd’s belief — no, his experience.

From his days living in a tiny study dormitory in Korea.

A bitter lesson he would never forget.

‘That guy from the next room, even now, makes my blood boil.’

It was when he had just started living in that dormitory.

There had been a ridiculous man next door — a civil service exam taker.

Every night, he blasted music.

Not just loud — deafening.

He played it through a travel-bag-sized subwoofer.

The bass pounded through the walls and floor, vibrating even his bed.

No store-bought earplugs could block that vibration.

Lloyd had complained to the building manager.

It worked for a day — then the subwoofer came roaring back.

He couldn’t stand it anymore.

Finally, he knocked on the man’s door to confront him.

And what did he get?

A fist to the face.

‘That lunatic really hit me.’

The punch came so suddenly that he took it head-on.

A flash of light. A bruise around his eye.

Thanks to the manager arriving in time, it didn’t turn into a full fight.

But it was infuriating and absurd.

He threatened to press charges for assault.

And then?

‘That guy’s face went pale and he started begging me.’

Apparently realizing his mistake.

He pleaded pitifully — said if he got fined, he’d have to leave the dorm because he couldn’t pay rent.

Begged on his knees, crying.

Said to forgive him, just this once, as a favor to a fellow human.

‘I got soft.’

He wondered if he was being too harsh.

So he forgave him.

And a month later, he regretted it bitterly.

That bastard started blasting his subwoofer again.

‘God, it still pisses me off just remembering it.’

Lloyd felt his face heat up at the memory.

The lesson from that rage was clear.

The Viscount of Lacona was the same type of person.

If you forgive him easily and show leniency?

He’ll wait for the moment you show weakness and stab you in the back.

Strong to the weak, weak to the strong.

A man who bows to power but turns cruel the moment he senses weakness.

Such people could never be trusted.

‘So there will be no forgiveness.’

He would squeeze every drop from this opportunity.

He would carve into the man’s bones and soul who stood above him now.

Lloyd tilted his head slightly and looked at the viscount.

“Are the measures I mentioned today displeasing to you?”

“N-no, not at all.”

“Not at all?”

“…Yes.”

“Good. I’m glad to see you’re so understanding.”

“Th-thank you. Then if that’s all…”

“Leaving already?”

“Ah, yes.”

“Hm, how disappointing.”

“……”

“Since you’re here, why not let Sir Curno there have a sparring match with my Javier? They can sharpen their skills through friendly combat, forge bonds through sweat, you know — all that fellowship and camaraderie.”

Flinch!

The knight standing silently behind the viscount twitched violently.

Lloyd’s lips curled wickedly.

“Oh? Did you forget his diapers? Then perhaps sparring would be difficult.”

“……”

“I’m joking! Hahaha! You know it’s just a joke, right? Between friends?”

“Haha… between friends.”

Pull anything funny, and you’re dead.

No mercy — none at all.

The Viscount felt it keenly.

Because despite Lloyd Frontera’s smile, there was no laughter in his eyes.

“……”

Gulp.

Eyes cold enough to freeze his spine.

With a face on the verge of tears, the Viscount forced a smile.

Only after much groveling and appeasement did he finally manage to leave.

“Phew.”

Watching him go, Lloyd smiled in satisfaction.

‘Perfect. I’ve humbled him just enough and secured plenty of gains.’

The tripled water tax.
The drafted soldiers.
The fabrics and lumber.

All of it would serve well in running the refugee camp and developing the estate.

‘Now it’s time to move.’

It was time to put the next plan into action.

He picked up the box that had been left on the side of his office.

Then, with Javier, he headed to the refugee camp.

“Ah! Lord Lloyd?”

The soldiers preparing lunch rations noticed him.

They stopped what they were doing and saluted.

Lloyd waved a hand.

“Yes, it’s me. Don’t mind me — carry on.”

“……”

Of course, they couldn’t not mind him.

Whenever a high-ranking superior visited, people naturally became busier.

The ladle stirring the soup began to move faster.

Hands carrying bread and soup trays moved briskly.

Even the motions of setting down plates and spoons sped up.

Lloyd couldn’t help a wry smile.

‘I feel a bit bad for this.’

He sympathized with the soldiers whose routine he’d just disrupted.

He’d been in their position himself before.

‘Especially in the army. When generals or politicians came to “encourage” the troops during holidays, the unit’s day was done for.’

Those were supposed to be days off.

Time to rest and celebrate.

But when a general or dignitary visited?

Everyone had to scrub and polish the base until their backs broke while shouting their thanks for the “honor.”

Resting? Enjoying the holiday? Forget it.

‘So let’s not be a nuisance. Get the business done and leave fast.’

He folded up his guilt neatly in a corner of his mind.

Then he looked around.

Refugees lined up for their meals.

He approached them.

Just his presence caused a stir.

“Hey, isn’t that him?”

“Who?”

“Who else — Lord Lloyd, the young lord of this estate.”

“Oh! That’s him?”

Eyes turned. Fingers pointed. Recognition spread.

Soon the murmurs grew.

“It really is Lord Lloyd!”

“They say he convinced the Count to accept us!”

“I heard he built this refugee camp himself!”

“He’s the one who made these warm floors…”

Gradually but surely, the line dissolved.

People crowded toward Lloyd.

The murmuring turned into cheers and words of thanks.

“It’s really him! Lord Lloyd!”

“Thank you! You saved my son’s life!”

“Mine too! Thanks to you, our family is warm and safe! Thank you! Thank you so much!”

The commotion spread through the whole camp.

Even those waiting at other ration lines rushed over.

Soon thousands gathered to see Lloyd.

‘Incredible.’

Walking beside him, Javier couldn’t help feeling awed.

He had never seen anything like this.

Thousands of people, all flocking to one man.

Thanking him, blessing him, promising to repay him someday.

Some ran barefoot.
Some’s eyes welled with tears.
Some clasped Lloyd’s hands with trembling gratitude.

Lloyd received it all with a gentle smile and kind eyes.

It was a heartwarming sight.

Truly moving.

Which is why—

‘Lloyd, are you scheming something?’

Javier’s eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of suspicion glinting within.

Naturally.

The Lloyd he knew was not one to act purely out of goodwill.

‘He’s stingy. A miser. Tighter than a drum.’

It was true.

He hated even the smallest loss.

If he lost a coin or a button, he’d grumble about it for days.

He was the very definition of cheap.

‘Yet he’s gladly taking in thousands of refugees? Because of the Crown’s order? Because of long-term economic benefits? Maybe. But knowing him… there’s more to it.’

Even with royal orders and long-term gain in mind, Lloyd was not the kind of man to bear such immense short-term loss and trouble for nothing.

If someone asked him to name the single person most distant from philanthropy, Javier would confidently say: Lloyd Frontera.

‘And now he’s just smiling kindly, soaking up all this gratitude? That stingy, petty man? Not a chance.’

Javier knew better than anyone how cunning and calculating he was.

There was definitely something behind this.

So he watched Lloyd closely, eyes narrowing.

And a moment later, his suspicion proved correct.

From the box he’d brought from the office, Lloyd pulled out a thick stack of papers.

“Alright, thank you all for gathering so nicely. Now, everyone, if I could have your attention — please take a look at these contracts.”

Flap, flap.

Lloyd waved the papers for all to see.

And on his lips bloomed a smile so shameless it could make an old miser faint from envy.