Chapter 97

“Isn’t it a bit unfair?”

A parlor in a finely appointed mansion.

The lords of Maindulante, after working late at the castle, rarely used the dining hall even at mealtimes. Partly because they weren’t on good terms with the castle’s administrators, but also because they felt that food made for everyone, not just for them, lacked class.

So, they socialized with other lords who had houses near the castle and gathered in small groups to enjoy meals that felt more ‘noble.’

Even the lords under the duke in Maindulante prided themselves on the dignity of kings in lesser realms.

Because the grand council had been called for the Fecernon incident and many nobles were gathered at White Swan Castle, tonight’s gathering was especially large. Usually, only a few met so as not to burden the host, but tonight everyone, centered around Hilbrin, was here to vent.

At a noble’s comment that things were ‘unfair,’ Hilbrin raised his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m talking about Fecernon. The flood is unfortunate, but it’s just a small patch of land. The damage is already done. If they clean up properly, that’s enough. Is it really something the advisor herself needs to lead?”

“Exactly. To be honest, it seems like they’re getting special treatment.”

Another noble chimed in.

But their words weren’t true. Fecernon wasn’t that small, and with much of its land still submerged, it needed someone with real authority to direct relief efforts.

If any other part of Maindulante had faced the same issue, they too would have gotten ample help.

But the truth didn’t matter to people already upset. Above all, the mood was especially sour because Hilbrin, who was so popular among the lords, had been publicly humiliated today.

In a typically narrow, low-ceilinged Maindulante parlor, a dozen or so nobles wore gloomy expressions. Hilbrin, who sat at the head, said nothing at all.

As the wine went around again, the nobles badmouthed Fecernon’s lord. Then the administrators at White Swan Castle. If there was anything else to complain about, they did that too.

No one dared to badmouth the duke. Some feared him, but none resented having him as their liege.

At least, not here.

“An advisor—honestly, isn’t it a joke? What would a little girl know!”

“And what’s with that veil? What is she hiding? Isn’t she hiding the face of a criminal under there? If it’s not a face we know, why hide it?”

At last, their complaints turned toward the new advisor, Nerys Truydd.

Even at best, she was bound to feel out of place here. People in Maindulante had lived only among their own for ages, with a strict internal order.

To them, the greatest in the world was His Grace the Duke, while the emperor was just a vague figure, like a parent in a storybook—known to exist, but never thought about.

Even priests couldn’t expect the same respect here as elsewhere. The pope’s presence was just as vague as the emperor’s.

Now, in front of these people appeared a southerner, an outsider noble. Young, always hiding her face with a suspicious veil. Word had it, no one had seen her face in days.

“I heard she’s the daughter of Lady Truydd, who lives in the West Palace. Didn’t I say from the start it was suspicious? Of all people, why take in a woman with no blood ties in the West Palace?”

A few years back, when someone moved into the empty West Palace—especially when it became known she was a woman without a husband—Maindulante had been abuzz.

Heirs were precious in the ducal house. When Cledwyn would marry was of the utmost interest.

But like someone married to their work, he was always working or searching for remnants of traitors. With even rumors of him being a monster, which noble house would marry off their daughter to him?

So, to these people—some worried, others hopeful for a chance for their own daughters—the sudden arrival of an unmarried woman, slightly younger than their liege but still single, was big news.

There were endless rumors, until it became known that Cledwyn treated Lady Truydd politely but didn’t see her often. Now that her daughter had appeared, controversy was flaring up again.

Clack.

A glass slammed down among the suspicious glances exchanged by the nobles. All eyes turned to its owner, Hilbrin.

“It’s starting to get a bit unpleasant.”

Isn’t it? Yes, isn’t it unpleasant? The nobles were about to chime in with agreement.

If not for Hilbrin’s next words.

“For heads of great houses and their heirs to gossip about a lady based on unconfirmed rumors—is this a market square for irresponsible talk?”

The room went cold.

Those who’d been loudly criticizing the Truydd women froze like statues, and those who’d gone along tensed up. What was this?

Hilbrin clenched his now-empty hand into a fist and raised it for all to see.

“Maindulante speaks with skill. Lady Truydd once caught an assassin aiming for His Grace the Duke—no small feat. Or what, do you all think that’s nothing?”

“Well, that’s…”

Who could say otherwise?

As Hilbrin glanced around at the dazed crowd, he sneered. Now everyone could clearly see friendliness in his expression.

“Wasting time on idle talk and quickly appointing someone responsible to get the job done—I like it. Efficient. And at that age, how bold. I’ve heard all southerners are cowards, but she’s proven herself a hero’s descendant. Yes, you need that kind of guts to come here and get things done!”

R—really?

The nobles were confused.

They didn’t actually dislike Nerys as a person. They’d only been upset because a ‘mere administrator’ had disregarded their own important peer, Hilbrin…

The gloomy mood was instantly reversed.

“Ahem, well, His Grace has never misjudged a person.”

“She must be exceptional to have been chosen straight out of the academy.”

Everyone except a few offered polite compliments and quickly changed the subject.

But that didn’t mean there were no dissenters among them. A few who didn’t join in, or praised only in the softest voices, drank their wine in sullen silence.

One such sullen noble, feeling tipsy, decided he wanted some fresh air. He quietly slipped out into the mansion’s garden.

It was late, and summer stars were scattered across the sky. Scowling up at the heavens, he spat on the ground.

“He thinks he’s so great. Putting on a brave face after being humiliated in front of those lowborn administrators.”

Hilbrin was popular among the nobles, both for his family’s prestige and his easygoing nature. That was why the noble couldn’t say any of this aloud earlier.

But he was full of complaints—toward Nerys, Hilbrin, and the current system.

His own land bordered Fecernon. To get from White Swan Castle to Fecernon, they had to pass through his domain.

But if something similar happened in his territory, would he get the same help? He was doubtful.

He had no evidence, but unlike those who frequented Penmewick, he rarely came here and didn’t have much trust in the duke.

Hadn’t they just been saying it was ‘unfair’? If people who knew the duke better felt that way, how could he feel otherwise?

It was unsettling. The terrifying new lord who’d wiped out all the elders, the drastically changed atmosphere… the lowering status of the lords.

Should he do something? Was he supposed to just live on, enduring this powerlessness and ever-diminishing status? What if the day came when he’d have to beg those lowborn administrators for mercy?

Just then—

“My lord, may I have a word?”

A young man’s voice came from behind. He turned around.

It was a familiar face. He couldn’t recall the name, but he was sure this was one of the new advisor’s aides.

The young man asked coolly, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

❖ ❖ ❖

A few days later, an emergency meeting was convened at White Swan Castle.

In those days, Nerys had spent every waking moment at her desk, except when she slept at night. Now, as she looked at the assembled lords and administrators who had the nerve to ‘summon’ them, she wore an unhurried expression.

That look seemed to grate on them. One lord, seizing the opportunity, spoke up with excitement.

“What are you going to do about this? What are you going to say to those people desperately waiting for help?”

“What do you mean?”

Nerys asked back, as if she genuinely had no idea what he was talking about.

It was the same group as a few days ago, but the mood was much uglier this time.

The subordinate lords shot openly furious stares at Nerys. The administrators’ faces flushed with anger at that attitude, but the lords’ momentum was overwhelming.

But Nerys didn’t seem concerned at all, and that only further provoked the lords, making their voices louder.

“It’s all gone! At a time like this, when every moment counts, all the relief supplies—everything—has disappeared!”

It was true.

Over the past days, Nerys, Karl, Hughin, Dora, and the Fecernon envoy had been stuck in an endless cycle of meetings, approvals, and paperwork to purchase or acquire relief supplies.

Yet none of the supplies they gathered and coordinated with nearby estates and merchant groups ever arrived at their destination.

If the people of Fecernon, who were anxiously waiting for help from the ducal castle, hadn’t inquired, they might not have even realized something was wrong.

That was because every wagon driver dispatched from Nerys’s office reported having delivered the goods properly.

It was clear someone had interfered along the way. But with so many steps between the ducal castle and far-off Fecernon, it was impossible to know where to start looking.

Now, everyone who’d learned of it was blaming Nerys, the ‘person in charge.’

“She’s inexperienced, after all.”

“No need to push so hard. How could someone from the south possibly understand how such a big territory works?”

Administrators, as well as many lords, were careful with their words—especially since Hilbrin was quiet—but a few took the chance to sneer.

In truth, Nerys didn’t even need to analyze deeply to know these were the very people behind it all.

An outsider. A child. Even harsher words they’d have liked to say, but dressed up for dignity and greater political impact.

If things went on like this, the title of advisor would be reduced to something merely ceremonial, in front of both the lords and the administrators.

At the same time, Cledwyn’s credibility would sink even lower for making such an outrageous appointment in the first place.

They thought of the entire empire outside Maindulante as ‘the south.’ They called Penmewick Castle ‘the center’ with no other qualifier. For them, it was as if they held all the power of the world in their hands.

Nerys stayed silent for a couple of beats. As a few of them celebrated inside—Finally, that annoying little thing…—she gracefully tilted her head.

“Why do you think that is?”

The meeting room fell silent.