Chapter 5: The King of the Nobles(2)

‘If the blue text is showing, I’d better give it my all.’

Recalling my past lives, I crafted the best response.
Then, I remembered my second life as a chancellor.

I, representing the empire, and Dark, representing the nobles, shared drinks.

At first, we traded fierce arguments.
But as the liquor loosened us, we stumbled into talking about our dreams…
As expected, those who’ve achieved everything dream alike.

“I don’t have grand ambitions.”

I spoke as I did back then, with the weary eyes of one who’s seen the world’s storms.

“No matter how much wealth or power you amass, it all fades eventually.”

I removed my uniform cap.
Smiling at the Elder, who’d upheld the empire from his position.

“So my goal is to see my grandchildren and tend a garden in the countryside.”

Perhaps it was the unexpected answer.
Dark’s spacious cell fell deathly silent.

Clea, listening from afar, nearly burst out laughing and pushed the door open.
The grand ambition he asked for was too humble.

“…”

The blond man across from me stared intently.
Hearing my flippant reply, he sipped his cold tea.

‘It’s over,’ I thought.

Clea shut her eyes tightly, assuming he drank to quench a parched throat.
But she couldn’t help peeking when the Elder spoke again, his tone softer.

“Curious. I thought you’d beg to be made a patriarch or some nonsense.”

His face reflected in the red tea.
Noticing his lips curl, Dark drained the rest of his cup.

“A young pup like you already dreaming of grandchildren? Isn’t that greedy?”

The Elder clapped a hand on my shoulder.
Though no knight, his touch carried an odd weight.

Wanting to live quietly in the countryside.
It sounds simple, but it’s a luxurious dream.

Retirement comes at seventy.
Standing firm atop your enemies’ corpses until then is no small feat.

As expected, the Elder caught the audacity in my words instantly.

“Look, that’s a dream even I haven’t achieved.”
“Then let’s achieve it together.”

I adjusted my uniform cap respectfully.
Then, I dared propose to the man who held half the empire’s power.

“Think of it as an investment. I’ll make this place safe for your family to rest.”

The Berryhill warden owns the surrounding twenty kilometers.
Dark burst into laughter at the bold ambition of his young junior.

“In all my years, I’ve never heard such a negotiation…!”
“I was taught to offer what the other party needs most.”

Money, fame, love?

He’s already had it all.
The reason he sparked a civil war was family.

The Elder came here because of his son’s sins.
To a man who’s achieved everything, family is all—including his sister, the Second Empress.

When she and her daughter, the princess, were assassinated by rivals, his rage was boundless.

He’s jovial with me now, but…
In my past life, losing his sister and niece made him a terror.

“You’re right. It might be the sweetest deal yet.”

Dark lightly shook my outstretched hand.
The weight of a patriarch’s burden was solemn in his grip.

“I’ll give a proper ‘reply’ soon.”

The first interview with the Elder ended successfully.
As I left the cell, I thought quietly.

Though he caused a civil war, he’d devoted himself to the nation before that.
In this life, I want to give him peace.

“Phew…”

Approaching the cell door, I saw Clea, fists clenched in quiet excitement.
She was subtly expressing joy.

When I stepped into the corridor, she reverted to her cold, blank expression.

“How’d the talk go?”
“You heard it all. Why ask?”

“Ahem, I’m just curious. So, are you and Dark on good terms now?”
“No, not yet.”

I shook my head firmly, and Clea tilted hers.
My expression had grown far more serious.

“You both looked pleased.”
“If I’d sworn loyalty to him, it’d be fine. But I boldly proposed an alliance.”

Dark never easily allied with anyone.
He only partnered with thoroughly vetted individuals.

To him, I, with no family or wealth to protect, am still unproven.

“Soon, his allies will come to test me.”

Imperial envoys are coming.
The ruthless Imperial Revenue Service, which even crushes fearless nobles.

“To see if I’m worth keeping around.”

Clea, grasping the gravity, fell into deep thought.

“We need to prepare.”
“Right. Here’s my first order as warden.”

She looked expectant, ready for a bold command.
But her fine brows soon furrowed.

“Go to town and buy whiskey. As much as you can.”
“What?”

Her fox-like eyes glared at me with disgust.
Her rare burst of work enthusiasm fizzled out.

“There’s a reason. It’s crucial.”
“…Fine.”

Clea left the prison with a sullen glare.
Muttering, ‘He’s not planning to bribe them with drinks, is he?’

The next day.
Worried about leaving Derek alone, Clea headed to work early.

Arriving at the entrance, she dismounted, sensing an unusual atmosphere.
As the warden predicted, a big shot had arrived.

“Are you the adjutant?”

A stern, dark-haired middle-aged man stood at the gate.
Accompanied by a knight in the white uniform symbolizing the empire.

“Yes, I’m Clea Rockhart, the dedicated adjutant.”
“Take me to Warden Derek Minster.”

A short, curt order.
His presence chilled the air.

Even the ever-stoic Clea tensed.

“May I ask your affiliation?”
“Imperial Revenue Service.”

The Imperial Revenue Service.
The emperor’s envoys, feared by even the boldest nobles.

These executioners of the elite had come to this backwater.
To punish an insolent warden.

Clea broke into a cold sweat at the prisoner’s power to summon them.

“This way.”

Calmly, she led him.
As she moved, she thought only of one person.

Why did he provoke the Elder and bring this disaster?

“I heard Derek Minster’s a filthy drunk.”
“Just rumors.”

“We’ll see. Open the liquor storage when we reach the office.”
“…Understood.”

Clea stayed silent on the way to the office.
Even if he was acting, the warden had been a heavy drinker.

The musty office was surely littered with bottles.

“Warden, it’s your adjutant.”

No answer came.
The IRS chief stepped forward and flung the door open.

Bang!*

He quickly scanned the office.
But his face twisted into a scowl.

“Adjutant? I was fixing the phonograph and didn’t hear.”

The office, once a den of debauchery under past wardens…
Was as pristine as an imperial chancellor’s study.

“You’re the one in charge?”
“Yes. Derek Minster, Warden of Berryhill.”

In a sharp black uniform, silver hair elegantly slicked back, I flashed the refined smile from Derek’s character selection screen.

“Excuse me.”

Ignoring my handshake, the grim-faced man strode toward the liquor storage.
Clea broke into a cold sweat for the first time.
Until yesterday, that room was piled with bottles the warden had tossed aside.

“Wait, that’s…!”
“The liquor storage is the first door.”

I cut off Clea’s panic and opened it myself.
Boldly lighting the lamp, I said:

“Go ahead, inspect it.”

The IRS chief’s jaw dropped at the sight.
Clea peeked in, fox-like, and her eyes widened.

[Military-Grade Whiskey]
[Military-Grade Cognac]
[Military-Grade Wine]
[Military-Grade Rum]

Golden liquors lined the shelves beautifully.
Each bottle was meticulously tied with a “military-grade” cord, marking them as imperial supplies.

“What’s going on…?”

The IRS chief frowned and opened a bottle.
He sniffed, recalling the distinct scent of military liquor.

“Smells good, doesn’t it? Imperial gifts, so I’ve treasured them.”

The man’s eyes twitched.
He snorted, rattled by the too-familiar scent.

Like a hound that bit the wrong target.

“Shall I pour you a glass? Oh, you’re on sacred duty, so maybe not.”

My sleazy brows wiggled like worms.
Annoyed, the IRS chief sniffed more aggressively.

“My nose can’t be wrong… Knights, check it!”
“Yes, sir!”

Sniff all you want. As a chancellor, I’ve tasted hundreds of liquors.
I know every military-grade drink’s type and scent.

Enough to mix fakes that mimic their aroma.

“How’d this happen? It was full of empty bottles…”

Clea whispered, inching closer.
I nodded toward the window.

“Buried.”

She spotted traces of digging in a distant clearing.
Realizing the bottles she bought were buried there, she understood.

“You mixed cheap liquor to fake military-grade scents…!”

I grinned with bloodshot eyes despite my polished look.
Clea, realizing my plan, looked apologetic for the first time.

“You could’ve told me.”

She covered her lips, avoiding my gaze, regretting her coldness yesterday.

“I would’ve stayed to help…”
“You don’t know liquor. You wouldn’t have helped.”

Consoling her like a scoundrel, she poked my side with her finger.
That hurt more than the IRS raid.

“Berryhill’s supply: 100 whiskeys, 50 cognacs. All accounted for.”
“Alright. Everyone, out…”

The imperial envoys emerged from the storage.
The chief, finding no faults, struggled to maintain composure.

“Let me see the ledgers.”

His tone was softer than before.
But I couldn’t relax. I’d doctored them at dawn, but he was the best in his field.

“They’re on the desk.”

I moved to point out the ledgers.
But Clea stepped ahead.

Her blue hair, tied to one side, swayed elegantly.
Glancing at me, her eyes said she’d take over.

“I’ll handle this.”

New ledgers thudded before the auditors.
While past wardens drank, Clea had meticulously forged these alone.

“Name the ledgers you want, and I’ll prepare the rest.”

The fault-hungry auditors pounced.
But Clea’s ledgers were untouchable, mocking their efforts.

They stood dazed, like dogs chasing a fox.

‘Clea’s the best at this.’

I watched her ironclad defense with satisfaction.
When the IRS knights were thoroughly exhausted, I slipped into the corridor with a snake-like smirk.

The Elder must think I’m being torn apart now.
Having defended, it’s my turn to strike back.