2.
“Shall we grab something to eat together? It looks like you’re hungry.”
“I’m okay. I ate earlier.”
‘Hmm.’
“What are you writing so intently?”
“D-don’t look! It’s my diary.”
“…….”
‘Hmmm.’
“If you’re tired, how about sleeping in my bunk? I’m not suggesting we share it, but I can just lend you the space to use.”
“A bunk……! No, it’s okay!”
‘Hmmmm.’
“Here, apple juice. I bought it from the dining hall.”
“Thank you! I’ll pay you back.”
“No, it’s fine—”
“I can’t just accept it. Here, please take this.”
‘How strange.’
“Is that your diary too?”
“This is a report.”
“Can I see it?”
“Ah! No! It’s still just a practice draft!”
“……”
A strange feeling washed over Lancel.
Whether it was a casual act of kindness or a carefully planned gesture, both had been politely but firmly rejected. Lancel felt his mind grinding to a halt.
The rejection wasn’t cold or harsh, but there was a clear distance. Even when they first met, things hadn’t felt this distant between Lancel and Marigold.
‘Am I… disappointed?’
For the first time in his centuries-long life, Lancel was experiencing the sting of disappointment in a human relationship.
He knew his expectations were unreasonable. Logically, it would be much more strange for a grown woman to readily open her heart to a man who had suddenly appeared in her life.
All Lancel could do was swallow the bitter taste of disappointment.
* * *
“What exactly does an archivist do?”
“They do exactly what it sounds like: record.” Marigold replied, resting a finger on her chin.
“They record what’s happening outside the system, what problems exist, and what their causes are. If there’s a noble governing a region, what kind of person are they? What’s the situation of the commoners living under them—their culture, diet, and unique local products?”
‘That sounds complicated.’
“And then there are oral histories, folk remedies, the hottest current topics, the state of temples and churches… Oh! By the way, the previous archivist was a geography expert. So we also track forest trails, agricultural environments, carriage routes, regional climates, river changes based on summer rainfall, and…”
Lancel dozed off.
He blinked and nodded.
When Marigold finally finished her lengthy explanation, she puffed out her chest, her face beaming with pride.
“So, what do you think about it—the work of an archivist?”
“Mmm, it sounds impressive. That’s nice.”
“Haha.”
‘Still, it’s just a position above the commoners but still below the nobles.’
What could she do? In this continent steeped in feudalism, the scope of an administrator’s authority was limited. After all, it was still the work of a commoner.
“Sir Lancel, wake up! We need to get off here.”
The train, which had been repeatedly stopping and starting, finally arrived at a small barony in the western part of the Empire. It was Marigold’s first destination.
3.
‘It’s been a while since I’ve been here.’
Lancel gazed at the vast granary plains stretching before him, lost in memories.
Even after all this time, the plains remained breathtakingly fertile. But Lancel knew that someday, this land would become a battlefield, consumed by raging flames.
“This is remarkably large for a barony.”
“That’s because it’s not a barony.”
“Huh?” A question flickered in Marigold’s eyes.
“It was called the county of Runter. Although it is now under the Empire, it was once a land ruled by a king.”
“Sir Lancel, you’re surprisingly knowledgeable. I’m impressed.”
“…….”
One might even say that it was unexpected.
“So, what’s the plan from here?”
“Observation and documentation, of course.”
Marigold wore that smug expression again.
“As both administrator and archivist, It’s my duty to report everything that happens in this remote corner of the Empire. You, Sir Lancel, can just sit back and relax. I will handle everything.”
By now, Lancel was genuinely curious.
What had happened during the eight years he was gone to transform her into such a devoted administrator?
Perhaps this time, Marigold might finally be able to live a proper life. At least that’s what Lancel thought.
.
.
.
“Who’s there! Seize her!”
“W-what? I’m the administrator…!”
“How dare this damned outsider try to steal our harvest! Look here, villagers! We’ve got ourselves a rat!”
“Wait, wait! Let’s talk…!”
“Seize her!”
“Tie her up!”
‘What could you have possibly done now, Marigold?’
Lancel had felt uneasy ever since Marigold started snooping around the grain storage. Watching a militia swarm and bind her, he let out a wry chuckle.
“Thief! Catch the thief!”
“I’m not a thief! I’m not a thief! Gaaaah!”
In the end, Marigold was dragged away.
Lancel stood a step behind, watching her intently with an unreadable expression.
“Don’t just stand there! Help me, Sir Lancel!”
“Didn’t you tell me to rest quietly by your side?”
“Yes, but…! I said that, but—! You’re my escort! My guard!”
“I’ll help once things get truly dangerous, so don’t worry.”
“Well, this looks really dangerous right now!”
“It still looks quite fine.”
“How far do we have to go before things are no longer fine?!”
Lancel watched Marigold being taken away, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
In the end, Marigold’s head and arms were firmly secured to a frame erected in the village square.
“We will detain the grain thief for one day and then banish her!”
“I’m not a thief…!”
‘At least they’re only detaining you, Mary the archivist. That’s actually quite merciful.’
“Ugh…”
Only when he saw her face crumple into tears did Lancel step forward.
After a brief exchange, the misunderstanding was quickly resolved.
“Sheesh, you should have just said so earlier! We misunderstood.”
“……You didn’t give me a chance to speak.”
“Ahem, we’ve been struggling to make ends meet lately. Please understand.”
Lancel interjected, “With grain overflowing like this, how could anyone be struggling to make ends meet?”
“Just because we have grain doesn’t mean it’s all ours, Sir. There’s a reason we’re guarding it with the militia.”
“Is that so? Still, they seem better off than other subjects.”
“Well… it’s complicated…”
“Um… excuse me, you two… could you please untie me first?” Marigold’s strained voice finally broke through. After being hunched over for so long, her legs were already trembling.
“Oh, damn, I forgot about you! Huh? Why won’t this release?”
“N-no, you’re joking, right?”
“Just a moment… uh… why is it stuck?”
Thanks to the sudden malfunction of the frame to which she was tied to, Marigold, who had been awkwardly restrained for a full hour, collapsed to the floor the moment she was freed.
Her eyes were lifeless.
She looked as though her pride as an elite administrator had just been shattered.
“Sir Lancel… you traitor.”
“……”
‘I didn’t expect that thing to break.’
.
.
.
“No matter how much I think about it, it’s strange.”
“What is?”
That evening, as she munched on some bread at the inn, Marigold suddenly looked up.
“This region is a fertile plain where crops thrive, and it’s also a train stop with a decent population.”
“So?”
“It shouldn’t be a place where people struggle to make ends meet and starve to death.”
“They say the share they get is too small. It’s a common plight for subjects farming on noble lands. Nothing unusual about it.”
Of course, Lancel also found the situation puzzling.
Vast cultivated fields overflowing with grain, yet the villages within the territory were on the brink of collapse.
The sight of emaciated people passing by only heightened the bizarre contrast with the seemingly endless granaries stretching to the horizon.
“I should probably investigate this. It would make excellent material for my report.”
Marigold launched her operation the moment dawn broke the next morning.
“Why does that woman keep staring at us?”
“I don’t know. They say she’s an administrator from the capital.”
“An administrator? That girl?”
The village, the cultivated fields, the grain silos, even the passing carts—Marigold meticulously observed and recorded every detail.
“Alcohol…!”
It didn’t take long for her to find the answer.
“It’s alcohol, Sir Lancel! Alcohol!”
Marigold’s expression hardened briefly.
She realized she had unconsciously grabbed Lancel’s hand. His face was so close it filled her entire field of vision.
“Ahem. My apologies.”
“……” She flinched and stepped back.
“Anyway, look at this! They’ve been brewing far more alcohol than permitted in this region. This section, here! Check my calculations.”
Lancel looked at Marigold’s clay tablet, densely covered with calculations, his vision blurring.
‘What even is all this?’
Despite living for centuries, he still struggled with mathematics.
“Imperial law stipulates that a minimum of 17.5 percent of last year’s grain harvest must be reserved for next year’s sowing, with a maximum of 10 percent allowed for brewing alcohol. But here, nearly half—half!—is being turned into alcohol. No wonder there’s no grain left! This is a blatant violation of imperial law, yes!”
“Hmm, I see.”
Lancel thought, ‘Who actually follows all these rules to the letter?’ but kept the thought to himself.
Even in Dante viscounty, they sometimes prioritized alcohol over grain, especially when it proved more efficient.
Still, allocating half the grain to alcohol seemed excessive.
“Hehe, it looks like we’re about to catch a big fish.”
Marigold, fueled by dopamine, didn’t stop there.
After tirelessly investigating every lead, she finally uncovered the secret brewery and wine cellar managed by Count Runter.
Lancel, awed by her relentless energy, could only follow her around like a shadow.
‘It’s almost about time for them to show up.’
A week later, the scenario Lancel had anticipated finally unfolded.
“I’m a butler for the Runter Family. May I speak plainly without further ado?”
A well-dressed man appeared before them.
“The head of the Runter family instructs you to stop meddling and leave quietly. There’s a limit to our patience.”
‘Was this a threat?’
“We were planning to leave tomorrow anyway, so there’s no need for concern. The report for the Imperial Court is already complete. Please convey that message.”
Marigold finished speaking and rose from her seat.
The next day, she found herself bound once more to a torture rack.
“See? It would have been easier if you’d listened when we told you, you insolent administrator girl.”
“I’m reporting this too! I’m reporting this too!”
“Go ahead! If it’s something a noble does, people just shrug it off. Violating imperial law? What a joke. Who do you think people will listen to—a noble or a commoner? This is why you can’t trust rookie administrators. Count Runter is a merciful man; he’s only confiscating your report as a warning. Do you understand?”
“No! My report! Give it back!”
“What if I refuse?”
Lancel quietly watched the scene unfold, chewing on a grain of wheat.
This time, it wasn’t just mischief on Lancel’s part. He wanted Marigold to experience firsthand the true status of an administrator in the frontier.
In this land where the vestiges of feudal society lingered, the status of a common
administrator amounted to little more than this.
‘I’ve shown her roughly the full extent of reality.’
An afternoon when the sun sets.
As the afternoon sun began to set, Lancel approached the slumped Marigold.
He waved away a finch that had been flitting around, over the head of the woman who was securely bound to the rack.
“…Sir Lancel?”
“Marigold the archivist.”
Even within the Fallen Noblewoman Simulation, the “High-Ranking Official Marigold” route was considered a notable ending.
“Do you desire power?”
“Huh?”
‘Should I try to create that route?’
