4.
Official:
A term used to address someone equivalent to an executive in the Bureau of Administration. From this point onward, nobles begin to show a degree of respect.
Senior Official:
The highest rank among officials—the officials’ official. From this point onward, nobles finally start to pay attention to social cues.
Even so, the power dynamics could never truly be reversed. Nevertheless, for a commoner to rise to a position where nobles had to consider their reactions was an extraordinary feat.
In this sense, senior officials represented the epitome of self-made success in this world. Among positions attainable through purely meritocratic advancement, it was arguably the ultimate achievement.
Normally, such a path would be unthinkable.
But Marigold happened to be an administrator already.
‘Might as well aim for the High-Ranking Official route for Marigold while I’m at it.’
* * *
It was past lunchtime.
“Mary the archivist?”
Lancel was looking for Marigold. After being publicly humiliated in front of all the residents and having her report confiscated, she had locked herself in her inn room for half a day, refusing to come out.
“Marigold the archivist? May I come in?”
There was no response to his knock.
He quietly opened the door and peeked inside.
Marigold was sitting at her desk, deeply engrossed in something. She had a sheet of paper spread out before her and was scribbling furiously on it with a pen.
‘Why didn’t she lock the door? What’s she doing?’
Lancel approached her from behind.
“Hmmmm.”
She was so focused that she didn’t even notice him despite his deliberate attempts to make his presence known.
‘Is she studying? Or rewriting the report from scratch?’
Lancel glanced over Marigold’s shoulder, catching sight of her pen moving ceaselessly across the paper. An unexpected sight met his eyes.
‘A drawing?’
It was a remarkably well-drawn one at that.
Marigold was meticulously sketching the likeness of “a certain man” on the page.
“What are you drawing, Marigold the archivist?”
“……!”
Marigold startled violently, leaping to her feet.
“Eek!”
Her movements overturning her chair while the paper she frantically tried to hide was crumpled into a ball, and her hastily moving toes slammed mercilessly against the desk corner.
“Hic— ahhh…!”
Overwhelmed by the sudden pain, Marigold curled into a ball, silently groaning. Tears welled up in her eyes.
Lancel raised his hands as if to say, “I didn’t do anything.” He simply stood there, observing the entire sequence of events.
At that moment, Marigold’s bag, which had been resting on the desk, tipped over with a thud, spilling its contents—dozens of papers—in a rustling cascade.
‘What’s all this?’
The papers were filled with dense, intricate drawings.
Lancel was astonished with how much time she must have poured into her art to achieve such skill and volume.
‘So, all those times she claimed to be writing in her diary, she was secretly drawing all along?’
“Mary the archivist, you have an unexpected talent.”
“Ah, it’s nothing, really! It’s just a hobby, nothing important! Please give them back, Sir Lancel!”
Still reeling from her embarrassment, Marigold frantically began gathering the scattered drawings from the floor.
As Lancel picked up a sketch that had landed near his feet, a sense of familiarity washed over him.
The interior of a train car, a uniformed man tilting a teacup with a slightly weary expression on his face, the Imperial Knight’s insignia pinned to his collar, even the hat resting on the corner of the table…
‘This… it’s me, isn’t it?’
Though the drawing was somewhat idealized, it unmistakably captured Lancel’s appearance.
“Aaaaaah!” Marigold shrieked in horror, snatching the paper back from Lancel’s hand.
“Hmm…”
“No! It’s not! It’s not like that…!”
“I didn’t say anything, Marigold the archivist.”
“No! It’s not like that! Forget it!”
Marigold, her face crumpled in tears, frantically gathered all the papers and threw herself onto the bed. She burrowed under the covers, completely hiding herself.
“Hic… I’m finished now. As an administrator, as a human being—everything’s over. I can’t do anything, my reports were taken away, I’m just a worthless wretch. Please, just let me be alone forever.”
Her voice trembled with sobs.
Lancel scratched the back of his neck.
“Marigold the archivist.”
“……”
He poked the tightly rolled wool blanket with his finger. Marigold flinched, startled, and retreated.
Once, twice, three times—with each poke, she squirmed away, avoiding him.
‘Are you an armadillo?’
A round, living creature. It felt strangely amusing for Lancel.
‘No, I can’t let myself get distracted. If I lose focus for even a moment, I might actually start enjoying this.’
Lancel forced himself to withdraw his hand, which had been about to poke the creature again. He sat on the bed and placed his palm on the tightly rolled-up blanket.
“I understand how heartbroken Marigold the archivist must be. To have such a meticulously crafted report taken away for such a ridiculous reason… how devastating that must be.”
“……”
“After all those sleepless nights working on the report, it must be exhausting. Painful, even. I understand that too.”
The round creature began to tremble. A sniffling, tearful sound reached his ears.
“Count Runter probably didn’t have malicious intentions. The real problem lies with those whispering strange things in his ear, misleading Marigold the archivist. That’s just how lords are. If you go and speak to them directly, they’ll listen. But when messages are relayed through intermediaries, misunderstandings inevitably pile up.”
Marigold’s face peeked out from the blanket cocoon. Her emerald eyes, glistening with tears, turned toward Lancel.
“…So, if I go and ask for the report back myself…”
“Well, at least we’d have a chance to resolve things through conversation.”
“D-do you really think so?”
“Absolutely.” Lancel gave a thumbs-up.
“Dialogue! That’s it! That’s what we need!”
Marigold, now seemingly fully recovered, threw off her blanket and leaped out of bed.
“Sir Lancel, I—Mary the archivist of the Imperial Central Administration Bureau—refuse to let things end like this! I won’t tolerate the disgrace of failing my first assignment from the start! Just watch me. I’ll become the most capable administrator in the Empire!”
Marigold’s heart was boiling, as if she had plunged straight from an ice bath into a scalding hot spring. With a determined glint in her eyes, she swiftly began throwing on her outer garments.
“Let’s go! We are getting that report back!”
“Ah, I have some business to attend to first. Go on ahead, Marigold the archivist. I’ll catch up later.”
“Understood. By the time you arrive, I’ll have all the negotiations finalized. So you can expect to return with a light heart, Sir Lancel. Farewell!”
Lancel watched through the window of the inn as Marigold hurried away, her figure growing smaller as she raced diligently toward the distant count’s castle.
Several hours later…
============
—Emergency event! Marigold has been imprisoned in the “brain prison” of Count Runter’s castle. That rookie administrator got too cocky!
============
“So that’s how things played out.”
Lancel finally moved, satisfied that events were unfolding just as he had anticipated.
‘Just hang in there, Marigold!’
He could vividly imagine Marigold in the brain prison, her eyes lifeless as she received her ration of gruel.
* * *
“Count Runter wasn’t always as harsh as he is now. He used to be a good man.”
“Really? What was he like back then?”
“Well, to give you one example: he wouldn’t tax families in dire straits.”
“He must have been a true saint.”
“Indeed.”
Every time Lancel heard stories about Count Runter from the territorial people, his feelings toward the man grew more complicated.
During Lancel’s days of sweeping across borderlands and battlefields, his perception of Count Runter was simple:
‘He was the first lord to side with the rebels.’
No matter how much of a damned rogue state the Empire was, teeming with scoundrels and criminals, being the first to join a rebellion was difficult to forgive.
After all, rebellion was a crime of treason.
Later, the Empire would crumble into fragments, effectively ushering in a new period of warring states. By then, the very notion of rebellion would be dismissed as a mere joke.
But in this era, when the Empire still stood intact, being the first to plot rebellion remained utterly incomprehensible.
Though the exact timing remained uncertain, this land would inevitably become a battlefield.
The day when the plains of Count Runter—which was once golden with wheat fields—would blaze in flames and corpses would litter the ground like discarded meat, was drawing near. After all, this was one of the starting points for the great war that would engulf the entire Empire.
“You must know well how glorious the county of Runter once was, and how renowned for its chivalry,” Marigold said. “There was a time when everyone wanted to settle here, when every passing merchant caravan sang its praises.”
“If things were so good then, why…”
“Indeed. It must have been about ten years since he became like this. Perhaps Count Runter’s mind has grown muddled with age… oh!”
“Don’t worry. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“Oh, thank you.”
As soon as Lancel pieced together the information about Count Runter, he sent Marigold to the count.
Lancel quickly realized that the claims of the people of the territory weren’t all exaggerated. After all, this was the man who had merely confined Marigold to the stocks for a day, despite her recklessly stirring up trouble across the territory.
‘I figured she’d get caught eventually and spend about a week locked up,’ Lancel thought to himself. The actual punishment was far milder than he had anticipated.
Especially considering the Dante family’s status as a knightly family, which was similar to that of the count’s family status.
“Let’s go.”
Lancel draped his cloak and headed towards the castle of Count Runter.
He was off to find Marigold, who was likely sobbing over her oat porridge.
Lancel was determined to make her the Empire’s greatest administrator.
5.
“What brings you here?”
“I’ve come to see Count Runter. Tell him that I am here to retrieve the archivist, Mary. He’ll understand.”
A moment later, two guards opened the gate and stepped out.
“He says he has no business with you. Turn back.”
They were armed with clubs, a clear threat that they would beat him if necessary.
Lancel effortlessly subdued the two guards in front of the count’s castle and strode inside.
“What’s going on?”
“What’s that noise!”
The guards swarmed toward the commotion. Dozens of armed soldiers surrounded Lancel in an instant.
Lancel took a deep breath, and his voice boomed through the night: “Count Runter!”
His thunderous shout shattered the stillness of the night sky.
“Lancel Dante of the Viscount Dante family has come to prove his chivalry!”
The flustered guards exchanged uneasy glances. They knew Lancel was a knight, but they hadn’t realized that he was the son of a viscount.
“Don’t pretend you can’t hear me! I know you can! Come out now! Lancel Dante of the Viscount Dante family has come to prove his chivalry!”
Lancel lost track of how long he had been shouting, when the guards began to part to either side.
The elderly count and his knights, lined up around him, emerged before Lancel.
“So, the reckless young knight who barged into my territory is the youngest son of the Dante family.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, Count Runter.”
Lancel placed a hand over his heart in a brief gesture of respect before drawing the sword from his scabbard.
Startled, the others instinctively reached for their sword hilts.
“What are you doing…!”
But Lancel’s actions defied their expectations. The moment he raised his sword, he hurled it violently to the ground.
Clang!
The metal clattered loudly as it skidded across the floor.
The knights, who understood the significance of this gesture better than anyone, couldn’t hide their shock. Their eyes widened as they darted between the sword hilt rolling at their feet and Lancel himself.
“You dare…!” Count Runter’s face twitched with fury.
Lancel’s expression remained unchanged.
“The honor of the archivist, Mary, and my own knightly code,” he said in a calm voice. “I wager both.”
