How to Survive as a Dungeon Manager in Another World

34 – The Imperial Palace (3)

Generally speaking, the Imperial Family signifies one thing: power.

The absolute power of the monarch, the monarch’s will is law; truly, the very epitome of feudalism.

The world I’ve been thrust into follows this archetypal structure as well.

Nominally, the Imperial Family holds supreme power, but the nobility, dividing the land, administer their own territories. The relationship between nobles and the Imperial Family? A lord-vassal dynamic, that commonplace feudal system.

Naturally, the nobility is granted considerable autonomy and privileges, which inevitably means that actual power is, in many ways, dispersed.

Which in turn means…

‘Inherent friction.’

The Imperial Family strives for centralization, while the nobles seek to maintain their existing power.

Hence, the pattern of their conflict is predictable.

Control over magical resources, military strength, the Academy, commercial interests…

Superficially, peace is maintained, yet the underhanded strife and political maneuvering between the Imperial Family and the noble factions have not ceased since the founding of this nation.

They simply lack the decisive blow to deliver.

Luke Richter is a b*stard.

Born as a b*stard son of the Richter Earldom, I had no place in noble society.

In this savage world, where civilization itself is underdeveloped, pursuing agriculture was not an option. I aimed, instead, for a stable government post.

I needed to eat from the public trough just to survive.

The protagonist of the original story will prevent the world’s end anyway, so I only wanted to comfortably work in a well-compensated government post then retire for my golden years.

‘That’s why I feigned loyalty to the Imperial Family.’

Provoking the nobles, heedless of their power at the Academy. Secretly feeding the Imperial Family snippets of information gleaned from the original plot. All of that was, in its way, calculated.

Caught between the feuding Imperial Family and the noble factions, a man with neither magical ability nor influential background like me needed such insurance to survive.

But…

“I regret to inform you, there is no retirement from a Lordship.”

What in the world is this supposed to mean?

“No retirement, you say?

That’s a life no different from the last one I lived.”

“Take good care of me in the future, Sixth Lord.”

“…”

Words failed me.

I couldn’t help but ask.

“Your Majesty?”

“Speak.”

“As you know, I hail from the House of Richter.”

“I fail to see what the problem is.”

“It’s a problem, alright. Isn’t Richter the very heart of the aristocratic faction? What’s more, I am a b*stard. No legitimacy to speak of, yet burdened with an unnecessarily complicated background.”

The Emperor stroked his chin.

“Continue.”

“Think about it. To make a nothing-special b*stard a lord, you’d have to bestow a title of at least count. Is that so easy? No matter that conferring titles is the sole prerogative of the Imperial Family, there are traditions, are there not?”

“Indeed.”

“The backlash will be considerable. I am, after all, a b*stard of common birth.”

“Hmm.”

Legitimacy of birth is one of the few triggers left for the aristocratic faction.

They will, without a doubt, harass the Imperial Family with bloodshot eyes.

I desperately lectured him on the troubles he would face.

“Furthermore, if I were to become a lord, not only Blackmore, but also the neighboring territory of ‘Shylock,’ would fall under my direct control.”

Shylock and Blackmore are strategic strongholds halfway straddling the border between the Empire and the Principality.

Though administered by the Imperial Family. Appointing a lord to create an Imperial demesne of a place with such tangled interests would mean accepting conflict with the Principality.

Moreover, it is questionable whether the residents there will even accept a new lord.

“I am aware that Your Majesty requires the support of the Council of Lords. In the current framework, where the Imperial Family and the aristocratic faction stand in sharp opposition, the support of the third power, the Council of Lords, would completely overturn the balance. But it will become all the more troublesome. The aristocratic faction will endlessly nitpick this issue, and the Principality will surely express its deep regret to the Imperial Family, no?”

I persuaded him without batting an eye.

Though it was, in truth, meaningless persuasion.

Because if the Emperor set his mind to something, in the end, no one could stop him.

But the troubles are still very real.

And so I clung to that, persistently.

“Your Majesty!”

Knock, knock.

A clear, irregular knocking echoed.

The Emperor spoke with a listless face.

“Enter.”

The door opened, and a man entered.

Judging by his attire, he was likely a member of the Special Forces, and the badges on his uniform suggested a rather high rank.

The man, now inside the reception room…

“…What?”

“The Duke, who had collapsed, has risen…!”

From him, I heard news that the Duke, who should by now be poisoned, delirious, and near death, had somehow clung to life.

And at that very moment, I could no longer maintain my composure.

Because the Duke had been lured into the Stellar Order’s treachery and poisoned with Formless Venom.

It was the Stellar Order’s attempt to expand its influence in the Duchy, a plot to eliminate the Duke and install a successor who would support them.

The Duchy was the only place the Stellar Order couldn’t get a foothold.

But.

‘How?’

Formless Venom is an extreme poison, impossible to neutralize.

Not even antidote liquor works, and no antidote exists.

The only way to save someone poisoned with Formless Venom is to eradicate the poison itself with an overwhelming divine power.

The only person on the continent capable of that is precisely one individual.

“A young girl is said to have healed the Duke.”

“Who is this girl?”

“Elfriede Trivia, a woman who claims to be the Saintess of this era.”

Shit.

Why are you there?

“A letter has also arrived from Baron Rumohr.”

“What’s the matter with that side?”

Kenneth Rumohr.

The owner of the Rumohr Trading Company, the best in the Empire, and a nobleman known for his exceptional influence.

That a mere Baron commands such influence stems from the Rumore Merchant Guild, the largest of its kind spanning both Empire and Duchy.

And simultaneously, it is the purse from which the noble faction draws its coin.

Naturally, their sentiments towards the Imperial Family are less than cordial.

“…He was, a few days prior, attacked by demonic beasts, they say.”

“Dead, is he?”

“Returned unscathed, they say. His arm torn, his leg rent, his only child near to death’s door, yet deliverance came by the hand of a maiden…”

“The maiden’s name?”

“Once again, Elfriede Trivia, the same maiden. The Rumore Baron, after much searching, found her, but one curious detail…”

“Speak it.”

“All of it was not of her own volition, but by the will of a man… The man’s name…”

A sudden chill ran down my spine.

Wait.

Wait, just wait.

“Luke Richter, they say…”

“……!!”

“A title shall be bestowed upon you in due time.”

The Emperor dismissed me with those final words.

Upon the Emperor’s face, as he uttered that line, a palpable glee was laid bare.

The backing of the Council of Lords was not enough; he burdened the often-estranged Duchy with debt, so of course he’s pleased. Of course he’s joyous. But.

“Fuck.”

Not I.

I’m screwed.

“……”

One side mistakes me for a Dragonkin.

Another mistakes me for a vending machine; push the button and all problems are solved.

Yet another mistakes me for this Kavilla – some god or other who’s already vanished, absconded.

And as if that weren’t enough, now I’m become the sixth Lord.

‘Shit, even Kavilla is supposed to be a Goddess.’

I think I’m going mad.

Truly, what mattereth the gender of a god, from the beginning? Yet, still, I felt displeased. Most deeply so.

“This way, please.”

No sooner had I emerged from the Imperial Palace than Balkan, ever watchful, ushered me onwards.

There, a carriage awaited, and within it, Rudine, patient…

“Finished already?”

And Grand Archon Arkan.

She stood before the carriage, waving a hand.

“I heard you wrought havoc even in the Duchy?”

“……”

“I scarcely believed it, yet you deciphered the shapeless poison. Worth the trouble of retrieving it even from Kalmash.”

I hoarded my replies.

Instead, I glared at her with a ferocity that could kill.

She, feigning ignorance, smiled with radiant innocence and seized my hand.

“Let us hasten.”

“……Where?”

“Where, but to the Duchy? Since I saved your life, shouldn’t I collect what is due?”

Ah, that was it.

Without the strength to answer, I simply ignored her.

“Ah, but before that, there is a place we must visit.”

“……”

“The Grimoire, that forbidden tome you gifted to me after slaying the True Ancestor. Do you know what was inscribed within?”

“……What is it?”

Arkan smiled.

“The Sacred Text.”

“……What?”

“The original, lost millennia ago. It turns out it was closer than one might think.”

I stood stunned for a moment before regaining my wits.

The Sacred Text, the name might conjure something akin to the Holy Scriptures, but its essence is Runic.

For, after all, its medium is language, and it encodes fragments of authority within language, making it no different from Runes.

Only the vessel differs: book versus stone.

And the Rune one obtains upon acquiring the Bible…

‘The Rune of Space.’

The Rune of Space.

A precious artifact containing a fragment of Cavilla’s other divine power, ‘Space.’

“You’re going, aren’t you? Sixth Lord.”

Arkan’s eyes curved into a crescent.