Mess 179

179.

At the threshold of summer, the Empire grew greener by the day. Yet the Baglosa estate, in contrast, only grew deeper in shadow.

An unannounced audit had exposed a multitude of crimes.

The discovery of double books caused an enormous uproar—tax evasion, money laundering, embezzlement of public funds, and even the suspicion of funds with unclear origin.

Their monopoly on the tea trade had been stripped away by the Kia merchant guild. With assets frozen, there was no way to stave off the flood of debt collectors.

The Count himself struggled to contain the situation. But it was useless. With the family’s wealth locked down, even finding a way to maneuver finances was impossible.

In desperation, he tried to borrow money. That too was hopeless. The nobles with whom he had so recently shared camaraderie had cut off all contact.

No matter how ardently he pleaded, only cold refusals came in return.

Katio, Mars—even those who had once shared his ambitions now expressed only discomfort. It was only then that the Count of Baglosa understood.

He had been abandoned.

Every moment was a living hell, and his torment only grew.

In the end, the Imperial Household charged him a heavy fine, and ultimately, his merchant guild failed to repay its debts and slid to the brink of bankruptcy.

To prevent his escape, the Imperial Knights had surrounded and now closely surveilled the mansion.

The estate was, for all intents and purposes, a prison.

“…….”

Now the Count of Baglosa had nothing left he could do.

There was the path of penitence, a silent acceptance of punishment and guilt, but if he had been capable of such a thing, none of this would have happened at all.

In the end, he fled into drink.

“Steward! Steward!”

Dead drunk, the Count staggered into the hall. Beyond the door, the sitting room was strewn with empty bottles, the air rank with their stench.

“Damn it, when I call, you’re supposed to come right away!”

No steward, not even a soul, answered his nervy shout. The steward had been the first to abandon Baglosa.

“Ugh, the cursed lot…!”

Clutching at the wall, the Count of Baglosa shuffled onward.

Dust clouded the corridors, the walls bore marks where portraits once hung, gold candlesticks were nowhere to be seen, and even rats scurried freely.

“Do they know who I am, hic, do they even understand…?”

His tongue twisted from drink, and drool slid down his chin. Yet his glazed eyes glinted with malice.

Then, from somewhere, the sound of sobbing reached him.

“Uh, huh….”

Through a gap in the door, he glimpsed his own daughter, sprawled upon the bed and weeping.

She had a beauty about her; once, she was the object of all the Count’s hopes and attentions. There had even been marriage proposals from rather respectable families.

But not anymore.

With a shriek, the Count broke into the room.

“Ah!”

Distraught with tears, the young lady of the house screamed and collapsed to the floor.

“It’s your fault, you little wretch!”

Between the Count’s fierce, wide eyes, several strands of fine hair dangled from his fingers.

“It’s because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut that all this happened!”

“Father…”

“This is all the result of your shamelessness!”

“…….”

The girl’s eyes dulled and dried. In her gaze—unraveling, losing all reason—resentment replaced tears.

Yes, honestly, she’d been at fault. But she had never, not for a moment, imagined she’d cross paths with the Countess of Validus at the dressmaker’s.

The Countess of Validus was truly a formidable woman. For a few spoken insults, she had cut them off from any investment in the Divine Treasure mining venture. For that, she’d been struck for the first time in her life.

But every single insult she’d spoken then had been learned from her father.

“Children are all the same—nothing but ungrateful little beasts…!”

Crash!

A sharp crash shattered the young lady’s bitter recollections.

“And your brother is a problem too! Why, of all people, did he have to give Validus something to use against us…?!”

Now the Count of Baglosa cursed his own son as well, his words so cruel that any listener would flinch.

But the lady, listening in silence, merely laughed inwardly.

‘He’d never dare say this to my brother’s face.’

For all his bluster, her father cared a little more for her brother. After all, he was the heir, the son.

Even after losing several buildings and being harshly rebuked by the Crown Prince for her brother’s misdeeds, the only punishment her father imposed was that he should reflect in the territory for a while.

“…….”

Yet the young lady did not protest this unfairness. If she did, she would only end up beaten more. She merely endured in silence, longing for this moment to pass.

Just as the Count lunged, hand outstretched to seize her by the hair—

“…….”

A silhouette flashed quickly past the door.

Whether the father beat his sister or not, the Baglosa heir merely watched, then turned away. His face was frozen, as if he had never known emotion.

Quietly, the young lord withdrew.

---

The Baglosa estate was under the watchful eye of the Imperials. The entry of outsiders was forbidden, and even the movements of those within were strictly scrutinized.

That the Baglosa heir was now outside the estate was sheer luck.

He wore the shabby clothes of a servant, hauling a handcart as though out to buy supplies.

On any ordinary day, the Imperial Knights would have inspected even the servants with the utmost rigor. This time, however, they let him pass with shocking ease.

‘I hope they didn’t catch on…’

The fleeting gaze of one Imperial Knight lingered in his mind—a sharp, suspicious look, as if watching a criminal.

But there was no time to dwell on it.

Once the house was out of sight, the Baglosa heir abandoned the cart and ran madly.

His destination was the Loria estate.

“Baglosa heir!”

The Count of Loria, still in mourning dress despite the funeral having ended, ushered him inside.

“How did you get here? I’d heard the news—the Imperial Knights are keeping your house under surveillance….”

The Loria Count ordered that a cool glass of water be fetched.

“I sneaked out in a servant’s garb.”

“It’s a relief you weren’t caught. You were lucky.”

Soon the butler brought a glass filled with two ice cubes. The Baglosa heir downed it in a single draught.

The Count ordered that he be brought something sweeter to drink, and that no one disturb them while they talked.

“I find this difficult to say.”

The Count hesitated a long while before speaking. The sight of the Baglosa heir in such a state told the whole story.

“Sigh…”

The Loria Count covered his face with both hands.

“…How did it come to this?”

The voice, edged with reproach, stabbed at the heir’s heart. The Baglosa heir nearly snapped back in hurt.

“It’s my fault…!”

“I know.”

The Count of Loria spoke first.

“Herba.”

In the utterance of his name was a deep trust.

“No one knows better than I that you are not to blame.”

“…….”

“When my son was alive, I would scold him constantly. I’d plead with him, if only he could be half the man that the Baglosa heir is.”

Only now, seeing the Count’s sad, averted smile, did the heir recall that the Count of Loria had lost his family.

And that even now, after the funeral, he still wore mourning.

A hint of remorse.

And then—

“If only the Count of Baglosa had been you, Herba…”

The thrill of another recognizing one’s worth and ability.

“This isn’t the time for such talk, forgive me.”

The Count immediately apologized for his thoughtless words. But the Baglosa heir barely heard him.

If anything, his emotions only swelled.

‘That’s right, this isn’t my fault.’

It was the fools and incompetents around him who dragged him down. The traitors who failed to acknowledge his ability—they were the ones in the wrong.

As that line of thought took hold, fury rose quickly.

A world, and people, who stood in the way of his bright future—he hated them.

Where had it all gone wrong?

“Don’t worry too much.”

The Count of Loria reached out, a gentle smile on his lips, and touched the heir’s cheek. It was a rough, clumsy gesture—like a father awkwardly encouraging a son.

It made him listen all the more closely.

“I’ll speak with the Countess of Validus for you.”

“…….”

“I’ve heard she’s of kind disposition. If I explain your circumstances, I am sure she at least will not trouble you, Herba.”

---

“…….”

Seraphie wrinkled one eye, rubbing her ear.

“What’s wrong?”

Luni, still poring over the map, looked up.

“My ear started itching all of a sudden.”

“Someone must be badmouthing you! You’ll live a long life!”

“Thank you for putting it so—so sweetly.”

Sparing a sharp glance at her infuriating friend, Seraphie returned her focus to the map. A large map was spread across the long, broad table.

“Let’s get back to it.”

Standing at the head of the table, Seraphie tapped the map lightly with her knuckles.

“I’m going to draw every eye to the Council of Elders.”

Eight chess pieces stood above the capital; now, as Seraphie’s pen moved, she split them up.

“That’s so we have space to get everything else done.”

Four chess pieces to the west,

The remaining four to the east.

“Somewhere in the west, Glake is being held. And there’s likely a secret factory minting counterfeit gold bars.”

The suspicious routes Pura had uncovered—

At their end, there was a turnoff leading to the Empire’s western provinces.

Seraphie circled regions of suspicion on the map. There were five territories within that sharp ring.

“Katio, Tipeon, Baglosa, Gramene, and Lodo.”

Of these, two were the most likely.

“We should focus on Katio and Tipeon.”

Katio was ringed by gorges. Tipeon was backed by massive mountain ranges. Both regions offered ideal cover for a hidden factory.

“Pura.”

Seraphie looked from the map up to Pura, who stood with the seven Glake she had come with as promised, all within three days.

“You’re at the center of the western operation.”

Pura nodded solemnly, a steely look on her face.

“Just in time, there’s a merchant caravan from the Kia guild passing through all five regions. Travel with them, disguised as a guild worker.”

“What should we be most careful about?”

“Never do anything to draw attention.”

Seraphie fixed the western-bound Glake with a firm warning.

“And don’t just rescue the missing Glake; you must also shut down the counterfeit gold factory.”

Neither goal could be neglected. Both had to be accomplished together.

“I have a question.”

One of the Glake raised a hand—a seasoned-looking middle-aged woman.

“I appreciate your faith in our abilities, but with only four of us, it’ll be hard to overpower them. There will surely be mercenaries or guards posted at the factory.”

“Of course.”

That was why Seraphie now outlined another plan.