LP 1.16 The New Servant

Tax collection costs money. Just money? It takes time too. And in just a few months, winter will be upon us.

So, if we just tie their feet until then, the weather will take care of the rest. In a place like Mallesste, marching, let alone fighting, is impossible in winter.

“Ha! No wonder he’s from Callot. How utterly petty.”

Bastian sneered irritably.

“War fund calculations are the Treasurer’s job. The census is done by the lords of each region and submitted. Then isn’t it just a matter of dividing the money by the headcount and imposing it?”

“…….”

“What’s so impossible about doing it overnight?”

He could feel the Treasurer beside him gaping. The man interjected in a thin, stammering voice.

“Duke Aramore. That kind of poll tax…”

Of course, you can squeeze water from a dry rag. That was an opinion shared by most tax collectors, and in a way, it was true. You’ll get something. The problem was you never knew what you’d get….

Lucian, rubbing his brow boredly, took up the nervous man’s words.

“…People will die.”

“…….”

“Usually, they kill children and the elderly to reduce the tax burden, or they flee in the dead of night.”

Of course, Lucian wasn’t overly concerned about a slight population decrease in someone else’s territory…

“Unless you intend to produce popular uprisings or bandit hordes across all of Izelant, find another method, Duke Aramore. That would be truly tiresome.”

Lucian added slowly.

“I have a great deal of experience dealing with such matters, unlike some.”

He had to be knighted before being recognized as the King’s legitimate son. For various political and practical reasons, but in any case, from then on, all of Izelant’s military problems became solely his responsibility, and his half-brother had also been gleefully dumping every problem on him all along. Perhaps fervently hoping his bastard half-brother would catch a stray arrow and drop dead in the middle of it all.

Only this time, that fact seemed to grate on his nerves. Bastian’s face contorted with anger.

“Then why don’t you, the great one, tell us. How should we raise the military funds?”

“Me?”

This time, Lucian let out a hearty laugh as he retorted.

“If I’m not the one moving my army, why should I be the one to say?”

Then Bastian’s face twitched. Lucian slowly sank into his chair, anticipating the thunderous roar to follow.

In the end, the meeting was adjourned when the King’s eldest son kicked his desk and stood up.

Effectively, half the morning was completely wasted, but Lucian was somewhat satisfied nonetheless.

Leaving the royal presence and walking through the cloister along the outer wall of the main tower’s base, he habitually checked the sun’s position again.

It seemed past noon, but perhaps because his nerves were on edge, he didn’t feel particularly hungry. He was about to dismiss his accompanying vassals to get their own meals when a familiar figure from the West Wing caught his eye.

“Your Highness.”

Mylotte, who had been unable to accompany him to this sudden meeting due to other business, approached with quick steps. As he received the necessary documents, Lucian asked.

“The meeting? Is it over? I tried to join in the middle. What was the agenda?”

“Bastian.”

Lucian replied somewhat irritably.

“That fool apparently seriously intends to command an army of five thousand all the way to Mallesste.”

“Five thousand?”

Mylotte frowned and quickly flipped through the documents he had just received. Oh… A thoughtful hum resonated in his throat.

“Well… He does lack military experience. Especially with Arabella having already commanded troops several times. It’s understandable he’d feel impatient. He does give the impression of being somewhat lacking in military aptitude.”

So, strictly speaking, this was a problem with Izelant’s succession law.

Izelant differed from any neighboring country in that it did not follow primogeniture. According to the law established during the era of its parent kingdom, the Kingdom of Asilla, three principles determined succession.

First, to inherit the royal bloodline. Second, to be chosen by the reigning monarch. Third, to prove one’s royal qualifications.

However, since kings who designated a successor before dying were exceedingly rare, succession generally boiled down to the issue of proving one’s qualifications.

But what on earth were royal qualifications?

And who made that judgment?

“It’s not certain yet. It seems Arabella might be goading Bastian. So, the Mallesste subjugation is just a pretext.”

Mylotte rolled his eyes meaningfully. At that, Lucian clicked his tongue. Well, it had long been her wish for her two big-bodied younger brothers to fight, beat each other up, and mutually destroy themselves.

But was that woman really willing to risk civil war? With Arabella currently in her southern territory, if they gave Bastian five thousand troops and sent him northeast, Lucian, remaining in Ostbrahe, would have enemies above and below.

Fight a two-front war? And from Ostbrahe, of all places? That would be sheer madness.

“In any case, in a few months, even if permission is granted, the army won’t be able to move. Finish talking with the Chamberlain’s office before that fool actually submits a war fund proposal. If necessary, tell them to see me directly.”

“Yes, it’s in progress.”

Mylotte nodded obediently.

Normally, the conversation would have ended there, but after glancing around briefly, Mylotte subtly lowered his voice.

“And, about that. The ‘Love Potion’.”

This topic was also the reason Mylotte had been unable to accompany his lord to this meeting. Even Lucian reflexively checked his surroundings. It was mealtime anyway, and since the First Prince had been hit on the head, the many crows had also disappeared, leaving the main tower courtyard simply quiet.

“…It seems such things have been circulating secretly. We caught and executed an apothecary and figured out the formula.”

Mylotte took out a piece of paper folded twice from inside his coat, unfolded it, and handed it to him. After briefly scanning the document, Lucian soon frowned. He wasn’t deeply versed in pharmacology, but he roughly knew what could be used for what kind of mischief.

“It’s an aphrodisiac.”

“Yes. The ratios might vary slightly between apothecaries, but the basic ingredients seem mostly similar. According to them, there’s no aftereffect, the effect kicks in instantly upon ingestion, and…”

Mylotte lowered his voice further, as if finding it somewhat awkward.

“…It’s said to be incredibly ecstatic. To the point of promising marriage to your partner for the night. Well, you’d regret it the next day.”

“Sign of the times.”

Lucian openly displayed his displeasure. Anyway, he was more chaste than he looked.

“What on earth is the Capital’s Chief of Police doing, letting such drugs circulate?”

“Well, taking this doesn’t make people kill or commit violent acts…?”

Mylotte trailed off vaguely. It wasn’t intentional, but upon saying it, it somehow sounded like he was criticizing his lord, so he unconsciously began to tread carefully.

Of course, Lucian didn’t even notice.

“So, was this what they originally intended to feed me?”

“Yes. Bastian already sent Arabella’s husband away with that unsavory castle scandal, didn’t he? The weight leans more towards that guy’s side…”

Mylotte shrugged.

“Anyway, so… I think the potion ordered from that Mage was also that drug. In fact, the residents of Osterwick also seemed to think of that Mage as something like an apothecary. The problem is the Mage…”

“‘Actually’ tried to make a real Love Potion.”

“Though he completely failed.”

Above all, that Mage didn’t even seem to know that a weak potion named ‘Love Potion’ existed. The natural train of thought—who would think of ordering such a potion from someone who looked so obviously foolish from the start…—accompanied Mylotte as he changed the subject.

“But about that Mage.”

As soon as the word left his mouth, he watched with a somewhat strange feeling as a vague, keen sharpness settled into those blue-gray eyes, and he continued.

“How about sending him home once?”

Simultaneously, the rapidly advancing footsteps stopped abruptly without warning. Mylotte, who had been following half a step behind and almost collided, stood awkwardly, puzzled, when a sharp gaze whipped around to look at him. Mylotte flinched and hunched his shoulders.

Why…? Why is he looking at me like that…? It didn’t seem like something that terrible to say…? As various thoughts raced through his mind, the keen eyes scanned Mylotte.

“Is it your turn this time?”

“Huh? What is?”

“Taking turns one by one to side with… No, never mind.”

Seeming on the verge of irritation, he then waved his hand dismissively. The man with long strides and a fast pace abandoned Mylotte and started walking again.

What did he just say? Mylotte, who hadn’t heard properly, hurriedly followed.

“No, it’s just that the Mage is quite docile and cooperative…”

Docile? Hearing Mylotte’s words with half an ear, Lucian clicked his tongue inwardly.

The ‘treatment’ continued daily. That guy had given a long explanation about the principles of the treatment, but whether his explanatory skills were lacking or it was an area fundamentally incomprehensible to humans, not much remained in his head.

Anyway, Lucian wasn’t the type to cling to impossible tasks, so rather than demanding explanations until he understood, he decided to just proceed directly with the implementation.

The treatment time wasn’t very long. However, he had some questions about the method…

First, the Mage had him sit in a comfortable armchair. Then he requested that Lucian roll up his sleeves to his elbows, which meant he had to take off his tunic with narrow sleeves and proceed with the treatment wearing only his shirt.

So, just one loose undershirt.

By Izelant upper-class male standards, this was considered quite inappropriate attire, because wearing only a shirt was conceptually no different from being completely naked. And in broad daylight, no less.

But the Mage himself… didn’t seem to mind it at all. He didn’t blush or seem embarrassed, just massaged the bare skin revealed under the rolled-up shirt with his hands.

Just with both hands, kneading and rubbing.

‘The blood flows like this here… Mana doesn’t necessarily flow through blood vessels, but still, it’s intuitively like a kind of path, so mana goes this way like this…’

The Mage mumbled some explanation, but frankly, from the recipient’s perspective, there was no way to tell if this was magical treatment or what. There was an occasional tingling sensation where the skin touched, but that might just have been because the Mage’s hands were a bit cold.

So, at first, he truly suspected this guy might be using treatment as a pretext to satisfy his own desires. After all… the Mage ‘liked’ him…?

However, for that to be the case, the Mage was consistently extremely careful and serious, just kneading his arm. His gaze was lowered, his mouth not moving.

Lucian, bored from observing the Mage, tried striking up conversation a few times, but only learned that the Mage couldn’t handle two things at once.

Every time Lucian spoke, the Mage floundered, unable to properly do either answering or treating, and eventually, the one about to burst with frustration had to give up.

And throughout that entire process, no trace of ‘affection’ could be found.

It was a problem that strangely gnawed at a corner of his temper. After all, didn’t Lucian need to skillfully use the Mage’s affection to twist him to his liking?

If the people in the rural backwater where he lived knew him as an ‘apothecary,’ then he must have been acting as a Mage there too, it seemed. Lucian pieced together Mylotte’s words in his head.

Then, did he do this kind of ‘treatment’ there too? Kneading people? Not changing expression at all while stripping and kneading a man did seem very familiar. Lucian’s eyes narrowed.

“Your Highness?”

Mylotte’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“…I don’t know what you’re thinking, but to explain first, that wasn’t my opinion; Eydrick brought it up first.”

“Eydrick? Why is he…”

“Eydrick is monitoring the Mage now, isn’t he? He said the Mage can’t sleep for worrying about his geese. Seeing that seems to have unsettled him a bit.”

That guy is a bit soft on the elderly and the weak, you know. Mylotte added insightfully. However, the reaction he got wasn’t very good. Lucian made a face.

“Have you all collectively lost your minds… Where is there a weak person here now?”

Were they planning to call the Mage weak? A ‘Mage’ who could easily handle hundreds of soldiers single-handedly? At the incredulous retort, Mylotte awkwardly averted his gaze and changed the subject.

“…Of course, that’s true. But I had another thought unrelated to that. That blacksmith’s daughter. The one who commissioned the Love Potion.”

It was one of the pieces of information the Mage had readily spilled. However, they still hadn’t secured that woman, who clearly held the most important clue.

“We’re still tracking her, but her whereabouts are strangely elusive. People say she eloped with a man, but even that isn’t certain.”

“So?”

Lucian retorted a beat late.

“What does that have to do with sending the Mage home?”

“The timing of her running away almost coincides with when we secured the Mage. It seems clearly related to this matter, so I thought if we temporarily release the Mage, that side might make contact first…”

“What kind of nonsensical talk is that.”

Lucian waved his hand irritably.

“Does it make sense that because you can’t track that one thing, you’d use the most important hostage as bait?”

“…….”

“Have you done this kind of thing once or twice, Mylotte?”

Moreover, securing that woman wasn’t such an urgent or critical matter. It would be good if they could trace the backers of the magic potion incident. But the detoxification is being handled by the Mage, and if his body just returns to normal, covering up and moving past the backers isn’t a bad option either.

And Lucian was busy enough as it was. The half-siblings he had to deal with, the King, the nobles, military problems, money problems…

Rather, he should be more worried about the Mage causing trouble, where would he even send…

As he suppressed the curses rising to his throat, something suddenly snagged in a corner of his mind. Lucian’s footsteps slowly halted as he climbed the final landing of the stairs leading to his office.

Under the piercingly cold blue-gray eyes that turned to look, Mylotte was about to shrink back, wondering what the problem was this time.

“But how does he know whether the Mage is sleeping or not?”

But the question that burst out was unexpected. Mylotte, unable to grasp the intent, was flustered.

“Huh? What, who are you talking about?”

“…No, never mind.”

But Lucian himself waved his hand dismissively first. The previously keen aura gradually faded, and he began climbing the stairs slowly again.

“…What?”

Mylotte, blinking as if he’d dreamed it, soon collected himself and hurriedly chased after his lord.

---

It was true that Kosha had been experiencing sleep problems lately.

However, contrary to someone’s misunderstanding, Kosha had not been clinging to Eydrick whining, nor had the two been chatting with their heads together every night. Rather, Kosha firmly believed he was hiding his insomnia problem very well.

And the cause of that insomnia was also, contrary to another someone’s misunderstanding, not purely due to the geese.

Well, of course he was worried about the geese too, but how many days had it been since he was detained in Ostbrahe Castle? Having given up counting the days, the geese’s safety was no longer something that could be resolved by worrying.

Kosha was trying to push all unhappy thoughts out of his head, hoping the geese had barged into the neighbor pig-herder’s house or something and were managing to get food on their own.

Anyway, so, the cause of Kosha’s insomnia was a bit different.

For example, the mana problem.

It was a problem similar to what happened during that bath. The problem of mana leaking, no, the problem of mana overflowing.

Or… the problem of mana ‘returning.’