MCFPM 08

chapter 08

The startled merchant slammed his hand on the desk.

“…W-wait, wood and insulation are different things! For insulation to work, there has to be warmth first. But right now, the peasants’ homes are freezing—they need heat more urgently!”

“Firewood has plenty of substitutes, so why insist? Sure, meric wood is more efficient as fuel, but there’s oak and birch all around. Tell them to use those together with insulation.”

“But until now, the northern lords have always traded in meric wood—!”

At that moment, sparks flared in the secretary’s eyes.

Cherylotte, wondering how best to crush the man’s spirit, propped her chin in one hand, her expression crooked.

“Was the steward ever the lord? The Grand Duke is me now. Lea, see Martino out.”

When the maid stepped toward the now red-faced Martino, he shoved her hard and shouted. Alarmed, the secretary quietly called for Rodier nearby.

“You didn’t even have the goods prepared properly! This is unjust! Are you planning to sever ties with me forever?! You think the other merchants will stay quiet?”

Surely, his rage wasn’t just because he couldn’t pocket the wood.

Stone and mixtures are far harder to transport than wood.

By volume, cement weighed much more than timber. It would take far longer to haul back to his headquarters, and wagons might even break along the way.

But none of that mattered to Cherylotte. She laughed openly in his face.

“Fine. This year’s contract was due for renewal anyway, wasn’t it? No problem if we cut ties now.”

“You brazen little—”

“You’re no better, shoving wheat at us that even dogs wouldn’t eat. Shall I boil it up and spoon-feed you? Best be reasonable—just pay what’s owed under the contract and leave.”

“…”

The merchant’s eyes darted between Rodier—summoned by the secretary’s call—and Cherylotte, who hadn’t even risen from her chair.

He was cornered. Growing desperate, the merchant muttered toward her:

“You must know who stands behind me…”

He was from the East, under Freyju’s rule. With the knight commander also siding with the East, wouldn’t it be dangerous for the Duke of Chartreuse to reject him?

“I know very well you’re the sort who can only survive by clinging to others.”

But Cherylotte’s indifference only made his face flush red like a drunkard. He narrowly avoided Rodier’s lightning-fast punch and bolted.

“You’ll pay for treating me this way!”

How long after the merchant stormed out? The secretary, looking like a survivor of a storm, brushed back his messy hair.

“…What was that just now?”

“I showed Merchant Martino how insulation and lava stone could preserve heat better than meric wood. In exchange for his rotten grain, we secured high-quality timber.”

“No, I meant… ah, sorry.”

Flustered, he covered his mouth. Cherylotte asked calmly:

“Are you worried?”

“…”

“It’s fine. A merchant who force-sells unsellable grain in enough quantity to supply an entire army won’t hold power anywhere.”

“…So, forcing unwanted grain means his goods aren’t even popular in the market?”

“That’s part of it…”

Handing him the contract, Cherylotte continued.

“Grain production across the continent is led by the East, especially Freyju. The closer one is to the Grand Duke of Freyju, the more likely they’ll quietly get the year’s best crops. If Martino didn’t, that means he isn’t important to them. Just a passing amusement, most likely.”

“I see…”

The secretary muttered, sorting through the contracts and receipts.

“You know… so much. I’m surprised.”

“You have to, if you want to survive in a ducal estate.”

“Ducal estate? But this is a cast—ah, pardon me.”

Bowing his head, he asked:

“Then, what did you study in the Academy’s Department of Magi-Engineering? Do they also teach architecture and design?”

“They have to. Magic building materials and turret construction are crafts for artisans.”

“I see. If I’d gone to the Academy, I could’ve learned much as well.”

“It took a lot of effort.”

Her dignity was built through sheer grit.

What she gained from the Academy was knowledge and skill. Not a genius like her old rival, but at least she hadn’t stooped to base tricks.

After all, as the descendant of a proud, ancient ducal house, she was still better than Bascalia…

Morning came again.

And the first voice Cherylotte heard upon waking was not her chambermaid, Cécile—

“Your Highness, an intruder!”

It was her secretary, calling in panic.

Cherylotte, still lathered with soap, glanced at her maids and knights.

If a suspicious intruder appeared, shouldn’t you handle it first? Why are you here?

Confused, she threw on a cloak and went outside.

Fortunately, some knights hadn’t let the intruder into the castle, and were…

Wait. They’re kicking him?

Before Cherylotte could shout for them to stop, the vice-captain barked:

“Rodier! What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Ah, Vice-Captain! He drew his—”

“Jean Rodier!”

The rarely-heard sharp tone made Rodier’s tail droop at once.

…Even Cherylotte, standing nearby, nearly nodded off. Clearing her throat loudly, she approached the intruder.

At that instant—

“Mm, that’s better.”

A light, clear voice she couldn’t ignore rang out.

The crouched figure, silently enduring Rodier’s kicks, slowly rose. Like a shadow gathering itself upright.

Even the silhouette was enough for Cherylotte’s face to harden.

“Your knight is very loyal, Your Highness.”

“…”

“I envy you greatly.”

Eonian Bascalia.

Cherylotte swallowed and answered stiffly:

“You could’ve avoided giving such a misleading impression.”

“All I did was draw a dagger, yet suddenly a boot came flying into my stomach. I was shocked, truly—what reflexes.”

“…A dagger?”

Her frown turned to the weapon he pulled from its sheath. As Eonian revealed a gleaming holy relic, gasps like a choir rose behind her.

Idiot. You beat him for drawing that? Did it look like a weapon to you?

H-how was I supposed to know it was a relic? He covered his vitals even while I was hitting him—it looked like training for a thug!

Ignoring Rodier and the secretary squabbling behind her, Cherylotte stepped closer to Eonian.

“It’s the Cross of Quisa. A family heirloom. I brought it here.”

“…Why?”

“Because you’ve become the new Grand Duke. As bishop, I wanted to discuss establishing a parish and dealing with monster incursions.”

To establish a parish in a grand noble house, a holy relic was required—so he’d brought one.

“Ah, don’t worry. Not across the whole north. I was only curious whether we could restore or install one in the Chartreuse chapel.”

“Do you have Papal approval?”

“Of course.”

Cherylotte glanced over the permit, then looked him in the eye.

“Shameless. You stole the relic, didn’t you? How did you forge the papers?”

“I made an effort, just to stay near you.”

“…If trouble arises, it’s on your head.”

“I’ll work to make it our responsibility.”

Damn it. She should’ve let Rodier beat him down.

“…Let him in.”

She snapped her pocket watch open.

D-15.

It begins now.

Just two weeks. Cherylotte figured Eonian would prove useful by revealing that the assets’ nominal ownership was under his name. That would’ve been easiest.

But he’s done nothing so far?

While distributing cement and insulation materials to parish halls and guildhouses, she fretted at his inaction.

Her desk calendar already had five days crossed off since his arrival, yet the ducal castle remained unusually quiet for a guest of such stature.

She asked Lea, who was tidying teacups nearby:

“Lea, what’s the duke’s heir been up to lately?”

“Hm? Oh, Lord Eonian?”

A blush spread across Lea’s cheeks.

“My goodness, I’ve never met a man so kind even to a mere maid like me.”

Cherylotte nearly gawked in silence.

“…Really? How, specifically?”

“Well…”

Lea’s words, in short:

• Unlike southern nobles, he wasn’t needlessly picky.

• Even when he was, he spoke pleasantly. Taste refined in food and clothing.

• Remembered workers’ names and faces.

• Once, when heating failed, he coughed but said he was fine.

• Always gave extra pay, saying they worked hard.

• In prayer, murmuring the Lord’s Prayer in his black cassock suited him perfectly.

• Handsome.

• Very handsome.

• Really, really handsome—

“Enough, enough!”

Cherylotte shouted, unable to bear another second of Lea’s swooning monologue.

“There’s more… don’t you want to hear?”

“No, that’s plenty. I need to reflect on what you’ve said, so leave me now.”

Lea hesitantly obeyed and left.

Cherylotte exhaled in relief, but unfortunately, heaven favored priests who prayed daily—not unbelievers like her.

“You’ve had much to say behind my back, I see.”

Eonian entered, kissing Lea’s hand before releasing her. Cherylotte shut her eyes tight, trembling with fury. She wanted nothing more than to beat him bloody.

Once Lea left, he studied her face carefully, then asked the most absurd question:

“Jealous?”

“Damn you!”

She slammed the desk and stomped the floor.

“She’s one of my people! Hands off, you trash!”

“My, that’s harsh. What do you take me for?”

“You’re a disgrace to wolves. Pack your things and get out.”

“Now, now… Your Highness, no need for vulgarity. I came to talk business.”

With mock humility, Eonian dragged a chair over and spread a large sheet of paper across her desk.

“To keep appearances, I brought some designs. Care to look?”

“You’ll build a chapel in ten days?”

Cherylotte’s glare snapped toward him.

“If this is your grand proof of usefulness, it’s disappointing.”

“Why?”

“…”

Sure, it could be built in ten days—but the result would be fit for a school festival, not a ducal estate.

Yet his gaze grew sharper as he tapped the plans.

“Cheryl, I know why you ‘left over’ the meric wood. You expected me to build a chapel.”

“I figured it was the excuse you’d use, yes.”

“See? This is more than a façade. It’s a fortification. My role here is to be the prophet who explains the miracle you’ll perform.”

“…What? What are you talking about?”

They were discussing chapel construction—and suddenly he’s talking about divine miracles and prophecy? Had he been brainwashed into a cult?

As if checking a tin can for rattling, Cherylotte raised a hand to knock his skull.

But Eonian caught her hands, enfolding them in his.

“Cheryl.”

“…What.”

“I’ll make the North warm again.”

…Had he seriously been indoctrinated somewhere?