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~Chapter 24~
“Your Majesty, the messenger has just departed for the Teabridte duchy.”
“Alright.”
The Emperor of the Ignite Empire, Blickshire Exenite, answered while squatting in the flower garden.
His aide gave a discreet sigh at the sight, then left quietly to return to his duties.
Blickshire happily watched his aide walk away, then returned to what he was doing.
On his head sat a straw hat, his hands covered with plain work gloves. With a hoe in his right hand, he poked the ground while muttering:
“Ah, it feels good to pull them out.”
In his left hand, he held a bunch of long-rooted weeds.
And indeed, the weeds came out cleanly—no broken roots, no messy clumps. Almost as if he was yanking them by their hair, and they screamed as he pulled them up.
He paused, stood up, and stretched his back side to side. Sweat trickled down his temples and fell to the soil, leaving small dark spots where weeds had just been pulled.
“Neat.”
Looking at the freshly cleaned garden, his lips curled into a satisfied smile.
The 28-year-old Emperor Blickshire Exenite. His only hobby was gardening.
When in a good mood, he planted flowers. When in a bad mood, he ripped out weeds.
That was exactly what he was doing now. For him, anything unpleasant had to be completely removed for him to feel better.
And the news his aide had just delivered had lifted his mood even more.
If his letter managed to shut up the noisy gossips in the capital, he’d be thrilled. If Sonod Quinton pulled a sour face over it, even better.
“Ah—wait. I shouldn’t insult dung. Dung makes excellent fertilizer.”
He apologized to dung for insulting it, then wiped his dirty hands on his apron. Today, he was determined to plant yellow flowers.
“Bring me some daffodil bulbs.”
He gave the order to no one in particular, eyes unfocused as if talking to the air.
But in the shadows, unseen figures immediately moved.
The Emperor’s secret guard—masters of martial arts—moved like ghosts to fetch the bulbs.
***
That evening, I sat at my desk with a quill pen.
It was a bit inconvenient to dip the nib into ink every few strokes, but the elegant style outweighed the hassle. Honestly, it made me feel like Shakespeare.
Flipping through the ledger Wilson had brought me, I scribbled on fresh paper.
My real goal? To look busy until Lady Claire summoned me. Once she started teaching me the duties of the duchess, I knew I’d be buried under endless work.
But those peaceful days didn’t last long.
Ever since the Emperor’s letter arrived, new tasks kept piling up one after another.
This estate seemed cursed—problems sprouted up like weeds even when I did nothing.
My first task: repairing the grand ballroom.
Since a new mistress had joined the household, a party had to be held soon.
But the ballroom was a disaster.
The curtains were ruined, the floorboards rotten from rat droppings—one servant even fell through and got hurt. The chandeliers and candlesticks were rusted, the heating didn’t work… It was a nightmare.
The gardens weren’t much better. No decorative trees or flowers, just empty, eerie grounds—like a ghost might appear at any moment.
So I ended up buried in renovation paperwork.
The ledgers were filled with lists of materials, prices, and budgets—but they were 20 years out of date. Useless.
Trends changed quickly, and prices for luxury goods fluctuated wildly. Old records couldn’t help me now.
“Sigh… I don’t even know the basics of safety inspections or interior design.”
I groaned, collapsing on the desk. My head hurt from reading about carpet insulation and crystal statues.
At this point, the smartest thing was to just hire professionals—even if I looked like a clueless pushover.
A knock interrupted me.
“Your Grace, it’s Wilson.”
“Come in.”
I straightened my posture quickly, pretending to be deep in paperwork. To make it look convincing, I scribbled random letters on a nearly blank page.
Wilson entered, carrying a tea set.
“I thought this might help you as you work,” he said kindly, setting it down.
“Thank you.”
He gave me his usual warm, grandfatherly smile.
“If there is anything I can assist with, please call on me anytime. My knowledge is limited, but I will do my utmost.”
“Thank you.”
He bowed and turned to leave. Watching him, I hesitated—then called out:
“Wilson.”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Could you find me a reliable merchant company? One that’s thorough and skilled.”
If there was one truth in life, it was this: civilization advances because people are lazy. Rich nobles definitely didn’t want to lift a finger. Surely there must be merchants who specialized in handling everything, like a full “package service.”
Wilson immediately understood.
“Yes. I will bring several reputable companies here soon.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll make sure they can handle everything—from interior design to construction.”
I blinked in surprise. Wilson had read my mind perfectly. A bit embarrassing, honestly. Made me feel like a completely useless lady of the house.
“…Yes, please do.”
But then again… I really was a useless lady.
No one is good at everything from the start. My best option was to carefully review whatever samples the merchants brought and learn as I went.
Admitting what I didn’t know, and delegating to experts—that was the smartest path.
Before Wilson left, I asked one more thing.
“Where is the Duke right now?”
“In his office, dealing with work.”
“I see.”
I’d wanted to drop by and cling to him a bit, but I guess not today.
“He’s busy trying to solve the problem of illegal gambling spreading in the territory,” Wilson added.
“Ah… yes, that would be a headache.”
I nodded. Wilson excused himself politely and left.
I sipped the tea he brought and thought about it.
“Illegal gambling…”
In the original novel, the female lead, Shurael, became a maid here because her father, Baron Iora, lost everything to gambling. Their family went bankrupt, forcing her to work at the duchy to survive.
“So this problem has been around for a while, huh.”
The story was supposed to begin in about a year and seven months, but already the seeds of it were happening.
Which meant Shurael was probably already suffering because of her father.
“…Is there a way I can help her?”
I didn’t feel guilty about changing the story or stealing her spot as duchess. This was my life now, and I intended to live it my way.
Still… if my choices made Shurael’s happy ending less certain, I couldn’t help but feel concerned.
I had loved the original novel so much that I felt strangely close to her—even if it was one-sided.
And I wasn’t so selfish that I could just watch someone I considered (in my head) a “friend” suffer.
If I could help, I wanted to.
So I picked up my quill and began scribbling down ideas, trying to recall every detail of the original story.
