RFMH 12

Chapter 12

“Uh, what kind of…?”
What is that smile? It’s like that of a wicked demon…

“Lend me some money.”
“…Pardon?”
“I said, lend me some money. We need to fix these godforsaken outer walls first.”
“Uh, that is…”
“I’ll pay it all back later, so don’t worry too much!”
“…”
“And you probably have a merchant guild you trade with often and provide escorts for, right? Introduce me to those merchants too. That’s possible, isn’t it?”

Cleora leaned forward and smiled faintly.

“You said you’d do anything.”
“…”
Adrian swallowed at that wicked smile.

This feels like I’ve stepped into something dangerous. Adrian quickly turned his thoughts over again and cautiously opened his mouth.

“Um, my lady. Please forget what I said earlier—”
“Just so you know, if you go back on your word, I’ll go straight to that illustrious duke of yours and tell him that you harassed me, toyed with me, and tried to use me. You know very well what would happen then, don’t you?”
“…”
They say disasters are of one’s own making. Blinded by greed and wagging his tongue too freely, Adrian now paid the full price, shedding tears inwardly.

“You’ll do it, right?”
“…Y-Yes, I will.”
“Thank you.”
“Not at all…”

“Haha—” Adrian was crying inside, but forced a smile on the outside.

Carefully, he edged his hips backward.
“Then I’ll be off to carry out those instructions—”
“Oh, and one more thing.”

The voice flying in from behind just as he turned made Adrian flinch.
There’s more? When he slowly turned back with fearful eyes, Cleora smiled brightly.

“Move the mercenary branch in the south over here. So it’s easier for me to use.”
“……”

That damned witch.

The words Yes, of course! rose to his throat, but he couldn’t bring himself to say them.

“I’ll take care of it right away!”

After all, he couldn’t die before having five husbands.

Reginald was in a foul mood. It wasn’t because the herring stew he had prepared to eat last night had spilled onto the floor.
It wasn’t because the cat he kept had shredded his suit.
Nor was it because of a servant who kept making the same mistakes no matter how many times he was warned.

“…From today onward, if you need anything or find something inconvenient, please inform me.”

The reason Reginald was irritated—
was the blond-haired, red-eyed girl sitting arrogantly before him.

Because he was bowing his head to Cleora.

Crunch!

Early that morning, Reginald had been summoned by Eanok and given an utterly absurd order.

‘I plan to have that child stay as a candidate to see whether she is suitable for the direct line. Treat her as well as you possibly can.’

In short, it was an order to serve Cleora diligently and with utmost care. It was an unprecedented decision made in just two days.

Reginald had assumed that Cleora, like the more than thirty others who had shown their faces claiming to be of the direct line of House Eisenwald, would soon be driven out.
It was only natural—she had no manners to speak of, no dignity befitting a noble.
Though she might be uneducated, she also lacked the venerable authority of House Eisenwald that had endured for centuries.
Frankly speaking, among the thirty-plus people Reginald had met so far, Cleora was the least fitting candidate.

And yet, Eanok had appointed that very Cleora as a candidate.

At this unprecedented development, everyone—servants and retainers alike—stood agape in shock.
Reginald was among them. The order made no sense at all.

But it was an instruction issued by none other than Eanok.
Knowing his master’s temperament, Reginald had no choice but to comply.

Thus, Reginald—a noble who held the title of baron, granted for his long years of devotion to House Eisenwald—
now had to serve Cleora, who was no different from a commoner.
And to do so while bowing his head and giving his utmost sincerity.

For Reginald, who had lived his entire life as a noble, bowing to a commoner was unthinkable.
He wanted to protest, to demand what nonsense this was, but…

“Ah, I don’t need anything, so you may go.”

Seeing her calmly reading a book with her feet propped up on the table, the scene somehow felt… natural.
Though he knew it shouldn’t, the sense of naturalness he felt whenever he looked at Cleora made him instinctively shrink back.

Flipping pages with a soft flutter, Cleora glanced at Reginald, who remained rooted in place despite being told to leave.

“Do you have something to say? Why aren’t you going?”
“Well, um…”
“Speak freely.”

A dry, indifferent voice.
The maids alone darted their eyes about at this strange tableau where positions had been reversed overnight.

Feeling the gazes upon him, Reginald let out a long sigh and slowly opened his mouth.

“Well, um—”
“Oh, come to think of it, there’s something I wanted to ask.”
“Yes?”

Beating Reginald to it, Cleora spoke first and lowered her legs from the table.
Reginald frowned slightly and raised his head.

Cleora opened the book she had been reading and showed it to him.

“What is tha— huh?”

A list densely filled with names. It was a record of House Eisenwald’s investment targets.

“How did you obtain this? That is certainly—”
“I just went and took it.”
“You took it?”

Though House Eisenwald had fallen on hard times, it was still an old and prestigious family.
Many had fled as the house was torn apart, but just as many had stayed behind, desperate to protect it.
Among them was House Drenarbon, which had handled Eisenwald’s finances for generations.

And Count Calipson Drenarbon, head of that house and chief financial officer of House Eisenwald, was famous for being meticulous and distrustful of others.
A man like that managing investment information carelessly?
It was unthinkable.

Unlike Reginald, who was flustered by the absurdity, Cleora remained calm.

“Anyway. Looking at this, the returns seem quite low compared to the investments made. Do you know anything about that?”
“I’m not entirely sure… Financial matters are handled exclusively by House Drenarbon. Aside from His Grace, who gives final approval, no one else is permitted to interfere.”
“Is that so?”

Cleora tilted her head, then frowned.

“Did they take the wrong medicine or something? They weren’t like this in the past—what’s wrong with them?”

Surely she didn’t just refer to House Drenarbon as they, did she? Reginald forced an awkward smile.

“Could it be that, even in this situation, they still haven’t broken their old habits?”
Cleora rested her chin on her hand, lightly tapping her cheek as her eyes shifted in thought, then slowly knit her brows.

“Is… something the matter?”
At the faint anger in her voice, Reginald tilted his head.

“No, not really. We’ll find out if we ask. Ah, but earlier it seemed like you had something you wanted to say?”
“…It’s nothing major. I only wished to inform you that there will be a brief investigation this afternoon.”
“An investigation?”
“Yes. We don’t know anything yet, do we? And since you are still at the candidate stage, an investigation is necessary to clarify your identity—your name, your age, who your parents are, and…”

Trailing off, Reginald’s eyes gleamed with a grave seriousness.

“And lastly, what your relationship is to Lady Cleora Bern, who was known as the final member of the direct line.”
Cleora tilted her head and closed the ledger.

“What relationship? I’ve said it before—I am Cleora herself.”
“Such jokes won’t work. It has already been seventy years since Lady Cleora fell in battle. Moreover, who would believe a child pretending to be an adult? I understand your desire to claim direct lineage, but please refrain from using that lady’s name. If you wish to be formally acknowledged, then cooperate with us.”
“……”

Cleora stared silently at Reginald, who refused to back down. A serious gaze tinged with faint anger.

Is he someone who truly cherishes the family?
At the very least, he didn’t seem like a fraud.

What Cleora needed wasn’t just money, but people.
To return to the family and bring down the traitors who had forgotten its grace and betrayed it, she needed subordinates—hands and feet to act for her.

There were only a few people in House Eisenwald worth using, but just as many traitors were still leeching off it.
Filtering them out was her first objective.

“Hmm—”

Resting her chin on the back of her hand, Cleora let out a low hum.

With unwavering red eyes, she stared straight at Reginald.