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⁜ Episode 6. The Overseer Who Looked Like a Rat
The overseer was an average-sized middle-aged man.
A very… stereotypical overseer type. If I had to compare him to a creature of the natural world, I’d say his appearance resembled that of a rat.
But just because the overseer looked like a rat, no one would be foolish enough to dismiss him like one. After all, who would look down on a man carrying an axe on his shoulder?
The atmosphere among the tavern patrons was also quite hostile.
Ah, I see. So they’re all in this together?
Since the overseer had stepped forward, it seemed the village had decided to handle this issue as a whole. From the other tables, men were standing up one after another. Some carried clubs, others—lacking weapons—just grabbed their cups.
Not glass cups like the ones I knew back in Korea, but thick wooden mugs. Thick enough to leave someone concussed.
Boshel was still lounging lazily where the money, magic stones, and other winnings were piled up, smirking as if nothing concerned him.
Even with nearly the whole village’s men mobilized, he kept on grinning with open contempt.
“This is not a village some drifters can disturb at will.”
The overseer squeaked—no, wheezed—trying to sound solemn. Ah, but he still only looked like a third-rate villain.
“He’s no different from a plague. Eliminating him is only natural. As overseer, I approve it.”
“Eliminating” isn’t the same thing as killing, is it?
The overseer curled one lip upward in a sneer.
Boshel flicked his gaze toward me. Typical—trying to order people around, just because I’m supposedly a knight’s lady.
Who’s protecting whom here, huh? Old man, why don’t you play the damsel for once.
I rose from my seat and pushed back the hood I’d been wearing.
“Who dares to say they will ‘eliminate’ me?”
What I needed now was the arrogance of a noble lady.
It didn’t suit someone born in the Land of Eastern Etiquette like me, but oh well.
I lifted my chin high, slowly sweeping my gaze over the men in the tavern, and finally fixed it on the “boss rat” overseer.
Like I said before—this era has no such thing as human rights.
Ladies first? That’s something rich men do to show off—“Look what I can afford.”
The men bared their teeth at me, clutching their clubs and shouting obscenities. If not for the presence of the knights sitting with me, they might already have tried to wring my neck.
Even with the knights here, some of them looked like they were ready to risk it, relying on sheer numbers. But then—
Srrng—.
What happens when swords are drawn?
As my knights unsheathed their blades all at once, I felt the whole tavern flinch.
Ah, yes. That’s different, isn’t it?
A man who wears a sword is not just “a man.” Swords are far too expensive for a peasant to afford.
In other words, swords prove higher status.
And a young girl accompanied by men carrying swords?
That’s not just higher status—that’s an entirely different world. And right now, I was showing them what class I belonged to.
“Tell me, what family are you from, that you dare say you will ‘eliminate’ a daughter of the Danior family?”
As if he had a family.
He was a commoner. He didn’t even have a surname—just a first name, like John or Paul.
They probably didn’t even know where “Danior” was, but they knew enough to understand what having a family name meant: nobility, or something close.
Which also meant: Not to be touched.
At this point, survival instinct would kick in. Either retreat, or kill everyone and leave no witnesses behind.
The overseer’s eyes gleamed murderously, exchanging sinister glances with the men around him. He was leaning toward the second option.
But he couldn’t. Because—
I deliberately grasped the necklace I was wearing and raised it high so everyone could see.
“This was given to me by Count Hamilcar. I ask again: what family are you from, that you dare claim you will ‘eliminate’ a member of House Danior?”
The tavern froze. It was as if all the air had vanished.
A faint groan could be heard—quiet, yet as loud as thunder.
Of course they’d want to confirm if it was really from Count Hamilcar, but no one would dare.
And yes, it was genuine. A gift from him on my third birthday. (Though in truth, he’d probably just tossed me some random necklace.)
Still, I had kept it for this kind of moment instead of pawning it off.
And the words “a necklace from Count Hamilcar” carried weight. Especially since no one here knew it had been given to a three-year-old.
In a land where child marriages were possible, even a twelve-year-old couldn’t be taken lightly.
Who knew what kind of relationship I might have with the bachelor count?
In this territory, the count was more frightening than either gods or demons.
Who do they think gave that rat overseer his position? Count Hamilcar.
And the count held the right to punish him if he failed his duties—punishments that started with whipping.
“You… you know the Count?”
“That changes everything!”
The quick-witted ones began to edge backward. At my signal, a servant near the door swung it open, and several men bolted out.
Like water breaking through a dam, many more rushed to escape.
The rat overseer tried to flee as well, but that wouldn’t do. One of my knights caught him gently by the arm.
“Sir, you haven’t answered our lady’s question yet. Until her business is finished, you can’t leave.”
That’s right, that’s right.
Because my business was only just beginning.
The overseer’s face twisted as he gripped his axe nervously, bit his lip, and finally lowered his head.
Reality had sunk in.
The rat overseer sat across from me, trying to appear respectful.
“Surely a lady of House Danior would not stoop to robbing poor peasants. What business could you have with a lowly man like me?”
Not just anyone could become an overseer. He was living as a peasant because his parents were peasants—not because he lacked intelligence. In fact, becoming overseer had probably improved his household’s lot considerably.
But invoking “Lady Danior” and pretending to know our family was pure bluff. If he’d really known who my father was, he’d have dropped that axe the instant I spoke.
Still, I appreciated the bravado. To stand alone, bluffing in front of armed knights and glaring retainers, was no small feat.
I’d met plenty of people in this world, after all.
“What’s your name?”
He widened his eyes a little, hesitated, and finally answered cautiously: “Paul.”
I lifted the edge of my robe, revealing the fine geometric embroidery along its hem.
“Very well, Paul. I am Arian Danior. On the orders of my father, Raymond Danior, ‘Chief Steward,’ I was on my way to the temple.”
At the words “Chief Steward,” Paul choked and started coughing. With a gesture from me, Boshel brought him a mug of ale.
After gulping half of it, Paul wiped his lips with the back of his hand and stared at me in disbelief. As if to say: Why is someone from a world so far above mine meddling here?
Now, instead of asking my purpose, he could only tremble.
If I killed a peasant or two here, it would hardly be an issue.
Count Hamilcar might object, but not because he valued human life—because peasants were his property. Losing them meant losing wealth.
Especially overseers, who weren’t easy to replace.
But my father would gladly sacrifice a couple of capable peasants for my sake. In the end, it wouldn’t matter.
At my social level, peasants weren’t people—they were assets. And Paul had just tried to destroy one of those assets.
“As you know, there’s been an unfortunate… conflict between us.”
In situations like this, vague phrasing was best.
“But conflicts, when resolved well, can become the foundation of stronger ties. Don’t you agree?”
If he couldn’t understand that, he’d never have become overseer. Paul dropped to his knees before me.
“What would you have me do, my lady?”
“For now, let’s see a show of your sincerity.”
I narrowed my eyes, deliberately trying to look cruel.
“The day after tomorrow, I must ascend the grand temple. Bring me everything I might need. Then we’ll see if our conflict can truly be resolved.”
When Paul staggered out of the tavern, Boshel clicked his tongue.
“That wretch tried to harm you, my lady. And you’re letting him go?”
“And if I didn’t? Should I just kill him?”
“Of course! That’s what you should do.”
The knights quickly voiced agreement.
Unbelievable. And that’s why people call you knights to your faces, but thugs behind your backs.
“Then how exactly are we supposed to reach the temple? Didn’t you see the snow piled up on the mountain? Without a guide, without proper gear—how will we get there?”
Do I really need to spell it out? We spent two whole days luring the overseer out. If we just killed him now, we’d have to go through this whole circus again to drag out another overseer.
At my scolding, Boshel shut his mouth. I snorted and turned away.
“Boshel, pack up the money.”
I heard him sweeping coins into a pouch. Without even checking, I went upstairs to the inn’s second-floor rooms.
A little later, Boshel knocked and entered, handing me a leather pouch filled with the winnings from the last night and this evening.
“These are my winnings, you know.”
He grumbled even as he held it out, clearly reluctant to part with the money.
“Then why didn’t you join the game with your own money?”
“What money do I even have?”
“Exactly.”
I took the pouch from him. In other words, the money rightly belonged to me. Boshel pouted.
“But still… a commission fee, maybe?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t skim some off already?”
Boshel gaped like a goldfish, muttered, “Ugh, who could ever trick a ghost,” and stormed out of the room.
He’d probably pocketed a little already but expected me to give him more.
Truth is, I was going to—but he annoyed me, so not this time.
