Carrot and Stick
“Is this a monster?”
Jed looked down at the thing with undisguised revulsion.
It was the monster Count Consiler’s soldiers had dragged in.
A bear monster, sealed inside a thick, solid stone crate. They had bound it tightly with iron chains and deliberately broken every joint so that even if it regenerated it could never bring its full strength to bear. Completely neutralized.
“Yes.”
“I’ve never seen a monster in my life. Never had the chance. I had no idea they were this disgusting.”
“You sound like some noble young lady.”
“I’ll have you know I was raised quite delicately. Among the Red-Eyed Tribe…”
The moment the words “Red-Eyed Tribe” left his mouth, Jed’s expression turned bitter. His gaze slid toward Ferda.
“So why did you call for me?”
“I called you because I need my attendant to do his job.”
“Does this have something to do with this bear?”
Ferda tilted his head and looked down at the monster.
“…What exactly are we supposed to do with this thing?”
“Even while bound like this, its bulk keeps increasing. We’ve put the brakes on it for now so it looks harmless, but in about an hour its heart will start beating again.”
“Hah…”
“And if it keeps feeling its life is under threat the way it does now, it’ll grow several times faster than usual.”
“So?”
Ferda sliced the air sharply with his index finger.
“Every three hours you’ll have to cut the flesh away. Tendons, nerves—everything.”
He patted Jed’s shoulder.
“And you’re the one who’s going to do it.”
“…I have to keep cutting it every three hours? When am I supposed to sleep?”
Ferda answered without missing a beat.
“I’ve heard the believers down south pray every three hours. Without missing a single day.”
“I’m not even from there! How is a normal person supposed to do that every three hours?”
“They manage to pray every three hours. You can manage this.”
“Couldn’t I… take turns with that little maid girl?”
“As I said, she isn’t my loyal servant. If you can persuade her yourself, I won’t stop you.”
“….”
Jed’s mouth snapped shut. Even a man who thought he could charm any woman as easily as eating cake found a Dragon Spawn a little too much to handle.
“No need to worry. I’m not asking you to do it for the rest of your life. Just until Burnel produces results from his research.”
“Until the research produces results… How many days will that take?”
“It could take months.”
“Months…”
A hollow laugh escaped him on its own.
He was supposed to keep carving up a monster every three hours?
Grrr-k, grrr-k.
The bear monster wheezed out foul breaths. He hadn’t even cut into it yet—hadn’t done anything—and already the stench seemed to rise from it.
“…Is this why you recruited me? For work like this?”
“When else would I ever put you to use?”
“Haa… Fine. So I just have to keep at it somehow until the research is finished?”
The question carried a weight of meaning.
“Of course.”
“Haha. Well, thanks for that.”
He said he was grateful, yet rage smoldered in his eyes. Those eyes had turned red, glowing with inner light.
What kind of future awaited Burnel, Ferda had no way of knowing.
And he did not care.
The man would figure it out on his own.
Two days later, a single horse carried a rider back to Baldrova Castle.
It was Burnel, who had been recovering under Count Consiler’s care.
The man who had nearly died of mana burnout had returned.
Today’s me is not yesterday’s me.
Burnel was brimming with exaltation. He believed the new experiences had lifted him to a higher plane.
From now on I research with my life on the line.
If he wanted power enough to change the world, he would pour out matching effort. He would cast aside his old complacency and burn his own body if he had to. That was how one looked toward higher ground.
After stabling his horse, Burnel noticed someone standing before the castle gate. Apart from Ruri and Ferda, this was the first stranger he had seen inside Baldrova Castle.
Handsome fellow…
Brown hair tied back, tall frame. Even another man had to admit the figure was striking.
The man was smiling at him. Burnel approached. Up close, something he had missed from a distance became clear.
He looks exhausted…
Faint dark circles shadowed the man’s eyes. Whatever had been tormenting him until recently, it was obvious.
“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Jed.”
The man introduced himself with a bright smile.
“Ah—hello. I’m Burnel.”
“Yes, I’ve heard. How old are you, if I may ask?”
“Uh, twenty… twenty-seven.”
“Ah, so you’re my senior. I’ll call you hyung, then.”
“Y-yes.”
“This way to the laboratory, hyung.”
Jed led the way.
I never thought someone this impressive would call me hyung!
Was this the joy that came after hardship? After a little torment from the bear monster and a brush with death, he was now being addressed as hyung with perfect courtesy. The faint resentment he had felt upon first arriving here melted away completely.
“Here’s the live-captured bear monster.”
“Ah, yes. Still alive, well managed…”
“Of course. Who do you think was looking after it?”
“You managed it, Jed-ssi? Thank you.”
“Haha, no need for thanks.”
Still smiling, Jed dragged a nearby chair over.
Skrrrrrk.
For some reason the sound scraped like an executioner rising from hell. He set the chair right in front of the entrance, dropped into it, folded his arms, and crossed his legs—exactly as if barring the door.
“Go on. Begin.”
He was barring it, all right.
“Pardon?”
“The research. Time is precious, so start at once.”
Candlelight caught his face. Out under the sun the dark circles had been easy to miss; now they hung long and deep beneath his eyes.
“Thanks to hyung’s research, this little brother has to wake every three hours and take this dagger—”
Thunk!
“Eek!”
“—and carve that monster bastard up, apparently?”
“I-I’m… I’m so sorry…!”
“Oh, no need to apologize. If this little brother needs anything, just say the word. I’ll bring you anything. So hyung, don’t worry about a thing—just throw yourself into the research.”
Hellfire burned in Jed’s eyes, and the dagger he had driven into the table exhaled the frost of a frozen hell.
“And sleep? You can sleep after you’re dead, right?”
One phrase echoed through Burnel’s mind.
No turning back once the die is cast!
An army moved along the highway.
At the head rode two knights; just behind them a standard-bearer waved the banner bearing the family crest. In the protected center of the column, a single ornate carriage rolled forward at a leisurely pace.
Baron Guyot was traveling on official business. His destination: Baldrova Castle.
Perched on the mid-slope of the Lonely Mountain in the east, the fortress was visible even from afar.
“Urrrgh…”
Baron Guyot felt his stomach twist. The closer they drew to the castle, the worse it became.
“Damn it. Father said I’d never have to go near that place. Pure lies…”
“My lord, breathe deeply.”
“Yes—deep breaths. Hoo… I am the third son of House Guyot. I cannot be frightened by something like this.”
“Exactly so! Precisely!”
Baron Guyot drew a great breath. Soft and sluggish from fat though he was now, he had once been a knight—if only a knight in name who had never set foot on a real battlefield. Without war stories or medals, it was only natural he had been pushed out to a border barony.
“Do not be too afraid of that red lizard’s fiancé. House Guyot has solid connections, does it not? Blood is thicker than water!”
“B-but I heard that fellow even killed someone from House Wolcher…”
“House Wolcher has no one left to make trouble. They were half-destroyed already—it wouldn’t have been strange if the whole line vanished. He won’t dare touch House Guyot lightly.”
“You’re right… Yes, of course.”
Baron Guyot desperately hypnotized himself with his servant’s words. In the meantime the carriage had already passed through the gates.
The door opened. A red carpet stretched before Baron Guyot. In the exact center stood a small silver-haired maid—Baldrova’s Dragon Spawn.
“You have arrived.”
“Y-yes, I have.”
“This way.”
Ruri led the way. Baron Guyot followed along the red carpet, his close knights flanking him.
The place was well-maintained; no gloomy aura clung to it. Yet the emptiness of a castle that ought to have been filled with stewards and soldiers only made the baron more uneasy. He felt as though he were crawling into the belly of a leviathan.
Don’t notice. Don’t notice…
A pair of great doors blocked his path—doors carved with a dragon’s exploits. At human eye level one inscription stood out clearly.
Revere the Lord of Ancient Flame and Strength
The doors opened.
Inside, a man rose from his seat to greet Baron Guyot. The baron flinched and trembled.
“You must be tired from the journey.”
Gray hair, blue eyes. Looking into those eyes felt like staring into a bottomless lake; the air itself seemed to thicken and choke him.
Ferda Valdrova.
“You’re sweating heavily. Was the road difficult?”
“N-no, not at all. Haha…”
“I see. Then you simply lack exercise. You ought to lose some weight. Obesity makes for an early grave.”
“I am grateful for your concern for my health.”
“Come this way.”
Ferda indicated the far side of the table and seated the baron. The sweat pouring from Guyot’s body showed no sign of stopping.
“It must be hard work, living out here in the far east.”
“Hard work? Hardly! Compared to the weight His Grace the Grand Duke bears, my burdens are a sparrow’s footprint—utterly shallow!”
“True. Your tasks are no more than a sparrow’s footprint.”
The words that had flowed so naturally from Ferda suddenly grew thin. The atmosphere shifted. Baron Guyot understood at once—he had walked straight into the trap.
“I had no real desire to check, but once I took the seat of regent my curiosity grew. So I glanced through a few of your documents.”
Thud.
He pushed the “few” documents across the table.
“I found a great many signs of forgery.”
Guyot’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Under ordinary circumstances he would have exploded in outrage at having such things brought up now—yet he could not. He could only let Ferda continue speaking.
“The numbers don’t add up in more places than one. Do you know how much vanished that way in total?”
Ferda pointed to a figure he himself had tallied.
“Three thousand goldens.”
A golden was the unit for gold coins.
“You appear to have swallowed three thousand gold coins that ordinary territory folk will never touch even once in a lifetime.”
“Th-that… I wasn’t the one who entered those figures…”
“Of course it wasn’t you. How could a man like you produce handwriting this elegant?”
The flowing cursive practically shouted, “I had someone ghostwrite this for me.” Ferda already knew that much.
“You took only a little for yourself and handed out shares to the underlings so they became accomplices. Those underlings passed shares further down, so what you actually pocketed is naturally less than three thousand goldens. But what are nobles? The more luxuries they enjoy, the heavier their necks become.”
Ferda moved on to the next document and began listing the charges one by one.
“The counts: embezzlement, forgery of official documents, violation of dignity…”
With every word Guyot’s face seemed to age another year.
“…According to imperial criminal law, depending on the severity of the crime, a fine of no less than ten thousand goldens may be levied, and…”
Ferda’s blue eyes fixed on him.
“At the highest end, I could have your head cut off and hung above the castle gate.”
Tessalos Wolcher’s final moments flashed unbidden through the baron’s mind. Baron Guyot’s face went deathly pale as he dropped to his knees.
“Please—just this once, spare me! Never again! I swear there will never be another incident like this, Regent!”
“Hmm.”
Ferda rose and patted the man’s shoulder.
“Listen carefully. I am not telling you never to do such things.”
“Y-yes?”
“I already said I don’t care how full you stuff your own belly. Whatever amount you actually took, it is of no interest to me.”
“Th-then why…?”
“What I care about is competence.”
“C-competence… you say?”
“I prefer a man who is a little dirty but capable over one who is clean and useless. For the sake of the whole, a modest bit of misconduct is none of my business. Whether you eat fine food or roll around with that prostitute named Rosemary—I don’t care in the slightest.”
Ferda leaned close and whispered into his ear.
“Prove your usefulness. Settle the food shortages and the monster problems promptly, and contribute to the stability of the people’s lives. Otherwise…”
He gave the papers a light flutter.
“These official documents might just happen to flutter all the way to the imperial capital. The Emperor—and your own parents and brothers—would learn of your corruption. Then it would become a race to see who arrives first to take your head: the imperial executioner or the family knights. Do you understand?”
“I-I understand! I will prove myself without fail!”
“Good. That concludes our talk. You may go.”
Baron Guyot fled the room as though he had just yanked his head out of a guillotine.
Ferda checked Guyot’s name off the interview list with a satisfied expression.
How convenient to have someone else do the thinking for me.
Even a man who had reached the ranks of the archmages was not necessarily expert in this sort of tedious paperwork. Spotting exactly where and how funds had been misused required specialized knowledge and experience—neither of which Ferda possessed.
The mind that had served as his own was none other than Mori’s.
A vacant-looking little girl, yet inside her head rested the Library of All Things.
Ferda had given her a single order:
From this moment, examine every entry in the ledgers and reports. Summarize every discrepancy you find. Also calculate the sentences that would apply under imperial criminal law.
Mori had simply nodded and begun racing through the ledgers.
Flap-flap-flap—!
Her speed-reading was so absurd it looked as though she were only pretending to read. Work that would have taken several people an entire week she finished in a flash.
Thus the corruption of fourteen lords had been documented one by one, and Ferda was meeting them individually on that basis.
Corruption itself is irrelevant.
Just as there is no fish without the smell of the sea, there is no noble without corruption. If they proved incompetent, Ferda would simply cut them out. All they had to do was prove that the seats they had occupied for so long were not merely the result of heavy bottoms.
“So even Baron Guyot left here wailing like a child.”
Ruri, who had been watching silently, spoke at last.
“About five more still remain.”
“You only ever frighten them. Do you intend to become a tyrant?”
“Frighten them? This is merely the first time I have cracked the whip.”
“The whip…?”
“Carrot and stick. Alternating between the two is the core of the strategy.”
Ruri cast her mind back over everything that had happened with Ferda, then tilted her head.
“Until now you have only been lashing them mercilessly.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. It looks as though you mean to crush them with pure terror. Or has the pain become so familiar that your threshold has simply risen?”
“Hmm…”
Ferda had genuinely failed to notice that he had been using only the stick.
“Well, it hardly matters.”
Even if Ruri was right and he had been wielding nothing but the whip, he had no intention of offering carrots just yet.
“Until now they have been nothing but worthless donkeys emptying the carrot storehouse. It’s about time we put them to work, don’t you think?”
“That… is also true.”
Ruri acknowledged the point with a nod.
Ferda Valdrova.
For the development of the grand duchy, he cracked the whip diligently once more today.