Yoojoo!

If one were to describe in a single word the impression of Alastair Darryl Gerald, Duke Gerald, it would be ‘a perfect old gentleman’. Whether his attitude can be taken as graciousness or condescension depended on the occasion.

His head of graying hair mixed with white looked silvery, and his hair and beard were always waxed to perfection. His thin body was wrapped in a well-tailored suit, and he went everywhere with a polished mithril cane.

He was the first person to be mentioned when it came to the great lords of Ciel-Terra. He was financially rich and prosperous because he had the mines of Glacelum in his territory. His castle was probably second only to the king’s castle in terms of grandeur and robustness.

It was while he was having breakfast in the castle’s dining room that a letter was delivered to him.

In order to make magical communication with a distant party, it was necessary to set up a ceremonial site and arrange a time with the party to make such communication. Since it was not possible to do such a thing frequently, the method of delivering a message via a communication office was commonly used. If one were to compare it to something Japanese on earth, it would be similar to a telegram.

The servant, who reverently placed the message on a tray, bowed his head, and Alastair stopped cutting sausages and took up the letter.

But the moment he saw the inscription “Earl Keely”, which listed the sender, Alastair felt disgusted.

What was he sticking his nose into, a man with no great political influence or military power, a foolish man who had been righteous to the former king and had not given his blessing to the coup. He kept quiet for now, but it was an internal concern that could destabilize the reign of King Hilbert II. How could he not be disgusted by a direct communication from such a person?

And not to mention the fact that he would soon be stripped of his lands and his title (something that the Earl himself did not even know yet). It seemed foolish to even deal with him.

Although he did not do anything so ungraceful as to blatantly raise an eyebrow in front of his servant, he would have torn it up without even reading the contents if he were excused to do so.

The reason he did not do so was because he felt he really had to read it, just in case he made a mistake and received a super-important message from him.

Alastair unfolded the paper and read it, frowning at its strange contents.

“… Do you know what this is saying?”

The servant who had carried the note read it at Alastor’s prompting, and he, too, shared the same look as the duke.

“‘Someone who has slaughtered members of the criminal organization Night Pythons and abducted a prisoner adventurer girl is using … magic to fly to Wesara.’ What is this? I don’t understand.”

“I’d bet on the Count losing his mind, anyway… in the meantime, tell the guards to shoot down any strange things that come overhead.”

“Understood.”

The servant bowed and stepped back.

The letter also said ‘I want you to capture the flyer and hand him over’ or ‘If he has a girl with him, protect her’, but he decided not to look at it because it was not important to him.

It should be noted that the inappropriate association between Night Pythons and Alastair, as rumored by some, was true.

However, at that time, Alastair didn’t bother to inquire or tell Night Pythons about the contents of the letter.

If it was about Night Pythons, the Night Pythons would know best. They seemed to be the organization that ran the underworld, and they had ears everywhere.

If there was something going around involving Alastair, they would have told him, or there would have been no need for talking to him.

Tonight, he had a secret dinner planned with the head of the Night Pythons. If anything, he thought it would be a good time to talk about it.

＊ ＊ ＊

After the sun had set, someone visited Alastair’s castle hidden in the darkness of the night.

A well-dressed old man with several guards.

His hollow eyes shone brightly, and his skinny, crooked fingers gave an ominous impression.

If he were wearing a robe, he would look like an evil wizard from a fairy tale. Although at first glance he seemed comical, he was a monstrous old man, hundreds of times more monstrous than he appeared on the outside.

He was the one who ran the underworld of Ciel-Terra.

He was the leader of the Night Pythons.

He went by several names, but at least when he met Alastair, he called himself Graham Baltak.

“Hello, Alastair. Glad to see you’re doing well.”

“You too, Graham. It’s been a cold winter. It’s hard on the elderly.”

“Come on. You don’t look a bit worse for wear.”

Alastair personally welcomed Graham and exchanged casual greetings.

The two sides used each other without caution, but because of this, there was a strange trust between the two.

Graham often visited the castle.

The reason why the castle was deliberately used as the place for secret meetings was simply because the Duke’s own castle was the best in terms of preserving confidentiality.

Some of the servants were dimly aware of Graham’s identity, but they either turned a blind eye because of their loyalty to the Duke or kept their mouths shut for fear of the Duke and Graham.

While the food was being prepared, Graham was shown into the reception room.

The ceiling, walls, and carpet on the floor were covered with so many delicate ornaments that would make a first-time visitor feel dizzy. Although the only furniture in the room was practical, such as tables, chairs, and magical lighting fixtures, all of the furniture was so exquisite that it could practically be called luxurious.

This was the room where the detection obstruction was at work, preventing any magical eavesdropping and prying eyes.

When Graham came to the castle, it was customary to discuss business here first.

Bringing in his subordinates and bodyguards, Alastair also faced Graham with his trusted underlings.

“That.”

“Yes.”

Without any preliminaries, Graham urged one of his men.

Then, Graham’s subordinate pulled out a leather bag from his baggage.

The leather bag was a simple, sturdy-looking leather bag, but it was bulging to the point of bursting. When it was placed on the table, it let out a metallic squeal.

“Check it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alastair also ordered an official in attendance (to be precise, a man who had been knighted to assist in the management of the territory) to inspect the contents of the bag.

The leather bag lying on the table spat out a myriad of gold coins. The official piled them up randomly, ten by ten, and counted them to make sure that they had no problems with their authenticity.

“No difference.”

“Mm, good.”

In other words, it was a bribe.

The money would go to Alastair’s personal expenses, and in return Alastair would do the Night Pythons a favor.

But Alastair slid two of the piles of ten gold coins each back toward Graham across the table.

“Trouble?”

Graham grinned, already knowing what to expect.

“I’d be happy if the miners’ heads, urging everyone on by saying unnecessary things, … would have an ‘accident’.”

“An ‘accident’ …”

“”Ha-ha-ha-ha.””

The two laughed cheerfully.

For Graham, it was business as usual, and Alastair had never had any feelings about killing people. For Alastair, “people” refered only to those with power and status. The lower classes of people who could only live under the patronage of their lords were livestock, and it was only natural that they should be slaughtered if they were rebellious and useless.

But for some reason, doing so with impunity caused trouble, so the dirty work was imposed on the Night Pythons.

“Still a lot of noise domestically, how’s the economy there?”

“Well,… there are some jobs that can only be done in times like this. That’s why we’re making money.”

After the business meeting, the two began to exchange business intelligence.

A ruler of the underworld and a great lord. There were things that could only be seen from each other’s point of view. The two men often met and talked with each other, which was surprisingly beneficial to both sides.

“Have you worked out the details of the land reform?”

“Oh, that’s right.”

Graham was most interested in the land reform that the new king, Hilbert, was secretly preparing.

The territories would be taken away from the lords who had not been cooperative in the coup and redistributed. This information, which was still being discussed privately, came to Graham because he heard it directly from Alastair, who had close ties with Hilbert.

When the upper world moved, the underworld also had to move.

By adapting quickly to new forms of society, the Night Pythons could gain a firmer grip on the underworld.

Furthermore, there were places where economic value would increase due to trade, and places where it would decrease. Knowing this beforehand could generate huge profits.

“It’s not a done deal, but I hear it’s ninety percent done. If you like the idea, I have a copy on hand that I can offer you”

“That’s great. Thank you for your friendship.”

Alastair took a small folded note from his pocket, slid it across the desk, and handed it to Graham. Graham picked it up with his fingertips and smiled wickedly.

“So much for that pesky little Earl Keely, huh?”

“That busybody who picked a fight with the Night Pythons at a time like this? Even if the details of the reformulation are not yet finalized, that man is sure to lose everything. … Speaking of which, I received a strange communication from that Earl Keely this morning…”

Alastair was just about to start talking about that communication when he heard the words.

“I’m interrupting!”

With a thunderous roar, a wall of the reception room was blown inward.