Given how the banquet hall is attached to the Central Citadels central command centre, which is located at the centre of Centrals Citadel, I figured it wouldnt take too long to mosey on over to the Legates eting room situated in the eastern wing.
I was sorely mistaken.
Since I knew Id be travelling indoors with the Death Corps at my side, I didnt think itd be necessary to ride Zabu, but after twenty minutes of speed-walking through decorated hallways, elaborate gardens, reinforced gates, and more, Im beginning to understand why the Legate prefers to be carried around on a palanquin. Its hardly imposing to show up at etings all sweaty and out of breath, though unlike , the Legate has a fully functioning Core and could probably run a marathon in twenty minutes or less, so I doubt hed run into the sa issues I have.
What Im trying to say is, I shouldve asked for a horse, quin, or palanquin. Now if I die, Ill leave a pit-stained carcass reeking of gas and body odour. Also, I ate too much and have to go pee, but cant keep the Legate waiting...
The long march offers an insightful view into the heart of Centrals Citadel, which is essentially a mid-sized fortress that doubles as the central command centre. From the outside, it looks like one giant, fortified courtyard manor, but inside, its not quite as comfy. Behind the banquet hall is a giant kitchen and ss hall, which is ordinarily ant for soldiers staying in the attached guardhouses. After peeking behind the curtains, so to speak, it becos clear to that the banquet hall is not a banquet hall at all, but rather a massive gatehouse-slash-foyer to the fortress proper. Those side doors which the servants ca in through? They open into a wide stone hallway which leads back to the ss hall and nowhere else, aning their sole purpose is to allow troops to sally into the foyer from multiple directions instead of funnelling in from one or two choke-points at the back. Its an indoor killing ground, plain and simple, because steel gates and barricaded doors are a poor defence against Demons and Defiled Champions.
And behind the guardhouses? Another open killing ground and inner wall, and then another one, and another one. The outer walls arent built to indefinitely keep the Defiled out, but rather to contain, corral, and direct them into multiple arranged killboxes which work no matter what direction the Defiled are approaching from.
It looks fairly effective, and is probably large enough to house most of the soldiers stationed here, but it also speaks to the lack of confidence Centrals Colonel Generals have in holding the outer wall proper. Plus, it makes wonder why the Defiled dont just use their Spiritual Weapons to tunnel through the walls, not just here, but also at the Wall walls. I suppose because climbing is faster, and the Imperial soldiers guarding the walls dont just stand around doing nothing, but still. Sothing to keep in mind, I suppose, in case I ever need to assault a fortress, though I cant imagine a scenario in which that would be relevant. Defiled dont defend, they attack, and if I ever co across any Imperial rebels, Id be more likely to join them than take up arms to put them down. The Azure Empire sucks donkey dick, with most, if not all, of its problems stemming from the top, what with the despotic nobility, unmitigated cronyism, appalling social policies, and complete lack of progress and innovation.
Then again, how much of that is intentional? Given the ever present threat of insidious Spectres, raising the standard quality of life might prove disastrous. Its human nature to never be satisfied and always want more, so if you stick your peasants in dirt hovels and with barely enough to survive, it doesnt take much to keep them happy. Take Qing-Qing for example. Her life was... well, it was pretty terrible. She made Cinderellas life look pleasant because at least that girl had a family. In contrast, Qing-Qing only had her fellow villagers, who, in my opinion, only looked after her out of a sense of guilt, rather than belonging. She worked her fingers to the bone to make it through each and every day, and held fast to her dream of escaping from the village to see the world at large. She didnt want anything fancy, just a happy, safe life sowhere away from where she grew up.
In contrast, entitled nobles throwing shit-fits over verbal snubs is a daily occurrence, which is just plain embarrassing for the human race in general.
But thats humanity in a nutshell, so full of hope and promise, but only under the right circumstances. Hard lives make for hard people, because when your existence depends on toiling away at every waking hour of the day, you dont really have the ti to care about much else. While it might seem counter-intuitive, I doubt a modern, technological society would be better equipped to handle Spectres and Defilent than the Empires people. I dont have all my mories from my past life, or even most of them, but the ones I do have are neither rose-coloured nor optimistic. I had to create a second personality just to handle my Spectres, and its no accident I envisioned Baledagh as a native, because... well, lets face it. Im weak and doughy on the inside. I bitch, moan, mope, and cry all the ti, because when I first arrived, I was not equipped to deal with hardships. Hell, I pretty much shut down for two years after arriving in the village and barely talked to anyone besides Lin-Lin. I looked after the twins and spent ti with my family, but to this day, Ive never really opened up to them about my problems, not entirely.
Part of that is because Ill never convince myself that Im anything besides a body-snatching outsider who doesnt belong here, but lets be real. Even if I wasnt, Id find so other excuse to hold back, because thats just who I am. Im socially retarded and I like it that way.
My unflattering introspection cos to an end as I finally arrive at my destination, a luxurious walled-off palace situated inside this fortress inside a citadel. Maybe theres a manor inside the palace and we can keep this joke going, but standing outside the palace gates, I find myself in no mood for jokes anymore. This is it. This is the end of the line. Once through these ornate steel doors, up the paved path lined by immaculate shrubbery, through the marble manor doors, and up a series of posh stairs and decorated hallways, theres no turning back. Then again, its not like I couldve turned back before this, because one does not stand up the Legate, but at least I could entertain the option.
As if on cue, my Death Corps guards fall into formation just outside the gate, save for Kuang Biao who moves up to my side and follows along. He doesnt keep a half step back like he normally does when escorting around, but marches along right beside with hand on sword and eyes facing forward. Hes not guarding against assassins, not here in the heart of the Legates power. No, hes no longer my protector, but my warden, escorting to what might well be my final eting with the Legate. There is no regret in his eyes, nor is there a warning or threat, and in fact, it feels like hes going out of his way to ignore my inquisitive stare, which as things stand, is probably answer enough.
I stand alone here, without family, friend, or floof to draw strength from, and this terrifies more than the prospect of death.
Since it appears Kuang Biao knows where were going, I let him lead the way up to a stately room situated on the fifth floor of the palace. Instead of barging in through the ornate double doors, he brings aside and makes stand at attention with my back to the wall, which is fine by since it gives ti to catch my breath and mop the sweat from my brow. Though burning with questions, I keep silent and ignore Kuang Biao because the alternative would hurt too much. We never really got along, but I thought I was growing on him, so Im kind of shocked he didnt try to warn or anything. I suppose this explains what hes been doing with all the free ti Ive recently given him, sneaking off to report to the Legate, because how else would he know his way around the building? Theyre not even trying to hide it anymore, because I never would have even considered this if the Seneschal had been waiting outside to receive like he normally does.
Okay, yea, an argunt could be made that Kuang Biao would be right to hate , since I am kinda, sorta the reason he went from free Royal Guardian to Oath-Bound Death Corps, but in my defence, I didnt know that would happen when I outed him during new years. Besides, if anything, he should bla the asshole who sent him out to fight Gerel in the first place. Royal Guardians have no place taking part in an outer-province feud...
The double doors swing open without warning and I straighten up to full attention, fixating my eyes on the wall across from so they wont wander or stare. Eight elaborately dressed individuals make their way out of the room in pairs, so young, so old, and all but one unfamiliar. Oozing smug disdain in his golden, dragon-motif robes, Yang Jixing smirks as he saunters by while pretending he doesnt see standing there, but I can tell hes watching for my reaction. No idea what he expects to see, but it doesnt take much to look bored, because I actually kinda am.
Im sleepy, stuffed, and floof deprived, so death is looking more enticing with each passing minute, because at least then I get to rest.
Unable to see Jixings reaction, I continue to stand there until their footsteps fade into nothingness, at which point Kuang Biao grabs by the arm and pushes inside. As he shuts the door behind , I salute and bow while gathering my bearings, but theres not much to see. The room is as grand and opulent as expected of the Legates private eting room, decorated with several pieces of artwork gifted by yours truly, including the painting Luo-Luo forged to entrap Jixing. I have no idea if anything ever ca of it, but then again, I wouldnt, since the Legate never tells anything except what I need to know.
The most important thing to note, however, is the complete and utter lack of Concealed Divinities. This is good... were alone, so its just crippled against a man whose title literally translates to Divine True Warrior. Ive faced worse odds, I suppose...
Once again, the Legate poses for my entrance, but this ti, instead of cool and aloof, hes gone for concerned contemplation. Back straight and legs crossed, he leans on one elbow with his chin ever so slightly being propped up by his hand, because Mother forbid he actually look nervous or brooding. No, he is quietly considering his options, tapping one finger against his armrest at a slow and sedate pace, to put in mind of a steady hand and steady heart-beat so as to be sure I understand how calm he is. The only thing thats missing is a chess table with a ga in progress, so I can look at the pieces and see just how complex his conundrum is and emphasize that matters are far beyond my agre comprehension.
Everything the Legate does, he does with a purpose. eting for the first ti in front of all of Centrals bigwigs, feigning fascination with Ping Ping, setting up as the turtle attendant, gifting Luo-Luo, they were all moves on a chessboard made after considering his options. I might not understand why he does what he does or what he intends to do next, but after a year of dancing to his tune, I know he never does anything without reason. He wants to see that he hasnt made his decision yet, and Ill bet my fortune its because hes not done with yet.
I still have sothing he wants, but I have no idea what it might be. Could be anything really, but this is good. Or at least, its not the worst outco, because it ans I still have value. Truth be told, I was half expecting the Seneschal to knife the second I walked in, though the night is still young...
At ease. No offer to take a seat, not this ti, so I stand with spear held behind and hands away from my sword as the Legate puts on a show of consternation. You present with sothing of a conundrum, he says, still tap, tap, tapping away at a slow and steady pace. I had planned to have you lie about a recovery to make that the issue of focus, but alas, you exceeded expectations. Between your performance at the opera theatre, survival at the tea house, and your analysis tonight, any claim of good health would actually be believable and youd find challengers lining up in the streets, but you and I both know you are far from recovered. Narrowing his eyes, he asks, How did you survive the tea house, by the way? The poison we picked out was rather unique, and I hardly can believe soone besides the dical Saint could have treated it.
Ha. You wanna know? Too bad. ...I was poisoned at the tea house?
Fine. I am not an ungenerous man. Keep your secrets. Not a bad move, letting be defiant, because it reinforces the impression that hes on my side. Still leaning on his hand, he offers a small smile and says, Now, with the outer provinces working together to force my hand, I am left with precious few options. The most obvious move would be to remove your Imperial status and let you live out your life in peace and solitude, but doing so plays directly into my opponents hands. I appear ungracious and lose potential allies, while my foes are free to dictate what benefits an outer-provincial Imperial Consort might enjoy, while their own chosen pawns benefit.
Yea, like this was ever a real option. The Legate can gaslight all he wants, but he never intended to let go free. Not just because his opponents would benefit, but also because theres nothing to be gained from my freedom.
Seemingly aware of his weak argunt, the Legate moves on to his next point after a sip of his tea. Another option is to exert my influence to ensure you are treated as a proper Imperial Consort, with all the respect and dignity the title deserves. Not much, inside the Clan, but out here? You would stand first above all others, for the Imperial Clan stands behind you. Im not tempted in the least, but again, I think the Legate knows this, which raises the question of why hes bothering with the narration. My third choice is to do nothing and leave you to be trampled by the imminent arrival of your soon-to-be raised peers, which is not much of an option at all, since doing so would be the sa as admitting defeat. The Imperial Clan loses face, the outer provinces lose faith, and I will be seen as the man who rewarded a promising young talent with a target painted on his back.
Which is exactly what he did, but thats not the problem. The problem is he got caught doing it, and he has the gall to sound annoyed because he has to justify his actions. Jerk.
Perhaps sensing my hostility despite my averted eyes and submissive posture, he moves on from explanations to thinly veiled threats. My best option would be to permanently remove you from play, a move youve made abundantly clear would not be without repercussion. Letting his displeasure be known with a vexed scowl and suspenseful pause, he flashes his smooth smile once again as he leans back in his chair. A heavy price, but one I can afford, though it seems like such a waste of a valuable young talent who is in the midst of what appears to be a miraculous recovery. Wouldnt you agree, Honoured Uncle?
An older, dapper gentleman with a clean-shaven chin and piercing brown eyes erges from Concealnt and takes by complete surprise, lounging in his chair beside the Legate and proving that my anti-Concealnt detection thods are not without fail. I would not, he begins, his tone dripping with condescension. Thus far, Ive found your pet Imperial savage... Raising a porcelain teacup to his lips with a hand laden with enough rings and bracelets to buy a country, he sips his tea, smacks his lips, and sighs. Frankly disappointing.
Rude, but itll take more than that to ruffle my feathers. Knowing better than to speak without permission, I keep my eyes fixed on their knees and study both n in silence. Its telling how the Legate leans towards his uncle, rather than away, which shows hes seeking comfort from the older man, or at least comfortable enough to lower his guard. How curious. Even more curious is how the Legate speaks in my defence, and I dont really know what to make of it. Appearances can be deceiving, Honoured Uncle, the Legate says, And I believe you will find this one full of surprises.
Hmph. Neither agreeing nor disagreeing, Honoured Uncle puts his tea cup down and the Legate moves to fill it. Tell , he begins, picking up a copy of my book from the tea table which until now, went completely unnoticed. Was this because I wasnt paying attention, or was the book also Concealed? Dammit, and here I thought Id found a way to spot all the sneaky spies... Who devised this idea of paper money?
...Not the question I expected, but not as bad as the ones I imagined. I did, Great One.
Honoured Uncle grimaces in displeasure, but thankfully, not because I used the wrong honorific. I do not believe you, he says, opening the book up to the relevant sections at the back. But if you are the architect behind this, then Im sure you have a proposal to convince the wealthy people of the Empire to hand over all their hard earned gold in exchange for worthless scraps of paper?
With all due respect Great One, gold in and of itself is inherently worthless, aside from the value we place upon it. Coins are rely a representation of value, so why gold, silver, and copper instead of jade, tin, or paper?
Because precious tals are rare, and therefore not easily attainable. Waving a hand as if he cant be bothered to go in depth, Honoured Uncle scoffs and says, But you would have us use paper instead, which is so cheaply made it can take years to recoup the initial investnt.
Ha. Sounds like soone tried to start a paper-making business without thinking things through. There are counterasures against forgeries, which Ive listed in the book, like using silk paper, rare inks, ciphered ssages, or hidden drawings. I didnt spend too much ti on the matter, because the details are best kept secret, but I am confident the theory is sound, Great One. Seeing Honoured Uncle isnt quite convinced, I toy with the idea of letting things drop, but this could be my chance to get out of this alive. Whats more, paper currency wont have to completely replace coinage, as they can both be used in tandem. Limit the notes to excessively large values and nobles and rchants alike will rush to adopt the new system, since its easier to secure a stack of papers than a treasure room full of gold. From there, it is only a matter of ti before the practice moves down to the less affluent.
So you say, but they would be fools to trade their rooms full of gold for a promise written on paper.
Then dont give them a choice. Having finally caught his interest, I try not to smile and say, The Eastern Province is paying for all construction costs along the front lines, so it would be simple enough issue a promise of repaynt in lieu of coin, but instead of writing So and so is owed one thousand gold, you write the bearer of this Treasure Note is owed one thousand gold, claimable at so place in the Eastern Province which they arent allowed to visit. This way, the people of the outer province can freely exchange the notes once theyre in circulation, because a debt from the Imperial Clan is sure to be paid in full. Its good as gold.
Treasure Notes and Good as gold, hmph. A clever idea, but the Imperial Clan does not owe debts, not on paper at least.
Honoured Uncle flashes a hint of a smile, which tells all I need to know. I bet the Imperial Clan owes money to everyone, but people give face and quietly wait until theyre paid. Stupid way to run a business but I can work with this. Then instead of directly issuing debt, call it a fund-raising effort. Say that shipnts of coin are coming in too slowly, and issue uhh... War Bonds. Pay nine-thousand, nine-hundred gold today, and the bearer of this note can collect ten-thousand gold in one year or anyti thereafter. Sothing like that, but with properly calculated numbers. Do this in addition to Treasure Notes without calling them debt so it becos more palatable, especially if you let them buy bonds with notes, but make sure you have both because this lets you limit the number of war bonds you sell. Dress them up as a fixed-rate investnt tool and emphasize that this is to help support the Empire in this ti of difficulty and save costs on moving gold around, rather than for the coin itself. Done right, and the wealthy will trip over themselves emptying their treasure rooms to beco the Empires greatest financial supporter.
Thereby allowing them to brag about having done sothing without actually fighting. Ha! Take that, face. I finally found a way to use you against my enemies.
Making a big show of flipping through the only two pages on the subject, Honoured Uncle raises a bushy, salt-and-peppered eyebrow. I see no ntion of these bonds or investnt tools in your book here.
As I said earlier, I didnt put much thought into it, so I ca up with War Bonds just now. I assud the Imperial Clan bean counters would have soone capable enough to figure things out, but apparently not. Still, if this works, itll open up a pandoras box full of financial dynamics, and maybe in a generation or two, once everyone is used to paper currency, soone will try sothing disastrous and therell be a crash to incite widespread revolt, one backed by Spiritual Guns and Runic Cannons.
Maybe thats asking for too much, but a man can dream...
Continuing his laid-back interrogation with deceptive nonchalance, Honoured Uncle gives no sign of approval even after moving on from paper money. The questions range from the wide-spread uses of cast-iron to what I hope to achieve with non-flammable explosives, and even goes in depth about compound interest and futures trading, with plenty of suspicion cast upon the origins of these ideas. I answer to the best of my abilities until my voice goes hoarse from overuse, at which point, the Legate predictably steps in as good cop and suggests a short break. Its obvious it was planned because the Seneschal imdiately arrives with a piping hot pot of tea, and once Ive wet my throat, we pick up right where we left off.
Almost two hours later, I stand with sore feet, aching back, and parched throat, but Honoured Uncle has finally run out of questions to ask. You werent wrong, he says, offering the Legate a wry smile and a shake of his head. The savage is full of surprises, but I am still not convinced he is worth the trouble. Speaking as if I wasnt standing two ters away, he waves a hand as if shooing a fly and adds, Broken as he is, and a Penitent Brother to boot, it is too much risk to take on. Why does that second part matter? Best to be rid of him and start over.
Broken, but recovering quickly. Ill admit his ties to the Brotherhood are troubleso, and I might have acted differently if Id known beforehand, but the arrow was loosed before I learned the Destroyer stood at his side.
Mahakala was the Destroyer? Aweso title, but not exactly monk-like, but then again, he wasnt exactly the best monk. Neither is the Abbot really, but who am I to point fingers?
Then correct your error and wipe the slate clean whilst you still can. Patting the Legates arm in a familiar manner, Honoured Uncle sighs in heartfelt regret, which Id feel bad about if he wasnt talking about having killed out of convenience. We all make mistakes. You over-reached bestowing the girl and title upon this savage, and our foes caught you out, so best to cut ties cleanly before they use him against you. Affecting a fake shudder, Honoured Uncle adds, Or worse, they go through with their threats and force everyone to acknowledge dozens of new Scions into the Clan. With only one outsider for an Imperial Consort, it was a simple matter to keep closed-lipped about the benefits and leave everyone guessing, but if their numbers grow, we must ensure they are afforded the respect and dignity the title deserves, lest the Clan lose face. Yes, because that would be so terrible. Remove the savage, and the title appears worthless, leaving our enemies with no pawns to play with once we reset the board.
Doing so would also forfeit our current advantage and give rise to unnecessary friction in the outer provinces. No, the crux of the issue lies in the title itself, which we can work with. Obviously unconvinced, the Legate presses on as if Im not there, but I know this whole conversation is being staged for my benefit. Otherwise, theyd throw up a Sound Barrier or converse in Sending to keep from overhearing, unless of course they think so little of that they dont care if I hear them while holding a spear, sword, shield, and more knives than I can rember. Imperial Consort is the lowest title available in the Clan, so anyone raised to this station will not be worthy of note. What harm is there in letting a select few have this title?
Well, your clever savage loses his worth, the Clan is lessened by an influx of undeserving fools, and our enemies gain strength in the outer provinces, all for no benefit.
Not if we raise his status and set him above lowly Imperial Consorts. Then we can continue ignoring the existence of these new pretenders and reward our deserving young ally.
Eyes widening in muted shock, Honoured Uncle snorts. Give rank to a savage cripple? Youd be the laughing stock of the family for years to co.
No, not rank. Eyeing with disappointnt, the Legate sighs as if Id failed to live up to expectations. It would have been so much simpler if hed been less exceptional, because then we could simply cow the outer provinces by demanding face. If I say Falling Rain is recovered, who would dare argue the fact? Shaking his head, the Legate continues, To think, our plans would fall through because the lie would ring too true, but there are other thods to raise his standing.
Im not sure if I pick up on the Legates aning first, or Honoured Uncle does, but we both frown and shake our heads at the sa ti. Raising an eyebrow in question, the Legate almost looks amused as he asks, Oh? I expected Honoured Uncle to balk, but what reasons do you have to refuse?
Sorry, Imperial Legate, but there are so things I simply will not do, and abandoning my family to join yours is one of them. Saluting and bowing for good asure, I straighten up, shrug, and wait for death. I already have an older brother and Ive no interest in a new one.
Still smiling, the Legate tilts his head and drawls, Brother? Would Father not make more sense?
Ah right, Im only twenty, and not the Legates peer. Er, sa thing. I love my family and will not break ties with them. End of story.
How filial. Seeing bristle at his sarcastic tone, the Legate rolls his eyes and laughs. Youre mistaken. Ive no intention of adopting you, however exceptional you might be. No, I was thinking more along the lines of appointing you to Imperial Office.
Oh, a job offer. Okay, yea that makes more sense, what with the whole twenty questions on finance and stuff. Well now I feel real dumb. ...And this would raise my status?
It would, especially with the proper title, one with no basis in combat. A gold coin appears in the Legates hand and he rolls it back and forth across his knuckles with a pleased smile. What say you, Honoured Uncle? Minister of Finance perhaps, so as not to infringe upon the Master of Coins authority? A minor title with minimal benefits, but a title nonetheless. We raise his status and ensure he receives the respect he so deserves for his ingenious contributions, which makes the title of Imperial Consort look like more trouble than its worth so all those would-be pawns remove themselves from the fray. The provincial Marshals will back him, and as an added bonus, we can even have him implent his Treasure Notes and War Bonds, so the Clan is well-insulated against failure and only stands to benefit.
No, no, no, this isnt happening. I dont wanna beco a financial advisor. Im utterly unqualified for this position. Also, this sounds like it would draw deeper into Clan politics, which is the exact opposite of what I want. Plus, I dont want a fucking bank job! Wait. If Im in charge of this financial stuff, then that ans I have to put in safeguards against all the shady things I was planning to do, because itll be my ass on the line if sothing goes wrong. Fuck!
Thankfully, the Mother is smiling down on and Honoured Uncle doesnt seem convinced. You always were a clever boy, he sighs, making it sound like a bad thing. Too clever for your own good. Better if you never learned...
But I did, Uncle, and I will not go quietly without a fight. Eyes burning with intensity, the Legate clenches his fist and the coin disappears into his grasp, no doubt flattened into an unrecognizable blob. This will work. Giving Falling Rain a title seals him to our side, and leaves his allies poised to take over their respective factions or in commanding position over their rivals. Through him, we unite North and Central and bind them to our cause, which in turn puts an end to the political infighting and reassures the Southern Marshal enough to stop threatening to withdraw. With three provinces united behind us, he will have no choice but to agree, or...
I think soone forgot I was listening, because the Legates jaw snaps shut and his eyes widen ever so slightly in alarm before covering his bases and going on about the Pri Minister kowtowing before them. Thankfully, Im really good at playing dumb, though its hardly playing since I have no idea what hes going on about, besides the fact that he obviously wasnt talking about the Pri Minister. Whatever. This job though... I have my reservations, but it sounds like this will put an end to all the infighting and let us get on with fighting the Defiled, so... I hate to say it, but I dont see any way out. Um, Imperial Legate? Are there any other options?
Yes. I could do as Honoured Uncle suggests and spike your heart before cremating your corpse. Though he tries to keep his tone light and breezy, the Legate is obviously infuriated Im not beside myself with gratitude. Refuse, and nothing will save you. Not your mother and her ntor lurking outside, not Nian Zu and his Fad Fifty posturing for the crowds, not the Marshals and their endless appeals, not thePeak Experts preparing to fight to the bitter end, and not even your soldiers standing ready with oil and fla to cover your escape. You will die, and even if all the outer provinces unite to protest my actions, I will scour this city clean of you, your family, your allies, and anyone else you hold dear. Your father and Grand ntor will die next, their throats cut and heads displayed alongside all ten-thousand of their remaining tribesn before word of your death arrives, and all this will rely be the beginning.
Sinking back into his seat after the heated delivery, the Legate spreads his hands and says, But I prefer the carrot to the stick. Accept, and I will ensure you are afforded the respect your new Office deserves, which will be on par with the Marshals, if not exceed it. I will endorse Colonel General Nian Zus proposal which you have been working so hard to support, and I will even pay for one quarter of the estimated costs out of my own purse. Your enemies will no longer trouble you, your detractors will no longer dare speak ill, and Broken Blade Pichai will no longer ignore your missives at the behest of his Marshal. These are but a few of the boons I offer, and a clever young man such as yourself will no doubt find a plethora of more benefits to be had.
Intense, but I like that he failed to comnt on Siyar, who already slipped into his kitchens once, and spent the last few days disguised as a servant on the Legates staff in order to do so again. If shit goes down and fighting breaks out, then he has orders to deliver a fatal dose of poison into the Legates tea, the sa undetectable, indefensible stuff that almost killed in Nan Ping, generously provided by MuYang. If I die, the Legate dies with , but that seems like a terrible trade overall, especially since hes implying I can use my Office to my advantage in ways Im not sure he anticipates. ssage received, I say, doing my best to appear cowed, but I think we both know its all an act. So... Minister of Finance. What exactly would my responsibilities be?
Not that I expect it to matter much, but maybe this ti, I can at least learn about what Im diving into before jumping in head-first. I dont want a desk job, but if itll unify the outer provinces, then I dont see how I have any other choice. Make no mistake, this is a band-aid at best, and the Legate will be rid of the second Im no longer of value, but as far as band-aids go, its not... terrible.
Falling Rain, Minister of Finance.
Wow, never mind. I was wrong. Thats just... god awful...
Ugh. This sucks. I thought being a cripple was bad, but being a banker sohow seems so much worse...
Chapter
- End of Volu 31 -
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