Chapter 32: Tactics

  Ethan walked toward the duke’s mansion, the letter of appointment Ronis had just given him tucked in his chest.

  He was still wearing the tattered robe Sandro had given him—but now, he was an inspector personally authorized by the bishop.

  Of course, this wasn’t an official position in the imperial bureaucracy; the empire had no such role. To put it plainly, he was no more than a clergyman sent by the bishop to oversee church affairs in various regions.

  But to paint a clearer picture: he was the bishop’s personal envoy. He had the authority to direct all church-related matters wherever he went. Ronis had likely never intended for Ethan to actually command church affairs—he could tell Ethan had no interest in that. The title was just a deterrent, meant to make Ethan’s travels easier.

  What benefits would this position bring? Ethan wondered. He’d never dreamed of holding power or directing others, never imagined he’d step into a career in officialdom. It wasn’t that he’d dared not hope—it was that he’d had no desire at all, like cattle or sheep watching a dog gnaw a bone. No matter how others craved such things, to him, they were worthless. When Ronis had offered the title, Ethan had wanted to say he didn’t believe in any gods, let alone want to be a clergyman—but he’d held his tongue.

  Still, now that he had this authority, he had to weigh its pros and cons. Even as a church position, it would likely carry real influence in practice.

  At least I won’t go hungry anymore, he thought. If I reach a town, I can get food from the church—no more lying hungry in taverns like I did in Aery. After thinking for a long time, that was the only conclusion Ethan could draw. Maybe this title wasn’t completely useless after all.

  His plan now was to go to the duke’s mansion, find out where Chris had gone, then set off immediately. He had no idea how far the woman had traveled—if it was too far, he’d be in trouble. He had no way to borrow travel money now. He’d forgotten to mention his financial troubles to the bishop; going back to ask for money now was out of the question. Thinking of Ronis’s trusting eyes and tone, Ethan felt determined: even if he had to crawl, he’d reach Chris and get the book back.

  Should I ask the duke for a loan? How would I even bring it up? I have nothing left to pawn... Lost in his ramblings, Ethan found himself back at the duke’s mansion.

  Even the servants here had inherited the duke’s calm demeanor—unfazed by surprises, their emotions hidden. Though they’d seen Ethan taken away in the bishop’s carriage, they weren’t intimidated by the implication of that honor. They still asked him to wait at the door.

  The duke came out to greet him personally. As always, his smile was pure; no one—whether sharp-eyed or oblivious—would detect a hint of insincerity in it.

  Ethan didn’t rush to ask about Chris. The bishop had warned him: this matter had to be handled naturally, without a trace of urgency. He couldn’t just blurt out the question. He needed to bring it up casually during a chat, then pretend to suddenly remember, saying Chris had taken something he urgently needed now... He rehearsed the act, even though he was terrible at pretending.

  “Is Sophia doing better?” Ethan started with this question.

  “She still hasn’t woken up, but her color has improved a lot—she looks like she’s just sleeping normally. I think it’s best to let her rest; she’ll wake up when the time comes. Would you like to see her?”

  “No, it’s fine. Let her rest,” Ethan said.

  A silence fell. Ethan realized he was hopeless at small talk. He grew anxious.

  The duke was now certain: Ethan had no mysterious background.

  As a master of politics and social maneuvering, the duke could read a person’s speech, demeanor, and subtle gestures like an open book—interpreting their upbringing, education, mood, even their abilities and character. It was like how a veteran butcher could instantly spot the vital points of an animal. This was the keen insight of someone who’d honed their craft to an art form.

  The young man’s behavior matched the duke’s earlier judgment: rough around the edges, unpolished by power or protocol. The bishop’s regard for him must be personal. That was even better—alliances based on interests shifted with fortune, but personal affection was lasting. If he couldn’t win over the bishop, winning over someone the bishop cared for was still a great gain. Most importantly, this young man held a piece of information that threatened the duke. Though he’d dealt with it two months earlier, turning Ethan into an ally would make everything perfect.

  “Young man, would you come to my study for a chat?” The duke’s way of handling people was his unique art—never rushing to reveal his true intentions, making everything feel natural. He’d already sent Clovis away from the mansion; private conversations were the best way to build rapport.

  “Yes,” Ethan nodded eagerly.

  They entered the duke’s study. Ethan was stunned by the walls of bookshelves—and felt a newfound admiration for the duke. People who didn’t read often held an inexplicable respect for those who did.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “I truly don’t know how to thank you,” the duke said, taking Ethan’s hand. His tone and expression were perfectly matched. “You’ve saved my daughter time and time again. I must repay this kindness, no matter what.”

  Ethan felt embarrassed. He shook his head, stammering: “I... I was just doing what I should. It’s not a big deal—Sophia’s my friend...”

  “Tell me what you want,” the duke said sincerely. “As long as it’s within my power, I’ll do my best to help you. If you’re interested in a career in officialdom, I’ll support you fully. With your talent, you’ll rise quickly. I know this way of thanking you is crude, but I can’t think of anything else.”

  “No, thank you. I’m not interested in that,” Ethan said.

  The answer was exactly what the duke had expected—he’d long since gauged the young man’s character. He sighed, feigning regret. “Young man, you haven’t really lived in this world yet. In a world shaped by human relationships and systems, power is the most useful, most indispensable thing there is.”

  “Perhaps you’re still too young—full of energy, eager to explore the world, dismissing fame and fortune. Just like I was when I was young,” the duke said, patting Ethan’s shoulder with a nostalgic laugh. “I admire that about you.” To make someone see you as a friend, you must first see them as one.

  The duke chatted with Ethan as if following a sudden whim. His words carried no hint of deliberate flattery, yet conveyed warmth and charm perfectly. His expression, tone, and the content of his speech—all balanced to create a subtle aura that made Ethan feel exactly what the duke wanted him to feel. Talking to such a man was a pleasure, no matter who you were.

  This was just groundwork. Once a favorable impression was gained, he could deepen the conversation, learn Ethan’s likes, dislikes, even his secrets—and build a stronger bond. Everything had to feel natural; if Ethan sensed his motives, it would backfire. It was a delicate skill, and one the duke mastered.

  But Ethan barely noticed the duke’s subtle performance. His mind was fixed on how to ask about Chris.

  The duke was about to steer the conversation deeper when hurried footsteps interrupted him. A servant burst into the study.

  The duke knew his servants well—he’d long forbidden anyone from approaching the study. For this servant to rush in so frantically, something momentous must have happened. He frowned. “What’s the matter?”

  The servant tried to lean in to whisper, but the duke waved a hand. “Speak plainly.” He couldn’t let Ethan feel excluded at a time like this.

  “A messenger on horseback just arrived. He says the caravan Lady Chris is traveling with was raided at the western border. The lady was captured—they’re demanding a ransom for her release,” the servant reported.

  The duke’s expression flickered—shock, then delight.

  Any father would be shocked to hear his daughter had been kidnapped. But he immediately saw Ethan’s face pale even more, a look of utter alarm. And that made his heart leap with joy.

  Goblins were nothing but greedy cowards—they wouldn’t dare harm a duke’s daughter. But Ethan’s obvious, involuntary panic was far more valuable.

  He’s shocked, which means he cares. If he cares, there’s a way to win him over.

  This was a timely piece of good news.

  Meanwhile, Clovis was at his uncle the Chancellor’s mansion.

  He hated coming here. Though his father had long been the head of the Erney family, rumors had spread within the clan since his uncle became Chancellor two years ago—rumors that they would elect a new leader.

  Earlier, when the duke had rushed back on horseback, he’d told Clovis to leave temporarily.

  Clovis knew what the duke meant. He’d also seen Ethan taken away in the bishop’s carriage, and the duke could tell Clovis hated Ethan. Sending him away was to avoid trouble.

  He understood this was a necessary social tactic—he should leave. But anger still burned inside him. It meant the duke thought Ethan was more important than him, in some way. His dislike for Ethan had now turned to enmity.

  He entered a room. His eyes immediately fell on the enormous bed in the center—its position so prominent, it was as if the room’s only purpose was to sleep.

  The bed was big enough for ten people. The expensive fabric on it would take a hundred commoners a year of work to afford. Stuffed with cotton and goose down, it must have been incredibly comfortable to sleep in.

  Clovis would never lie on such a bed. He believed comfort sapped ambition and dulled focus. Wasting energy on such luxuries was a sign of worthlessness.

  But even worthless things could be useful, if used properly.

  The “worthless thing” in question was lying naked on the bed, surrounded by women in tattered clothes. When he saw Clovis, he looked surprised. “Rare to see you here. It’s been ages.” A metal brace covered half his face—his cheekbones had been shattered two months earlier, and they still hadn’t fully healed.

  He pinched one of the women, then nodded at Clovis. “This is the most promising of our younger generation—a busy man, always swamped with ‘state affairs’ and other important business. Which of you can get him into bed? Tell me what he’s like up there, and I’ll reward you handsomely.” He winked at Clovis, teasing. “Want to try? They’re very skilled.”

  “Wow, really? He’s so handsome!” the women giggled, eyeing Clovis like a ripe apple.

  Clovis didn’t spare them a glance. Their naked bodies seemed as boring to him as meat on a chopping block. He stared coldly at the face under the metal brace. “I’m here to tell you something. The man who beat you up two months ago is back.”

  The worthless man shot up from the pillows and flesh, roaring: “Is that true? I’ve been looking for him everywhere! Get my men!” He froze, then suddenly calmed down, eyeing Clovis suspiciously. “Why are you telling me this? You told me about him last time too. Don’t tell me you want to deal with him yourself.”

  At least his brain isn’t completely rotted—he can still think, Clovis thought. Not a single hair on his face moved; his expression remained cold. “I’m here to warn you: even if you see him, don’t pick a fight. You’re no match for him—he’s connected to the bishop. I don’t want our family to fall out with the bishop, so I came to tell you.”

  The face under the metal brace twitched, contorting into a murderous glare. He stared at Clovis like an enraged dog, growling: “I don’t need you to tell me what to do! And I’m warning you—stay out of my business!” He climbed out of bed. The women hurried to dress him and braid his hair into small pigtails—his favorite hairstyle, one he considered a mark of his individuality. He’d once flayed a man alive for daring to wear the same style.

  Clovis watched him, still expressionless. The other man glared at Clovis defiantly. “If you’re so unhappy, tell your father to become Chancellor too—see if he can!”

  Clovis’s face remained unchanged. He turned and walked out of the room. His footsteps echoed down the long, empty corridor.

  Once he was sure no one was watching, a faint, triumphant smile tugged at his lips. He hadn’t smiled in a long time.