Just as I predicted!
Marquess Crender allowed himself a quiet crow of triumph.
So this was what people meant when they said that even if the sky collapsed, there would always be a way out.
The Young Duke’s leave of absence was dragging on and on — and for the most absurd of reasons, at that.
“Good news, darling?”
“It will be, soon enough.”
“What is it?”
Marchioness Crender tilted her head, eyes bright with curiosity.
She had her own reasons to be restless — she hadn’t been able to attend any of the noblewomen’s social gatherings lately, and the absence was beginning to chafe.
When her husband’s expression brightened like that, it meant a breakthrough had been found. She felt her own spirits lift in response.
“Don’t keep it to yourself — tell me everything, won’t you?”
“If things go well, I believe I can have the Young Duke sent back to the western border for good.”
Marquess Crender smiled languidly, sinking deeper into the sofa.
The moment the conversation turned to something this delicious, Selvia Crender scooted closer to her husband and refilled his half-empty teacup.
“Something’s definitely gone wrong with the Young Duke’s daughter. I’m certain of it.”
“Good heavens!”
The corners of Selvia Crender’s mouth curved upward of their own accord.
She remembered perfectly well how many privileges the Crender marquisate had enjoyed while the Young Duke was away from the main estate — all those benefits they had claimed in the Arachrene ducal house’s absence.
This time, I can finally put those insufferable noblewomen in their place.
She had a gorgeous new gown sitting untouched in her wardrobe, and the frustration of not being able to wear it had been gnawing at her.
Selvia Crender’s eyes sparkled.
This — this could finally silence all the rumors that had been swirling around the Crender marquisate.
The excuse of illness was at an end.
“You mean her ability has caused trouble again?”
“That’s right.”
“What a wretched little life that child leads.”
But what did that matter?
This was an enormous opportunity.
Marquess Crender had already taken certain steps to confirm his suspicions. He had submitted, on multiple occasions, proposals concerning Riersha’s ability training instructor.
The result had been exactly as he expected: rejected. Every last one of them, dismissed without so much as a proper explanation — nothing but the Duke’s personal authority brought down like a seal on each and every document.
“I already have several elders who have agreed to stand with me.”
And that wasn’t all.
He had been quietly pulling in funds from various sources in preparation for what was to come. The interest rates were a little steep, but he would pay it all back quickly enough.
Marquess Crender smiled with deep satisfaction.
If everything unfolded exactly as he had planned…
“Who knows — if you do as I say, the head of the Arachrene ducal house may very well change hands.”
“I beg your pardon? What on earth do you mean?”
“Was it not the ironclad rule of the Arachrene family that the strongest among them leads? If the position were contested fairly — on equal terms — then perhaps the current Arachrene Duke might never have been Arcmund at all.”
He wasn’t sure how many other elders the Empress had approached with this same proposal, but at the time, he had dismissed her as nothing more than a madwoman.
Now, however…
If played correctly, this is no mere fantasy.
Marquess Crender smiled — a slow, cunning smile.
⁂
Arcmund pressed his rejection seal against one proposal after another as they continued to stream across his desk.
Today marked more than a week since Pernoa had taken his leave.
“Infuriating wretch.”
To think — he had been used as nothing more than a prop in his own son’s scheme.
Arcmund’s murmur rolled through the empty study.
“I’m afraid I need to take some time off.”
He hadn’t expected that to mean doing absolutely nothing at all.
Arcmund had just set down his work to brew a cup of tea when the door opened.
“Your Grace, this is truly the last document requiring your signature.”
“…Isn’t that Pernoa’s responsibility?”
“It is rather urgent, sir.”
Rosinante shrugged with practiced innocence.
“You are aware, I’m sure, that there are many eyes watching the Young Duke right now.”
“…”
“Ah — I believe this will genuinely be the last matter that requires your attention, Your Grace.”
Rosinante’s sharp gaze shifted toward the document.
Because at last, the one they had been waiting for had finally arrived.
【Concerning the Ability of Riersha Arachrene】
Arcmund’s crimson eyes narrowed as he read the contents.
It bore the signatures of multiple elders — a formal petition that could no longer be dismissed with a simple rejection seal.
This was precisely what Arcmund had been waiting for.
At last. They had taken the bait.
⁂
The Marcella ducal house.
To the public, it was the family that led the Great Declair Empire’s arts and culture — esteemed and admired by all.
Behind that reputation, however, they operated a modest little business in the shadows.
…Well. “Modest” was perhaps not the right word. It was, in truth, quite enormous.
More of a hobby, really.
The lending rates charged by this enterprise far exceeded those of any ordinary bank, yet clients never seemed to run dry. Of course, the family was selective about whom they lent to, which meant recovering principal was rarely a problem.
Duke Marcella had been lounging with both feet propped on the table, pretending to review documents to escape his butler’s nagging, when he leaned his head back.
“Someone wants to borrow money, you say? Who?”
“The Crender marquisate, sir.”
“Why?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
His butler, Roki, tilted his head with a look of genuine bewilderment.
“I looked into it, and there doesn’t appear to be anything wrong with their house finances.”
So why on earth would they need such a sum?
The amount requested, submitted along with all the required documentation, was one hundred billion gold.
A hundred billion gold — easy enough to say, but there were precious few families in all of Declair who could circulate that amount in cash at a single time.
The Marcella ducal house, naturally, was one of the exceptions.
Cash did not merely flow through their coffers — it overflowed.
There was, after all, the famous remark left by the previous Duke Marcella: “I don’t even know exactly how much I’m worth.”
“If we were to lend this amount… we would need to seize every core business the Crender marquisate operates, along with their estate and all outstanding bonds, as collateral.”
“My.”
In other words — they were asking to borrow enough to ruin themselves entirely.
A sum no ordinary great noble would ever dare request.
Duke Marcella looked at the figure with his own eyes and let out a low whistle.
“Wow. Our client certainly doesn’t do things halfway. Does he have any idea what the interest alone would be?”
“…Does the Arachrene ducal house know about this, do you think?”
“Who’s to say.”
Even as a cadet branch, one didn’t need the main house’s approval for every aspect of running one’s affairs.
Duke Marcella’s lips curved with amusement.
“What’s certain is that Marquess Crender has gotten wind of something rather significant.”
But what?
He was terribly curious.
His golden eyes gleamed. He prided himself on smelling money better than anyone — had he missed something? He turned the question over seriously in his mind, then let out a small, quiet sound.
“Oh.”
Roki’s gaze sharpened immediately. He knew that sound all too well, and it never failed to make his stomach turn — because it was simply a compressed version of—
“Ah, right.”
There it was. As expected. Duke Marcella rose from his seat and began rummaging through various corners of his desk.
Slide.
Thud.
Slide.
Thud.
“I think I received a letter from Pernoa a few days ago.”
“…”
“I put it somewhere. Now where did it end up.”
He riffled through drawer after drawer, but the letter was nowhere to be found.
“Allow me.”
Roki reached into the very first drawer Duke Marcella had already searched and produced a single envelope.
He held it up with deliberate patience — the letter’s corners were crumpled from being shoved aside — and shook it pointedly. On the front, written in elegant script, were the words: Pernoa Arachrene. Duke Marcella gave a thumbs-up.
“Ah, you’re like a mother sometimes, you know that?”
“…Your Grace, correspondence like this must be read immediately. You have no idea what could be written inside. And of all people, the Arachrene Young Duke—”
“Yes, yes.”
Let’s see now…
Duke Marcella tore the envelope open with practiced elegance and read the contents. A moment passed.
“Lend the Crender marquisate everything they’ve asked for.”
“…I beg your pardon?”
“Give them exactly what they want. Seize everything that can be seized as collateral.”
“Your Grace — I genuinely don’t think we’ll be able to recover the principal here. Marquess Crender is notorious in social circles for being, quite frankly, a fool.”
And seizing the Crender marquisate’s business holdings as collateral posed its own problem.
Who would ever take them over?
They were tempting enough morsels, to be sure — but with the Arachrene ducal house looming in the background, no one in their right mind would touch them.
“Don’t worry too much about it. He says he’ll pay it all back — principal, interest, the whole sum. And that he’ll reclaim all the collateral himself.”
“…Who does?”
“Pernoa.”
Duke Marcella hummed a cheerful little tune as he neatly attached Pernoa’s letter to the top of the paperwork Marquess Crender had sent.
“This is our guarantee right here.”
“…”
“Process it at the highest credit rating.”
“…”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Roki exhaled a long, weary sigh.
