Chapter: 281
The judicial minister, ranked second in authority as the Minister of Finance, and the commander of the northern regional military forces, are part of an impressive lineup. What’s an insignificant manager like me supposed to do in between?
The answer is simple. I play the role of a driver while sipping tea. If there’s no car, then it’s a circus act, throwing a somersault or two.
‘Hey, I should be getting the royal treatment too!’
It’s downright unfair. No matter how high my title, I’m just a pawn tossed around by ministers at a whim. No matter how many people report to me, it’s pointless when there are countless higher-ups looming over me.
“Is the tea to your liking?”
“Hmm, it’s alright? It used to feel like I was drinking plain water, but it’s actually improved.”
I was just asking politely, but such an earnest assessment came back to bite me. What a frustrating compliment; it feels like a backhanded compliment gone wrong.
Back in the days when I was desperately rolling around in the north, my goal was to earn recognition from the ministers and this guy. However, unlike the minister, no matter what feats this person accomplished—even defeating one of the Paljunma in a soul match, Sarai Dovratala—his praises were nowhere to be found. All I ever got was a pat on the back and “Good work.”
And now, I’m only just getting compliments for being a good passenger…
‘Life, huh.’
Hey, Tala! Are you watching from hell? I broke my limbs and got a black eye trying to kill you, and now I’m stuck being a better car rider!
I can just imagine Tala in hell weeping over this sight. Is this really the extent of my worth?
“I regret that my racing days are over, but at the same time, I’m satisfied! Because my end was defined by a new hero! So, Krasius Carl, did you think of me as a wolf of the steppes?”
Suddenly, that idiot’s last words came rushing back to me. If there’s a next life, I hope you’re reborn as a teabag!
“The military department usually gets more generous allocations than others, but how much more are you planning to milk?”
“Oh, come on now. I just came to catch up with a friend.”
“Sounds like nonsense.”
In the meantime, the minister and the commander began bickering loudly, so I quietly took a seat.
Now that I think about it, it seems strange. Ever since the great hunt war, we allocated as much budget as possible to the military. If they’re unsatisfied with the amount and want to complain, they just have to send over a decent chief of staff from the Imperial Military Headquarters. So why is a commander-level officer here? Someone who has a close relationship with the minister at that!
‘Are they planning to build a flying fortress or something?’
I couldn’t help but think of Apels’s dream come true, but I quickly shook that thought away. That project crashed to the ground like a useless toy.
“I’m thinking of buying some horses.”
Eventually, after the back and forth, the commander brought up the main topic.
“Where’s a good place to buy?”
“Well, in that case, you need to throw down some serious cash.”
Hearing that, the minister clicked his tongue, as if out of options. When it comes to horses, the minister had no choice.
Horses, of course, are essential for training cavalry. Truthfully, if there’s a shortage of soldiers, conscription could fill the gaps, but without horses, there’s simply no solution. You can’t raise horses like chickens or pigs.
Moreover, after Kagan’s vigorous activities during the great hunt war, the empire’s cavalry capabilities took a massive hit. Even the pro-imperial tribes in the north came close to extinction, leaving the empire without an avenue to obtain horses.
Restoring that supply route might take years, but we can’t just give up on cavalry training in the meantime.
‘If I can solve this with money, then that’s a win-win!’
Of course, horses are treated like strategic resources across the continent, with strict controls on exports. Selling horses meant for home use to foreign countries? That’d be treated as treachery not even the Emperor would overlook.
But in any scenario, the almighty dollar sometimes outweighs loyalty and patriotism. If a commander is showing such confidence, then they must have thoroughly prepared. The image of the military desperately seeking an alternative supply makes me want to shed a tear.
“If we can safely close this deal, we’ll be able to breathe a little easier. While fully restoring it is unrealistic, getting it to 70% is possible.”
With an overwhelming justification, the commander’s statement made the minister murmur in agreement. If the military can recover 70% of the cavalry issues they’ve faced over the past two or three years, then it makes sense to create a budget out of thin air.
“Think about it. Up north, there’s Dorgon, and that bastard is still causing a ruckus. If he manages to recruit a few tribes, this could be one scary day. Oh, at that point, I should have cracked open my piggy bank—”
“Alright, I get it, stop already.”
Once the panic button was pressed for the empire’s civil servants, the minister finally nodded.
Nobody wants to see more chaos erupting in the north. If that chaos has any potential reality, that’s even worse. With Dorgon, the remnant of that hog, still alive in the north, something is bound to happen eventually.
“Just give it to me.”
The minister’s voice sounded a bit drained, and the commander handed over a document, waiting for approval. The minister glanced through it lazily and promptly stamped it.
Amazing. Other departments have to pile up paperwork just to get a stamp, and yet…
“Wow, the minister’s great decision will surely make the empire’s loyal and valiant soldiers rejoice.”
The commander seemed satisfied with the smooth transaction, applauding in an exaggerated manner. With only one arm, he slapped his knee to mimic the sound of applause.
Despite the minister’s worn expression from losing the budget with a mere stamp, what else could he do? If he held back on giving money and chaos truly erupted in the north, he wouldn’t be able to handle the fallout. After all, the military is the very group that eats money to prepare for what-ifs.
“So, let’s meet again next time.”
“Don’t bother coming back.”
“Come on now, don’t pretend to be mad.”
In any case, the commander rose without any lingering feelings and vanished like the wind, just like when he came.
Watching the one-sided thrashing of the minister… I hope to become someone like that someday…
The minister, who had been thoroughly milked by the military—specifically the commander—sat in silence as he rubbed his temples.
Was losing money really so annoying? If he’s going to pay it anyway, wouldn’t it be better to just get it over with—
“Hey.”
“Yes?”
“How would you feel if the minister went to war?”
It was only after hearing that insane comment that I understood the minister’s dilemma. It wasn’t just the budget loss that left him speechless, but the looming threat of Dorgon that rendered him mute.
Sure, he knew Dorgon was somewhere in the north, but hearing it directly from a high-ranking military figure that “we need to prepare for Dorgon’s shenanigans” doesn’t sit well at all. The vague fear of the past was suddenly feeling much more imminent. Given the minister’s history with confrontations against Kagan, it must drive him insane.
“Is that possible?”
But my answer remains unchanged. The head of the Ministry of Finance going to war? How could that ever happen? Does he still think he’s in the Information Department?
“Even if a fallen hero were to come back, that won’t happen.”
“Damn, that’s true.”
The minister replied with a click of his tongue, leaning back and releasing a long sigh.
You’re right. Even if Kagan were crawling back from hell, the minister wouldn’t take the field. An empire that’s obsessively concerned with prestige wouldn’t dispatch the Minister of Finance to battle instead of regular army troops or special forces. It would scream ‘The empire has fallen on too hard times’ to everyone.
“But you’ve got Vice Captain JeonSeungGong and the Special Services on your side, right? If it gets messy, I’m here too.”
I cautiously spoke up to the minister, who was lost in bizarre concerns. Yes, the empire has weakened compared to before the war, but that’s true for the north as well, isn’t it?
Kagan’s gone, most of the Paljunma died except for Dorgon. On the opposite side, the empire has Vice Captain JeonSeungGong still standing tall, along with Mukgwangdae following the ranks of the 4th Unit; you don’t even need to mention me in the Information Department—
“Having you around makes me more worried.”
“What? Why?”
What kind of nonsense is this after I just tried to comfort him?
*
Thanks to all the departments focusing on the Ministry of Finance, I found a little breathing room. While this little break isn’t exactly heartwarming, it’s one of the few that come around in a year.
‘Should I extend the time frame?’
For a brief moment, I entertained the thought of extending the additional budget preparation period with the Crown Prince’s powers. The longer the preparation period, the longer my time off would last.
But if I tried to pull off something so reckless, it would only create more chaos, so I quietly tucked that thought away. Better to just be satisfied with the present. Being greedy would only cause me to lose what I already have.
‘Though I feel like I’ve already lost it.’
Eventually, I faced the harsh realities I had been trying to ignore.
Amidst all the departments eyeing the Ministry of Finance, a petition flew straight into my hands. The instant I laid eyes on that petition, I sensed that my current break was at risk of being snatched away. I’d said losing what I had was foolish? Well, I’m already a fool—even though it’s not my fault, external factors are making me act like one.
Rubbing the tension out of my neck, I opened the petition. How could I treat a petition sent by no other than the Mage Duke lightly?
Yes, a petition sent by the Mage Duke, meaning it was penned and submitted directly by Marcilio.
‘What could it possibly say?’
The Duke, who had been a Mage for how long, had never submitted a petition. Given his capabilities, he could handle things without needing to ask the Emperor for favors.
That’s what makes it frightening. For him to directly beseech the royal family speaks volumes. What could be so serious that he felt compelled to write?
[ I humbly greet you, from the light of the divine AiManca The Great, as a descendant of Roberto, who was bestowed with the name of KatoBan, and granted the rule over the Duchy of Servette, wishing to pay my respects to the Little Sun, who is a descendant of the Great Sun. ]
I confirmed the ceremonial greeting and quickly moved my gaze down. The formalities were met; let’s see what the real issue is.
[ -It may seem beneficial in the short-term to immediately reintegrate personnel who have completed their dispatch, but in the long run, this may lead to worker morale declining. Therefore, I would like to seek your thoughts, Your Highness, about providing corresponding leave for those dispatched based on the duration. ]
As soon as I read that, my brain froze.
The content wasn’t anything big, but to think this is coming from the Mage Duke? Did I misread it somehow?
‘No, it’s correct.’
After checking again, it indeed was the Duke’s petition. But why is it accurate?
Actually, the content isn’t strange itself. Wizards from the Mage Tower regularly go out on dispatch. In other words, the Duke is the one managing the most dispatched personnel in the empire, meaning he could be aware of problems beyond my grasp and suggesting vacation as a solution.
‘But why is it directed towards me?’
The problem lies in whether it’s necessary to submit this as a petition. Granting vacation to the mages of the Mage Tower should be within the Duke’s discretion.
Furthermore, once the royal family receives the petition, it has to be treated as policy applicable to the entire empire, not just one department or agency—
‘The entire empire?’
My stiff mind began to clear up again. If the purpose of the petition is to establish policy that applies to the whole empire, I could understand this bizarre request.
The dispatched personnel, who the Duke is most anxious about giving leave to, is as clear as day. Anyone with eyes and ears would figure it out just as easily.
‘Ha.’
A wry smile escaped me. Could it be that the Head of the Information Department is already complaining to his future wife?
No way. Even so, a person like the Head of the Information Department wouldn’t lower his pride that much.
‘…Or would he?’
Would he let his guard down?
That uncertain part of me feels like I’m becoming someone I dislike—an image of the Head of the Information Department builds up in my mind, giving me chills.
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