Roberto, a low-level spy from the Rothschild Baron Clan, was currently working as a servant for the Olbia Baron Clan.
To be precise, he was a lowly groom, not much better off than a serf.
While working in the Information Guild, he became quite the master of disguise, and it was rare for any clan to conduct background checks on a mere groom.
Before he knew it, Roberto had fully blended into this clan.
“Ugh, it’s just ridiculous. If I could smash that head with a hammer, I wouldn’t even feel regret.”
The lowly servants had nothing to entertain themselves with but drinking, sleeping with women, or engaging in small talk, so they couldn’t help but take an interest in any amusing stories that came their way.
The senior-most groom, Favre, represented the others and asked, “What’s going on? Did someone harass your wife or something?”
Roberto chuckled to himself, thinking things had taken a delightful turn.
However, one should always be more cautious when things seem to be going well.
Deus is known to make the successful fail just out of spite if they become too arrogant.
‘It was a saying from our guild.’
“If that were the case, I would’ve knocked those teeth out of that bastard’s mouth with this iron fist.”
“From what I hear, even a knight in armor wouldn’t stand a chance against you?”
“Oh dear, Favre, you’re too much.”
The highborn looked down on the ‘slums’ and treated them with disdain.
But just like a hero who survives hell, those from the slums have to be charismatic and sociable to survive.
If one’s social skills drop even slightly, they would likely become a target for venting frustrations while living a miserable day-to-day existence.
So, the poor folk become masters of flattery, flattery, and agreeing with others—skills essential for all social interactions.
That’s how Roberto, having survived in such an environment, managed to establish himself as the newcomer among the grooms in just three days (age-wise, he was actually older).
“The scions of the Scitia Baron Clan mocked our Lord Olbia for dressing like a bumpkin,” he mentioned.
Hearing this, Favre and the other grooms ground their teeth.
“Those scum are laughing at our lord?”
“Our lord might be a bit stingy and not too great with fashion, but still.”
“Damn it, does that mean their lord is so much better?”
To an outsider, it would seem the grooms were angry out of loyalty towards the Olbia Baron, but when it came down to it, their wages were only slightly better than those of urban poor, and they had to engage in some light embezzlement to make ends meet.
Embezzlement—or rather, some clever methods for supplementing their income included buying hay for 1.7 times the market rate, laying it on the stable floor, then getting 20% of the paid sum back, or selling grains like barley, beans, or oats to the grocery guild and trading that for slightly stale grains, pocketing the difference.
(Of course, there are leaves of evidence, but the butler who supervises them turns a blind eye and plays along.)
Only by pulling such tricks can they maintain a mid-level income in the city.
There’s no way these unrefined individuals are filled with loyalty.
However, it’s one thing to insult their lord among themselves, but when outsiders join in, that’s when it becomes unacceptable.
Just like how friends should only talk trash about family and not cross each other, or else a fight might ensue.
“Those bastards have been looking at us like we’re flies whenever we drink at the tavern. Is that what led to this?”
Roberto recalled the orders he had been given.
[Spread the rumor that the Scitia Baron mocks the Olbia Baron’s clothing for being old-fashioned. Then maximize the negative feelings between the servants of both clans.]
He pondered how he could act in accordance with these orders through his own initiative.
Because during his time in the slum information guild, just doing what he was told sufficed, but the Rothschild Baron Clan generously hands out bonuses even to low-level spies.
‘I’ve got to pamper my sly wife.’
She’s four months along; by the time the baby is born, he wishes to treat her to delicious food as much as possible with the money he earns himself.
“Is that so?”
Favre found the new recruit’s level-headed responses endearing.
He works diligently and knows how to flatter; there’s no reason to dislike him.
“There are times when the butler Bren gives us a few silver coins from the lord for us to eat and drink together. We’d gather at that lowly inn called ‘Resting Bed’—and those bastards always glare at us.”
To be precise, they had never actually glared.
But people who dislike one another tend to find what they do distasteful, while they view an action from someone they like more favorably.
Developing animosity toward the Scitia clan’s servants made his memories of them shift slightly to the negative…
“Even though we’re all servants of barons, those guys just seem totally lacking in substance.”
“Don’t get me started. Those damned fools lie about selling a well-aged mule they had bound in their stables as if they buried it after it died. Like they have any conscience.”
“Oh dear, humans shouldn’t act like that, but the story doesn’t end here.”
“What’s next?”
“Ugh, it’s kind of embarrassing…”
Roberto lingered intentionally.
“Come on, spit it out already. Don’t leave us hanging or I might just shout.”
Roberto couldn’t help but find the grooms here utterly laughable.
They might have had a few scuffles here and there.
But in those fights, they had to be careful not to hurt their noble masters, ending it just shy of causing any real damage.
‘No one in the slums bats an eye even if a few drop dead.’
Roberto, too, had lost count of how many people he had killed, his fingers couldn’t keep track.
Yet, he acted a bit frightened.
Fulfilling the tasks for the benevolent Rothschild Baron always took priority over his pride.
“They said our baroness dresses like a fool, so they feel justified in dressing like that too.”
Upon hearing this, Favre rolled up his sleeves.
They weren’t raised as lackeys or highborn nobles, and the barrenness of their own standing couldn’t help but feel irritating.
However, being portrayed as trash was simply intolerable.
“Those miserable scum, really. Hey, newbie! If you’re lying, you’ll truly regret it?”
“Why on earth would I lie to you, Favre?”
Favre and the other grooms felt this statement like a promise.
Originally, these two clans had been at odds, so there was ample credibility to that claim.
“Honestly, I’d want to make those bastards unable to walk. But since I think about our lord, I’ll just hold back.”
In truth, the fearsome Favre wanted to back down without losing face.
Roberto raised a silent thumbs up in approval, taking note of the atmosphere around him.
‘Looks like a real fight’s about to break out.’
And just as he predicted, events began to unfold.
Everything was going according to Fabio’s plan.
*
The baseless rumor Roberto had spread soon reached the ears of the Olbia Baron.
“What the hell! What? Do I dress like a moron dripping with snot?”
Of course, as the details circulated, they grew somewhat larger than life.
But the core message remained unchanged.
‘The Scitia baron laughed at him.’
“Butler, does this even make sense?”
Honestly, rumors are only rumors.
There wasn’t a single noble unaware of this.
But throughout history, politicians rise and fall because of rumors.
Except for the rare few like Fabio who simply operate at a different level altogether.
‘This is a matter of my honor.’
With other nobles gnashing at him like a pack of wild dogs, would he just let it slide?
It seemed obvious that something bad was bound to happen.
“It’s merely a commoners’ unduly statement, yet…”
It wasn’t impossible that there might be kernels of truth within.
To put it bluntly, his lord did dress rather poorly.
“I cannot ignore it. So, it seems I cannot punish this Roberto as he’s not making an unfounded claim. If I punish him, we might get called out for the truth of it and end up incurring unnecessary anger, or we may provoke the Scitia baron into thinking we’re bowing down.”
In the noble society—or rather in the political arena, one gets devoured as soon as one appears weak.
“Neither reward nor punishment should be dispensed.”
“That seems wise. In my opinion, it would do well to have him work with the grooms while he spreads this rumor further.”
Fabio would have burst into hearty laughter at this.
Having our spy gather intel on another clan’s dealings?
“That’s a shrewd idea, certainly you’re the butler.”
“And rather than focusing on stepping on the Rothschild baron, we ought to consider lodging a complaint with the source of this nonsense, the Scitia Baron.”
“Though that person shares the same faction, they are in a ‘competitive relationship.’”
They served a different count as their overlord, after all.
Thus, the two clans were bound to clash.
Fabio originally had links to the Visconti Duke—Count XX—Baron XX, and so forth, but given his extraordinary capabilities, he had transcended all that and was now tightly bounded to the duke.
“I have to lodge a direct complaint at the ball, and let’s make sure to spend freely for a new outfit. Bring in some artisans retired from the imperial court, mind you.”
And these two began to engage in a skirmish, completely unaware that it was all instigated by ‘Fabio.’
Starting with the Olbia Baron’s overspending, they sustained considerable financial blow.
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