Ten minutes later, the Minister of Finance’s office.
Baptiste walked in trembling, stepping into an office so spacious it felt excessive.
The carpet beneath his feet was so soft it felt like walking on clouds, yet his heart kept sinking.
He spotted the figure standing before the massive floor-to-ceiling window, back turned to him.
That was the Kingdom’s Minister of Finance, Viscount Bernard Labelle.
In the shadows of the office sat another lord.
The man wore a suit that was quietly becoming fashionable among the Capital’s high society, his build massive, like a small mountain even while seated, fixing Baptiste with a cold, appraising stare.
“I… I am… the Blacksmith Guild’s chairman, Baptiste.”
He swallowed nervously, his Voice trembling.
“Thank you for sparing time from your busy schedule to receive me. I have… I have important intelligence to report to you!”
“Your important intelligence,” Bernard slowly turned around, looking down at him with a commanding gaze that seemed to see through everything, a faint, undisguised smirk of mockery at the corner of his mouth, “refers to your plan to join forces with the Sword-Bearing Nobles tomorrow and launch an attack on the Mutual Aid Association’s strongholds in the Capital?”
He paused, then added slowly: “Don’t you think that coming here to pretend a belated attack of conscience after committing Treason is… a bit too late?”
Hearing Bernard’s casual words, Baptiste felt like he’d been struck by lightning, his mind going blank on the spot.
He had thought the Guilds and the Sword-Bearing Nobles’ scheme was flawless, and felt certain that risking his life to come here today would fetch a good price—a chance at survival.
But… from the very beginning, the Minister of Finance had foreseen everything?
He’d known about all of it all along?
And… Treason?
They’d already been sentenced to Death in advance?
An extreme terror of Death instantly crushed the dam of reason, and Baptiste dropped to his knees with a heavy thud onto the hard marble floor.
He completely forgot the speeches and postures he’d rehearsed before coming, leaving only the most primal instinct to survive.
“I… I have not committed Treason! I’ve been framed! It’s them! They forced me to for Your Majesty’s sake!”
“I am Your Majesty’s most loyal subject! I’ve long wanted to merge our Blacksmith Guild into the Mutual Aid Association…”
Tears and snot streamed down his face, the pitiful sight forming an absurd contrast with his burly frame.
“Lies.” From the shadows, Albert spoke coldly.
“Huh?” Baptiste froze.
The smile on Bernard’s face grew kinder: “This one is Earl Bernard, a powerful Sword-Bearing Noble. His Engraved Mark can easily see through any lie. Chairman Baptiste, do you take me for a fool who can be easily deceived? Whatever you say, I believe?”
“I’ve heard that it was you who went around drumming up support, gathering the other Guild chairmen, planning to take on my Mutual Aid Association together.”
Baptiste felt the world spinning. He knew he was truly finished.
The other side knew everything, was omniscient.
How could he possibly play this game?
In that moment, Baptiste felt like the most ridiculous clown in the world.
Baptiste had tossed and turned these past days, and finally come to a realization.
Their group of Guild chairmen had been pawns from the very beginning—pushed forward by the Sword-Bearing Nobles to test the royal family’s limits, only to be discarded once they had served their purpose, leaving not even a trace behind.
If the Sword-Bearing Nobles truly had the guts to flip the table, they would have charged into the Royal Palace with swords long ago. Why the hesitation, why encourage these businessmen to spearhead?
Even if the Mutual Aid Association were smashed, to the King’s Reform plans it would be no more than a scratch.
This was merely the Sword-Bearing Nobles using a self-styled “gentle” way to express their discontent to the King.
But they were different.
They were in the Capital, right under the King’s nose, openly gathering a mob—a direct affront to His Majesty’s reverse scale.
The King might temporarily be unable to deal with those deeply entrenched Sword-Bearing Nobles, but crushing a few Guild chairmen was easier than crushing ants.
Win or lose, the guillotine awaited them.
In his script, today was supposed to be his decisive backstab of those fools, using this precious intelligence to buy himself a way out before the Minister of Finance.
Every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost. Those fools dying was no concern of his.
He, Baptiste, had once been an apprentice Blacksmith, working his way up to Guild chairman. What got him here was ruthlessness.
Only, today this ruthless man had met someone more ruthless, and more clever.
This Minister of Finance was far from the puppet he’d guessed the King had propped up—he was a true titan wielding real power.
He’d miscalculated.
In this life-or-death moment, a flash of insight struck Baptiste’s mind.
He lifted his head, staring hard at Bernard’s half-smiling face.
He realized: the Minister knew everything, yet hadn’t acted in advance. That meant he’d already laid his trap.
This was a trap!
And he had chosen to surrender before stepping into it. The Minister was still willing to hear him ramble on, which meant…
There was still room to maneuver!
Could turning himself in count as meritorious?
Baptiste realized he still had a way out. No more hesitation—he slammed his forehead into the hard marble floor.
“Thud!”
A heavy, solid sound.
“Thud!”
“Thud!”
Back when he was a ragged young brat, begging for a meal, this was how he’d kowtowed to his Master, pleading to be taken as an apprentice, to be given a way to live.
Time had passed. He seemed to stand at the pinnacle of ordinary men, yet before true power and intrigue, he’d reverted to that boy struggling in the mud.
Bernard watched expressionlessly, until blood seeped from Baptiste’s forehead and stained the floor red, before he slowly spoke:
“Everyone has their price. I suppose a traitor is no exception. So, what do you think your price is?”
Baptiste’s heart surged with wild joy—he’d gambled right!
Then there was only one answer!
He raised his face, covered in blood and cold sweat, and howled with near-manic devotion: “I will serve you! I am your most loyal dog, I can offer you everything I have!”
Bernard narrowed his eyes: “Everything? Including your ‘friends’?”
“Of course!” Baptiste nodded frantically, afraid of being a second too slow. “They’re all fools trying to stop a chariot with their arms, without father or lord, deserving Death ten thousand times over! I know I’ve committed unforgivable sins, I only ask that you give me a chance to atone!”
Dog eat dog—truly excellent. Bernard’s smile deepened.
“However, the fact that you came today at least proves you’re a tiny bit smarter than the other fools.”
Bernard looked down at him, his gaze like appraising a tool that still had some use value.
“The Death penalty can be waived, but punishment cannot be escaped. Baptiste, I can now give you a chance to redeem yourself through merit.”
“Thank you! Thank you, Minister! I’ll serve you with utmost devotion, to Death ten thousand times!” Baptiste wept with gratitude.
Albert, watching from the shadows, saw this spineless display and shook his head.
As a Knight, he would rather die than bend his waist.
But the play had to be performed in full.
He spoke with the haughty tone unique to Nobles, in disgust: “Minister, this two-faced wretch—even a stray dog on the street is more loyal. If he can betray his comrades today, he can betray us tomorrow. In my view, best to pull up the roots and eliminate future trouble.”
Huh?
Baptiste’s heart, which had just soared to the clouds, was instantly kicked back into hell.
Just then, a guard came to Bernard’s side again, whispering a few words.
Bernard nodded, looking back at Baptiste with a thoughtful gaze.
That look sent Baptiste’s heart to his throat again.
“I never thought that these days, even seeking a good dog requires competitive bidding,” Bernard chuckled softly.
Baptiste instantly understood what was about to happen, his face turning ghastly pale.
“Let him in.”
“Yes!”
The office door opened again, and a man in fine clothes, hands covered in gold rings, looking utterly respectable, walked in briskly.
The next second, he scrambled and rolled to Bernard’s feet, dropped to his knees with a thud, as if rehearsed countless times, lifting a heavy wooden chest with both hands.
The lid opened to reveal neatly stacked gold bars, gleaming dazzlingly in the sunlight.
“Mi… Minister! I am the Goldsmith Guild’s chairman, Goldie! I’ve brought you a piece of invaluable intelligence! Moreover, to express my utmost respect, this is a small token of my sincerity, I hope you’ll accept it!”
Baptiste was already cursing inwardly.
Beasts, all of them! Good thing I came early, or I’d have been sold out by you dogs today!
Bernard didn’t even glance at the chest of gold, smiling at Goldie: “You think I lack your bribe? Or do you think… I lack your intelligence?”
Goldie’s heart skipped a beat. Something felt wrong.
He looked up then, and saw Baptiste kneeling beside him, face covered in blood.
“Chairman Baptiste?” Goldie’s pupils contracted sharply.
“What a coincidence, Chairman Goldie.” Baptiste squeezed the words through clenched teeth. “With your little piggy bank, you want to bribe the Minister? Who are you trying to insult?”
“You!” Goldie realized he’d been beaten to the punch, his whiskers quivering with rage. “Baptiste, you bushy-browed oaf, you actually betrayed us!”
Seeing the two nearly instantaneously turn on each other, looking ready to strangle one another on the spot, Bernard could barely hold back his laughter.
Clever people… always prone to being too clever for their own good.
“Minister, another guest is here.” The guard’s Voice sounded again.
“?”
Baptiste and Goldie instantly ended their squabble, both probably realizing how ridiculous they looked.
Whatever—since it’s come to this, they might as well see who the next clown auditioning for this circus would be.
The office door opened for the third time.
“Mi… Minister, I am… the Brewing Guild’s chairman. I’ve brought you…”
A fat man with a face full of fleshy curves practically rolled in, about to begin his performance, when his peripheral vision caught glimpse of Baptiste and Goldie, both nearly laughing in fury.
“Holy shit.” He was struck speechless.
Three people, three pairs of eyes, staring at each other. The atmosphere in the office was awkward enough to condense water.
“Pfft—”
From the shadows, Albert couldn’t hold back any longer.
He abruptly turned his head, his broad shoulders heaving violently, then let out a suppressed yet loud snort, which escalated into earth-shaking laughter.
“Hahahaha… I can’t… give me a moment…”
Bernard, watching this ridiculous farce, couldn’t help but smile at the three kneeling on the floor:
“Gentlemen, since we’re all idle, how about we make a bet—who’s the next Guild chairman to come bidding?”
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