“By the way, did you two really manage to get such decisive evidence?”
Afterwards, inside the Lord’s Mansion, Irene sat at her desk, propping her chin up with one hand as she gazed at Leila and Clarette. The two maids stood quietly before the desk.
Leila wore her usual calm expression, but the smile tugging at the corners of her lips was impossible to hide.
As for Clarette, her hands were planted firmly on her hips, the corners of her mouth nearly reaching the sky—her whole posture screamed, “Come on, praise me!”
Irene felt that the two of them truly deserved commendation this time. If not for the decisive evidence they produced, Vincent’s trial wouldn’t have gone so smoothly.
Leila lowered her eyes slightly and replied, “Young Miss, we followed that merchant all the way, and took advantage of their rest on the road to slip into his carriage. At first, he pretended to be clueless and was determined not to confess…”
Leila recalled the scene from that time—no matter how she threatened or tempted him, the merchant kept feigning ignorance, adamantly denying everything. It was utterly frustrating.
“That’s when it was my turn to perform—interrogation can be very effective!” Clarette said proudly, raising a finger. “Miss Leila just asked questions; how could that work? Those merchants only have tough mouths! The moment I walked into the carriage and took out my whip and candles, before I even threatened him, his face turned deathly pale and he confessed everything in a rush—even handed over the account books and secret letters!”
“Really?”
Irene couldn’t help feeling the whole thing sounded magical. She knew Leila’s methods—after so much effort and not a single result, yet with just one word from Clarette, that imperial merchant confessed everything?
Leila nodded, a little embarrassed: “…It’s just as Clarette said. That merchant seemed to be scared stiff the moment he saw her.”
Leila was a bit curious. She always had a strange feeling that the merchant seemed to recognize Clarette; what he feared was Clarette herself, not the whip in her hand.
But that didn’t make sense—Clarette was just an ordinary adventurer from the kingdom, talented but nothing more. Why would an imperial merchant fear her so much?
It was pure speculation, so even though Leila was uneasy, she couldn’t say anything.
“No, no, Miss Leila, it’s just that merchant was all talk and no guts. If you don’t show these guys something scary, they’ll never confess!” Clarette laughed. “But still, Young Miss, you were wise to see through that merchant at a glance!”
Leila nodded in agreement. “That’s right, Young Miss, your eyes are as sharp as ever. You saw at once he wasn’t from the kingdom!”
The flattery was just right, and Irene enjoyed it, smiling slightly as she asked, “By the way, where’s that merchant?”
“Because it was urgent, we couldn’t bring him with us. After warning him, we let him go. But…” Clarette rubbed her chin, “He sold all the goods, but said he’d return the difference in full.”
“I told you, Clarette is too naive. Scoundrels like that should be executed on the spot—just kill them and be done with it,” Leila said, giving her a sidelong glance.
Clarette stood by her view: “He said it himself—if you kill him, you won’t get a single coin. Letting him go is the only way to get the money back. We already have the evidence; whether that merchant lives or dies won’t affect the bigger picture. If he pays us back, great. If not, then I misjudged him.”
In truth, she’d felt a pang of sympathy. The imperial merchant had wept bitterly, saying he had elderly and children to care for, that he was forced into this, and if he died his property would be swallowed up by his underlings, so they wouldn’t get a single coin anyway.
Clarette thought, in the end, whether he lived or died didn’t matter much, so she let him go.
She had no real expectation he’d pay them back.
Irene approved of her approach, which put Clarette in a very good mood, and she praised Irene again as a wise lord!
“By the way, Young Miss, can you let me handle that bastard Vincent too? I guarantee I’ll squeeze everything he knows out of him!”
Clarette was brimming with confidence, her whip practically itching in her arms.
Irene thought for a moment and nodded. She didn’t know why Clarette enjoyed interrogation so much, but since Vincent had colluded with the Empire and tried to betray the kingdom, he surely knew things they didn’t.
Whether it was useful or not, it was worth questioning him.
And besides, although the evidence was irrefutable, Vincent was still a noble of the kingdom. According to procedure, his punishment needed approval from His Majesty the King, so before the reply came from the capital, Clarette could try interrogating him.
Maybe they’d gain something.
*****
Irene slumped in the large lord’s office chair, like a salted fish left out in the scorching sun.
The chair, carved from a single block of black ironwood, was hard and cold, pressing uncomfortably into her body, but it couldn’t awaken even the slightest bit of fighting spirit in her.
Before her was a despairing mountain of administrative documents.
“Why…” Her voice was dry and weak, drifting out from behind the towering pile of paperwork. “How can a rundown Barony…have more paperwork than the kingdom’s Minister of Finance?”
She’d thought that after exposing Vincent, the great traitor, she could enjoy a laid-back life on the border, but reality was always so cruel and unrelenting.
Leila stood quietly by, carefully stacking the files Irene had tossed aside.
Hearing this, she looked up, and her usually expressionless face showed a rare, faint hint of helpless pity.
“Young Miss,” her voice was as calm as ever, “because while Vincent acted as acting lord, in the past few years, besides hollowing out the territory, smuggling mithril, framing you, and plotting to defect to the Empire, he did almost nothing that a lord should.”
Irene let out a wail and buried her face deep into the cold tabletop. The wood grain pressed into her forehead, bringing a tiny, insignificant sense of clarity.
“You reap what you sow…” she muttered from the crook of her arm, “What wonderful border lord’s laid-back life…It’s all fake, all lies! Fairy tales are lies! If I’d known, I wouldn’t have thrown that bastard Vincent into prison and left behind this mess…”
She suddenly looked up, a red mark pressed into her forehead, her eyes dazed from reality’s beating. “Leila, do you think it’s too late for me to run away?”
She even suspected her mother had sent her back home just to make her clean up the border’s mess! You schemed against me, Mother!
Leila looked at her in silence, her gaze saying: What do you think?
Irene let out a long, long sigh, straightened her back with resignation, and slapped her cheeks.
“Phew…No, no! Irene Raven, pull yourself together! This is our family estate! An ancestral land! How can I let it go to ruin like Vincent, that wastrel?”
She tried to encourage herself, her gaze sweeping over the suffocating paperwork, trying to recover a bit of her transmigrator’s confidence.
I’m a well-educated youth from the twentieth century! Modern management, regional economics, sustainable development…I’ve got a wealth of theoretical knowledge!
How could the administration of a mere medieval Barony stump me? What a joke!
She took a deep breath, as if about to charge into battle.
She began to process the paperwork.
Three documents in a row, perfectly completed, her efficiency through the roof—no wonder I’m me! Irene thought.
She put down her pen and stretched, her bones making a light cracking sound.
Outside, the afternoon sunlight slanted in, turning the dusty air into beams of light that shone on her face, where a faint, newly built confidence had appeared.
“See?” she said confidently, “It’s not that hard… As long as I take it slow, one at a time…”
Before she finished, she caught sight of something under the three completed documents—a thick dossier, bound with coarse hemp rope.
On its cover, in faded ink, were the words: “Barony – Record of Outstanding Taxes, Land Rent, and Forfeited Properties Over the Years (Detailed List Attached)”.
The trace of satisfaction on Irene’s face instantly froze, then crumbled away like cheap plaster.
She reached out with a trembling finger, gently brushing aside the unrelated petitions covering the dossier. Underneath, she found the “Survey Atlas of Main Roads and Bridges Damage within the Territory”, then “Roster and Relief Requests for Orphans, Widows, Disabled, and Incapacitated Persons Reported by Each Village”, and then…