Chapter 5
5. What Did You Do to My Wife?2021.09.16.
“Your Excellency, this is a matter concerning your honor. What more could Your Excellency possibly want? Isn’t this the perfect chance to finally tell those Julius nobodies to shove it?”
Tristan spat the words out in frustration.
“There’s value in using them.”
Arthur continued nonchalantly.
“I need a base. This place will make a good stronghold.”
Tristan’s face crumpled at the grudging high assessment of Julius.
“The imperial family is there, and ‘Roas*’ too, aren’t they? Those would be far more trustworthy than Julius, who forced that sham marriage on you. How could they possibly make a good stronghold…….”
“Because it’s the hometown of the people I trust most.”
The nagging that had been about to continue cut off abruptly. Arthur took a bite of an apple and rummaged through the fruit basket as he went on.
“And my honor rests with you all, not with Julius. Surviving and returning together with you is my greatest honor and pride. Julius rabble can’t tarnish that.”
Tristan, who had been silently fuming, finally turned his head away with an irritated sigh. Their Supreme Commander had a habit of tossing out words like that so casually at times. With imperial backing no less, he would say this place was his most trustworthy home because it was the hometown of his men. If any other noble had said it, Tristan would have dismissed it as slick tongue-work, but having spent the last five years by Arthur’s side, he couldn’t belittle his words. Arthur proved them with his actions. And for a man like that to always name the soldiers of Julius—those who had shared life and death with him—as the people he trusted most was their greatest source of pride.
“……I suppose we’ll have to stay sharp so Your Excellency doesn’t end up disgraced.”
Arthur chuckled and said, “Nah. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing.” But Tristan knew better. The war was over. And this was no longer the battlefield they had conquered. A new battlefield awaited them now. One where the valor and feats that had served them before wouldn’t help much. Frustrating as it was, he wasn’t entirely clueless about why Arthur needed Julius.
“This apple’s good. Try one.”
Tristan caught the apple Arthur tossed him in the palm of his hand and asked,
“……So, what are you planning to do?”
At Tristan’s question, Arthur leaned back against his chair and murmured,
“Who knows. I’ll meet the ‘real wife’ first and think it over.”
Tristan grumbled softly as he rubbed the apple on his clothes.
“‘Real wife,’ my foot. She’s just some woman they bought in with money anyway.”
Arthur just shrugged, his smiling expression unchanged.
‘No. This can’t happen. It just can’t. How did I become an Elector? How did I secure this position?’
Marquis Julius was on the verge of losing his mind to rage. The ink on the documents from the Emperor and the Papal Court recognizing him as an Elector hadn’t even dried yet. His portrait, elegantly inscribed beneath his chest with the glorious title of Princeps Elector Imperii (Elector), wasn’t even finished.
Julius was one of the foremost great noble houses in the Empire. Owners of the continent’s most fertile lands, they were the marquisate of gold that commanded wealth surpassing even the imperial family. They had struggled amid nobles who scorned merchant families, but once they were acknowledged by all as the Empire’s greatest magnate and ascended to the ranks of great nobility, no one could ignore them anymore. But even for Julius—the gold-powered house that could buy anything on the continent—there was one thing they had long coveted but never obtained: the title of ‘Elector.’
An Elector was a prince of the Empire with the authority to elect the Emperor. Normally, the Emperor would designate an outstanding heir apparent among his children, and the princes would respect his legitimacy, allowing succession to proceed smoothly. But if the Emperor died without an heir, or if succession proved difficult despite one, the Electors would convene, vote, and select the next Emperor from among themselves. In other words, an Elector stood directly below the Emperor. It was the name of power granted only to the most honorable and noble of nobles. Electors were always held to the highest standards of justification and honor that the people could endorse, for they might one day produce the next Emperor. Forty years ago, when the previous imperial line ended without issue, Alexander Luisaik II—grandfather of the current Crown Prince—had risen from Elector to Emperor in just that way. He was the honorable knight beloved by the imperial citizens, the noble hero who had led the war to victory and saved the Empire. Every citizen of the Empire had naturally expected this young hero’s ascension to the throne, and the Luisaiks and honorable Electors had answered the call. Through that decision, the Electors had further elevated their prestige and the people’s support. It was then that Ronald Julius—Marquis Julius of the day and grandfather of Christina—first began to waver with envy, as the Empire’s unrivaled magnate who had walked his own path without a shred of jealousy. Such perfect exclusion. The law exempting families with only one male from conscription had been passed through moneyed lobbying, and he had felt no shame playing dirty during the war, but seeing others bask in the glory of victory while he alone was left out made him think he should have gotten in on it too—and a twinge of envy stirred. Still, back then, he hadn’t considered sacrificing his wealth for honor. Leaking money for fame from some war was nothing but wounds and hollow glory—that was his creed. Of course, with land that fertile, war might take interest in the marquis even if he had none in it, but that’s a story for later. The trouble started after that. Even to others’ eyes, ‘self-serving Julius’ looked pretty pathetic. Ronald Julius, the Empire’s top tycoon, had suffered the shocking humiliation of one rejection after another from the noble ladies he secretly courted. At first, most letters politely read ‘Thank you for your interest, but we must respectfully decline’ or ‘Your pursuits seem incompatible with our family traditions, so we respectfully decline.’ But when even families he saw as ‘beneath him’—ones he assumed wouldn’t dare refuse—turned him down, his rage led to several public blunders. After that, the responses escalated to ‘We’re not so desperate as to sell our pride for money—declined,’ ‘I’m not that vulgar—declined,’ ‘To receive a proposal from you is shameful,’ and all manner of insults, splashed across the gazettes for maximum embarrassment. By then, rejecting his proposals had become a sport among the nobility—how satisfyingly could you turn down shameless Ronald Julius?—and even he found his senses reeling from the disgrace. The knight who ascended to the throne amid applause, Alexander Luisaik II, gained power surpassing Julius, while border count Diloa—who always scraped by on money woes—snagged the massive mining venture Julius had long eyed. So Ronald Julius ended up unmarried despite his fortune, humiliated time and again, and robbed of a juicy business he was sure he could have run better. Only then did Julius finally see their situation objectively. Among the Empire’s top great nobles, Julius alone had failed to become an Elector. It was because they were infamous as die-hard profiteers, poster children for the adage ‘the haves get more’—a family with an ugly history. The vast majority of imperials thought ‘Julius has money, but no honor.’ And a name without honor couldn’t become ‘Elector.’ Julius, who thought he had it all, was a utter beggar in that regard. Once aware of this, Ronald Julius began efforts to cleanse his dishonor. For a penny-pinching Julius by birth, it was no easy road. Becoming honorable cost a fortune, and avoiding embarrassment meant fulfilling all sorts of duties. Why were there so many things to give up for no good reason? It was even harder with more things to avoid than to do. His past ‘list of blunders’—karmic debts—tripped him up too. In the end, Ronald Julius of that era, burdened with a mountain of dark history, died without achieving his dream. Only in the generation of his son Antonio Julius and granddaughter Christina Julius did their long efforts finally bear fruit. Even that came amid struggles between innate greed and cultivated honor-lust, unable to fully escape ‘Julius’s’ shadow—until selling off their only daughter to the Emperor’s bastard in a marriage deal hit the jackpot, landing Julius on the once-distant ‘Elector’ list at last.
“Whew, never thought I’d live to see a day like this. A victory celebration charity feast from the marquisate!”
“Here, try some of this too. Never imagined I’d eat something like this.”
“Man, does the marquis’s family eat like this every day?”
The people of the marquisate’s territory clinked glasses boisterously amid the streets and squares, tearing into whole-roast pigs everywhere.
“Kaaaaah! This beer is perfection.”
“Oh, incoming!”
The picked-clean pork bones were cleared away, replaced by steaming turkey. Endless carts of meat dishes rolled out, and crowds mobbed the tables, grabbing food and drink like mad. People guzzled and chugged, while street artists idly gnawed meat and sketched the scene on canvas.
“But what’s the deal with Sir Arthur? Did he meet Miss Christina?”
“Come to think of it, you went to Triumph Square. Hear anything?”
A few among the meat-obsessed snapped out of it with scattered questions, but it usually wrapped up like this.
“Yeah, yeah, they met! But I couldn’t hear much. Might’ve misheard. Won’t it be in the gazette? Oh, booze! Line up, line up! That looks like wine!”
Spotting the marquisate’s servants hauling carts piled with oak beer barrels, people rushed to form lines. The war hero’s triumph and the century’s couple reunion were exciting, sure—but nothing beat the endless feast right in front of them, who knew when it’d end. Late-arriving temple chroniclers and gazette reporters lamented missing the key moment as they frantically jotted the festive mood.
【Sir Arthur arrives earlier than expected. Reunites with Marquis Julius’s daughter……】
【Julius throws a grand victory banquet across the streets……】
The army encampment before Julius Territory. After touring the unexpectedly festive territory, Marquis Julius and his wife headed to Supreme Commander Arthur’s tent under knight escort. Massive quantities of food were being carted into the camp too, but the mood was starkly different from the streets. Soldiers sporadically enjoyed drinks and eats, but in a subdued hush. Spotting the marching couple under knight escort, the soldiers eyed them coldly one and all—or sneered. Some glanced briefly, ignored them, and polished their gear. Others glared and spat on the ground. Not a soul showed them courtesy. Worse, no one reined in the vibe. The marquis’s face flushed red with fury, while his wife’s grew ever paler.
‘Please, let my husband pick up on this danger signal……!’
At last, they reached the Supreme Commander’s tent.
“Supreme Commander, Your Excellency. The marquis has come to call.”
Fury boiling over at the knight who halted them outside to seek entry permission, the marquis shoved him aside and stormed in. His wife, who’d failed to grab him for a whisper, hurried after. The moment Tristan inside the tent moved to bar the marquis with his sword, Arthur raised a hand to stop him.
“Don’t, Tristan.”
The blade, poised to ruthlessly shove the marquis’s chest, halted sharply just shy of contact and withdrew. Glaring murderously at Tristan, the marquis wrenched his gaze away at last and snarled at Arthur through gritted teeth.
“……Sir Arthur.”
At the marquis’s call, Arthur rose a beat late and offered a plain smile.
“Marquis, Your Excellency.”
The marquis wore an ambiguous expression—was it a smile or bared teeth? The moment Arthur nodded for Tristan to fall back, the marquis spoke.
“What is the meaning of this?”
Arthur lifted one brow as if clueless, his smiling face unchanged.
“That’s exactly what I’d like to ask. What’s going on here?”
The marquis’s eyes widened at Arthur’s demeanor.
“What?”
Arthur pressed on.
“Did my wife vanish in the meantime or something? What happened to my wife, and why are you shoving some other lady at me?”
“……!”
The marquis gaped, speechless. He hadn’t expected Arthur to call him out so directly. He’d assumed they both knew the score—brush it under euphemistically as before, share a wry smile, and move on. He’d figured Arthur’s earlier outburst before the crowd was a rash lapse in judgment, one he was probably regretting now.
“You……. You.”
Parading Julius’s name himself, yet trying to drag them down too—how else could he do this? The marchioness couldn’t hold back and stepped forward.
“Sir Arthur.”
Arthur’s gaze shifted to her. The marchioness forced calm into her voice.
“That girl is your wife, Christina.”
Arthur didn’t blink, just smiled.
“Can’t the marchioness recognize her own daughter? I’m telling you, she’s not the woman I married.”
The marchioness’s voice rose in defiance.
“That child is Christina! The top lady of high society!”
――――― *Roas: A baronial family. A modest noble house known for adopting and raising Arthur.
