The most dilapidated place in the prison was the Underground.
Several disaster-level prisoners, including the Saintess and witches, were lurking there.
On the other hand, the 1st Floor, with its better facilities, housed relatively docile individuals.
However, ‘docile’ was only a relative term, and the repercussions if they acted out were also immense.
“Elder, I’m coming in for a moment.”
I said politely and entered the 1st Floor prison cell.
Inside, a blond-haired man was sitting in a chair.
A chessboard lay before him, but there were no chess pieces to be seen.
He was silently looking down at the empty battlefield alone.
“So it’s you.
What is it?”
The political heavyweight asked without even sparing me a glance.
He was remarkably composed, even after sending his hunting dogs after me today.
However, arguing with him here would be a foolish thing to do.
I sat in the seat opposite him and looked down at the chessboard with him.
“Who’s winning?” “A moment ago, White’s Knight delivered a check.
It’s practically over.”
This crazy noble was playing a game by himself, picturing the invisible chess pieces in his head.
The White’s Knight he was talking about was probably his Imperial National Tax Service.
And the Black that was in check must have been me.
“Then I suppose I must deal with it quickly.” “Are you sure you’ll be alright?
I don’t see an escape route.”
The old man’s purple eyes looked at me with pity.
His gaze seemed to say that my eloquence was decent, but I’d overstepped, and that I should bow down to him now.
“It’s no fun if the opponent collapses right after a decisive blow.”
I flipped the Great Elder’s chessboard upside down.
And I completely dropped the formal smile I had maintained until now.
“You’ll have to come up with me for a moment.” “Very well.”
Darc Opert followed without asking why.
He maintained an aloof expression the entire way up to the warden’s office.
As if he knew very well- why I had called him.
But when he stepped inside the office, the Elder’s face became incredibly stern.
Because the warden’s office, which should have been thoroughly ransacked by his inner circle by now, was instead remarkably peaceful.
――――――.
A beautiful melody flowed from a phonograph, a rare sight in the borderlands.
A well-decorated office, and even the Head of the National Tax Service sitting there, sipping whiskey.
He shot up in surprise at the familiar killing intent he felt from behind.
Like a Doberman caught by its owner while eating a snack someone else gave it.
“Oh, Great Elder, you’re here…?!
I was just testing the supplies to see if there was anything wrong with them.”
The head, who had been so prickly, bowed his head.
I kindly chimed in from the side, telling him not to be too hard on the man.
“I was serving the supplied whiskey.
According to military law, one bottle a month can be used for social gatherings.”
The smile of a sly snake.
The old lion’s expression grew even more grim.
“Was there anything wrong with the supplies and the operating expenses used so far?” “No, it was so clean it felt strange.
Especially the liquor you told me to look at carefully.”
To think he had even prepared for the corruption of the previous wardens, who were all drunkards.
The Great Elder, finding it hard to believe this was the path of a mere 21-year-old, spoke sharply.
“He must have quickly refilled the empty bottles with new liquor.
An obvious countermeasure.”
Darc sniffed the liquor bottle on the desk.
But.
“…What is this?”
Soon, his thick eyebrows furrowed fiercely.
Because the greenhorn before him had mixed all sorts of liquor to perfectly replicate the taste and scent of the military supply version.
All 80 bottles of it, at that.
“You’re a madman.
Did you do all this by yourself, you brute?” “There could be a subordinate among my men who’s sided with you, Elder.”
A situation with no witness or evidence that the liquor had been swapped.
I gestured toward the desk to the presumably dumbfounded Elder.
“If you’re that disappointed, you can look at the ledger.” “Forget it.
That friend of yours must have been forging them for a long time.”
Clea, like a fox, demurely averted her eyes from his gaze.
The Elder had already noticed Clea’s competence long ago.
“That’s why I launched a surprise attack on you, but you were more meticulous than I thought.” “If you want to praise me, please do so freely.
I’d like to boast about it to those around me.”
Darc shook his head firmly.
As if he couldn’t be satisfied with this level of improvisation.
“I can’t do that.
Through this incident, I’ve learned for certain that your standing is weak.”
The old man gestured with his eyes toward the numerous liquor bottles on the floor.
The fake liquors I made by myself, because I couldn’t trust my subordinates.
“How can I trust someone who mixes liquor alone because he can’t earn his subordinates’ trust?”
The Great Elder would already know.
That the recently murdered Head Guard was a spy for the Holy See.