Chapter 11
Behind the new building, Etias’s subordinates were gathered around the wagon, pulling out hundreds of flyers from inside.
<Sistina Poorhouse Grand Opening>
It announced an event at the newly established poorhouse in the capital. Anyone who presented the coupon attached to the flyer would receive a free food pouch and a camping kit.
“…Your Highness…”
The subordinates were murmuring excitedly, and Caron, after examining one of the flyers, turned to Etias with a hardened expression.
“Thanks to the donations, we’ve managed to build a warm base and give our sick soldiers a place to rest. We even distributed cotton clothes. But our food supplies are critically low. The soldiers stationed outside the base are still shivering in the cold. These supplies… may be exactly the support we need right now.”
Depending on a poorhouse for aid was bitter to accept, but there was no reason to refuse if it could solve their immediate problems.
“The one who threw garbage at the Prince’s wagon was insolent—but this might actually benefit us. Perhaps the heavens are favoring our revolution, Your Highness.”
Under the moonlight, Etias wore a cold expression, lost in thought.
“Sistina Poorhouse—who’s backing it?”
“As I mentioned before, the House of Elemoer had been preparing to support a poorhouse. Sistina is reportedly under their patronage. Whether it’s just another vain hobby like other nobles or has another purpose, we don’t know yet…”
Caron continued with unexpected details.
Poorhouses weren’t uncommon in the capital, though few matched Sistina’s scale. They were often used as playhouses by noble ladies and daughters—pretend charity masked as games. Still, the poor benefitted from the nobles’ pity, so it wasn’t entirely bad.
So people tended not to take them too seriously.
“Elemoer again…”
Etias’s lips moved once more.
That woman’s face flashed through his mind—the one who had smiled at him with mocking, violet eyes filled with scorn and sarcasm.
A cool breeze stirred his black hair.
At the mansion, I was welcomed by warm air and bowing maids.
Heros followed me, taking the warm shawl I had draped around myself.
“….”
I wondered if Etias was offended by the flyer. But I had no other choice. I could secretly toss him a bag of coins, sure—but not food and supplies.
‘Anyway… he really is ridiculously handsome… If he were in Korea, he could’ve become a chaebol with just his looks.’
I remembered the way Etias had cornered me against a pillar and stared at me with intense eyes.
Looking back, it had been a dangerous moment.
If he had suspected I knew about the top-secret document, he might have killed me right there.
The list of revolutionaries—a document tied to hundreds, maybe thousands, of lives…
‘You really should’ve taken better care of something like that, Etias.’
I let out a small sigh at the thought I hadn’t dared say aloud, and one of the maids flinched.
She looked like she was seeing a wicked sorceress plotting some evil scheme.
“Hm.”
I stopped in front of her.
She looked about two years younger than me, skinny and worn-out. Her clasped hands were rough and covered in calluses.
“….”
Come to think of it, the other maids were no better off.
Their faces were dry and dull, clothes shabby and ill-fitting. Though called “maids,” they were practically slaves, enduring harsh conditions.
“After seeing all those beautiful things at the ball tonight, looking at you lot is kind of depressing.”
My words made them flinch and lower their heads even further.
They seemed afraid I’d lash out and beat them with a whip.
“So then…”
I gave a haughty command to Heros.
“Make sure they can at least keep themselves clean.”
“How shall I go about it?”
“Start by issuing new clothes. And new brushes. Oh—and some oil to apply, too.”
“Will that be enough?”
“Of course not. They need proper food as well. Their ghastly appearance is making me lose my appetite.”
The kneeling maids all jolted slightly.
Then slowly, one by one, they looked up at me with cautious glances.
Heros caught sight of my raised brow and responded.
“Understood, milady.”
Not long ago, I had also ordered their working hours reduced just because I didn’t like the dark circles under their eyes.
Eight-hour shifts, with two days off after five days of work. Unheard of in any noble house.
But from my perspective, it was different.
Working fourteen hours a day, six days a week? As a modern person, that was just unacceptable.
Just before entering my bedroom, I turned to Heros and said,
“Heros, you should get yourself some shiny new clothes too. There’s no need for you to follow me around from morning till night anymore. As I’ve said before—start working regular hours. I hate dragging around a worn-out human being…”
“Milady.”
That’s when Heros suddenly stepped right in front of me.
His brown eyes shimmered with unspoken emotion.
He looked at me for a moment, then spoke.
“You’re still very much like an Elemoer, milady… But lately, you seem a little… different…”
My fingers twitched.
Right. He was always by my side—it would be impossible for him not to notice.
No matter how much I tried to cover it with sarcasm.
“…It makes me feel a little uneasy.”
His eyes, fixed on me, rippled with deep concern.
Oof.
He’s too sharp for his own good.
“Well then—”
I slowly reached out, grabbed Heros by the collar, and yanked him close.
Gripping his collar tight like I might choke him, I stared him down. His eyes widened in panic.
“Shall I remind you who I am again, Heros?”
Like Catrin would—threats should always carry malice and clarity.
Heros gasped, then quickly bowed his head.
“M-my apologies, milady. I spoke out of turn.”
I saw his flushed cheeks and his trembling fingertips.
I slowly released his collar and spoke haughtily.
“I’m heading in to sleep now. You should get back to your work too. Don’t get lazy.”
That should be enough.
“…But this…”
As I entered my room and moved toward the bed, I noticed the unread newspapers on the nightstand.
I usually read them every morning since reincarnating here, but I must have forgotten today.
I was too busy preparing for the ball.
[New Eliadium Vein Discovered in the Duchy of Montella—Estimated Worth: Tens of Millions of Dens]
My eyes sparkled at the international news splashed on the front page.
“Perfect. My money…”
The Duchy of Montella, blessed with natural resources and a mild climate, was already a great place to live—but now, with resource booms, even better.
That’s why I had moved over half my assets there.
Post-revolution, relocating assets would be a hassle. Plus, investing in undeveloped lands or early-stage projects could multiply my wealth.
Having read the original story, I knew Montella’s mines would become extremely profitable later.
[The Grand Duke of Montella expressed his gratitude to an anonymous noble lady who made a significant investment in the new development.]
How sweet. Montella gains, I gain—it’s a win-win.
More money is always good. Watching it grow is even better.
Grinning from ear to ear, I turned the page.
There wasn’t anything particularly noteworthy—except one thing caught my eye.
The most notorious underground organization in Oswell: Scavengers.
Their leader, Jeffrey Whistler, had eluded capture for two years now. His wanted poster was featured prominently.
‘Scavengers really are infamous…’
I had read about them with interest in Star of the Revolution.
Scavengers dealt in covert intel, weapons, and dangerous artifacts—an enormous underground network.
Their boss was Jeffrey Whistler. The Emperor, fearing him and his secrets, tried to wipe out Scavengers and execute Jeffrey—but failed at both.
‘They were also the most neutral group in Star of the Revolution.’
After Etias’s revolution succeeds, he contacts Jeffrey to help subdue the remaining imperial loyalists.
Jeffrey demands one thing in return: the function of Etias’s left lung.
Why? Because a “strong emperor” would be a threat to the gray-aligned Scavenger Guild.
Etias accepts, stabilizing the political situation with the intel—but the drug used destroys his lung, leaving him unable to ever run again.
It would later become one of the causes of Etias’s declining health and eventual death.
‘If only I could contact Jeffrey first…’
All that was known about him: he disguises himself like a ghost and has brown eyes.
I stared at the wanted poster—at the likely fake face of Jeffrey Whistler—before quietly folding the newspaper shut.
