Episode 23: How a Mercenary Deals with Uninvited Guests (1)

Lady Regina saw the silly ledgers, with employee wages inflated—and she knew the frightened maids wouldn’t confess easily. She closed the ridiculous ledger and walked back out.

“Ma’am, are you taking a walk?” asked a voice in the corridor.

It seemed to be one of those days when she kept running into people around corners. Rounding a second corner, she met the steward—Confe—for only the second time since arriving. He looked unremarkable, almost invisible, though his oddly shaped face suggested he might be lying around wherever.

“You’re going to the Duke’s room?” Regina guessed.

“I’m off to see His Grace,” he said politely. “Even if the court healer attends him, I should do my part. And please—no need for formal titles. Just treat me simply.”

His courteous tone made Regina uneasy—she couldn’t say why. She’d felt it from the first moment.

“What are you carrying?” she asked.

“The ledger the head maid gave me. Checking it is part of the mistress’s duty.”

“Quite right,” Regina said. “But isn’t this usually the steward’s job?”

Confe’s face changed—his polite smile flickered, his grey moustache twitching.

“You know the castle’s system. But Madam Baymon insisted on handling accounts herself. She’s stubborn,” he chuckled weakly. When Regina stayed silent, he dipped his head.

“Ahem. If you judge that negligence, I apologise. Would you like me to take over again?”

Regina shook her head. She had set a trap, and he had taken the bait.

“Never mind. But you surely have the recommendation letter and resume?”

“Yes, I do. If you need them, I’ll bring them today.”

“Most common folk know it too,” she replied. “Have it brought today.”

“Of course, ma’am. I’ll go now.”

She watched Confe walk off. He seemed like any lazy, small-framed, middle-aged man—yet something about him stuck in her mind.

Regina went outside to the training ground where the knights practised. Their curious glances greeted her until someone pointed out Thomas at a corner stall.

“And what can I do for you?” Thomas asked, rising awkwardly from a chair, an egg pressed to his left eye. She nearly laughed.

The weapon-wielding Thomas had once cracked eggs in anger; now he held one like a breakfast tray. His skin, after days of her massages, was no longer harsh.

“That egg—is it any good?” she asked gently.

Thomas clenched his lips, wanting to throw it at her—but he said nothing.

“I have a request… but first, a question.”

“Go ahead.”

The recent sparring session had made him more polite.

“How many knights does this castle have?”

“About eight hundred. Half are drawn from the palace; half were local hired soldiers.”

“That’s small for a Duke’s castle. And how many are spies?”

Thomas’s eyes sharp, “Many. But I also have loyal knights I chose.”

She leaned forward, earnestly: “If I take down one big rat, could you use it as a reason to root out all suspicious ones? Definitely?”

Thomas’s shoulders tensed. “Do you take me for weak? Losing once doesn’t mean incapable.”

“I jest. I like certainty as a profession.”

“Then will you do it?”

Only the two were inside the tent. Thomas dropped the awkward “ma’am”.

If she could really do it… he thought.

Thomas had little patience now for the obvious rats among the knights, preparing secretly like moles inside, ready to serve external intruders.

“They say Baron Renjer is arriving soon.”

“Yes, the rats will grow bold.”

She continued calmly, “When he arrives, he’ll likely try to intimidate me, maybe even use force. As the Duchess, I will feel shame—and it’ll give a reason to the Baron’s house to squeeze me out.”

Thomas looked stunned.

“If he tries grabbing me by my hair, I’ll let it happen—if necessary.”

The thought made his pride flinch—she had once bested him in combat. Now she offered head-pulling as proof.

“If that Baron attempts such disrespect… and you let it break you, that mark will never leave you.”

Thomas replied, coolly, “Let him try. My body has crawled through mud thousands of times.”

She reached behind her ear and pulled out a small silver earring etched with the word “Persona”. Thomas stared.

“To get rid of the rats, that won’t be enough. I’ll also need the falsified baron’s ledger Baymon made. We can’t leave the castle, so you—go fetch it.”

Supplies in the castle came via delivery; to get the ledger, he must go to the capital and confront the merchant guild leader, using this token and saying, “I, Regina Rofman of Persona, need it.”

There is no refusal from the defeated. Thomas hurriedly grabbed his eyepatch. He hated the urgency—she hurt his pride.

“Going now?” she commented.

“Yes… yes, I am.”

…

The Baron’s territory of Renlo and Duke Julius’s Duchy of Valmen were separated only by the capital—so they lay nearby, but still some distance apart.

And Baron Schubel of Renjer was enormous. The weight of his body pressed him painfully during carriage rides—his tailbone and waist would throb, and long journeys easily exhausted him.

So he’d mostly just travelled between this castle and the capital. Anything farther would take more time because of his slow pace.

“Heard that headmaid Baymon isn’t earning her pay,” the tired Baron scolded the courier from Valmen as he arrived. Apparently Baymon had reported that Regina wasn’t normal—but the courier didn’t choose his words carefully.

‘Sure enough, this peasant wife has been showing off since she married into the Duke’s house. ‘Makes me furious,’ the Baron thought.

The journey itself had been a burden—soon they would arrive at Duke Julius’s estate.

The Baron rubbed his neck as he thought, then clapped his hands hard and called over a trusted servant.

“Let’s give them a scare. Send some capable men tonight to rough things up,” he ordered.

He stretched his stiff body and yawned as he spoke. Yes—he’d show them that life in this castle could be hell.

“How rough,” the servant asked.

“She protected Prince Valentin—that mercenary mercilessly injured us. Choose skilled men—and send them.”

Ignorant people can be fearless. The servant trembled at this order but nodded.

There was no better target: a mad prince, a commoner wife who was a mercenary, and a castle.

“Yes, Baron.”

‘Using skilled hands—this is sensitive. But if it ends well, no one will notice. Our sister Elba might not even care.’

“When we arrive, I want that peasant woman taught a lesson. She won’t dare pretend to be a lady.”

With that command, the night’s plan was set—and the game of threats began.