The letter clearing Clarice Elford of all suspicion arrived three days after her father’s departure from the manor.
The phrasing remained infuriating to the last. The document stated that the suspicions of fraud regarding the wheat transactions were the result of a lack of internal verification within the house, and she would not be held responsible for the matter going forward. It was a shallow excuse for an apology, devoid of any genuine remorse. Nevertheless, it bore the official seal of House Elford. The family could no longer maintain the lie that the crime was Clarice’s alone. That, in itself, was a significant step forward.
Clarice sat at her desk in the office, staring at the parchment for a long time. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, her spine straight. Only her fingertips betrayed her, tracing the edge of the paper again and again. She didn't cry, nor did she smile. She simply looked as though something she’d been suppressing deep within her chest had finally been allowed a shallow breath.
"I wonder if people will stop calling me the 'embezzlement woman' in the market now," she mused.
"Most likely. And if someone still does, we just have to find out who's backing them. It would be proof that House Elford is still slinging mud."
"You really have a talent for exploiting people's wounds."
"It's not a wound; it's leverage. I use what works. You’re already being exploited by me, so it’s a bit late for that, isn't it?"
Clarice looked at me with exasperation. I expected her to get angry, but she didn't shout. Instead, she set the parchment on the corner of her desk.
"I thought once my name was cleared, you’d have less of a reason to keep me here."
"Don't be ridiculous. Don't think for a second that you can just wander off now that your name is cleared. You’re mine. I can’t have you vanishing after you’ve finally made this desk usable."
Clarice’s eyes went wide.
A faint flush colored her pale cheeks—not the red of anger, but the heat of someone struggling to process a comment that had caught them off guard. She opened her mouth, closed it, and tried again to speak before ultimately giving up and fussing with the quill on her desk.
"You... honestly. Stop saying things like that so casually. You make it sound like you've caged me so I can't escape."
"I have. I've caged you with a salary, meals, a desk, and work."
"You’re impossible! Couldn't you have said something like you want me to stay, or that you need my help?"
"I could, but it would sound like a lie coming from me. I need you because you make my life easier. Therefore, I won't let you leave. Is there a more straightforward way to put it?"
Clarice searched for a retort but ended with a long sigh. She was exasperated, perhaps even a bit annoyed, but as she looked away from the parchment, she seemed lighter than before.
Mylene, who had arrived with the tea, watched us.
Beneath her white bobbed hair, her gray eyes wavered for the briefest of moments. Her grip on the tray was noticeably tighter than usual. She glanced at Clarice’s flushed cheeks, then at me, before quickly casting her gaze down.
"Is something wrong, Mylene?"
"No. I was merely considering where to place the tea. You often leave your parchment right where I need to set the service, Master."
"The placement of the tea warrants a face like that?"
"It does. It would be quite a problem if your important documents were to get wet."
Her voice was polite as always, but it carried a slight edge. Clarice noticed and turned her still-red face away.
"Mylene, it’s not what you think," Clarice interjected. "Vain was just being his usual, awful self."
"Indeed. The master always has the most terrible way of phrasing things."
"Hey. Don't just start ganging up on me like that."
Mylene gave a small bow, though the corners of her mouth softened. Clarice smiled as well. The chill that had lingered in the room since the day her father visited had finally vanished.
◇
In the villages of the domain, the rumors regarding House Razgrim were slowly beginning to shift.
Initially, the reports were universally grim. The young head had purged the old guard from his predecessor’s era. He kept a white-haired maid at his side and had even recruited a disgraced woman of talent. With his villainous face, he was known for slapping people with legal documents and dismantling the businesses of anyone he disliked. He was spoken of as a dog that would bite if anyone dared approach.
But recently, other voices had joined the chorus.
"That young master with a villainous face... he's terrifying, but they say he actually responds if you petition him," a fishmonger noted in the market. "The village that complained about the rotting bridge actually got a reply regarding repairs."
"Getting a response is better than nothing," a laborer added, hoisting a sack of wheat onto his shoulder. "In the previous lord's day, you could tell them the bridge collapsed or the irrigation was blocked, and you'd never hear back. Sending a letter was just a waste of paper."
The village women shared different rumors as they gathered by the well.
"I hear that white-haired maid is the manor’s keyholder now."
"The girl they called a curse?"
"The very one. But apparently, that house actually listens if you lodge a complaint. They pay what’s owed for labor, and if you’re injured, they tell you to see the apothecary... It’s a strange place."
"Strange" was meant as a slight, but the speakers no longer looked as repulsed as they once had. He was frightening, but he could be reached. He had a villainous face, but he responded. Regardless of status or reputation, he would use anyone capable of doing the work. These rumors spread from village to village, from the roads to the markets.
Naturally, I wasn't trying to be a benevolent ruler.
I used those who were useful, fed them to ensure they didn't break, and sent them to the apothecary when they were hurt. I paid those who worked and discarded those who didn't. I was simply organizing things so that I wouldn't have to work myself. Yet, for some reason, my reputation in the domain was improving. It was baffling.
"Vain, you're scowling," Clarice remarked, closing her ledger.
"The people in this domain are starting to treat me like a decent human being. It’s a problem."
"A problem? Most people would be thrilled."
"If they think I'm a good lord, the petitions will never end. My desk will be buried in paperwork again."
"They're already flooding in. Don't worry, I'm sorting through them."
"I find no comfort in that."
Clarice shrugged. Mylene shared a quiet laugh while refilling my tea. The manor felt more lived-in than when I’d first arrived. Steam rose from the kitchen, the pantry was locked tight, and the office now held two desks. I was still a far cry from the life of luxury I'd envisioned, but at least it was no longer a house where I had to worry about sleeping on the floor.
◇
Meanwhile, in the royal capital, foul rumors were still circulating.
The young head of House Razgrim was dangerous. He had unearthed House Elford’s dirty laundry and forced their lord to sign away his pride. He surrounded himself with outcasts—a disgraced woman and a white-haired maid serving as his keyholder. Getting close to that manor meant handing him leverage.
The nobles mocked him, and the merchants kept their distance.
But they didn't walk away entirely. The Razgrim domain had wheat. It provided answers and paper trails for every transaction. He was terrifying, but he was someone you could do business with. For the capital's power players, that was impossible to ignore.
"The nasty rumors aren't going away," Clarice noted, relaying word from a merchant.
"There's no need for them to. It’s better if people think I’ll bite if they get too close."
"But the good rumors are growing in the domain."
"How bothersome."
"You really are a piece of work. You aren't even trying to be a good lord, yet the fact that you’re doing a halfway decent job just makes things more complicated."
Mylene nodded silently.
"The master always claims to act for his own sake. But there are those who have been saved by his actions."
That was a hard point to argue.
I sipped my tea and looked out the window. The garden was still a mess, and the walls were still stained, but the manor was alive. Peace was finally within reach. Sleeping until noon, drinking fine wine, and letting two beautiful women run the estate for me—it was a good life. A very good life.
Then, the gate bell rang with violent urgency.
It was a discordant, unwelcome sound.
◇
The man from the South Village was caked in mud.
He dragged one leg, gasping for breath as he clutched a battered letter tube. Mylene brought him water while Clarice pulled out a chair. I took the tube and broke the seal.
The message was curt.
A caravan had been attacked on the Southern Highway. Sacks of wheat had been stolen, a guard had been cut down, and a village youth had been wounded. The bandits weren't mere scavengers; there were trained swordsmen among them. Apparently, they had been nesting near the highway since the time of my predecessor.
I finished the letter and let out a slow, heavy breath.
I had seen off House Elford, cleared Clarice’s name, and the domain's reputation was finally turning. Just as my peaceful life had appeared on the horizon, bandits had arrived.
"They steal my wheat... and now they intend to steal my peace too?"
Clarice looked up at me.
"If we don't deal with them, it won't stop with the South Village. If the highway is blocked, the wheat and the merchants will stop moving."
Mylene pressed a cloth to the messenger’s wound, her lips thin. She understood as well as anyone—if the domain fell into chaos, the food and supplies reaching this house would dry up.
I set the letter on the desk.
"I won't tolerate anyone touching my domain, but I'll tolerate them touching my peace even less."
Clarice’s eyes narrowed slightly.
"Spoken like a truly corrupt noble."
"I'm not 'like' one."
I stood up.
"I am a villainous noble. And I will make any bandit who touches my property pay a very high price."
On that day, a new conflict sparked within the slowly stabilizing Razgrim domain.