The honorary knight system was something I had conceived back in my youth—right around the time I received the title of Wise Imperial Prince.
The background behind its creation was simple: for decades, the Empire's finances had been plagued by chronic deficits.
There were proposals arguing that imperial spending should be cut to curb the shortfall. While that policy was adopted for a time, it ultimately ended in total failure.
Imperial expenditure didn't mean money simply vanished into thin air.
The funds spent by the Empire flowed into the private sector, circulating among the populace and enriching them.
The moment those expenditures were slashed, the amount of currency moving through the market visibly plummeted.
As a result, tax revenues plummeted, public order deteriorated across the provinces, and rebellions erupted one after another.
This was further exacerbated by the fact that the Empire was a "nation of warriors."
Cutting back on spending was perceived as a sign of imperial weakness, triggering uprisings all over the land.
Ironically, suppressing these rampant rebellions, capturing the ringleaders, and confiscating their wealth temporarily restored our finances.
Even so, the Empire remained in a slow, lingering crisis.
Under those circumstances, a member of the imperial family came forward, offering to pay a fine.
His son had committed murder, and the fine was nominally to atone for "failure of supervision."
By voluntarily offering and paying an enormous sum, his scheme was to curry favor with the Emperor—the late Emperor—and avoid the worst-case scenario: the dissolution of his noble house.
His Majesty had been keen on accepting the proposal, but I fiercely opposed the idea and had it scrapped.
My reasoning was clear: if we established a precedent where committing a crime could be excused simply by offering to pay a fine, the law would lose all deterrent power.
Thanks to my vehement objections, the late Emperor understood the danger and ultimately sided with me.
In its place, I offered an alternative: collecting funds in exchange for "honor."
Escaping criminal guilt through fines was out of the question, but purchasing honor through donations was another matter entirely.
However, if donations could buy actual rank and authority, it would become a breeding ground for corruption.
Thus, it became a system dedicated purely to honor—no real power or office would be granted whatsoever, but the Emperor would personally confer an award in recognition of their donation. In truth, it was a structured fundraising initiative.
Afterward, the late Emperor and the Prime Minister deliberated over the concept, refining it into a proper honorary knight system.
For a long while after its inception, the late Emperor praised me constantly, telling me I was "brilliant" at every opportunity for an entire month.
☆
I looked at the woman standing before me.
She appeared to be in her early twenties—still quite youthful, with an innocent look lingering on her features.
This woman had introduced herself as an "honorary knight."
In other words, she was someone who had made a donation in the past and received an imperial commendation.
"At that time..."
"Pardon?"
"Was it me who conferred it back then?"
"Yes! Directly from you!"
"I see."
Makes sense, I nodded to myself.
To me, she was just one among countless donors I had commended, but to her, I was the one and only Emperor.
It was only natural that she remembered my face.
"I knew I shouldn't have spoken to you, but I simply couldn't contain myself and..."
"Don't worry about it. More importantly, relax your speech."
"Ah, yes! Um... I under... stand...?"
"Haha."
I let out a small chuckle.
Seeing Etna's visible bewilderment was rather endearing.
"More to the point, since you made that donation, is your family involved in trade?"
"Yes—yeah. My family has been in the sericulture business for generations."
"I see."
I nodded in understanding.
The vast majority of honorary knights—nearly ninety percent of them—were merchants.
Given that the system revolved around buying prestige with coin, it naturally attracted that demographic.
"Did your family business change after receiving the title?"
"Thanks to that, we've been able to turn an even greater profit."
"Oh?"
I looked at Etna with an expression that asked, How so?
"It seems people look at us and think, 'They must be extraordinarily wealthy to spend such a fortune on something that yields no practical return.' For merchants, the appearance of profitability is everything."
"Hahaha, that makes sense. No one wants to risk doing business with a merchant on shaky financial ground."
"Exactly. And above all, because the honor was conferred upon me instead of my father, the impact was even greater. The Emperor who invented this system is truly an incredible person!"
"Is that so? By the way... why are you doing something like this out here?"
Brushing aside her praise, I turned my gaze toward the direction she had arrived from—toward her servants, who had begun setting up a soup kitchen.
I wanted to know why she was distributing food.
"Isn't this rather uncharacteristic behavior for a merchant?"
"Because I received word that the Emperor would be coming to this region."
Etna answered without a second thought.
Her phrase "the Emperor is coming" was not directed at me in the present moment, but rather referred to the intelligence she had gathered, so I let it slide.
"Why would you do all this just because His Majesty is coming?"
"Because His Majesty's personal campaign will be an absolute victory."
"A victory?"
"Yes, without a doubt."
Etna spoke with total conviction.
"Why are you so sure?"
"Because he is the Emperor."
"...Hm."
I gave a small nod.
I stared into Etna's eyes.
And then, it clicked.
I realized that when Etna said "the Emperor," she was referring specifically to me—Noah I.
Rather than meaning "because of the imperial office," she meant "because he is Noah I."
There was no complicated reasoning behind it.
Her faith rested purely on the fact that it was me.
"I know the Emperor will surely prevail, but..."
"Hm?"
"If His Majesty were to see this devastation, he would undoubtedly order the people to be saved. He is someone who cares deeply about the plight of the common folk. We cannot trouble His Majesty with such trivial burdens. I want him to concentrate solely on the war, and it is with that single-minded purpose that I am doing this."
Her emotions must have surged as she spoke.
Etna's tone had completely reverted to the humble, respectful register she had used when we first met.
"I see."
I didn't bother correcting her speech again.
Instead, I was taken aback by the sheer depth of her devotion.
Perhaps drawn by the rising passion in her voice, the villagers who had gathered for the food distribution were casting curious glances our way.
It wouldn't do to keep drawing attention to ourselves.
Wanting to hear more, I decided to move somewhere more private.
"Let's talk where there are fewer eyes."
"Yes, Sire!"
I turned around and began walking.
She fell in step behind me—but I noticed something peculiar and stopped in my tracks.
She hadn't simply followed me.
She had swung around in a wide arc, dramatically altering her position relative to mine as she walked.
"Why did you move all the way over there?"
Her movement seemed strange to Luke as well.
Luke asked her out of sheer curiosity.
"This is..."
"It's an ancient custom."
"An ancient custom?"
I nodded and answered in Etna's stead.
"When standing near a superior, one must always position themselves to the north."
"Why?"
"The reasoning is that one must never tread upon their superior's shadow. Not that stepping on a shadow causes any actual harm, but such etiquette was strictly observed in the old days."
"I-I see."
"..."
I shifted my gaze from Luke back to Etna.
I stared intently at her face.
"Is something the matter?"
"......Did you crush your voice and disguise yourself as a man in the past?"
"—! Yes!!"
Astonishment, followed instantly by radiant joy.
Both emotions washed over Etna's face.