#122. I Will Remember Everything Your Highness Has Done for Me
“You’re saying you’ll tell the Empire yourself?”
Normally, this would be the moment where the Count would lecture me endlessly—what I had done wrong, how I should have reacted back then, and so on. But perhaps because he thought he would never have to see me again, he kept his words short this time.
Maybe that was a blessing in disguise.
I kept my voice stiff as I replied.
“As I said, Her Majesty the Empress still favors me. If I speak to her directly, there’s at least a chance she’ll accept it.”
The Kingdom only needed to keep up the deception until the day of my return. But with the Empire, I needed a proper alibi.
So I had declared that I would personally handle the procedures for replacing the peace envoy.
Of course, I never actually informed the Empire.
Normally, such a flimsy move would have been exposed before I could even return, much less serve as a solid alibi.
Any competent nation would never entrust a matter of diplomacy to a greenhorn who wasn’t even a formal envoy. And even if they did, they would double-check everything.
But Lamore Kingdom did not disappoint my expectations.
When I said I would handle it myself, they truly left it to me.
Even now, on the eve of my return, with no report sent to the Imperial Palace, there was still no word of concern from the Kingdom. Everything had gone far too smoothly.
Truly, the only reason this hopeless country has survived this long must be thanks to the barbarians at its borders.
At this rate, they should hand those tribes a plaque of appreciation.
Thinking that inwardly, I kept a straight face as I discussed with Count Griff what to do about this townhouse.
Even after dealing with the professor and Count Griff—two major figures—my day was still not over.
“You’ve arrived, Your Highness.”
The last place I visited before wrapping up the day was a branch of the Information Guild.
The one who greeted me was Pionia Harold, the manager of this branch.
She was also the very person who had written the Lamore Kingdom report I’d received five years ago through Heermich.
The moment I read that report, I knew the author was destined to become a big name. I contacted her right away.
And my instincts had been correct—Pionia was now being considered the next Guildmaster of the “Mad March Hare” guild, run by House Heermich.
Thanks in part to my assistance, she had been steadily rising, and because of that, she was exceedingly favorable toward me.
Thus, instead of using the townhouse where Count Griff was holed up, I had been treating this branch as if it were my personal residence.
“The letter?”
“It arrived just today.”
“Good, perfect timing.”
If it hadn’t, I might have had to attend the graduation ceremony, then make the trip to the village just to collect it before leaving.
Fortunate indeed. I smiled faintly and sat in the guildmaster’s office, which Pionia had vacated for me, and opened the letter.
From the start of my academy life, I had never relied on the academy’s mail service for important letters.
How strict could their sorting system really be? A letter might easily be misplaced into someone else’s pile—whether by mistake or on purpose.
If someone decided to intercept it deliberately? I had no confidence in dealing with the consequences.
So, at first, I had my letters sent to the townhouse. But when the Count arrived, even that channel was cut off.
At that point, the Information Guild became the perfect recipient. Not because I believed they wouldn’t touch my letters—they might very well open them—but because I knew they wouldn’t dare sell the information afterward.
Unlike Heermich, Pionia had an excellent sense for gauging a client’s worth.
So I had decided to receive every letter here—except for those from Her Majesty.
From the start, I had intended to reject her advances. And since her letters might never reach me safely anyway, it was easier not to receive them at all.
In truth, one reason I had faithfully traveled north every vacation—besides appearances for the Kingdom—was because Her Majesty had complained that I was breaking our “agreement” by not responding.
“Well then, let’s see if her complaints have ripened nicely.”
The letter I received today was from Langrisha.
For the past four years, ever since returning from the Kingdom, I had been exchanging correspondence with her, subtly stoking her dissatisfaction.
The royal family’s poor methods of childrearing had been a convenient spark, giving Langrisha a distinctly skewed perspective.
“Ever since Father mentioned abdication, there’s been tension among the siblings. My eldest brother is furious, saying he doesn’t understand why there’s such tension when he’s already the Crown Prince. The others just think nothing will be decided until the matter is officially revealed.”
It was true I had fanned her grievances, but the fact that abdication was even being discussed—that was pure providence.
Because of it, even the other five siblings were drawn into conflict.
“I knew this would happen.”
It had only been a matter of time.
After all, the King of Lamore had treated his six biological children equally, without distinguishing between them—excluding me, the adopted one.
Some might say equal affection is good parenting. And perhaps, in an ordinary household, that would be true.
But in a royal family, it is disastrous.
For among the children, one must rise as king.
How could they not feel resentment, when one day the siblings who ate the same meals, wore the same clothes, and learned the same lessons suddenly find themselves ranked—and forced to bow their heads to just one of their number?
Especially when the Crown Prince and Princess Langrisha were not far apart in age, and the Second Princess was practically her peer.
They might have been close as children, but once succession came into question, dissatisfaction and disputes over qualifications were inevitable.
“They all dismiss me as if I don’t count at all. And yet, I’m an adult now.”
Thanks to my gentle encouragement, even the youngest—Langrisha herself—had begun to desire the throne.
Normally, such an age gap would keep the younger siblings out of succession struggles, reducing the number of factions.
But now, Lamore Kingdom had six royal children, each with their own faction and ambition.
Of course, Langrisha’s strongest ally was me.
“At the very least, if the older ones had been married off and sent away, it would’ve helped. But no, they kept them all here.”
Half of them should have been wed and removed from the palace by now.
But instead, clinging to their ambition for the throne, they remained, and the King kept them close as “children at his side,” making the situation even worse.
Clicking my tongue, I elegantly penned my reply on the prepared stationery.
Always, I wrote as though I were merely agreeing with her—never as though I were instigating.
And, of course, I reminded her that I would soon return to the Kingdom, and until then she should find comfort in the gifts and attendants I had sent her.
“See that this is delivered.”
I handed the letter—every line laced with subtle suggestion—to Pionia with a bright smile.
With that, all preparations were complete. The only thing left was to settle my connections in the Empire and return to the Kingdom.
The thought left me with a strange feeling—a mix of relief, freedom, and faint regret.
“I’ll be counting on you from here on as well.”
As if she understood my thoughts, Pionia continued the conversation. Yes, I could very well continue to maintain ties with this future guildmaster.
After all, the “Mad March Hare” guild was no longer confined to the Empire—it now wielded influence across borders.
“Your Highness, a guild’s foundation is properly valuing information. If you undercharge just because the client doesn’t know its worth, you won’t last long.”
The future guildmaster smiled brightly.
“That’s why I will remember everything Your Highness has done for me.”
What she referred to was nothing extraordinary.
Five years ago, when I had read her report, I judged her to be far more competent than Heermich, who could never properly gauge the enemy.
So I reached out to her directly, giving her a push toward becoming guildmaster.
Under normal circumstances, the guild would have passed naturally to Heermich, as a direct heir.
But when I discovered Pionia, Heermich was already embroiled in scandal.
He had raised his hand against me.
With his reputation already weakened, I quietly “passed along” to Pionia the fact that Heermich had once given me information for free, without payment.
A trivial matter, perhaps. But in the hands of a capable schemer like Pionia, it was enough to narrow Heermich’s standing even further.
And my prediction had been right—while Heermich was stuck at the academy, Pionia managed to convince the guildmaster to slash his evaluation dramatically.
Five years later, she was now the clear successor, and she had never forgotten that I had sparked it all.
A partner who not only remembered favors but repaid them—Pionia truly was a valuable ally.
I smiled faintly.
