Ch.382It’s a Motel, Not a Mansion.

There is a saying that all that glitters is not gold.

It means not to be overly fixated on outward splendor.

But this was real gold. A house wallpapered with gold.

It was so dazzling it hurt my eyes.

“I always knew Isabella was crazy, but she’s even more insane than I thought. Who covers an entire house in gold?”

I really can’t believe this. What kind of madness drove her to cover the whole house in gold?

And it’s not even her main residence, just a mansion she visits occasionally.

Millia and Demian must have been quite shocked.

I sent them to wait at the mansion, but they couldn’t have imagined it would be a golden house.

“They say nobles turn the people’s blood into gold… I never thought it would be so literal…”

Minea’s expression showed how shocked she was, her soul practically leaving her body.

From what she’s saying, she seems to have completely forgotten that I’m a count-level noble myself.

“While adventurers like me barely survive in 5-silver cheap inns… can the world really be this unequal? This, this is unfair. We should take everything and distribute it equally so everyone can be happy…”

It’s fine to be surprised, but don’t start turning red.

Why are you preparing to stand up for a revolution?

Besides, a world where everyone is happy? That’s impossible.

The only things that make people happier when shared are drugs at a party.

“Get a grip, kid. Equal? The world naturally works by people earning according to their abilities. Would it be fair if a Master-level knight and a common soldier received the same income? That would be a half-insane world.”

A country would collapse instantly if such a world came to be.

If you work your ass off to become a Master but get paid the same as a soldier, who would risk their life to master swordsmanship?

As Masters gradually decrease, eventually there’d be no one left to fight monsters, and everyone would die.

“When you become a knight, you’ll be paid in gold. Would you be happy if, for the sake of ‘fairness,’ you received the same salary as an E-rank adventurer?”

“Ah, you’re right. Your words are correct, Count.”

When her minor grumbling suddenly became an issue affecting her own salary, Minea extinguished the flames of revolution at lightning speed, demonstrating firsthand why communism failed.

—-

“Welcome, Count Median. I am Ruman, appointed to manage this mansion.”

As we entered the mansion, a middle-aged man in butler attire greeted me with a respectful bow.

Perhaps someone sent by Leopold? He must have arrived at the mansion already.

His ingrained etiquette suggested he wasn’t a mere commoner.

“We greet the Count!”

Following him, servants and maids lined up in two rows bowed at right angles.

With their well-trained bodies and uniform-like formal attire, they looked less like they were welcoming a noble lady and more like mafia members greeting their boss.

What is this?

Leopold, you bastard, don’t tell me you sent trainee knights?

“…It’s like a knightly order’s inspection ceremony.”

Nigel expressed a similar impression.

Though knights and mafia seem quite different, they actually look quite similar.

The only real difference is whether they’re a legal violent group or an illegal one, but they both employ people all the same.

“As expected of Haschal! You’ve already established an entire corps here…!”

What nonsense is Jahan spouting now? They’re just servants.

Of course, if they all attacked together, they could probably turn a knight into pieces of meat in no time… but they’re still servants by status.

Anyway, I introduced Jahan to them, instructing them to treat him as my subordinate and Champion… a Master-level warrior.

“Oh, and can you remove those gold platings from outside the house?”

“You mean the gilding on the exterior walls? It will take some time as the layer is quite thick.”

I instructed butler Ruman to remove the gilding from the building’s exterior.

It’s flashy, but not to my taste. A golden mansion? There are limits to such nouveau riche vulgarity.

Even if I don’t touch the interior, I wanted to at least change the blatantly obvious exterior to something more decent.

“Strip it all off and repaint it. Collect the removed gilding and use it for maintenance costs or something.”

“Yes. I will inform the servants accordingly.”

Even though it’s just gilding, he says it’s quite thick, so collecting it all should amount to a considerable sum.

Money is meant to be used where needed, not smeared on house exteriors.

“Good. Manage it well. Anyone who steals will end up impaled on the fence.”

As the saying goes, a needle thief becomes a cow thief—if you leave gold plating thieves unchecked, they’ll eventually become mansion thieves.

How could I allow that?

Since I can’t manage everything directly, I need to establish strict discipline.

“…I will keep that in mind.”

Perhaps sensing the intense determination behind my warning, a bead of cold sweat ran down Ruman’s cheek.

“A-are you really going to impale them on the fence?”

Minea was also sweating.

Why are you trembling? Don’t tell me you were planning to steal some?

“I don’t lie.”

[That’s the biggest lie you’ve told so far.]

Hersella, who was listening, snorted.

She doesn’t understand. Actually, skilled liars always claim they don’t lie.

—-

“Jahan, you’ll stay here from now on. I’ll call you when I need your strength, but until then, spend your time studying the Imperial language.”

“…Won’t you be staying here, Lord Haschal?”

Jahan looked somewhat disgruntled.

Well, everyone passing by was glancing at him as if he were a demon child who had torn through a mother’s womb, so he probably wasn’t feeling great.

“Haven’t I told you? Despite appearances, I hold a professorship at the academy here. So I need to stay there.”

“…What?”

Jahan’s face contorted grotesquely upon hearing my explanation.

This guy seems more surprised than when he found out I wasn’t the real Haschal.

“A professor…? Not an executioner…?”

What the hell is this guy muttering?

[Hahaha! Yes, that would suit you much better! As expected of Jahan, you have excellent judgment!]

Hearing Hersella burst into laughter, I seriously considered giving Jahan a good smack.

This guy. He was quite respectful at first, but it seems he’s gotten quite comfortable with me in just twenty-one days.

After sending Nigel, Lena, and Jahan to the reception room, I headed to Millia’s room, guided by a maid.

The maid who received the order looked somewhat troubled. I could guess why.

“…It’s here.”

“Thanks, you can go back to your duties.”

After arriving at Millia’s door, I sent the maid away and lightly knocked.

“I’m here, Millia.”

“Huh…? Ah! Haschal!”

Despite my announcement, Millia didn’t open the door.

Of course she couldn’t. She wasn’t alone in the room.

I could sense someone moving busily inside. The sound of rustling clothes and someone hurriedly getting off the bed.

Even Demian’s voice whispering to put clothes on first.

What are they doing in broad daylight?

They’re treating this place like their own love hotel.

After a while, apparently both dressed, the firmly closed door finally began to open.

Green hair flowed through the opening. Millia peeked out and forced a smile at me.

Her breathing was rough, and her cheeks were flushed.

There was a mark of saliva or something at the corner of her mouth.

“You’re back? Earlier than expected…?”

She sounds like a wife caught in adultery.

“Sigh… the eastern business finished early, so I returned. You two seem to be doing quite well.”

Millia… I won’t tell you not to do it, but in broad daylight? Really?

I hope you haven’t been doing just that instead of training all this time?

If so, I’ll have no choice but to get angry. At Demian.

“You two? W-what do you mean…?”

Don’t play dumb. You’ve been caught already.

“What do you mean ‘what’? Demian is in the room too, isn’t he?”

“Ah, no. That’s…”

What do you mean ‘no’? Don’t tell me the man inside isn’t Demian?

If such a tragedy were occurring, I’d have no choice but to tearfully cut the man inside into ten pieces.

Of course, that wasn’t the case.

The probability of Millia, lonely from Demian’s busy dispatch duties, dragging a strapping servant into her bedroom was about the same as Isabella reforming and becoming a devout nun.

“Get yourselves together and come down to the reception room with Demian. I have someone to introduce.”

“Ah, alright…”

Millia, her face bright red, gave up on excuses and nodded.

“Oh, and is Ophelia here?”

“Ophelia? Yes. She’s probably in the basement right now.”

So she did come. I thought as much.

A patron from a marquis family who understands… well, not understands but tolerates her peculiarities.

It must have been too good an offer to refuse.

According to Millia, Ophelia arrived at the mansion with countless chests, immediately occupied the basement, and issued an entry ban.

Since I had given permission in advance, the servants didn’t object.

Or maybe they were just too afraid of Ophelia to oppose.

The common belief that many high-level mages are eccentric was half-accepted as fact.

—-

The basement was a stark contrast to the dazzlingly bright ground floor.

It smelled fishy and was damp and gloomy. Just like between Isabella’s legs.

The smell is really awful. She must have been rubbing against Claire until they caught fire even down here.

It’s truly a house of love.

Maybe I should paint the walls pink for them.