episode_0089

89. Bridge Completion

Erica, who was jubilant as if she owned the world, all because no resignation letter had been submitted to her.

So overjoyed was she that she treated everyone—well, everyone except me—to a feast akin to a celebration… No, more like a banquet, where they indulged until their noses were crooked.

And on the table? Piles of pizza and fried chicken….

The banquet’s atmosphere had devolved from that of a noble gathering to something resembling a cheap pub.

Somehow, everything felt oddly frugal, leaving me with a strange sensation.

Had I made a slight miscalculation? But since they were all enjoying themselves, it didn’t seem to matter.

The next morning.

I, along with Mr. Entrée and the Hors d’oeuvre duo, planned to redraw the bridge blueprints.

Truth be told, since we had focused solely on the foundational design, the aesthetics had been hastily glossed over.

“We’ve completed all the basic calculations.”

“oH! Seonsaeng! Then now’s the time for us to let our creativity run wild!”

“Mr. Entrée! You remember we can’t add too much weight, right?”

“Of Course!!, Hors d’oeuvre! Obviously!”

These weren’t just talented individuals—they were seasoned professionals with countless achievements under their belts.

Thankfully, though brimming with enthusiasm, they didn’t spiral into impossible, brain-frying fantasies.

And so, not only Eitri, but even Aris, who assisted with calculations, joined in….

Mr. Entrée, the most exceptional artist in the current empire.

Hors d’oeuvre, the architect hailed as the genius of the century.

Along with me, five of us gathered, debating this and that as we steadily completed the blueprints.

“This design could embody philosophy—”

“Mr. Entrée! That’s impossible to actually construct—”

“If we run the numbers, this design is entirely feasible. Weight distribution, maintenance—”

“Considering budget, sunlight exposure, and symbolism, this would greatly benefit our lord…”

“Sl-slow down a little, please!!”

Honestly, it was fun.

The philosophies and ideas of working artists and architects were fascinating.

And Aris’s practical considerations gave us even more to think about.

It didn’t feel like work—more like pure enjoyment.

The others seemed to share the sentiment, sacrificing sleep to keep discussing.

If someone left to rest from exhaustion, we’d jot down notes for them to catch up later.

If someone overworked themselves through the night, the rest of us would forcibly drag them away to rest.

*“Hwe… Eeeek…!!”*

Of course, as our passion overflowed, Eitri was dying a slow death…

No matter how skilled Hors d’oeuvre was at sketching, he was ultimately just a painter.

Unable to handle precise calculations or detailed blueprints, Eitri bore the brunt of the workload.

Her suffering grew proportional to the length of our debates, to the point where she sniffled and uttered these words:

*“Sniff… It feels like you’re all torturing me on purpose…”*

With Eitri in tears from the endless revisions, what else could we do?

Thus, born from Eitri’s blood and tears, the new blueprint emerged.

The fruit of relentless labor, unveiled to the world at last.

───────

Erica was brimming with anticipation.

Like a child awaiting Christmas.

For the deadline set by the man she called “our fox” was approaching.

So eager was she that she even temporarily relocated her office—one she had used for half her life—to a room with a window overlooking the bridge.

A bridge spanning 1 km, destined to be etched into imperial history.

Erica’s heart raced.

Well, *had* raced.

“If only life were filled with pleasant things…”

But life balances good fortune with misfortune.

Lately, Erica had been gnawing at one particularly vexing issue…

Namely, the neighboring territory of Ternova, roughly the size of Redmain.

The guano fertilizer Cain had proposed to solve their food crisis.

All of it was imported from Ternova.

“That old bastard Baldwyn…”

Baldwyn de Montfort, lord of Ternova.

An elderly noble who had negotiated guano trade terms during a past imperial ball.

“The guano was *pillaged*?!”

Baldwyn had been galling Erica’s nerves.

Supposedly, 45 tons of guano, rightfully en route, had been stolen.

She had tolerated it a few times, but her patience was wearing thin.

Likely, Baldwyn had dismissed guano as worthless and sold it dirt-cheap initially.

But as rumors of its efficacy spread, his stomach must have twisted in regret.

Had he unilaterally canceled contracts to hoard it for himself?

“Impossible. Even that greedy old man isn’t brainless…”

Erica, who had once intimidated even Emperor Yeongje.

The Grace family’s military might was overwhelming—Baldwyn would want to avoid igniting conflict at all costs.

But feigning ignorance and swallowing the guano would shatter his credibility and honor among nobles.

So Baldwyn concocted a plausible excuse.

Overland transport inevitably crossed his territory, incurring tolls.

There were undoubtedly rogue nobles—former petty aristocrats turned bandits—among them.

The mountainous regions were notorious for bandits, after all.

And if Erica pressed him on lax oversight?

*“We just handle transport—escorts are your problem, no?”*

That’s how he’d sugarcoat it.

Even when Grace forces were sent as escorts, they were wiped out.

The sole survivor claimed the assailants moved like soldiers, not mere rabble—

trained to coordinate exterminations, not relying on individual strength.

Yet there was no evidence, not even a hunch, that Baldwyn was using the guano himself.

Meaning…

*“You think I looted it? But I’m not even using it? Why would I, lol?”*

Left with no retort, Erica had no choice.

Sure, a week in the Chamber of Truth would make him spill everything…

But nobles couldn’t be treated like that.

In short, it was a colossal headache.

“He’s definitely selling it to someone else.”

Baldwyn twisted words, exploiting the expired contract’s loopholes.

Worse, the guano was deeply tied to Presia’s food crisis—exacerbating the issue.

The more Erica thought about it, the fouler her mood grew.

“I’m practically itching for war…”

Look at the map now.

To the left, Arcadia’s Cecilia is busy with her half-brother over the succession struggle.

To the north, Alvaren has vowed not to invade for a year, focusing on northern unification.

Below, Reich and Targon, who seized the emperor’s lands, won’t budge.

Truly… a picture-perfect setup for war.

“But I lack justification… justification…”

Erica sighed in frustration.

As her brooding deepened, a knock interrupted her thoughts.

A glance at the clock—time for her resignation letter to arrive.

Recognizing the visitor instantly, Erica called out.

“Come in, our fox.”

Her prediction was spot-on, as Cain entered with an awkward grin.

He sheepishly scratched his head before standing stiffly across from her.

“What is it?”

“The bridge is complete, so…”

“Let’s go now.”

At that, Erica rose from her seat.

But rather than excitement and anticipation, irritation from Baldwyn’s antics took precedence.

With the bridge finished, crowds would swarm, and her workload would pile up like a mountain.

Still, duties were duties… Resigning herself, she moved to exit her office.

But Cain briefly blocked her path.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“…? An unusual request.”

Cain rarely asked for anything.

Erica paused, ready to humor him—until he pulled out an object.

A tightly woven black bandage.

“A bandage… No, an eyepatch.”

“Yes!”

“Do you realize what it means for a regional noble—prime assassination target—to blindfold herself?”

“Yes!”

Cain’s confidence was unshaken.

Normally, she’d have found it endearing, but her foul mood made her react tersely.

Frowning, Erica scolded him in an irritable tone.

“You expect me to entrust my life to someone without a shred of magic?”

“Ah…”

His face fell immediately.

Finally pocketing the eyepatch, Cain slumped in defeat.

“I didn’t think that far ahead…”

Like a scolded puppy with its tail between its legs.

Erica reined in her temper and chastised him coolly.

“*Sigh*… And how exactly should I walk blindfolded?”

At that, Cain scratched his cheek and mumbled.

“I’d guide you by holding your hand…”

“Give it here.”

“Huh?”

“Now.”

Switching to casual speech mid-sentence, Erica’s attitude shifted instantly.

As if possessed, the assassination-prone noble donned the eyepatch herself.

Then, gingerly clasping Cain’s large, firm hand, she let him lead her step by cautious step.

“Why blindfold me?”

“A surprise.”

“A surprise?”

Eyepatch securely in place, Erica questioned him.

Cain only replied that she’d understand once they arrived.

“There are stairs… Maybe you should take it off—”

“Carry me.”

“Huh?”

“Pick me up.”

Erica wasn’t displeased.

Her approval ratings in Presia were at an all-time high.

Even blindfolded, she’d naturally held his hand and now even clung to him…

About 15 minutes.

But to Erica, it flashed by in blissful haste.

As Cain’s steps halted, she sensed their happy interlude ending.

Suppressing her reluctance, she obediently allowed him to remove the eyepatch.

“Open your eyes now.”

The black blindfold obscuring her vision slipped away.

“Ah…”

A sigh escaped Erica unbidden.

As if standing before nature’s overwhelming majesty.

A grand 1 km bridge, its elegant design stretching into the distance.

Even more astonishing—they were alone.

Normally, crowds would’ve swarmed to gawk, necessitating heavy security…

When Erica gaped in surprise, Cain scratched his head sheepishly and chuckled.

“I wanted you to see it first, Countess…”

The official unveiling was tomorrow.

Of course, people would flock to it, burdening Presia’s ruler with fatigue.

Her duties would multiply, robbing her of time to leisurely admire the bridge.

So he’d arranged for her to enjoy it privately, at ease…

“…Which might seem presumptuous of me. I just thought you needed respite too… Ah, I shouldn’t have assumed—”

Listening, Erica gazed at the bridge rivaling nature’s grandeur.

Her deep blue eyes reflected the structure like lake-cradled moonlight.

Normally, her mind would’ve raced ahead.

This bridge’s width, size, and sturdiness would unlock efficient development across the river.

Or spark city-planning ideas, poetic inspiration, or even—given the view—a painting.

Or she might’ve rushed back to work, disregarding sentimentality.

Yet…

“It’s beautiful.”

Cain demurred awkwardly.

“Mr. Entrée and Hors d’oeuvre deserve the credit.”

“No, it’s not just the bridge.”

Erica countered, then turned to the man she called “our fox.”

Her hand twitched—yearning, almost involuntarily, to hold his.

Proof that even the Iron-Blooded Monarch was still a woman, her heart pounding uncontrollably.

The breathtaking bridge.

Just the two of them before it.

Her thunderous heartbeat.

It all painted a scene more beautiful than any masterpiece.

Cain tilted his head, puzzled like an innocent child.

But gradually, even he sensed the shifting atmosphere.

Erica reached for his hand—

*“Ahem!”*

A cough shattered the moment like glass.

Flustered as if caught in an indiscretion, Erica whipped toward the sound.

There stood…

“Sorry for interrupting.”

“You…”

Erica’s eyes flickered in recognition.

Hair white as though aged prematurely from hardship.

Yet her taut skin and figure betrayed youth.

Red eyes and shabby attire, reeking of stale cigarettes.

“Long time no see, delinquent.”

“Adela…”

From the incident that had demoted her to Countess.

One of the few who’d stood by her then.

And now, the person who might solve Erica’s frustrations.

Adela Wizend had arrived.