What is an Archduke?

27

Imperial Chancellor Daniel Erickson sensed a disaster unfolding.

‘This can’t be! An Archduke! An Archduke!’

Of course, he acknowledged the merits of the Director of Intelligence.

He saved the lives of the Imperial Crown Prince and Princess, as well as the lives of the talented individuals who would one day lead the Empire, and the teachers who helped nurture them.

If the Jedo Academy, one of the symbols of the Imperial education system, had fallen, it would have been a severe threat to national security, causing various internal and external problems.

The Chancellor even had a beloved relative among the students of the Jedo Academy.

Personally, the Chancellor felt grateful enough to bow to the Director.

But even so, Archduke? No.

“Even as an Archduke, things won’t change much from now, will they? The Director of Intelligence already has many privileges, doesn’t he? Even if he kills or surveils someone, it won’t be much different, right?”

The Chancellor, upon hearing his subordinate’s words, exhaled a long, weary sigh, a lament escaping his lips.

Of course, on the surface it sounded plausible enough, so rather than rage, Chancellor Erikson resolved to offer a proper explanation.

“The Archduke’s privileges are entirely different in nature from those the Chief of Intelligence possessed.”

The position of Chief of Intelligence, by its very nature, held various privileges, yet powerful as they were, they were exercised under a single, absolute restriction.

That restriction was that the privileges could only be used against ‘enemies of the Empire’.

“But the Archduke is different. Fundamentally, the Archduke, much like His Imperial Majesty, exists outside the law, beyond it. Save for rebellion and attacks against the Emperor and the Imperial Family, he can do anything without punishment.”

More accurately, he cannot be punished.

Imperial law dictates that no objections can even be raised concerning the Archduke’s actions and conduct.

“To put it bluntly, even if the Chief were to mobilize all Intelligence operatives this very moment and exterminate everyone in this room, myself included, no crime would even be constituted.”

“That’s…”

Erikson’s patience finally reached its breaking point at the sight of his subordinate’s continued lack of comprehension.

“Do you still not understand? The Chief can no longer only wield his blade against enemies of the Empire! He can now wield it against anyone he desires!”

With the exception of the Emperor and the Imperial Family, no one was exempt.

The very title itself declared that it was second only to the Emperor.

Considering that even members of the Imperial Family were not entirely free from Imperial law, save for certain privileges, the Archduke could truly be called the Empire’s second-in-command.

The word’s meaning was literal: one beneath one person, above ten thousand.

Belatedly grasping the truth, the faces of several men turned a ghastly pale.

“What kind of insane title is that…”

“Ah, yes. Insane, indeed. Quite so. That is precisely why, throughout the Empire’s long history, only a single individual ever received the title of Archduke.”

That individual was none other than Albert Macaira, a founding contributor to the Empire who aided the first Emperor and an unparalleled hero.

Even considering that the first Emperor, mourning the death of his friend, created the Archduke title to commemorate Albert Macaira after his death, Erwin Barmut could be considered the first true Archduke.

“This…this isn’t just a matter of giving a tiger wings, is it?”

“We must present a memorial to His Majesty at once, and ask him to retract the title of Archduke!”

Needless to say, Erikson had visited the Emperor as soon as he heard the news, protesting that bestowing the title of Archduke was too much, far too much.

The Emperor had said then:

“I will not retract the title, that I have firmly declared. Not only that, but anyone who protests it will be beheaded.”

The mouths of those who had been noisily arguing snapped shut.

It wasn’t a veiled threat; the Emperor had directly stated that he would behead anyone who protested, which confirmed that the title would never be retracted.

They had no choice but to fall silent, for fear of truly losing their heads for speaking unnecessary words.

The lengthening silence that followed was broken by a question, tentatively offered.

“…This whole affair, doesn’t it strike you as… odd?”

“Odd in what way?”

“Consider it. That the Minister thwarted the terror, alright, we can say he was monitoring likely culprits as he always does. But aren’t there numerous questionable aspects to the process and the outcome?”

That much was true.

Even in the story of the Minister preventing the terror, strange fissures existed.

“According to the perpetrator’s confession, the Minister simply walked right through the barrier, which was said to have been infused with Hydra’s poison.”

“Despite numerous testimonies of a loud explosion, the Minister dismissed it as a dud.”

“Even though there was evidence something had detonated.”

“And the way His Majesty bestowed the title of Archduke as if he’d been expecting it… It’s riddled with uncertainties.”

Listening to his subordinates, Councilor Erikson, too, felt a prickle of unease.

He’d been too preoccupied with the Archduke title to notice before, but yes, this entire incident was unlike the Minister’s usual style.

‘Looking back on the Minister’s track record, the very fact that doubts are arising is unusual. Would that meticulous man really make a mistake that invites scrutiny?’

Or perhaps… Was there a circumstance that compelled him to take risks, even if it meant raising some suspicion?

For instance, maybe he did foresee the terror, but there was a reason he had to intervene personally.

“In any case, let us all keep a low profile for the time being.”

Those present nodded in unison at the Councilor’s words, a silent agreement.

—

Having eaten every last bite of the lunch Celin had packed for me, I sat there, blankly. I blinked my sight back into focus and stood up.

I’d never told anyone, but as a child, I’d dreamed of being an adventurer.

I’d yearned for the adventures, traversing mountains, seas, and dungeons with nothing but a sword in hand, utterly captivated by the stories.

Well, I’d given up the moment I realized I had precisely zero talent for it.

Now, I’m just a jaded, incompetent man, worn down by life. But even someone like me once harbored a bright dream.

Normally, I forget about it in the drudgery of reality. But sometimes, unconsciously, that long-ago dream resurfaces. And now was just such a time.

“Minister?”

Celin asked, as if wondering where someone who was due back at work shortly was going. I offered up a flimsy excuse.

“I’m going to the Adventurer’s Guild… for an investigation.”

A pathetic excuse for playing hooky, but Celin, seemingly uninterested, didn’t press the matter.

“Understood. Please take the Owls with you, then.”

That was my intention from the start.

Possessing a combat ability that edged infinitely close to zero, me venturing into a dungeon alone would be nothing short of suicide.

Fortunately, John had been frequenting dungeons lately, so requesting his company was easy enough.

We gathered all available members of Owl, save for Alexander who was away on another assignment, along with any idle agents.

Why, you ask?

Because I was terrified!

Okay, so I wanted to go, but it was, after all, my first dungeon delve.

I knew it was pathetic, even by my own standards, but the fear was enough to make my knees tremble.

Still, the thought of experiencing it at least once in my life drove me to drag my subordinates along.

I know, I know. It’s a burden.

But my subordinates are all so strong and capable, surely it wouldn’t be a problem.

I wanted to believe it wouldn’t be a problem.

Probably.

“Minister, this direction doesn’t lead to a dungeon, does it?”

“We’re going to the Adventurer’s Guild first.”

I can’t become an adventurer. Not just because I’m weak, but because I’m an official in the Imperial Government.

Imperial Government officials are forbidden from holding concurrent positions.

And those who aren’t adventurers can’t enter dungeons.

Under any circumstances, regardless of who it is or the reason, barging in unpermitted would spell big trouble.

Specifically, a maximum sentence of death.

Dungeons are the property of the Empire. Not that they necessarily seize the loot you find, but adventurers are taxed based on how much they earn.

Becoming an adventurer entails the obligation to report any obtained items to the guild, and since trespassers wouldn’t do that, the system prevents potential problems from the start.

Therefore, in this instance, entering a dungeon requires permission from the Guildmaster of the Adventurer’s Guild.

Not that I’d necessarily be punished for not asking, but it’s important to observe proper etiquette.

Hmm. Come to think of it, that bald guy has a terrifying presence. If I ask to enter a dungeon just to spectate, wouldn’t I risk getting beaten up?

Contemplating the best excuse, I entered the Adventurer’s Guild.

Everyone seemed busier than when I’d last visited.

I suddenly felt guilty.

Should I just turn back?

“M-Minister!? H-How are you here so soon!”

Reluctant to bother the busy people, I stood there quietly when the bald Guildmaster recognized me and rushed over in a panic.

This man’s name is Zig Brown.

He’s a baldy who made a name for himself in days past as an S-Rank adventurer, known by the rather brutal moniker, ＜Blood Axe＞.

…Scratch that. He’s a baldy *ex*-S-Rank adventurer.

Good heavens, he’s still an enormous brute. He’s sweating like a broken dam, probably on account of it.

“W-wait! Please, I implore you! I’ll go in myself if I have to, I promise I’ll find him and bring him back!”

Bring him back? Bring *what* back?

I hadn’t the foggiest idea what he was on about, staring at him blankly until Guildmaster Brown suddenly dropped to his knees before me.

What is this, now?

“I swear it on my name—no, rather, on my office! Professor Barmut is undoubtedly safe! So please…!”

Barmut.

Professor Barmut?

Wait…

Karl?

—

Guildmaster Brown slammed his head against the floor, bemoaning the tangled mess this had become.

His pride, his reputation, none of it mattered.

He’d managed to anger the one man in all the world he shouldn’t have.

With the guild itself in danger of being obliterated, pride was the least of his worries.

Though, to be frank, even if he *had* cared about his reputation, the result would have been the same.

‘What crushing pressure!’

He was a former S-Rank adventurer, retired though he may be.

Even *he* was overwhelmed by the aura radiating from the spectacle before him and the figures wearing owl masks he brought with him.

The others standing behind them weren’t run-of-the-mill sorts either.

‘So *this* is the power of the Imperial Intelligence Bureau…!’

If *he* felt this way, then the other adventurers—not to mention the ordinary guild employees—wouldn’t even dare to *think* of standing their ground.

He could practically see them, trembling and gasping for breath.

“Where is Karl?”

“That’s…”

“Guildmaster Brown. I am asking you where my brother is right now.”

The pressure intensified.

Clutching at what little courage remained against a heart seized by dread, Guildmaster Braun finally spoke the name of the dungeon Professor Barmut had ventured toward before his disappearance.

“Perhaps… the Temple of the Flame God…”

The pressure vanished instantly.

Hearing the receding footsteps confirming the Director’s departure, Braun Guildmaster cautiously raised his head.

He felt as though ten years had been shaved from his lifespan.

“Um, Guildmaster. Are we sure it’s alright to just let the Director go like that? What if there are problems later…?”

Braun Guildmaster, rising from his seat at his subordinate’s anxious question about whether they’d be held responsible, erupted into a booming laugh.

“Pointless worry. Nothing the Director does will cause any problems for us.”

“Huh? But…”

“Have you forgotten? The Director is a Grand Duke now. Whether he leads the entire Intelligence Division into a dungeon, slaughters every monster and adventurer there, it’s all the same. No problem at all.”

Guildmaster Braun momentarily considered that perhaps the title of Grand Duke was granted for just such an occasion, then shook his head as if chasing away stray thoughts.

Who cared what those demonic minds were thinking? He had more pressing, real-world concerns.

‘I need to prepare for the worst.’

Just in case Karl Barmut didn’t make it back, Braun Guildmaster decided he would start by writing his will.