Beyond the fireplace's glow, a rosewood lampstand graced Barov's table. Its canopy formed four branches—central and triangular—each bearing a candle that glowed like a mountain peak in quiet radiance.
The room was filled with the sweet, damp scent of pine oil, that of rotten wood, making him drowsy. But in Border Town, he couldn't ask for more. Refined elegance was irrelevant to this impoverished place; a sheltered house was enough, and now he owned a whole host of them.
His office was in a large courtyard not far from Castle, the former site of the town hall built by the former Lord. Naturally, when he left, the Lord took all the staff with him, and the place had now become the exclusive domain of the Minister's Assistant.
The rustling of writing and the howling wind outside the window created two distinct worlds. At a wooden desk piled high with books and ancient scrolls, Barov was writing furiously. Flanking him stood low wooden tables, usually unused except for storing manuscripts. When needed, he would summon his disciples to kneel beside the tables, helping him organize materials or draft documents.
The candle on the lampstand had been replaced three times. Barov never paused his pen, which was racing through his hand, except when he stood up to replace it. Time was a precious commodity to him. A stack of documents still awaited his attention, and the financial expenditures proposed by Your Highness required careful review.
Barov now worked five hours daily on average, yet he felt no fatigue. On the contrary, he could freely unleash his boundless energy here. This was the essence of power, he thought. No more timidly trailing behind his mentor—every apprentice obeyed him, and no one dared to hinder or sabotage him. All he needed to do was fulfill Your Royal Highness's orders, while the actual governance was entirely under his control.
It would be ideal if Prince's orders were more straightforward, Barov murmured with a hint of regret. Take this document bearing Roland's personal seal—specifically, the request to dispatch personnel to Willow Leaf Town for recruitment of administrators and the purchase of a two-masted sailboat. The second clause even noted: 'Given the cost, the captain, helmsman, and crew may be omitted.'
He was left speechless after reading it. Without these people, who would sail the ship back for you? Should we just let them go after the purchase? And what's the point of buying a ship? That's the real issue—the trade between Border Town and Willow Leaf Town is so stable. Even if they want to expand their ore trade after winter ends, they can simply notify them to send more ships. Buying a ship yourself isn't worth it, especially since the town's dock is only for docking, with no shipyard maintenance or crew to manage it. It'll be abandoned soon. Maybe Your Highness's wild imagination is back in action again?
As for the first one, he could understand it.
Currently, the town hall is completely staffed from top to bottom. Barov has brought over a dozen people to oversee commerce, compile statistical reports, and manage financial settlements. Yet he personally handles administrative and legal duties—this is clearly unreasonable. Your Highness wants to separate these departments, which would require expanding the town hall's workforce. The Minister's Assistant, however, refuses to let go so easily. The satisfaction of concentrating all power in one person is too fulfilling. He believes even his mentor, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, is merely in charge of Graycastle's finances, while he holds the King's authority.
"Ahem, alright," he mused, "only in Border Town." Though RolandYour Highness had made that promise, the road to the throne was still long. Barov realized he had unwittingly reinstated the Fourth Prince among the contenders for the throne. In the past, he would never have believed this spoiled, uneducated scoundrel could ascend to the crown.
Ever since arriving at Border Town, I've been showered with pleasant surprises. To this day, Border Town remains unshaken in the western frontier under the militia's protection, and it seems poised to endure for years to come—a feat in itself worthy of praise. Beyond his peculiar gadgets, his grasp of human nature is nothing like the Fourth Prince of Graycastle; rather, he resembles the all-seeing Devil.
Just then, a steady knocking sounded at the door. Barov reluctantly stopped his work and called out, 'Come in.' A proud disciple of his, 'Penman' Yaro, entered through the door.
"Teacher, another 'rat' has been caught." "Oh? What did you find?" "He said it was sent by the Second Prince. We found wrapped cement powder, some coins, and a letter on him." Yaro stepped forward and handed Barov a leather-wrapped envelope. "The rest is still under interrogation. Teacher, how to handle him..." "Same as before. After questioning, compile all the evidence into a dossier. Then sentence him to death by hanging," Barov said with a casual tone.
"Yes," Yaro bowed in greeting, "Then I shall take my leave." The door closed again. Barov didn't resume work immediately, but returned to his desk, where he used a letter opener to cut open the envelope and retrieve the letter.
The fourth one... he thought.
Long before the Evil Moon arrived, Roland Wimbledon had already summoned him to discuss this matter.
Your Royal Highness observed that as cement, new snow powder, and Witch were gradually exposed, the mole planted by the siblings would inevitably surface from their hiding place—making this the perfect time to eliminate the intruders. Barov agreed with Prince's first part but disagreed with the latter. He believed that Border Town's population of over two thousand couldn't possibly be fully monitored. They lacked both the manpower and the time to guard against such petty thieves.
Your Highness remarked nonchalantly, "How could there be no one? Every citizen of Border Town is our eyes." Barov found this utterly absurd—how could such ignorant and unintelligent civilians possibly monitor potential rats? It was simply impossible!
The truth is, I was wrong.
During the first census after winter began, Roland specifically instructed that all indigenous residents who had lived in the area for over five years must be clearly informed: Although the conspiracy to burn grain at Changge Fortress had failed, the conspirators remained undeterred and had dispatched enemies to lurk among the community. These infiltrators mostly disguised themselves as relatives of townsfolk or merchants who couldn't evacuate in time, always ready to strike. Anyone spotting suspicious individuals should immediately report them to the town hall. Verified cases would be rewarded with twenty-five silver wolves.
Results This method was surprisingly effective.
Despite some initial false alarms, the first rat was swiftly captured.
Back then, Barov still remembered Roland boasting about something that sounded downright awkward.
What is this? He pondered for a moment. Yes... 'To plunge the enemy into the vast ocean of a people's war. 'The Minister's Assistant shook his head, the peculiar phrasing and syntax striking him, as he unfolded the letter in his hand.
In his letter, the man nicknamed 'Groundhog' persistently argued that the Fourth Prince Roland Wimbledon had been supplanted by the Devil, with Barov's words betraying his dread. The Minister's Assistant found himself sharing a similar sentiment, recalling Your Royal Highness's manipulation of human nature. He drew a deep breath, then moved the letter to the candle flame—soon the paper was consumed by the flames, reduced to ashes.
Even so, it's still the Devil who defies God's Stone of Punishment and wields power over him, isn't it?