The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness Chapter 471: Taking Office

"This is a... appointnt order?"

On the finely embossed gilt paper were elegant cursive letters as neat as if printed.

Ninety percent of the phrasing used extrely official wording to express sincere praise and appreciation for Muen Campbell, the Duke of Campbell’s son, the Empire’s rising star, the young knight who had just received the Pope’s personal comndation in the Holy City, and to offer him consolations in the na of the Emperor of the Leopold Empire.

Therefore, none of that was important.

What mattered was the final sentence.

"By special decree, the Duke of Campbell’s eldest son, Muen Campbell, is to go in the capacity of inspector to the northern Sidel Territory to supervise flood relief."

"Sidel Territory, a flood?"

Muen’s brows knit slightly.

He was no longer a novice newly arrived in this world. As the future duke, he had hastened to cram the Empire’s dossiers from all sides.

Thus he knew that the Sidel Territory lay in the Empire’s north, essentially the Empire’s northernmost region, bordering the Kingdom.

Winters there were cold with frequent heavy snow, yet the warm winds from the sea would always blow in when spring blossod. Coupled with special terrain, every spring flood season would see snowlt converging along the valleys, and with the increasingly abundant rains, a flood would finally sweep the valley floor plain.

Since there was a flood, soone had to provide relief.

And now... His Majesty was ordering him to supervise the relief?

Muen looked at the royal crest at the end of the letter—sothing that could not be forged.

To supervise relief—this was in fact an excellent assignnt.

Bearing the title of supervisor, one need not personally do everything, yet could easily take the lion’s share of the credit; even with a touch of “cleverness,” a bit of “open-mindedness,” it would be no difficult matter to skim off a great deal of profit.

Especially for a great noble’s son like Muen, this sort of assignnt that both padded one’s résumé and raised one’s reputation was undoubtedly a perfect gilding opportunity.

Most nobles, even after exhausting every effort, might never secure such a chance.

Thus, under normal circumstances, Muen would certainly have accepted gladly, then gone off for a few cheerful months—treating it as travel and broadening his horizons.

But now...

"His Majesty is gravely ill, and my senior sister is being run ragged by heretic incidents on all sides, and in turn I receive such a nice assignnt. This timing... truly sets the mind wandering."

A cold gleam flashed in Muen’s eyes as he looked at the ssenger.

"Who is handling Imperial affairs now?"

"Naturally, His Majesty."

The ssenger wore a smile like a mask. His movents and etiquette in no way resembled those of a re courier.

"Lord Campbell, please don’t speak recklessly. His Majesty is only gravely ill. If that spreads, it won’t be good for your reputation."

"Then let rephrase it. Who is helping His Majesty share the burdens of state right now?"

"His Highness the Second Prince, working with several ministers."

The ssenger did not hide much, for this was sothing Muen could easily learn.

"The Second Prince, is it?"

Muen tapped the carriage’s armrest beside him.

The Second Prince, Andrew Leopold.

Muen did not know the man well, for he had had few dealings with him, and the Second Prince himself had always acted extrely low-key the Second Prince had always conducted himself very discreetly.

Given the Crown Prince’s congenital defect, the Second Prince was the first in line to the throne. With His Majesty gravely ill, it was indeed reasonable for him to serve as regent.

Only...

"Why would His Highness mix himself up with those parasites? Does he not understand where his power base lies?"

Muen could not comprehend it at all.

As the almost-certain next emperor, he ought to inherit the Emperor’s political course and stand with the Imperial faction that sustained him. Yet the Second Prince issued such a strange order, transferring the leader of the Imperial faction’s heir out of Belrand at this critical juncture—it was practically... betrayal?

The Duke of Campbell commanded the army abroad, His Majesty lay seriously ill, and he himself was to be transferred away—leaving the Imperial faction headless. Who would suppress that pack of greedy nobles who had long chafed under the previous series of crackdowns?

Rely on your Second Highness’s domineering "kingly aura"?

"We ministers stand ready to fight to the death—why do you surrender first, Your Highness?"

Or is there... so other factor I don’t know?

Muen rubbed the bridge of his nose. Not being at the center of the storm, it was hard to glimpse the tempest’s full shape.

But to step into this storm...

Muen’s gaze dropped again to the appointnt letter in his hand, and suddenly the icy paper felt as if it were burning—scalding hot.

"Lord Campbell, will you still proceed?"

The ssenger suddenly spoke. He looked at Muen, eyes blazing.

"This road leads to Belrand. The road to the Sidel Territory is not this way."

"You an to stop ?"

Muen’s tone turned cold at once.

With a tiny motion of his fingertips, several powerful auras in the shadows around the carriage pressed upon the ssenger like mountains.

"N—no, you misunderstand."

The mask of a smile on the ssenger’s face shattered in an instant. Cold sweat beaded on his brow as he bent at the waist and stepped aside.

"With your status, naturally you may go wherever you wish."

"..."

Muen withdrew his gaze.

Indeed, with his status, he could ignore this appointnt order and force his return to Belrand.

But that would beco a pretext for the enemy to attack the Campbells. Disobeying an order—such a hat could be made as large as they liked.

In a political climate rife with shifting clouds and treachery, even a small flaw could prove fatal—let alone a handle so obvious even a fool knew how to use it.

"What a fine gift indeed."

After a long consideration, Muen sighed softly, as if resigned to reality.

"Go back and tell the people behind you: I will obey this appointnt."

"As expected of Lord Campbell, truly..."

"Get out."

"Yes—this one will go at once, go at once..."

When the ssenger scuttled back into the still-deep night, all fell quiet once more.

On the broad {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} road, only Muen’s light tapping on the wooden armrest could be heard, along with the calm, even rhythm of breath and heartbeat.

"Let’s go."

He signaled the carriage to move.

"To the Sidel Territory."

"Ah... Young Master, are we truly going?"

The subordinate outside the carriage still sounded hesitant.

"At such a critical ti, if you are not in Belrand, it could..."

"Go. Why wouldn’t we go? Do you think I would disobey His Majesty’s command?"

Muen propped his head on his hand and showed a cold smile.

"Not only are we going, we’re going with great fanfare. Three days from now, the lord and the governor of the Sidel Territory will hold a grand banquet to welco Muen Campbell’s arrival. Every disaster-stricken resident of the Sidel Territory will receive aid from the Campbell family!"

"Yes."

Well-trained, the subordinate quickly grasped Muen’s aning and loyally began to carry out his orders.

But not long after, his slightly hesitant voice drifted back into the carriage again.

"Um... Young Master, if every disaster-stricken resident of the Sidel Territory is to receive help, then regarding funds..."

"...How many estates does my old man still have in Belrand?" Muen mused, then asked.

"Roughly... those we can liquidate directly... it seems there are three left."

"Sell them!"

"Yes!"

...

The night receded. Dawn was born.

Birds in the woods took wing; after circling a few tis, they flew away with the morning dew.

The last image in those birds’ eyes was the Campbell-crested luxurious carriage speeding away—headed in the exact opposite direction from Belrand.

It seed to an that the duke’s son had ultimately chosen to compromise.

And as the carriage was about to reach the Sidel Territory, a man in an ill-fitting formal suit a size too small, wearing a tall gentleman’s hat, stood outside Belrand at daybreak, gazing at the great city about to awaken.

"The one compromising is Muen Campbell. What does that have to do with , Bruce?"

The man pushed up his tall hat, revealing half a face with the stark features of the northern Slavs—cold and austere.

The lower district had yet to be touched by sunlight, silent and still, as if loyally awaiting the arrival of its emperor.