Right. Eru is now mute.
Those sons of cupcakes have done an excellent job. Let them relax and enjoy their time. Yes, let them celebrate their success and believe that the words have already passed. The more secure they feel, the more careless they will become.
For now, Ett would let Eru recover from all the trauma and wounds she had experienced before reciprocating what her darling bird had been through. There was no rush. Revenge delivered too quickly often lacked depth. She preferred something thorough. Memorable.
She can wait. Her patience is out of this world.
"Goodness, I've delayed Cashim's promotion."
Ett leaned back against the cushions and almost chuckled.
She could already imagine Cashim's expression: stiff posture, furrowed brows, pacing like a restless hound trying to sniff out her whereabouts. That man must be going crazy searching for her. Well, let him be. He always teased her anyway. Delayed promotion shouldn't be a problem for him.
Ehem. Maybe a little bit.
"Matriarch?"
"Come in."
The door slid open softly. It must be time for Ett's breakfast. "Days"
"A day only," Ares corrected smoothly, as though nothing had plagued his mind yesterday. "You were asleep for a day, Matriarch."
"Oh."
Well. That's good.
A single day was acceptable. Any longer and rumors would start breeding like rabbits. She rose and returned to her study room, sleeves brushing against the carved edges of the desk as she settled into her chair. Work waited patiently, stacked in neat piles as if mocking her brief collapse. Specifically, the first on the list was Cashim's promotion to the rank of Marquis.
Ett had gathered his achievements from the past few days, campaign successes, political maneuvers, endorsements discreetly obtained, and arranged them in order of impact. Stability was important. A title meant nothing if it wobbled beneath scrutiny.
If the officials want to complain, then let Cashim handle it himself. She was not his wet nurse.
Besides, Guren won't have a say in this.
Right…what is that kid even doing now?
Thankfully, Akan wasn't here. That man was too sensitive and would spiral into a dozen imagined catastrophes before she finished one sentence.
Ares is better.
"Ares."
"Yes, matriarch."
"Do you know what the Emperor is currently doing?"
Ares paused. The Emperor? After all this time, this was the first instance since the Matriarch's arrival that she had directly asked about her son. It could only mean she needed something for state affairs.
"Reporting to the matriarch, I do not know exactly. However, I did have a small casual conversation with Butler Xiwen."
Casual.
"What is it?"
"The Emperor seems to either stay in his exclusive training field or study. Ett's finger stilled over the documents."
"He doesn't rest in his chamber?"
"Perhaps."
Perhaps? What do you mean, perhaps?
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
The answer was simple, yet it pressed heavily on her thoughts.
She would ask Butler Xiwen herself after she finished her work. That kid would die from overwork at this rate. Does he want to end up like her past coworkers? Burned out of their desks, eyes dry, backs permanently bent? If she hadn't transmigrated, she was certain she would have followed the same script.
Don't forget the loans except for loan sharks. No matter what, she pays without delay lest her mind go insane before her body does.
She was already doing her best to handle the paperwork and lighten his burden, but the reports kept multiplying. Training was good, discipline admirable, but why couldn't Guren sleep in his own chamber?
Does his office have a bed? An adjoint room she didn't know about?
If so, fine. If not, then fine too. All her efforts were in vain. Seriously, does he want to apply for CFA or something?
…
..
.
Ugh.
Punch my kindass soul!
"Give this to him."
Please, enough already. No more kindness, even just one bit. No! I beg of you, self! Don't let it slip up!
Ett bundled several reports neatly and tied them with a ribbon, ah, no, she removed the ribbon and just tied them in an intersection, that's it. The reports were not overwhelming; they were just compact and enough to keep Guren informed. He was the Emperor, after all.
Even if she handled matters in his stead, he needed to know what currents were shifting beneath his feet. Gossip traveled faster than parchment.
Maybe it was paranoia.
Whatever.
"As you wish, Matriarch."
When Ares left, Ett stretched her back, vertebrae popping softly. Cashim's matter was already in motion. There would likely be a celebration at the estate soon.
She glanced at her small black notebook and flipped to the next concern. Eru is mute. Regarding the information gathered in this note, Ett will temporarily put it on hold until she finds a substitute method.
Then Akan.
How much had he progressed?
Should she go undercover again? Or summon him here?
This body had only recently returned from an excursion. Best to remain indoors for a few more days before wandering out again. Appearances mattered.
Her thoughts drifted towards the garden.
The black roses.
She found herself walking there later, robes brushing against the gravel path. The garden stretched quietly beneath the afternoon light, petals dark as spilled ink. Somehow, they were refreshing to her eyes. It felt almost absurd like living inside a Gothic-themed game, but there was something undeniably captivating about them.
Back on Earth, genuine black roses were rare. Yet here, according to the records, none existed outside the royal garden of the Adiand Empire. Many had tried to cultivate them elsewhere. None succeeded. As if the very soil where the imperial palace is built is of a different type.
And with Adiand's authority, and Guren's presence, it makes it more special. Who would dare imitate it openly?
"Hayst…"
The kid's maturity even surpasses that red-eyed guy, what was his name again…who massacred his entire family? Forgot about it. Was it even red? Anyway, the responsibilities were stacked on a child's shoulders before they even finished growing. On earth, although there are mature and discipled children, most still have their immaturity.
No.
She cannot be indolent now.
If she relaxes too much, her plans will stretch endlessly. How can she secure a long PTO before retiring into a comfortable life if she doesn't build her foundation properly?
Ett's mind began turning faster, scanning possibilities.
Right.
The Gammarad, the commander. He had requested an audience several times, but she had been too preoccupied to grant it. Forgetful child indeed.
She dragged a thick blanket onto the balcony and wrapped herself in her cloak, sitting as she watched the dark horizon slowly swallow the light.
"Hatchoo!"
Ah.
She dabbed her nose with a handkerchief and noticed a faint red streak.
A little blood.
Well, that's a minus.
Just six centimeters of tolerance for cold before consequences arrive.
"Man, enjoyment always has its consequence."
At least for her.
By the time Ares returned with her afternoon snack, her decision had settled.
"Ares invited the commander for dinner."
Ares glanced at her, something flickering in his eyes, then nodded. "Will do, matriarch."
"Would you want to rest inside?"
She nodded. The air was pleasant, cleaner than what she remembered from Earth. Even under direct sunlight, she would not burn as quickly. She lay down beside Eru afterward, allowing herself a brief nap before the evening required her transformation again, dressed like a porcelain doll, smiling with calculated warmth.
She really wanted to apply as a full-time salted fish.
But that would ruin future profits.
Hayayay.
Clang.
"Oh. Sorry."
The fork had slipped from her hand and hit the plate with an ungraceful sound. The maid behind her immediately replaced it, retrieving the fallen one without commend.
There was no rule forbidding business discussions during meals. At least none she had read. The Book of Ethics was suspiciously silent on the matter.
"Commander."
"Your Grace."
"How far are you?"
"About half is already completed. It is due to the help of the Emperor."
Guren?
That surprised her.
They rarely crossed paths directly. Two separate orbits circling the same throne.
Commander Gammarad continued, "When I returned after failing to meet Your Grace previously, I encountered His Majesty. He inquired about the condition of our army."
Likely a passing curiosity that deepened once he listened.
"It is the first time Your Grace has involved yourself so directly with the militia," Gammarad added carefully.
"Is that so?"
Not like she knows.
"What did His Majesty say?"
"His Majesty remarked that the way of order is well-timed. Knights may specialize more distinctly. However, delegating authority and restructuring power, like branches splitting from a tree, will require time. Gathering men and training them would take the knights to adapt, but it's not impossible."
Well, that's true.
"The head of the mstovaris remains undecided," he continued. "One candidate could be the Empire's second-in-command, though I presume Your Grace has another idea. The other drafted division is assassins. This excludes His Majesty's personal guard."
Those unseen shadows were trained personally by Guren. Ett rested her chin lightly against her fingers.
"How do you qualify someone as mstovaris or assassin?"
We test their strength in espionage. Their ability to act is unlike that of conventional soldiers. They must gather information, blend in, escape.
"Physical test?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
She tilted her head slightly.
"That's not enough."
Gammarad blinked.
Physical prowess was expected. But that alone created blunt weapons. Her ambition extended further. She wanted knowledge. Every whispered scandal. Every concealed weakness of neighboring empires, rulers, officials, or anyone who might one day threaten Adiand or Guren.
Information was leveraged.
Blackmail. Alliances. Trade. Sabotage.
A soldier who hides and listens is useful. But one who rises in rank under a different banner while remaining loyal?
"Commander," she said quietly, "why must the mstovaris remain in corners? Why not let them stand in the light?"
He stared at her. "Your Grace means…attaining rank while under a guise?"
Ett sipped her water, calm and poised.
Knowledge on Earth was accessible with just a tap of your finger. Here, it required human vessels.
"Indeed. A mstovaris can assist an assassin," she added. "They need not be confined to one shadow."
They must be like Akan. Adaptable. Fluid.
"I almost forgot," Ett added lightly as if it were an afterthought. "Send me the latest reports on our agricultural output."
"Agri…?" Gammarad repeated, the unfamiliar word catching in his throat.
A faint smile touched her lips. New terms had a way of unsettling people. She didn't mind that.
"The harvest," Ett clarified calmly. "I want a complete accounting of wheat, barley, and rice from every province, actual tally where available, and careful estimates where they are not. Include projected yields for fields not yet gathered."
Her fingers tapped lightly against the table as she continued. She coughed a few times before she continued.
"List the number of cattle, sheep, horses, and poultry by region. I want herd counts, breeding rates (if recorded), and any notable losses due to disease or drought. Cough, cough, e-excuse me. A-Add the current condition of the granaries, how much grain is stored, how much has been distributed, and how much is reserved for levy or cough, emergency."
Her gaze lifted, steady and precise, but man, does she want to beat her throat.
"Make the report as accurate as possible. I do not want rounded guesses. If there are uncertainties, state them clearly. I want to know what the land truly provides us. Reach out to Ares or the X-Xiw—cough, Xiwen, if you need help."
She paused briefly, then waved a hand dismissively. "You may call it agri-prduction."
Gammarad hesitated, then nodded. "Understood."
He did not fully understand her, yet Her Grace gave her a list of writing.
That is fine.
It seems, they will get pretty occupied for the time being with all the new changes