TRFS 14

Chapter : 14

Eanok had been so busy handling work since early morning that he only managed to take a break at noon.

Because of the various events that began every spring, the Eisenbold family had no time to even blink.

They didn’t need to attend the minor events, but the Emperor’s Birthday in the spring and the Founding Festival in the summer were national in scale.

No matter how far they had fallen, the Eisenbolds, a ducal house in name, couldn’t possibly skip such events. The problem was that these large events were expensive.

There were imperial gifts to offer, and each influential house was required to cover part of the costs.

This wasn’t exactly a fee for running the event—it was more a display of their official relationship with the imperial family.

What was worse, the amount wasn’t even large enough to bother wealthy families—so much so that many influential families competed to pay first.

In the past, Eisenbold had no trouble covering that cost, but times had changed.

Pocket change for powerful nobles was a massive expense for Eisenbold.

When they didn’t even have money to repair the castle walls, paying festival fees was absurd. For a family struggling just to survive, nothing was more excessive.

“The expenses keep growing.”

“They’re shamelessly increasing the amount.”

“Damn them.”

Five years earlier, Eanok had caused a commotion at the palace to reduce the fees, but they had quietly increased again ever since. It was a conspiracy by the powerful houses—all praying for Eisenbold to collapse faster.

“Such bottomless greed. Even now, they still want something from us?”

Eisenbold owned only one asset—and it was also the biggest obstacle:

Their title.

A title was heritage, legitimacy, and a symbol.

And not just any title—it was one of the empire’s few ducal titles. A title awarded only to founding heroes and royal bloodlines.

Even while crumbling, the Eisenbold name and its ducal rank could not be taken by anyone.

Not even the emperor could revoke it. No matter one’s power or wealth, no one could rise above that rank.

That was why so many hoped Eisenbold would perish.

Only when the family vanished from history and their ducal seat became vacant could others even dare eye it. So the nobility wished—no, willed—Eisenbold’s swift and total downfall, squeezing them for money they did not have.

Eanok was rubbing his temples and staring up at the ceiling when there was a knock.

A brief reply, the door opened. Eanok glanced sideways and raised a brow in surprise.

“You’re early, Heliod. I thought your honeymoon wasn’t over yet?”

A calm, sky-blue-haired handsome man—Heliod Nordivan, Eanok’s secretary and a count—gave a faint smile.

“I imagined Your Grace would be making that face, so I hurried back.”

“You didn’t need to. It’s not as though your presence solves anything. I’m more afraid your wife will curse me as a tyrant boss working a newlywed husband to death.”

“You know Kallen would never say that.”

That soft laugh made Eanok sigh quietly. Heliod walked in, scanned the messy desk, and lifted his head.

“The amount must be substantial.”

“It went up again from last year.”

“Are you planning to storm in and raise hell again?”

“This time I’m debating whether to bring a sword.”

“Haha—please refrain. The young lord is still too young.”

Heliod chuckled and shook his head before lifting the papers.

“What’s Calypson saying? He’ll probably throw a fit when he sees this.”

“I already informed him and told him to come, so he should be here any moment.”

“Is that so? Poor man. He ages visibly every festival season.”

Just as he sighed and set the papers down, another knock sounded.

Heliod smirked and turned toward the door.

“Must be him. I’ll get it.”

With Eanok’s nod, Heliod pulled the handle.

“You’re late—hm?”

He cut himself short.

Instead of Calypson, a young maid stood in the doorway.

Frowning, Heliod stepped aside to let her in.

“Lord Dunnarvon is currently absent.”

“Absent? He wouldn’t leave during working hours.”

“Well…”

The maid looked troubled, shifting her gaze, then carefully spoke.

“He was summoned.”

“Summoned?”

“Yes… the direct heir candidate asked to see him.”

“….”

At the unexpected name, Eanok froze mid-sentence, brows furrowed.

Heliod stepped closer, watching their expressions.

“Direct heir candidate? Who?”

“…She’s here.”

Eanok pressed a hand against his brow to soothe the familiar throbbing and sighed deeply.

“A strange girl claiming to be Cleora Verne.”

At that moment, Calypson—dragged away by Cleora out of nowhere—was utterly baffled.

The maid had politely called it a “summons,” but in truth, Calypson had stormed out in anger under his own power.

Even if she was a direct heir candidate, only a few people could command the family’s treasurer. Not even Heliod, Eanok’s aide, had that authority.

So Calypson had scoffed, but Cleora had anticipated that.

[If you want your investment ledger back, you’d better come.]

The moment he received that message, Calypson checked the vault and bolted from the office with his face aflame—determined to reclaim his ledger and confront the thief herself.

“…You really did steal it.”

As soon as he saw the ledger Cleora tossed down, he let out a hollow laugh.

Had she truly taken it?

Even while staring at it, he checked multiple times in disbelief before lifting his head.

“How did you even get this?”

“Maybe save that question for later? I didn’t call you here for something so trivial.”

“Trivial? You broke open the vault and stole the investment ledger—that’s trivial?”

Calypso’s graying brown hair trembled with fury, yet Cleora nodded as if it were nothing.

“You—!”

“I’ll give you time to be angry later. Let me ask something first.”

“….”

Her composure drained the rage swelling to his throat. Calypson suddenly felt oddly foolish, as though he were angry over nothing.

Something’s off.

But he realized it too late.

“Does the Dunnarvon line also collapse every few generations so distant branches inherit?”

“…What are you talking about?”

Cleora flipped through the ledger.

“I mean, otherwise these returns make no sense. Every investment you touch underperforms—and you rarely even recover the principal. And that would be fine, except—some of these ventures are old Eisenbold businesses! Why would anyone invest in those unless they were crazy?”

“You’re talking to me?”

“Well, who else would I be talking to?”

Cleora tilted her head innocently. Calypson laughed in disbelief.

Never in his long life had he imagined a child half his age would lecture him to his face.

Direct heir candidate or not, the title clearly had gone to her head. Calypson’s temper flared.

Normally he would have ignored her and walked out, but this time he answered.

“Yes, everyone has something to say, don’t they?”

“You mean talking is easy?”

“Sharp of you. Let me give you an adult’s advice—life doesn’t go the way you think. I don’t know what you’ve seen to make you think you can lecture people, but this isn’t something a child should prattle about.”

“Hmmm.”

“The Dunnarvon family has managed Eisenbold’s finances for centuries. I trained for this since I was a boy. It’s not something you understand after reading a few lines in a ledger. Is that clear?”

A reply full of authority and logic.

Calypso smirked, believing he had shut her down completely.

He stood, ready to end the pointless exchange.

“So stop meddling and go wait for—”

“Are you still embezzling funds?”

“…What?”

“You just said it yourself. You studied as the heir to the treasury. Doesn’t that mean you learned how to skim money too?”

The financial steward was always the most suspected position when it came to embezzlement.

He controlled the flow of every coin—making it possible to pocket or hide funds at will.

Every quarter he underwent investigations for that very reason.

So the word embezzlement didn’t shake him.

But that was only because he heard it in places where it should be said.

Right now was different.

The accusation came out of nowhere—from the last person he expected.