Chapter 6: The Breeding Ground of Corruption

After the so-called family meeting—which had in truth been a tribunal—the atmosphere in the Arkwright ducal estate changed completely.

The languid air that had long dominated the mansion vanished, replaced by a cold tension that gripped every corner.

The duke and duchess shut themselves away in their chambers, while the two elder brothers, Albert and Bertrand, could no longer meet each other’s eyes without awkwardly looking away.

They had come to understand: the reins of power in the household were no longer in their hands.

And nothing symbolized that shift more clearly than the new rule—every flow of money within the estate now required the approval of the third son, Zenon.

“A request from Mother for a new dress—denied.”

“Elder Brother Albert’s application to purchase fine wine for a soirée—denied.”

“Brother Bertrand’s order for an ornamental ceremonial sword—needless to say, denied.”

In his study, Zenon stamped rejection after rejection on the stack of request forms that arrived each day. Beside him, Gray respectfully held a small box containing both approval and denial seals.

There was no longer any resistance from the family. Faced with the inevitable ruin Zenon had shown them, they had no choice but to yield.

“Also, dismiss any unnecessary servants. Especially the maids serving Mother—she has far too many. Retain only the essential few, pay the rest severance, and send them home.”

“Revise the meals. Serving ten dishes per sitting is wasteful. Reduce it to three courses with balanced nutrition. And replace our overpriced suppliers—those entangled in collusion—with cheaper, higher-quality vendors.”

Zenon’s orders spread to every corner of the mansion.

His ruthless cost-cutting stripped away the bloated excess that had long fattened the Arkwright household.

Naturally, unease spread among the retainers and servants.

“Zenon-sama must have sold his soul to a demon.”

“We’ll all be thrown out next, just wait and see.”

Such whispers echoed through the corridors.

But Zenon paid no attention to the noise.

Once again, he sat in his study, facing the towering mountain of ledgers. The bleeding from the family’s extravagance had been stopped, but that alone wasn’t enough. His analysis told him there were still unexplained movements of money.

“…Here.”

His finger stopped on one entry:

Payment to Gordon Trading Company, Capital Londinium. Item: full set of construction materials. Amount: 500 gold coins.

At first glance, it seemed ordinary. But when compared against the surrounding records, something didn’t add up.

During that period, there were no records of large-scale construction either on the estate or within the territory.

Zenon flipped through previous years’ ledgers and compiled every payment made to the so-called Gordon Trading Company.

The pattern was clear: several times a year, irregularly but consistently, large payments of hundreds of gold coins had been made. Each entry described only vague items like “construction materials” or “supply purchases.”

“Grey. Go to the capital and find out if a business called Gordon Trading Company actually exists.”

“As you command.”

Half a day later, Gray returned, his face pale.

“Zenon-sama… I contacted the merchant guild in the capital. There has been no record of any company by that name in over a hundred years.”

“I see. As I expected.”

Zenon’s response was chillingly calm, as if he had merely confirmed what he already knew.

Payments to a non-existent company—this was the classic sign of embezzlement. A fake transaction to siphon money into private hands. Crude, but effective in a system without proper oversight.

Zenon continued to examine the ledgers, and more suspicious payments surfaced one after another.

Wine purchased at thirty percent above market value.
Wages paid to mercenaries who had never been hired.
Feed costs listed for horses that had long since died.

And on every one of those approval lines appeared the same signature:

Financial Officer: Bartolo Zimmel

“So this is where the rot begins.”

Zenon muttered quietly.

Bartolo had served the Arkwright family for over thirty years. Trusted deeply by Duke Darius, he had wielded immense authority as the keeper of the family’s treasury. And all that time, he had been feeding on the house’s wealth.

While the duke and his sons squandered their fortune in the open, this man had been silently—and thoroughly—corroding the very foundation of the family.

“But… he can’t have acted alone.”

An embezzlement of this scale couldn’t be the work of a single man. There had to be lower clerks handling the paperwork, stewards managing the supplies—accomplices who kept the scheme running.

This was no petty crime.

It was systemic corruption.

“Gray.”

“Yes!”

“Find the accounting manager Bartolo. And there must be retainers who suddenly came into money over the last year or two. Investigate their backgrounds. Who they associate with, where and on what they spend their money. Trace the flow of funds thoroughly. Wherever money moves, there will always be traces.”

Zenon’s voice was icy cold.

Gray understood the meaning of the order and swallowed hard.

They had just finished purging the family—now he was going to turn his blade against the retainers.

And the target was Bartolo, the household’s senior accountant. Making an enemy of him would be tantamount to making enemies of the entire retinue.

“Zenon-sama, that’s far too dangerous! Bartolo has people planted all through the household. We could be crushed if we act openly!”

Gray’s warning was almost pained.

Zenon slowly shook his head.

“Dangerous? What are you talking about. Leaving this alone is far more dangerous.”

His blue eyes pierced Gray.

“A cancer, if left untreated, will metastasize and eventually kill the host. You must excise the rotten parts, even if it hurts. Otherwise the organism cannot regenerate. That is simply rational judgment.”

Gray lost his argument at those words.

Zenon was right. The corruption in this house ran much deeper than Gray had imagined. Half-measures would change nothing.

This man understood all of it — and, alone, was preparing to stand against a huge enemy.

How noble, and how lonely, that battle must be.

A hot feeling welled up again in Gray’s chest.

He must not let this man die. He would be his sword and shield. That was his duty.

“…Understood. I will bring back proof, even at the cost of my life.”

“Do not gamble your life. If you die, one human resource is lost. That is useless. Live, and produce results.”

Despite his lord’s dry words, Gray sensed a clumsy kindness hidden beneath them (as he chose to interpret it) and bowed deeply.

After Gray left, Zenon took out a sheet of parchment and wrote down the names of the targets for this operation.

Bartolo Zimmel.

Beneath it, he listed the names of several retainers suspected of connections to him.

Staring at the list, Zenon considered his next move.

Once the evidence was in hand, how would he deal with them?

Duke Darius would not easily cut loose Bartolo, a man he had trusted for years. Other retainers might shield Bartolo to protect themselves.

Then he would have to call another meeting.

This time, the opponents would be the corrupt retainers.

And he would need to prepare a perfect scenario to catch them all at once.

A cold smile formed at Zenon’s lips.

It was troublesome. But all for the sake of his peaceful life.

He knew what had to be done.