Chapter 8: Reform Under the Banner of Meritocracy

Even after the criminals were dragged out of the grand hall, not a single retainer remaining inside dared to move.

The fear that clung to the floor seemed to chain their feet in place. Everyone kept their heads bowed, holding their breath, terrified that the next blade of purging might turn toward them.

Even the most senior retainers who had served House Arkwright for over thirty years were reduced to helpless infants before the third son. Age, lineage, past achievements—none of it mattered. That realization shattered the very foundation of their worldview.

Amid that frozen silence, Zenon sat back down as calmly as if the meeting had never been interrupted.

“Now then, unnecessary costs have been greatly reduced. Let us continue with the main topic—the new budget plan.”

The retainers flinched.
The main topic?
Did that blood-chilling purge amount to nothing more than an introduction?

“Before we proceed, there is one issue.” 

Zenon said quietly, surveying the hall.

“With Bartolo and his faction expelled, several key posts—including the treasurer’s seat—are now vacant. These must be filled immediately.”

A few of the retainers’ eyes flickered.
A chance.

With Bartolo’s faction gone, whoever installed their own allies in those roles could quickly expand their influence within the house. The captain of the knights and the chief steward exchanged wary glances, each gauging the other.

“Zenon-sama.” 

The steward began hesitantly.

“Regarding the appointments, we would be honored to recommend some suitable candidates—”

“Unnecessary.”

The word sliced the air like a blade.

“I do not trust your standards for recommendation. You would simply promote members of your own factions or reward long service regardless of competence. That is irrational.”

“W-what…!”

The steward’s face flushed with humiliation, but he couldn’t protest—because Zenon was right.

“The personnel management of House Arkwright has been utterly negligent.”

Zenon rose and began walking slowly across the hall. Each step seemed to hammer directly against their hearts.

“Seniority, bloodline, faction—these are all meaningless noise, unrelated to ability. Veterans who produce no results are overpaid simply for existing. Meanwhile, those with talent are held down because of their birth. It is an obscene waste of human resources.”

His words pierced many in the room like arrows.
For those who had sat comfortably atop their privileges, it was a declaration that denied their very existence.

“Therefore, as of today, the personnel system of this house will be reformed.”

He stopped at the center of the hall and proclaimed like a sovereign issuing royal decree:

“Status, age, family background—all irrelevant. The only criteria are ability and results. Those who achieve results shall be rewarded accordingly. Those who do not will be demoted—or dismissed. We are moving to a complete meritocracy.”

A ripple of shock swept through the hall.

“Th-that’s madness!”

“Will you cast aside our traditions?!”

The cries of the old guard were tinged with desperation. Seniority had been their final shield of security.

But Zenon didn’t spare them a glance.

“Tradition? Stop calling the breeding ground of corruption a tradition. If you are dissatisfied, you are free to leave this house immediately. As I said—there is no money to pay those who produce nothing.”

That merciless statement silenced all dissent.
After witnessing Bartolo’s fate, everyone understood perfectly what defiance meant.

“Now, I will announce the first of the new appointments.”

Zenon pulled out a list from his coat.

“First, for the vacant position of treasurer… Rio Goodman, the scribe. You’ll take it.”

All eyes turned toward a thin, pale youth standing by the wall—barely twenty years old, a commoner by birth. His eyes widened in shock.

“M-me, sir?! But I’m of common birth… surely someone more—”

“You calculate faster and more accurately than anyone in this manor. You notice inconsistencies in ledgers others overlook. That’s all that matters. Status is irrelevant.”

As the hall buzzed in disbelief, Zenon continued unfazed.

“Next, for deputy commander of the knights—I appoint Hector.”

The name belonged to a rugged man in his fifties, a scar cutting across his face. A man of few words, he had long been sidelined, spending his years training young soldiers in the corner of the drill yard.

“Hector…” 

Zenon said, his tone firm but respectful.

“Five years ago, you defended the village of Millan with just ten men against a band of over a hundred brigands. The former deputy commander reported the victory as his own, and you were denied proper recognition. But I see results for what they are. A leader who can protect his subordinates deserves that position.”

“…!”

Hector’s eyes widened in shock, words failing him. The lord knew—he remembered that small, long-forgotten battle that no one else cared about. And more than that, he valued it.

A surge of heat welled up in Hector’s chest.

“Lastly—Assistant Magistrate of the Territory, Marc Brown.”

The one called was a middle-aged official, sunburned and rugged, a man of peasant birth. Because of his humble origins, he had been transferred from one small rural office to another his entire career.

“I read the report you submitted last year regarding the introduction of crop rotation. Its content was remarkably rational and practical. Yet the magistrate at the time dismissed it as ‘nonsense from a peasant upstart’ and buried it. That was foolish. From now on, your knowledge will serve the entire territory.”

“…Y-yes, sir!”

Marc could barely manage a trembling reply.

One unprecedented appointment after another was announced.

A common-born clerk.
An aging knight long abandoned by ambition.
A peasant-born low-ranking official.

All of them were people whose abilities and achievements had been ignored, whose efforts had gone unrewarded.

Those chosen stood frozen, disbelief written across their faces.

Meanwhile, the vassals who had risen by family name or faction turned pale. They realized their status was no longer secure.

“That is all. I will accept no objections.”

Zenon tucked the list back into his coat and declared,

“This is the new form of House Arkwright. Produce results and bring me profit—do that, and you will be rewarded accordingly. But anyone I judge incompetent, no matter who they are, will be cut off. Remember that.”

Fear—and a faint glimmer of hope.

Those two conflicting emotions filled the grand hall.

The old order had been completely shattered in that instant. And under this cold, devil-like lord, a new one was about to be born.

Watching from behind, Gray trembled with emotion.

(Ah, Zenon-sama! What profound foresight! He cuts down the rotting old tree and plants new saplings in its place! By granting opportunity to those who truly care for the land, regardless of birth, he means to revive this house from within!)

Of course, Zenon himself had no such lofty ideals.

He was merely pursuing the most efficient organizational structure possible.

Right person, right job. Merit-based evaluation.

To him, this was simply standard management practice—nothing more.

As the meeting adjourned and the retainers left, each carrying their own thoughts, the three newly appointed—Rio, Hector, and Marc—remained standing as if in a dream.

Then, as though guided by the same impulse, they stepped forward and bowed deeply before Zenon.

That act was, in truth, a solemn vow of absolute loyalty—

—but Zenon himself had no idea.

He simply recognized it as the completion of the “initial setup” for his new human resources.