'If a message is going to pop up, I might as well give it my all.'
Recalling my lives from past rounds, I squeezed out the best possible response.
Then, suddenly, I remembered my time as the Imperial Prime Minister in the second round.
I had shared drinks with him as the representative of the Imperial Family, while Dark represented the nobles.
At first, we'd traded fierce arguments.
But once the alcohol kicked in, we happened to share our dreams...
As expected, people who had achieved everything had similar dreams.
"I don't have any grand ambitions."
I opened my mouth just like back then, when we'd drunk together.
With the weary gaze of someone battered by the world's storms.
"No matter how much wealth or power you amass, it all fades away eventually."
I took off my uniform cap.
Smiling at the Grand Elder, who had upheld the Empire from his position.
"So my goal is to live to see my grandchildren and tend a vegetable garden in the countryside."
Was it because of my unexpected answer?
The spacious cell of Dark fell eerily silent for a moment.
Clea, listening from afar, nearly burst out laughing and flung open the door.
She'd asked about my aspirations, and my response was too humble.
"..."
The blond man facing me stared at me intently.
After hearing my foolish reply, he took a sip of his cold tea.
'It's over.'
Clea could tell he was drinking out of thirst and squeezed her eyes shut.
But she couldn't help peeking again.
The old man spoke once more, his tone gentler than before.
"Fascinating. I thought you'd ask for something trivial like making you the family head."
His face reflected in the reddish tea.
Confirming his lips curling up, Dark drained the rest of the tea.
"Isn't it too greedy for a young pup like you to already dream of grandchildren?"
The Grand Elder placed a firm hand on my shoulder.
He wasn't a knight, yet his touch carried an odd pressure.
Wanting to live comfortably in the countryside.
It sounded modest on the surface, but it was actually an extravagantly luxurious dream.
The age to lay down power and retire was usually seventy.
Standing firm atop your enemies' corpses until then was no easy feat.
As expected, the Grand Elder saw right through my bold ambition.
"Listen, that's a dream I haven't achieved yet myself."
"That's why I'm saying we should achieve it together."
I politely adjusted my uniform cap.
And boldly proposed to the man who held half the Empire's power.
"Think of it as an investment. I'll make this place safe enough for you to rest here with your family."
The Warden of Berryhill Prison could claim ownership of the surrounding 20km of land.
Dark burst into laughter at the ambition of his young junior, empowered by that right.
"In all my years, this is the first negotiation proposal like this I've ever heard...!!"
"I was taught that a real negotiation offers what the other side needs most."
What did a sixty-year-old Grand Elder need most?
Money, honor, love?
He'd already enjoyed and experienced it all.
The reason he'd sparked a civil war was precisely because of his family.
The Grand Elder had come here because of his son's crimes.
For someone who had everything, family was all he had—and that included his younger sister, the Second Empress.
When she and her daughter the Princess were assassinated by the opposing faction, he flew into extreme rage.
Right now, he was being so affable with me...
But in the previous round, after losing his sister and niece, he was pure terror incarnate.
"You're right. It might just be the sweetest bargaining chip."
Dark lightly clasped the hand I extended.
His grip solemnly conveyed the weight of a family head's burdens.
"I'll give you a proper 'reply' soon enough."
The first meeting with the Grand Elder ended successfully.
As I left the cell, I quietly reflected.
He had devoted himself to the nation until he started the civil war.
In this life, I wanted to give him the peaceful rest he deserved.
"Hoo..."
As I approached the cell door, Clea came into view, fists clenched tightly in timid joy.
As I stepped into the corridor, she reverted to her cold, expressionless face.
"Did the conversation go well?"
"You eavesdropped on everything, so why ask?"
"Ahem, I was just curious. So, are you on friendly terms with Grand Elder Dark now?"
"No, we're not there yet."
I shook my head firmly, and Clea tilted her head.
My expression had grown far more serious after the talk.
"You both looked pleased."
"If I'd said I'd serve under him, it would've gone smoothly. But I arrogantly proposed an alliance."
Dark never joined hands with just anyone.
He rigorously tested them, forming equal partnerships only with the select few.
To him, I was an unproven talent with no family or wealth to protect.
"Soon, his close aides will come to test me."
Messengers from the Imperial Palace were on their way.
The ruthless Imperial Tax Agency that even nobles who feared no heaven had crushed.
"To see if I'm worth keeping around."
Realizing the gravity, Clea pondered deeply.
"We should prepare in advance."
"Yeah. First order as Warden."
She looked expectant for my solid command.
But soon, her fine brows furrowed.
"Go into town and buy some whiskey. As much as you can."
"Pardon?"
The fox-faced woman glared at me with disgust.
Her long-buried work enthusiasm seemed to deflate.
"I have a reason. It's very important."
"...Understood."
The Vice Warden trudged out first, grumbling the whole way about whether I was trying to bribe them with booze.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The next day, as expected.
Clea, worried about Derek left alone in the prison, headed to work early.
Upon reaching the entrance, she dismounted at the unusual atmosphere.
True to the Warden's words, a big shot had indeed arrived at this usually quiet place.
"Are you the Vice Warden here?"
A stern-looking black-haired middle-aged man stood at the entrance.
Accompanied by a knight in the white uniform symbolizing the Imperial Family.
"Yes, Vice Warden Clea Rockhart, at your service."
"Take me to Warden Derek Minster."
A short, curt command.
A massive pressure that chilled even the air.
Enough to tense even the ever-expressionless Clea.
"May I ask your affiliation?"
"Imperial Tax Agency."
Imperial Tax Agency.
The Emperor's emissaries from the palace, who made even high nobles tremble in fear.
The absolute enforcers who judged only the lofty had come to this remote outpost.
To punish the insolent Warden.
Cold sweat trickled down Clea at the power of the prisoner who could summon them so casually.
"This way."
Still, the Vice Warden guided him calmly.
All the while, she thought only of one person.
What on earth had he been thinking, provoking the Grand Elder and inviting this catastrophe?
"I hear Derek Minster is a hopeless drunkard."
"Just rumors."
"We'll see for ourselves. When we open the Warden's office, prepare to unlock the liquor storage first."
"...Understood."
Clea remained silent all the way to the office.
Even if it was an act, the Warden had indeed guzzled booze shamelessly until now.
Surely, that musty space was littered with empty bottles.
"Warden, it's the Vice Warden."
No response from inside.
The Tax Agency head then yanked the door open himself.
Bang!!
The intruder swiftly scanned the office.
But soon scowled deeply.
"Vice Warden? I was adjusting the phonograph and didn't hear you."
The office, where past Wardens had slacked off sick...
Was now impeccably neat, like the Imperial Prime Minister's study.
"Are you the one in charge here?"
"Yes. Warden of Berryhill Prison, Derek Minster."
Sleek black uniform and elegantly pomaded silver hair.
I wore the refined smile Derek had in the character selection screen.
"Pardon the intrusion."
The rough-faced man ignored my handshake and strode forward.
Toward the liquor storage, the drunkard's weakness.
At that, even Clea broke a sweat for the first time.
Until yesterday, that place had been piled with bottles the Warden had drunk and tossed.
"Wait. That place is...!!"
"Liquor storage is the first door."
Leaving the flustered Clea behind, I opened the door myself.
Even lighting the lantern boldly.
"Go ahead, check to your heart's content."
The inspection team's leader gaped at the revealed storage.
Clea peeked in like a curious fox.
Even she, who knew everything about the place, went wide-eyed.
"Military Supply Whiskey"
"Military Supply Cognac"
"Military Supply Wine"
"Military Supply Rum"
Golden liquors beautifully lined the shelves.
Each glass bottle tied with intricate rope marked "Military Supply" for the Empire's provisions.
"How is this possible...?"
The Tax Agency head furrowed his brow and uncorked a bottle.
Recalling the exact scent of military supply liquor, he sniffed deeply.
"Smells good, right? Treasured like gold and jade, as they're gifts from the Imperial Family."
The middle-aged man's eyes twitched.
At the eerily similar aroma, he snorted like a baffled hound that bit the wrong prey.
"Shall I pour you a glass? Oh, but you're on sacred duty now—can't, I suppose."
My eyebrow wiggled lasciviously like a worm.
Irritated by the sight, the Tax Agency head sniffed more aggressively.
"My nose can't be wrong... You lot, come verify."
"Yes, sir!!"
Sniff all you want; I've drunk hundreds of types from my Prime Minister days.
I know every variety and scent supplied to officers.
Well enough to mix civilian booze for a near-perfect match.
"How? It was full of empty bottles before..."
Clea whispered, sidling up.
I nodded toward the window.
"Tax evasion."
Far off in the empty lot, signs of burial.
The Vice Warden realized that's where the bottles she'd bought yesterday were buried.
"You mixed cheap booze to fake military-grade liquor...!"
Unlike his neat attire, his bloodshot eyes grinned.
Understanding, Clea showed genuine remorse for the first time.
"If you'd told me, I would've helped."
Clea covered her lips with her hand, averting her gaze.
Regretting her coldness yesterday, it seemed.
"I could've stayed and assisted..."
"You don't know booze anyway. Wouldn't have helped much."
My scoundrel's consolation earned a poke in the ribs from her finger.
It hurt more than the Tax Agency raid.
"Berryhill's full allotment: 100 bottles whiskey, 50 cognac. All accounted for."
"Got it. Everyone, out."
Soon, the Imperial emissaries filed out.
Unable to find a single blemish, the leader struggled to maintain composure.
"Lastly, the ledgers."
His tone had softened considerably from the start.
Still, no room for complacency.
I'd faked them at dawn, but this was the top killer in his field.
"On the desk there."
I moved to point out the ledgers.
But this time, Clea beat me to it.
Her blue ponytail danced gracefully.
Glancing back at me, her eyes said she'd take it from here.
"I'll handle things from now on."
New ledgers thudded before the inspectors.
Documents she'd meticulously forged alone while past Wardens boozed.
"Name the ledger you want; I'll prepare the rest."
The flaw-hungry team pounced.
But Clea's books toyed with them, leaving no trace.
They ended up like hounds lost chasing a fox.
'Clea's truly the best at this.'
I watched fondly as the Vice Warden defended with ironclad fakes.
Once all Tax Agency knights were utterly exhausted.
I slipped into the corridor alone, a sly serpentine smile on my face.
The Grand Elder, expecting me to be stripped bare by now.
Defense successful—now it was time for my counterattack.