Rothschild Baron Household’s Low-Ranking Spy: Roberto
Currently, he worked as a servant in the household of Baron Olbia—a mere stableman, only slightly above the status of a serf. Roberto, skilled in deception from his days with the intelligence guild, easily blended into any role. Nobles seldom bothered with background checks for mere stable hands, allowing Roberto to fully integrate into this family.
“Hah, what a ridiculous bunch. They’re the type you’d want to smash over the head with a hammer, and it still wouldn’t be enough,” he muttered, fueling the curiosity of the lower-ranked servants around him, who lived for moments of gossip, drinking, and idle chatter.
The most senior of the stable hands, Faber, raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on? Did someone mess with your wife or something?”
Roberto smirked internally, feeling that they were taking the bait. But he remembered the guild’s wise saying: One must always be cautious when things appear to be going well. After all, Deus punishes those who grow too arrogant when fortune smiles on them.
“If that were the case, I would’ve sent his teeth flying with this iron fist.”
“Sounds like you could take on a knight in armor!”
“Please, Faber, don’t exaggerate.”
Those of noble birth often scorned the slums, seeing them as despicable. Yet, just as a veteran warrior from hell could emerge as a hero, surviving the slums required keen social skills. Without the ability to talk, flatter, and play along, one couldn’t survive in that brutal environment, where misplaced words could lead to disaster.
Roberto, who had endured such a place, naturally adapted, using his wit and social tactics. In just three days, he was already a fixture among the stable hands, even if he was the youngest in rank.
“You know, the servants of Baron Sicia have been mocking our lord’s taste in clothing, calling it ‘provincial,’” Roberto shared.
Faber and the other stable hands clenched their teeth.
“Those mongrels dare to insult our baron?”
“Sure, he’s frugal and not the most stylish noble, but still.”
“Hell, is their baron that much better?”
Outwardly, it appeared that these stable hands were riled up out of loyalty to Baron Olbia. Yet, their pay was barely above that of urban poor, and they survived by skimming funds wherever they could without drawing attention. Small thefts, like selling premium hay at inflated rates or substituting feed grains for lower-quality stock, helped them scrape by.
Of course, a butler overlooked these minor pilferages. For the servants, loyalty was a shallow notion; they just didn’t appreciate outsiders ridiculing their baron. It was akin to family members who might privately mock each other but would stand together against an outsider’s insult.
Roberto recalled his directive: Spread the rumor that Baron Sicia mocked Baron Olbia’s taste in clothes. Stir up animosity between the households’ servants.
He thought carefully about how best to implement his orders. After all, unlike his time in the slums, the Rothschild household rewarded agents based on achievements. My clever little wife deserves some luxury, he thought, picturing her at four months pregnant and hoping to provide her with delicacies by the time the child arrived.
“Is that so?” Faber said, watching Roberto with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. The young stable hand was just cheeky enough, knowing how to please without going overboard. Faber couldn’t help but like him.
“You know,” Faber continued, “when Butler Bren hands out those silver coins to treat us all, we go to the ‘Restful Bed’ inn. And every damn time, those Sicia servants stare us down.”
Strictly speaking, they never stared. But once someone dislikes another, every action can be misinterpreted. The stable hands’ mounting disdain subtly reshaped their memories, making the Sicia servants seem all the more contemptible.
“As if those fools have any decency,” Faber spat.
“Indeed. They even sold an old draft horse from their stable and claimed it had died.”
“A person shouldn’t act that way,” Roberto said, letting a moment’s pause stretch. “But that’s not even the worst of it.”
“What else?” Faber urged.
“Well... it’s embarrassing to admit...” Roberto trailed off, intentionally piquing their interest.
“Out with it already!” Faber snapped. “Or I’ll box your ears for teasing us.”
These stable hands were laughable to Roberto. They likely had brawls now and then, but never to the death. In the slums, no one cared if someone died, he mused. He’d killed more times than he could count on both hands.
However, he played the part, feigning fear. Loyalty to Baron Rothschild, who treated him generously, came before his pride.
“They said our baron’s style is so poor that we, his servants, must dress poorly too.”
Faber rolled up his sleeves, visibly furious. While the baron being insulted was irksome, an insult to them was intolerable.
“Those wretches... You’re not lying, are you, rookie?”
“Why would I lie to you, Faber?”
To Faber and the others, Roberto’s words felt like a guarantee. With Sicia and Olbia already rivals, the story held just enough plausibility.
This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.
“Honestly, I’d love to break their legs, but for the baron’s sake, I’ll hold back,” Faber muttered, more of an excuse to preserve his pride than a genuine threat.
Roberto, sensing the brewing anger, gave an inward thumbs-up. Now a real fight will begin, he thought, satisfied.
True to his expectations, the rumor reached Baron Olbia’s ears.
“Damn it! They said I dress like a slob?” He fumed, the rumor inflating as it spread.
The crucial detail remained: Baron Sicia mocked him.
“Is this true, head butler?”
Though aware that rumors are just that, nobles knew well that they rose and fell by gossip.
“This slander can’t be ignored,” Olbia grumbled. Though it was a servant’s whisper, he knew such rumors could still harm him.
“Wise decision,” the butler agreed. “Perhaps let Roberto handle both stable work and rumor gathering discreetly.”
Unknowingly, Olbia had assigned Roberto to gather intelligence for the Rothschilds.
“Also, perhaps a direct confrontation with Baron Sicia is warranted. He’s technically a rival, even if they share the same faction.”
They had different patron counts, keeping the nobles at odds. Meanwhile, Fabio, a favored and powerful duke’s man, had transcended such petty affiliations.
“Yes, I’ll confront him at the ball. And have a new suit made; bring in the best tailor, retired from the royal service if needed.”
Thus, Baron Olbia unknowingly danced to Fabio’s tune, while the expenses started to drain his coffers.
Yet, the hidden hand behind all this was far from satisfied.