I had been given a new title.
Director of Hygiene at the Ministry of Health and Disease Control—a title that exudes prestige just by the sound of it.
And while the role of “Director of Hygiene” might seem limited in scope, in reality, I held the true authority, if not complete control, over the Disease Control Department. The nominal head of the department was little more than a rubber stamp.
‘Not to mention, I already have the acclaim for successfully managing a nationwide plague.’
The mayor of Ostia City greeted me with a reverence that bordered on worship as soon as he saw me.
“It is truly an honor to meet the young hero who saved the Toscano Empire from the White Horseman of the Apocalypse, Baron Rothschild.”
Typically, a mayor of a city this size—one that ranks among the Empire’s major urban centers—wouldn’t lower themselves to this degree unless a count or higher-ranking noble visited their jurisdiction.
But with a title and power like mine, the treatment I received had completely changed.
Is this why Baron Mancini is bending over backward to become the Chief Justice of the High Court?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard that Viscount Ostia is in good health.”
“Oh, is that so? Thank you for informing me of the viscount’s condition.”
The Viscount of Ostia and I belonged to entirely different factions. The viscount had supported Duke Sforza’s lineage for generations, while I was Duke Visconti’s grandson-in-law.
Still, nobles rarely made their political squabbles obvious in front of their subordinates.
‘It’s embarrassing to look petty in front of your own people. At least pretend to respect each other—it makes you seem dignified.’
“As you’re surely aware, there was a major outbreak of plague across the nation just a month ago. By the grace of Deus, Ostia City was spared, but life’s uncertainties mean one can never be too cautious.”
If history teaches us anything, it’s that bizarre accidents can happen. A Chinese general once died from a meteor striking his head, and an early Holy Roman Emperor met his end by falling into a cesspit when his floor collapsed.
“That is indeed true,” the mayor said, though he averted his gaze slightly.
Anyone watching might think I was about to devour him.
Come now, I’m not a cannibal. Eating human flesh can lead to diseases like kuru, and I’d rather avoid that. I prefer to keep people alive to exploit their labor or strip them of every last coin—far more efficient ways to cripple someone.
Let me be clear: I’m not a bad person.
“Plagues can be mitigated with proper preparation, so as a noble of the Empire, don’t you think it’s your duty to do everything you can to prevent them?”
“Yes, absolutely. As the mayor of Ostia, I will do all that is within my power.”
“Good. Then allow me to explain step by step what you must do. I’ll be very thorough.”
When it comes to implementing any kind of reform, ensuring there are no loose ends is critical. Even with the emperor’s authority and the unassailable justification of plague prevention, it’s unwise to swing a hammer recklessly, smashing fiefdoms, cities, guilds, and restaurants into submission as if tenderizing meat for a pork cutlet.
Sure, you might fill your coffers with cash in the short term, but what happens when the backlash inevitably comes?
You must back them into a corner where they have no choice but to accept your measures, unable to argue against them even if they feel wronged.
“First, here’s the detailed guideline manual.”
I handed the mayor a tome hundreds of pages thick.
His jaw dropped instinctively as he opened the book. The sheer amount of effort evident in the densely packed text seemed to overwhelm him.
It probably helped that half of the manual was devoted to theological proofs demonstrating the divine correctness of my hygiene protocols—not that it truly mattered.
The key was that I had provided a guide so obsessively detailed that even the most nitpicky bureaucrat would throw up their hands in despair.
“You’re deeply committed to preventing plagues, I see.”
“Of course. Nobles are privileged only because they shoulder the responsibility of protecting the Empire’s people. A true noble would throw their life away for honor without hesitation.”
Even in the East, there’s the concept of the Mandate of Heaven: the idea that all authority ultimately derives from the people. Though, to be fair, while the concept existed, not everyone lived by it.
As civilization has progressed, the ruling classes’ perspective on the common folk has somewhat improved.
‘In ancient times, they were treated as talking beasts. By the 21st century, they’re seen as humans who are weaker and of lower status.’
One particularly honest public official even described the masses as pigs and dogs.
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As a merchant, however, I view things a little differently.
No matter how brilliant my ideas or foolproof my plans, they’re meaningless if I lack subordinates to execute them. The wealth and luxury I currently enjoy come from countless customers buying my company’s products.
If I want to continue my idyllic routine of enjoying Chloe’s embrace in the morning, Chris’s attention in the afternoon, and Erika’s lap as my pillow in the evening...
‘...then I need to ensure the people’s well-being to some extent.’
Otherwise, I might face something like a communist uprising.
“Let me emphasize the most crucial points. Take notes.”
The mayor pulled out a pen and paper.
“Homes with courtyards must have at least one toilet. If indoor toilets are impossible, there must be at least one public restroom per five households.”
Obviously, I’m not insane enough to install only one toilet for every five households. That would be disastrous.
“In addition, there should be a public bathhouse for every sixty households, and all citizens must bathe at least once a week.”
“A bathhouse? But isn’t bathing considered... obscene?”
The Toscano Empire—or rather, the entire continent of Albania—never experienced the Black Death. However, bathing often leaves the body smelling fresh, which can naturally stir a man’s desires.
Opportunistic merchants capitalized on this, offering exclusive brothel services right next to bathhouses. From Ancient Rome to the Edo period in Japan, there’s been a historical association between bathing and promiscuity.
“Ensure that public bathhouses are accessible to women and children, and any prostitution in these facilities should be strictly punished with imprisonment or heavy fines.”
I don’t care if you mix genders in the baths, but stop perpetuating the notion that bathing is inherently sinful. If a plague breaks out, I could die too.
“Furthermore, all dishes in restaurants must be thoroughly cleaned before use, and serving leftovers to other patrons is strictly prohibited. Any violations will be severely punished.”
“I anticipate significant resistance from the culinary guild...”
For someone who had been groveling moments ago, the mayor’s sudden defiance suggested he had deep ties to the guild—perhaps he’d received gifts or even taken one of their daughters as a mistress.
But frankly, that’s none of my concern.
“If they wish to protest, let them. I’ll address every single grievance.”
I’ll hear them out, as a public servant should.
But since I’m a public servant in a pre-modern society, my methods might differ slightly. I’ll only listen, not necessarily act in their favor.
“I’m executing the emperor’s decree with legitimate authority. I’ll carefully consider any reasonable objections, but unreasonable ones...”
I pointed my finger toward the ceiling.
“...will go directly to His Majesty. And if that happens, I wonder what will become of those who protested—and of you, for failing to manage this city properly.”
The blood drained from the mayor’s face as he silently nodded.
“Additionally, facilities processing food must comply with strict hygiene standards. Use this manual to implement the changes immediately. How much time do you need?”
“A week! I’ll have it all done within a week!”
As if that’s realistic. If I start inspections after just a week, even justified enforcement would seem overly harsh.
“Be honest. I’m a generous man.”
I’m magnanimous—like a certain figure who paraded around in golden ornaments carried by servants before 300 brave warriors.
“...A month. We’ll need at least a month.”
“Very well. I’ll return in a month.”
With that, I left the mayor’s office.
As the door closed behind me, I heard the sounds of shouting and furniture being thrown around inside. Ever the kind and gracious person, I pretended not to notice.
Once outside, Chris approached me.
“How did the conversation with the mayor go?”
“Oh, it went splendidly. I gave him plenty of time and was exceptionally lenient.”
Indeed, I had provided ample time and detailed instructions. In theory, everything should proceed flawlessly without any hiccups.
And yet...
Chris tilted her head, puzzled.
“Oh, he’s going to have his pockets picked with his eyes wide open,” I said with a smirk.
This time, I planned to employ the wisdom of Joseon.