In every era and every nation, there exists at least one idiom expressing the unpredictability of life.
This universal acknowledgment across different cultures and histories serves as proof that all humanity deeply resonates with the truth that life is inherently uncertain.
Duke Sforza, at the age of 72, once again grasped this reality all too painfully today.
"How dare a mere baron humiliate me like this?"
He felt an overwhelming urge to crush him, even if it meant mobilizing every ounce of power his faction could muster.
A mere baron—a petty noble whose voice barely carries weight in the central political arena—had dared to disgrace the Duke of an Empire.
The insult alone bordered on treason. Had there been any pretext, he would have acted immediately, perhaps orchestrating a tax audit and search of the Rothschild barony, or leveraging his connections with influential archbishops of the Church of Deus to accuse him of heresy.
He could have rallied the nobles of his faction to file lawsuits accusing the baron of misconduct and causing havoc.
Any of these actions, if successful, would have confined the young upstart to his estate for the next five years. And if all three hit their mark, he would either live out his days as a recluse or face a complete stripping of his title.
"How is it possible for him to handle matters so impeccably that there's not a single flaw to exploit? Tell me, Count Ajaccio! How can someone commit such atrocities and yet leave no grounds for impeachment?"
Count Ajaccio, the Duke's right-hand man and the second most powerful figure in the Sforza Duchy, let out a deep, weary sigh.
“I ordered the judges affiliated with our faction in the High Court and officials in the Ministry of Justice to scour for even the smallest speck of dirt. But after analyzing the documents in detail, all we received in response was, ‘No grounds for impeachment.’”
The Count sighed again, shaking his head with resignation.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to wait for another opportunity.”
Upon hearing this, Duke Sforza grabbed a bottle of potent wine from his desk and began drinking directly from it.
It was a crude act, one he wouldn’t ordinarily indulge in, even in solitude. But right now, he felt that unless he drowned his anger with alcohol, he wouldn’t be able to regain his composure.
After downing a considerable amount of wine, the Duke’s rationality returned.
While this incident had dealt a significant economic blow to him and his faction, it wasn’t the first crisis he’d endured in his long life.
‘I’ve overcome more crises than I can count.’
What truly enraged him this time was the fact that the one responsible was just a lowly baron. The thought of it twisted his insides like a knotted rope.
If Baron Rothschild had seen the state of the Duke at this moment, he might have thought it prudent to expedite the invention of cigarettes for the sake of the Duke's nerves.
“In the Sforza Duchy alone, this so-called hygiene reform shut down 20% of the Culinary Guild's establishments, while the rest were slapped with hefty fines. The Butchers' Guild had their slaughterhouses demolished for improper sanitation practices.”
Without slaughterhouses, there was no way to manage cattle. By strictly enforcing the laws, Baron Rothschild not only had these facilities torn down but also bought up cows, pigs, and chickens at rock-bottom prices, securing additional profits.
Fortunately for the Baron, this particular detail had yet to reach the Duke’s ears. If it had, the Duke might have been clutching his neck in rage at this very moment.
“Setting the guilds aside, he overturned both cities and rural villages under the pretext of sanitation reform. As a result, we’ve spent 150,000 gold coins on construction costs alone, with 23,000 of that going toward consultation and oversight fees.”
“Things are much the same for us,” Count Ajaccio chimed in.
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“Thanks to him, we’re now in a position where we have to pander to the guild masters and merchants.”
No noble should have to bow to a commoner.
Yet merchants and artisans, who provided the most tax revenue, were the elite clientele of the aristocracy. Though class distinctions were firmly upheld, displeasing these "clients" could lead to reduced income or, in extreme cases, threats of boycotts.
While nobles had the inherent right to tax their territories, the fact remained that they were borrowing wealth from these individuals. Thus, they had little choice but to consider their opinions.
“We’ve been humiliated, but we must retaliate properly. We’re not some punching bag for Baron Rothschild to exploit at will, are we?”
The Duke forced himself to calm down.
His fury burned hot, but over seventy years of experience taught him that when dealing with an enemy you want to annihilate, preparation must be thorough and guided by reason, not emotion.
‘I need to reevaluate that brat.’
Until now, he had viewed the Baron as an upstart to be crushed before he grew too powerful.
But now, he saw him as a direct threat to his faction, a political adversary whose very existence was detrimental.
“The judges and Ministry of Justice officials have deemed there to be no legal grounds for impeachment in this case. For now, we must take a step back.”
Sure, he could launch an administrative lawsuit or impeachment trial out of spite, but Baron Rothschild had saved dozens of cities from devastating plagues and directly or indirectly preserved the lives of hundreds of thousands.
Any lawsuit would only paint Duke Sforza as a heartless aristocrat who valued money over his people’s lives.
Losing the money was frustrating enough; he couldn’t afford to lose his reputation as well.
“I understand. I’ll inform the other nobles in our faction of this decision.”
“However, I have no intention of letting this go unanswered.”
Duke Sforza’s lips curled into a sinister smile, the kind of expression Fabio often wore.
It was a smile that said, “I won’t gain anything from this, but I’ll make damn sure you don’t either.”
If Fabio had seen it, he would’ve declared the Duke a perfect candidate for the East India Company board of directors.
“Happiness for others is misery for me. After all, humans can’t help but compare themselves to others, and when they find themselves lacking, they feel wretched. I, too, am human, and seeing Baron Rothschild thrive makes me feel... ‘unhappy.’”
This, Duke Sforza believed, was the greatest truth of his seventy years of life.
It was also a principle he had consistently acted upon, which had secured his current position.
If a rival faction’s competitor prospered, he would sabotage them, even at the cost of his own progress.
While he might regress three steps, at least he could ensure his rival would only move one step forward, preventing them from widening the gap.
“Contact Archbishop Urban. Tell him to demand a gratitude offering from Baron Rothschild. After all, Deus used him as a tool to save hundreds of thousands of lives. Any devout human should express their gratitude to Deus through offerings, don’t you agree?”
At the mention of an offering, Count Ajaccio grinned.
Like many other nobles, he was all too familiar with the extortionate practices of the Church, which often took as much as 20% of an estate’s budget in addition to tithes.
While a fraction of that money went to charity, most of it funded cathedral construction or the indulgences of clergy.
Thus, while nobles might feign piety, few truly believed.
How could faith thrive when the clergy were so corrupt?
“A brilliant plan, Your Grace. And I’ve heard rumors that many villages lack funds to build churches these days.”
“Then our dear Baron can contribute generously to construction funds. Perhaps he could also fund prayer gatherings for the sick, as a gesture of goodwill. The Archbishop will be thrilled.”
The Duke’s inherent spite—the refusal to suffer alone—combined with the shrewdness of two political minds, resulted in a devious scheme that even the British Empire might have deemed barbaric.
“Let’s ensure we act before the Baron voluntarily offers his gratitude to Archbishop Urban. No point in letting him get away with a token donation.”
While the Church’s greed was insatiable, it wouldn’t demand two offerings for the same cause. Thus, ensuring the first offering was substantial would maximize the damage.
“Move quickly.”
Count Ajaccio practically ran out of the room.
That very night, Duke Sforza’s proposal reached Archbishop Urban, who saw this as an opportunity to alleviate his diocese’s financial woes (mostly caused by his own indulgences).
“Deus is truly watching over us!”
Whether Deus existed was debatable, but as the Archbishop’s carriage raced toward the Rothschild estate, ominous storm clouds gathered in the skies above.
“Is Baron Rothschild here? Tell him Archbishop Urban has come to deliver an urgent message!”