...Could it all have been a misunderstanding?
The Duke of Diarka had always spoken of those nobles as exemplary individuals—nobles who fulfilled their duties better than anyone else. He’d said they were far more intelligent than the current chancellor, who only proposed impractical policies, or the emperor’s faction, who lacked the resources to fulfill their obligations.
Even recalling moments when Kiole had briefly exchanged greetings with them at events or parties, he had never sensed anything suspicious. To anyone’s eyes, they were the very image of noble virtue. If such people, who had raised their voices so often for the sake of the poor, had known about situations like these, surely they {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} would’ve stepped in to help.
Yes... surely there must’ve been some kind of mistake. Perhaps their subordinates had grown greedy or made a mess of things, then reported it falsely to their lords. Maybe that was why the nobles themselves were unaware of what was happening...
Yet even as he tried to convince himself, Kiole’s inner voice lacked the certainty it once held. He listened silently, concealing the tremble in his eyes, as the prisoners continued to speak.
“It was better back when His Majesty the Emperor revised the law on insulting nobility a few years ago.”
“Oh, you mean when you couldn't get thrown in prison just for being reported? Back then you were guaranteed a trial.”
“Yeah. A lot of folks got off without labor sentences once the court ruled they were justified in getting angry. A guy I worked with almost got arrested, but thanks to the trial, he was declared innocent. I didn’t get the same chance, though...”
“Didn’t they cancel that system because too many people were found innocent? Said the courts were getting overrun, so they scrapped it.”
Kiole faintly remembered that time.
It was before Emperor Keillusa became reclusive due to his terminal illness. Right after ascending the throne, the Emperor had passed several sweeping new laws. The Duke of Diarka had condemned every one of them, claiming they would ruin the country.
Kiole couldn’t recall the details, but he remembered how furious his father would get during meals. He remembered how the duke had gathered like-minded nobles and declared he would stop the Emperor’s madness.
And he remembered the triumphant smile on his face when he finally succeeded.
“The streets were never cleaner than during that time. The government hired workers with actual wages instead of relying on forced labor.”
But his father had said the Emperor was wasting the national budget.
“Oh right, I remember now. The kid next door got one of those jobs, worked hard for a while, but got fired overnight. That’s when he turned to stealing...”
The duke had warned that letting the Emperor continue unchecked would only embolden the commoners and lead to the Empire’s downfall.
“And it’s after all that reform got overturned that these so-called charity nobles really started showing their teeth... everyone knows they loan money under the guise of aid and then threaten people for repayment.”
“Never go near a charity merchant group or relief committee run by nobles! Unless you wanna end up like me, buried in debt for life...”
“I know one. A noble family that left the capital recently—Baron Durmang, I think. Their operation was the nastiest. No matter how many complaints or reports were made, I never once saw the security forces step in...”
They used to say the benevolent nobles aligned with Diarka were the true pillars of the nation...
“......”
Even someone like Kiole, who never paid much attention to political affairs, couldn’t fail to notice the common thread tying all these stories together.
The Diarka family’s extended network.
The noble houses that followed Diarka’s lead.
None of them were mentioned by name—but every path led back to them.
He remembered the face of the official who had arrested him when he was reported for unlawful lodging. That man hadn’t even listened to Kiole’s side of the story. He’d thought it unfair that he’d been imprisoned without a proper investigation, but now it was clear—his own family had helped create a system that allowed this to happen.
In the end, it was his father’s will, and the things he had accomplished, that had landed Kiole here.
I... I...
Kiole didn’t understand how the government worked or what laws were good or bad. But was it really so terrible to at least give these people a chance at a trial? If noble-run charity organizations were doing harm, wasn’t it right to punish them? Why was it that when commoners reported noble employers who hadn’t paid them, the commoners were the ones punished for slander and thrown into prison?
He was too stunned to speak—but the prisoners who shared these miserable stories didn’t seem particularly angry or sad. It was just life to them. They were used to it.
Could Father really not have known?
Was he trying to block the Emperor simply out of ignorance?
Kiole remembered the look on his father’s face when he had tried to speak in favor of sending aid to the South. In the end, even after Kiole had defied his confinement and rallied the Imperial Guard, not a single one of those “noble philanthropists” sent help to the South.
What had happened to all that money they’d raised at their charity banquets? If not then, when was it supposed to be used?
When the country was facing crisis, they had remained silent—tight-lipped and unmoving. Were those truly the virtuous pillars of the nation?
Kiole thought of the Cavalry—those who had used their strength freely and selflessly to save lives. He remembered Duke Peletta leading at the front, and Mayra El Hern—still only the First Princess at the time—standing at his side.
And in contrast... Crown Prince Kachien, who had slapped his own cheek and never once worried about anyone else.
His thoughts spun in circles. Kiole clenched his teeth tightly.
“Eh? Did that corn not sit right with you? Your face is red as a beet.”
One of the prisoners finally noticed Kiole’s expression and spoke to him. Only then did Kiole realize just how flushed his face was.
It wasn’t indigestion. He simply couldn’t contain the feelings swirling inside him.
He was ashamed of his father. At the same time, he felt so embarrassed, so terrified, he wanted to run away.
If his father had seen him now, he would’ve scolded him for being unworthy of a noble—failing to control his emotions and maintain composure.
But what was it that made one “noble”?
Barely three days into his labor sentence, Kiole had already become indistinguishable from the other prisoners.
From that day on, he spoke even less and worked in silence. He was still clumsy at everything he did—but no one suspected he was once a nobleman.
And then, more than a week into his sentence—
An unexpected incident occurred while the laborers were repairing the wall of a noble’s villa.
“You filthy, lazy bastards. I told you to fix it properly before I came back! But you ignored me again!”
The wall repairs had to proceed in order. But some nobles, consumed with self-importance, demanded that work begin around their residences first.
This particular noble had grown irate when his turn didn’t come after a week and now stormed in, throwing a fit. Normally, the overseer would’ve dealt with him—but today, he had stepped away to inspect another area.
The noble, taking even the overseer’s absence as a personal slight, only grew more furious. The prisoners instinctively fell silent and prostrated themselves. Kiole, who hadn’t yet grasped the situation, remained standing in confusion—until another prisoner urgently pulled him down into the group.
But even as he knelt, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The noble’s continued ranting stirred questions—and rising anger.
“Why are we even bowing like this? Can’t we just tell him we’re working in order? Even without the overseer here?”
“Don’t! Don’t say things like that! Just lie low and let him rage—he’ll leave once he’s had his fill!”
The prisoner who heard Kiole’s muttering hissed back urgently. Kiole didn’t fully agree—but he owed them too much to argue, so he stayed quiet.
However, the noble showed no sign of calming down.
“Today, I’ll teach you shameless scum a lesson!”
Finally, he pulled a whip—meant for horses—from his carriage and began swinging it.
Kiole couldn’t hold back anymore. He leapt to his feet.
—Smack!
The noble hadn’t been trained in swordsmanship. It was nothing for Kiole to block his movement and snatch his wrist. The whip wrapped around Kiole’s arm with a sharp sting, but he didn’t flinch.
“Wha—?!”
“A-Ah!”
“Hey, you—!”
The prisoner who had been bracing for a blow, the noble himself, and the other prisoners nearby—all froze in shock, mouths agape.
