After arriving at the Wilhelm Bremenstadt estate, I gingerly carried Elise to the room, removed her welcome garments, and tucked her in. After that, I had a pair of guards posted outside her room. You could never be too careful these days. They had strict instructions to let no one in -- unless given expressed permission by a member of the Wilhelm family.

That should be enough, for now.

Soon after, I made my way to the laundry and placed my soiled clothes into the basket. A maid nearby insisted that I let her do it for me -- I waved her off. I quickly ran up to my room and got another suit. A fresh one, a clean one, an excellent one. Pristine. Why was I repeating adjectives in my head? I wasn't normally like this.

Why was I suddenly so anxious? No, not now. No.

I raced to my study and shut the door, before grabbing a book -- any book, I didn't care -- off the shelf and begin to read. To focus me. To distract me. Anything. It worked. My anxiety subsided and I breathed a sigh of relief. I indulged myself with a random book for two hours. Two precious hours.

A maid knocked at my door.

"Enter."

She did so.

"Count Wagner is here to see you, Young Master." I frowned. Might as well set the stage. I played experimentally with a set of dials beneath my desk. The room turned hotter and colder at my will. Good, they still worked.

"Clear out the extra chairs and send tea up. The entire set -- I wish to be left alone."

"As you wish, young Master."

--

A tubby man strode his way into my study, chin held high and chest puffed out. He wore fine clothes and an even finer monocle -- stereotypical much? Ah. That must be the Count. Aged forty-two, ruler of some tiny tract of land in the middle of nowhere, and father to an utter annoyance.

"Good afternoon, Count Wagner." I tapped my desk lightly with my pen, before gently placing it back into its inkwell. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The Count did not immediately respond, instead opting to take my measure from across the room. He was evidently unimpressed if his disdainful sneer was any indication -- interesting, given our difference in social stature. Very interesting. My haggard appearance and tired eyes must have boosted his confidence exceptionally; I could think of no other reason for him to be so brash and arrogant.

Regardless of his blatant show of disrespect -- he still hasn't greeted me back -- I would act the part of a good host. Let House Wilhelm never be disparaged for its lack of hospitality. I slowly poured a cup of tea and politely offered it to him. Without missing a beat, he gingerly ripped it from my hands, intentionally spilling half the cup's contents on my suit. All the while carefully ensuring he didn't damage the porcelain; it seems he understood the value of authentic oriental china.

The teacup's saucer clattered uselessly on my desk, quaking in fear.

I let out a small sigh and wordlessly attempted to clean up the mess with a handkerchief. It became quickly apparent the suit couldn't be salvaged from its brief dunk in tea, so I removed it and hung it from the back of my chair. A brief glance back revealed him smirking victoriously -- it seems he thought the better out of our first little exchange.

Correct, if you viewed it from the perspective of property damage. Incorrect, if you viewed it in terms of information.

From his actions alone, this Count Wagner was very much like his son, though tempered with experience. He oversteps when he perceives his opponent, opposite -- whatever you call the person across from him -- as lesser, and will probably cower when the opposite is true. I doubt he has any qualms about spitting on a man today and offering him a hand tomorrow if it benefitted him. But enough rumination about what may or may not be about his private dealings. Back to the present: if I continue to act subservient while stoking his anger, his ego will no doubt swell. His anger will grow. When his ego swells and his anger reaches a boiling point? He'll make bolder and bolder moves.

When he makes bolder and bolder moves? The chances of him making a mistake will multiply, and I will make that bastard pay for ruining my family's morning.

Did that murderous gleam somehow find its way into my eye? Judging from his involuntary half-step back, yes. My face contorted into a small frown, though my mouth was still thankfully hidden by the teacup I was sipping from. That's no good. Not good at all. Agh, I was always too sensitive with regards to matters involving the family.

Always.

Seeing that there was no further use in dallying, the Count finally offered a greeting. A very sarcastic one, laced with venom, but a greeting nonetheless.

"Good afternoon, Lord Wilhelm." He dropped into a deep, mocking bow. Tradition dictates a curtsy or a small bob of the head -- a full bow was often viewed as too inconvenient. "I am here for my son." Very blunt. Again, interesting. You'd expect nobility to be more subtle and act with more guile. This was clearly not the case here.

I took another sip of tea before answering. "What of your son, Count Wilhelm?" I asked evenly. "He is currently residing in one of the Empire's finest medical facilities, the Reiskmarsch Hospital." Because my guards put him there. "Do you protest his treatment?" That last question was thrown in to taunt him. Check.

"In a manner of speaking, my Lord." He chuckled mirthlessly, before leaning in for emphasis. "For I fail to see why a fifteen-year-old boy must be put in such an institution." The Count's pudgy hands clenched into fists as if to accentuate his intimidation factor. Zero multiplied by point-five is still zero

Slowly, I raised a hand and began emotionlessly listing out the Wagner boy's injuries: "Fractured jaw, concussion, mild bruising, and a broken nose. Perhaps psychological trauma? I'm no doctor, so I couldn't tell you. Apologies, Count Wagner." My statement got the expected rise out of him. I cackled -- internally, of course -- with glee. Step one is complete. Now for steps, two, three...

Until he breaks.

"You misunderstand me, my Lord." Ah, was he correcting my understanding of the situation? That'd be a major faux pas if we were in public. No matter how much the Empire prided itself on being a meritocracy, it still very much hierarchical. Still, this entire conversation could be construed as a series of faux passes. What's another one added to the list? "I was merely wondering what exactly my son did to warrant such... excessive injuries." Insinuating that his son didn't deserve what he had coming to him.

Why did I expect anything else?

"Assault of an innocent civilian, disturbing the public peace, and reckless destruction of private property. That's what's stated on his arrest warrant, Count Wagner."

"Yes, but the health of a noble scion is in no way equal to that of a commoner." He gave a small smirk, though I detected a slight tensing of the shoulders and twitch of the eye as he did so. Anger was leaking through his comparatively amicable -- half-amicable -- facade. "Or did you forget, my Lord?"

He didn't have very much emotional control.

"That is not what it states in the Imperial Constitution, as dictated by the thirteenth diet. Three hundred years ago." I raised a questioning eyebrow. "Or did you forget, my Count?"

The Count took a deep breath, obviously incensed. I took another sip of tea to hide my smile. I think I could avail myself that much in this situation.

"I did not, my Lord. I am merely stating the damage inflicted upon my family is disproportionate compared to what the commoner suffered, and the injuries my son suffered are very much... extrajudicial? That's what the Interior Ministry calls it, no?" Very sly, Making me admit the fact would be quite damning. Refusing to answer the question would make me look like a hypocrite. This was extortion, but with honeyed words instead of bloodied knives.

To a noble, they might as well have been the same thing. To me?

Laughable.

"My men were merely doing their duty, Count Wagner. I assure you it was well within the realm of law." I made a little hand gesture -- nothing flamboyant, but noticeable -- to emphasize my point. "You would not accuse the Interior Ministry of incompetency now, would you?" My voice was tinged with the slightest hint of menace.

"Of course not, my Lord. It would not do to besmirch the honor of one of my betters." That last word was brewed in venom and steeped with sarcasm. I took it in stride, offering naught but a patient smile. Inwardly, I was seething: I swore that I would peel the skin off his satisfied face, one strip at a time. "But I was just curious, really. I don't believe the Interior Ministry's agents beat highborn teenage boys for recreation?" The Count threw a pointed glare at me. I responded with a raised eyebrow, suppressing the urge to sigh. His attempts at goading me were churlish, childish... primitive. Primitive.

When you've dealt with Federation agents for the last six years, this kind of insubordination just bounces off your skin. Still, enough is enough. I think his ego has ballooned enough; enough that popping it will be satisfying. Certainly not enough for the trouble he's caused my family.

But it's a start.

A damn good start.

I subtly adjusted one of the dials beneath my desk, and the temperature in my study began to steadily climb. Not very high, mind you. Just enough for him to begin to sweat. I would be fine, of course. Cool tea would help me through this unprecedented wave of heat. Unfortunately, he's not getting any. How very unfortunate. The very last of the tea in the teakettle drained into my cup.

"No, my Count. I assure you the Interior Ministry's security forces are held to stringent standards."

"Then would you please explain what happened to my son?"

I sniffed delicately and took a sip of my tea before answering. He swallowed uncomfortably, his throat undoubtedly a bit parched from all this conversation. "Of course. Assault of an Imperial Official, whose guards staged a timely intervention. Your son's face is the aftermath, I'm afraid. The official in question declined to press charges."

"Impossible." He scoffed while dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. Good, he was sweating already. I wonder if he would dissolve into oil and water if we boiled him? "My son would never do such a thing."

"But he did, Count Wagner."

"You are lying, my Lord." He was breathing heavily now. Seriously? How humiliating. "The Wagners are alway- have always been a duly law-abiding, respectful group to those who reciprocate." Is this walking paperweight delusional? "Such as the Empire." His tongue subtly wetted his cracked lips. "May I ask for some refreshments?"

Of course. The people of the North find sweating -- Saunas, yes! That great Norden tradition. They find it very refreshing. Out of respect for his wishes and a homage to that beautiful aspect of Northerner tradition:

I turned up the heat dial, again.

"Why?" I inquired softly. "Why have someone interrupt our conversation? I find it quite entertaining. But of course -- I'll send for a maid."

I did not. But he let out a grateful little sigh and looked for a seat -- the first time he's done so this entire meeting, actually. He must have just realized that there wasn't one in sight -- at least, an unoccupied one. Having the spare chairs cleared out was a smart move. His expression was priceless.

Stolen novel; please report.

This is like slowly roasting a pig in an oven, who suddenly realized he couldn't escape. It felt great.

"Are you looking for a chair, Count Wagner?" The answer was an obvious yes, but it felt nice to taunt him anyway.

He slowly nodded, raising his head to meet my bemused stare. I gave him a mysterious smile and took another sip of my cool, wonderfully cool tea before continuing to speak.

"I must apologize for the lack of a second chair, Count Wagner. It never occurred to me that some possessed of such a youthful disposition and endless vitality," subtle jabs at his immaturity and weight respectively, "would require spare seating. I thought you would much rather stand -- it gives you quite the commanding presence."

"You dare mock me!" The Count's reaction was to snap at me in anger, in a, dare I say predictable manner. "I may be your lesser, my Lord, but that does not mean to be careless in my presence. I demand compensation for the damages you've inflicted unto both my family at myself." I stayed silent, content to listen to his... half-baked monologue. "This exchange could have been diplomatic, you and I, but I am unwilling to play along with an arrogant little bastard of the Wilhelm family, sired from a whore and a pansy. No more of this pretense, I say!"

Did he just... no. He did not. He did not. That rat bastard did not just- no. Keep it under control, Fredrich. Keep it under control.

Unbidden, memories of my bloodied father -- missing an arm -- standing beside a fallen carriage, shielding me, flashed before my eyes. He's still kind then. He's still kind now. How? Why? What did I do to deserve such kindness? I was the one who knocked over the carriage, who almost got both you and your mother killed! He was still smiling, too -- a gentle smile, the ones reserved for sons who didn't accidentally cripple their parents. I don't deserve it -- I never have.

I don't. I don't. I don't. Stop smiling, please. Please. I-

Keep it under control, Fredrich.

"Would you please repeat that?" I asked softly, reflexively clutching at my head. "I don't think I heard correctly."

"I said your mother is a loose whore who should have never married your commoner idiot of a father! Sullying highborn circles with lowborn blood-"

Mother. Mother, mother, mother. All I could see was her body lying motionless in the street as a pair of medics carried her off the road. The carriage was broken. A broken carriage, yes, and a dead horse. Why? It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to -- it was a normal day out, yes. Why the fuck did I have to steer it to the left? Why? What was I feeling then? Pride? Anger? I-

'The arm. The stomach. It's because of you that your father can no longer hold your mother as he used to, no matter how much he pretends or wants to do so.' A voice in the back of my head whispers -- soothingly, mockingly. 'It's because of you that mother can no longer eat half the foods she enjoys after getting her stomach shattered like that.'

Please. No more. The teacup in my hands shattered against the floor, its contents pooling into a pitiful puddle beneath my chair. Please -- I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. My parents have forgiven me, right? They still smile. They smile, they smile, they smile.

'They smile because they know you can never give back what you have taken away. Why do you think soldiers laugh about their dead comrades, hm?'

Please. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out.

"Get out! Your compensation is your son's life, Count Wagner. Do not test me." I roared, shaking with barely controlled rage. "Get out. If you know what is good for you, you will leave this room, my good sir, and never return."

"Preposterous! My son should have never been reduced to a sobbing mess! Compensate me meaningfully. An Imperial Official? Is this some sort of a sick joke? What the hell you are going to do anyway? You look like a pathetic, haggard little rat! No better than that slut you call a sister." He screamed, drunk on glee as he finally got a rise out of me. "Your Ministry is full of violent, poorly-restrained apes, and-"

I pressed a second button beneath my desk and slowly rose from my seat, my hands instantly going to the holster at my waist. Before he could continue, I drew my pistol in one smooth motion, leveled it at the Count, and pulled the trigger. A hole appeared in the wall, slightly to the right of where his head was.

His beady eyes widened at the smoke barrel, and the Count's hands went to feel his face, disbelieving of what just happened.

'So much like you that one fateful day, hm.'

No. Not at all. It's different. Shut up! Get out! That is an order!

"But it's not.'

Upon confirming that the shot didn't find its mark -- or did, depending on how you looked at it, the Count paled and rushed to the door. He struggled with the doorknob, his hands shaking and knees quaking. Pathetic. I sauntered forward, a murderous gleam in my eye and a predatory grin on my face.

He was prey, and he knew it. From his throat erupted a deep, bellow, bestial scream -- desperate, pleading, begging for mercy. He was frightened, no, terrified -- the realization of how horribly he miscalculated began to dawn on him. I savored his distress.

It felt good. Excellent, even. Like a fine wine, but with far more depth. And I was a man who loved my wine.

Anything to distract me from what I've done. Anything. Please, no more.

"You would not dare!" He exclaimed, "Y-you monster! You would not dare!"

'Yes, Fredrich. What a monster. No wonder why your parents laugh and smile -- they don't know what to do with you.'

Focus on reality. Focus. Keep it together, Fredrich -- see this through. The whispers go away if you focus on reality. That's why you do work, Fredrich. Focus. The slightest tremor escaped into my voice -- the Count did not notice.

"Now, Count Wagner, we were having so much fun together, wouldn't you agree?" I chuckled mirthlessly, before firing a second shot that just barely grazed his leg. To his credit, he didn't fall to the floor -- but he did hold on to the door handle for dear life, too scared to make another move. "I changed my mind about you leaving. How about you stay for a moment." I moved back to pull my chair closer. "As we have a little discussion about what happened with your son, and the value of respect, hm?"

Right as I finished my sentence, the door slammed open, knocking the Count to the floor. He scrambled upright and looked up, only to see a bayonet pointed towards his forehead. The cavalry had arrived in the form of a pair of house Wilhelm armsmen. The one who wasn't busy almost stabbing Wagner sprang swiftly to a salute.

"Young Master, we moved as soon as we saw you had pressed the emergency response button. Then we heard two gunshots. Are you alright?"

'No.'

"Quite fine, but thank you for your concern, Erich. You did very well." The guard preened a little under the praise. "Do settle down. I was just doing some housekeeping."

"There are maids for that, Young Master."

"I do not believe maids would be able to carry this piece of trash," I threw the Count a meaningful glance. "Out the door. But I'm not quite done with him. If you gentleman would stay back for a moment." Both of the guards nodded in understanding, before each taking a step back, weapons at the ready. "Count Wagner, on your knees."

"Y-you cannot compel me to-"

The guards behind him slammed the butts of their rifles -- hard -- into his kidneys. He crumpled in a heap to the floor.

"So, Count Wagner." I grabbed him by his hair and pulled his face up so he could look me in the eye. "Firstly, do you know which official your son attempted to assault?"

He shook his head.

"It was me. And I think you know what that means." He slowly nodded, his face ashen. The steel of my pistol's barrel kissed his temple. "It means your son could have been executed. But I didn't do that, because I imagined how my father would feel if I was to be shot. I withheld the hammer of judgment, so to speak, out of consideration. Of course, and I know you were going to say something -- something like this: 'but he couldn't have known."

I angled my wrist and fired my pistol into the floor right beside his ear.

"Pathetic. Ignorance does not excuse such behavior, Count Wagner. I gave him mercy because I felt pity for you, my friend."

I punctuated my point with another round into the floor. The guards cringed, and the Count began to struggle. A jab to his throat stifled his meager protests -- he coughed and his eyes began to water. Heedless of his discomfort, I continued on.

"Now, that leads me on to my second point. Respect. Have you ever heard of this saying? It's a wonderful one, and goes a little something like this: 'a man's home is his castle.' So imagine my displeasure when you barge into my castle and try and break down its keep. Just imagine it."

He was beginning to sob now. Mucus stained his face -- it made him look better, all things considered.

"Oh, no need for that, my Count. We are so friendly with each other, aren't we? After all, I haven't hurt you. Yet. Anyways, where were we? Right. The part where you broke into my castle. Then, instead of making amends, you proceed to spit on my hospitality because of that little thing we call pride, am I right?"

The Count slowly nodded.

"But that's perfectly alright. I understand your agitation -- barely. I understand why you thought I was an easy target: a gaunt face and weary eyes were never the most charming features. But some understanding is better than no understanding, wouldn't you say?"

"Y-yes." he mumbled out. I nodded slowly. Good, he was getting it.

"So would you understand my exasperation when you attempt to intimidate me after ruining one of my suits? And demand compensation, let's not forget that. And insulting my person, albeit -- to your credit -- somewhat discreetly. But I can let that go, of course, because I am mature, unlike you, you failing facsimile of a human meatball."

He hung his head. I clicked my tongue.

"Then you insulted my family. Let me teach you a little lesson." I emptied the rest of my pistol's magazine -- all five rounds -- into the floor next to his ear. A little dribble of blood flowed out from it. "In case you can't hear, just understand this: the surest way to an early grave is to spite House Wilhelm -- specifically me. The Emperor will not save you. Nothing will. Consider this another act of mercy from me to you. Another favor, so to speak. Am I clear?"

The Count nodded shakily.

"Excellent. Guards! See this filth out of the estate. Make sure he never comes back -- shoot him if he tries."

The door closed, and I stumbled back to my seat, exhausted.

'One day you will need to face me, Fredrich. But you are weak -- you always have been, you unfilial piece of shit. You can judge others, make merry from their misery, only to break down before you can face yourself. That's why you are so invested in your work; you are not selfless. You are every bit as selfish as those you condemn.'

I cradled my head with my hands and cried softly.