Chapter 4 - Consequences

An aristocratic family was less of a gathering of blood relatives and more of a corporate entity. There were investors, shareholders, landowners, business owners, governing directors, asset managers, and so on. Business first, family second was the modus operandi for most noble houses within the Valstrom Empire, and the House of Apollyon wasn’t too different in this regard -- at least as an entity overseeing the governance of a territory. For the past three-hundred-years this family ruled a volatile piece of land known as Tessa, situated on the empire’s border and neighbouring a hostile enemy kingdom.

A mere three days had passed since I came to this world and I was already beginning to regret my decision of staying. I currently couldn’t tell which of my two miserable lives was more tedious and inane. Back then I was working from dawn till dusk while making a pittance; I barely had any time, energy, or resources to enjoy my own life. Right now… it wasn’t much of an improvement. Thanks to the actions -- or rather inactions -- of the previous Marianne I was straddled with all the consequences of her failed duties as the territorial overseer of Tessa.

I was stuck. Trapped. Forced into a box with a bunch of old men; imagine being cramped into a single room with eight other people and all the windows were closed on a hot summer’s day. It wasn’t actually summer, and the room was quite spacious, but that’s how I felt in my heart. I opened my eyes after having closed them for the better part of an hour; I gazed over the long, rectangular table and watched as a bunch of old men rambled on. Their tea had gotten cold about six hours back and they still hadn’t taken a break from flapping their gums to notice.

“Tch…!” I held back from outright cursing, but my tongue clicked on its own. I wanted to punch the nearest wall over to alleviate some of this frustration and boredom -- my head felt like a pressure cooker left on for too long. This meeting with the governing directors talking about taxation or whatever began around seven in the morning and now the accursed clock was telling me it was already past three in the afternoon. As I peered through the nearest window I grew jealous of the clouds. How dare such carefree, ethereal things exist when my own freedom was caged? I could still vividly recall those unpleasant past-life memories of being trapped in a gloomy office with bothersome old men for hours on end, and now thanks to that vexatious bitch, I was still trapped in a room with irritating old men for hours on end. This wasn’t even my field of expertise; I had no god-damned clue on how to manage a territory.

“Why the f… why did she even want this tedious position?” I mumbled under my breath. Actually, I was being fairly audible about it but clearly those old bats didn’t pay any attention my way and continued discussing things beyond my comprehension.

There were so many stories of villains plotting to usurp the throne or some position of power, but if this was the life they get to live afterwards I fail to understand their great ambitions. Why would anyone want to be subjected to this endless, monotonous drivel? Just what was the point of all this, Marianne? Oh wait… now that I thought about it, I don’t think there was a single scene in the novels where she ever attended any of these meetings or did anything remotely resembling a proper governor. Maybe… she was genuinely smart? Having experienced this firsthand, showing up for a meeting where they’re deliberating on matters beyond your understanding seems like a tremendous waste of time.

It all made sense. When I scouted her office yesterday it was covered in dust and cobwebs; I could easily believe she hadn’t touched a pen in two years outside of writing cheques to fund her debaucherous lifestyle. As a character, I suppose not a lot of thought went into her -- she was just vain, corrupt and evil, a foil for the main character, and a narrative punching bag to be discarded at the convenience of the story.

Now then, the problems of our territory were two: our massive debt incurred from financial mismanagement and the ongoing invasions from our trigger-happy neighbours, and the poor state of our economy due to the collapse of our most prominent industry. Tessa thrived on the abundant minerals and rare resources of the land, but most of it had been mined out over the course of centuries. By the time Marianne got to play the king, the mines were already barren. We were looking at a dry well. We needed to start some new industries or find another mineral vein… somewhere, somehow, magically.

These governing directors gathered day after day to ponder on it, but… how could mere mortals solve the issues of the land?

At this point I was thinking these fools weren’t too different to the previous Marianne. They talked their heads off in circles about how they needed solutions to improve the situation but came up with nothing of note. They talked about the issue. Then talked about the issue. Followed up by even more discussions about the issue. None of which were solutions. That’s how we spent a brisk seven hours. I found myself in the crossfire of heated exchanges, glancing over the clock every five minutes in frustration, quietly building up my internal rage metre. I started audibly tapping my finger against the wooden desk to distract myself -- to hear some other noise than the incessant droning of these tiresome old men.

I wasn’t hungry -- my constitution prevented me from feeling hunger -- but there was a phantom hunger created by this obnoxious frustration. The afternoon sunlight shimmered through the windows and felt nice and warm, like a soft, invisible blanket. My psyche had enough and internally muffled the sounds of the old men’s voices into an incoherent background mantra. What I mean to say is that I was bored, tired, and hungry. As I let my guard down I made the biggest mistake of this life: I let out a small yawn.

Somehow that was enough to catch their attention. The babbling immediately ceased. It was as though a dead body fell out of one of the closets. Suddenly all eyes were on me.

One of them -- a bald man in his late fifties with what was once a neatly trimmed beard -- angrily slammed his hand over the table. “Are you listening, Marianne?!” His voice boomed and echoed off the walls several times over. I thought I had gotten used to their voices by now, but his was like a drill which kept piercing into my inner ear canals.

That slam was so loud it knocked the drowsiness right out of me. I felt the effects of the extra strong coffee I had in my previous life somehow re-activate in my stomach. “What? No. I stopped listening to you people about three hours ago,” I bragged. “Honestly, you should praise my efforts for at least trying for the first four. I think it was a valiant attempt.”

Another director -- an ageing corpse in his late seventies with loose skin covering most of his face like it was melting -- knocked over his chair standing up. “How could you be so irresponsible?!” He shouted in a haggard, dying voice. While I wanted to ask how he kept his youthful energy when he looked like a walking undead. “Not only is half… no, most of this your mess to begin with, we’re discussing the precarious future of our territory here! Why did you even bother showing up if you weren’t going to pay any attention?!”

This reminded me of how I often got scolded by my dad back when I was a little shit.

“I’m beginning to wonder that myself,” I shrugged and agreed. “Look, I’m obviously not cut out for any of this, so why don’t you skip all the needless preamble and get to the point. Give me solutions instead of talking out your asses. It’s pissing me off.”

“You? You’re asking what we want? The woman who’s been neglecting her duty for the past three years?” Another director -- this time a younger one around his late forties -- asked in a calmer voice than the others. “We’ve watched you squander both our time and money with your pointless wants. How about for starters you get your act together and properly consider the consequences of your inactions?”

“That… isn’t a solution,” I replied.

“It isn’t?! Really?!” The bald director slammed his fist down onto the wooden table once more, causing visible splinters to fray. “Then how’s this for a solution then: you step down from your position as head of the house!”

There was a cold silence in the room as his voice echoed through the entire estate. I knew -- even without having to read the books -- this was something everyone had been waiting to say for the entire duration of Marianne’s reign. She was a mediocre woman -- petulant, childish, and selfish. They would never get her to listen; she would not… could not let go of whatever morsel of power she managed to claw into her hands. She instinctively understood that once she let go, it was all over. There will not be a next time. Perhaps it wasn’t so much greed but anxiety. If I was recalling her backstory correctly, Marianne grew up poor and always looked towards the wealthy with an eye of jealousy. From a young age this -- whatever this was -- is what she wanted.

Still, Marianne was Marianne, and I wasn’t quite her. I couldn’t help but let out a wry laugh. It seemed I was being underestimated; I played nice with them for the past two days and now they grew confident enough to think I was easy.

There it was again. Humanity’s omnipresent desire for destruction slowly bubbling itself up to the surface of my consciousness. I felt my right hand asking my brain for permission to turn this entire room… this entire building into a modern art piece. I mean, what would it change? A few dozen unimportant NPCs disappear from this world, but as long as the key characters stay alive the story could easily move on.

I was debating myself, but I felt the need to steady myself. Not for them… not for the characters but for my own sanity and wellbeing; ever since I became Marianne I’ve had trouble controlling my emotions. A deep breath escaped my lungs as my nerves calmed. “And replace me with whom?” I asked, but the person in their minds was still too young to legally succeed me. I tried poking them a little. “Our dear Estelle? The woman who prefers the frigid tundra over her own home?” Estelle Tuvol Apollyon was the older sister of Marianne’s deceased husband. Under ordinary circumstances she would’ve taken over as the head of the house after her younger brother passed away, but for her own inexplicable reason she declined the position and was off somewhere in the snowy north… doing god knows what. The novels never specified the details beyond that it was some kind of training. When I brought up her name the old men averted their gazes. It was well known since she was young that she had no interest in politics or government. “If not her, then maybe you’re referring to our traitorous Pallas? Good idea, let’s drag him back from the imperial capital and have him sign paperwork for the next year. After everything he’s done, he’ll definitely agree to it.” Pallas Tuvol Apollyon was the younger brother of Marianne’s deceased husband. A man who never saw eye-to-eye with the family and left the house to join the imperial army. He displayed greater affection and loyalty to the empire than his own blood siblings. Suffice it to say he was more unworthy to become the head than Marianne. Even if it wasn’t the case, no one knew where he currently was; he didn’t appear until half-way through the fourth book.

“And you believe you’re any better than them?!” the bald director angrily shouted. He was about to pop a blood vein in his shiny forehead.

“Am I honestly not? Oh… I get it!” I nodded sarcastically, pretending I’ve elucidated some hidden meaning behind their words. “You’re actually talking about father, aren’t you?” Their faces instantly drained of colour the moment I brought up their revered figure who disappeared over fifteen years ago. If their stares could be converted to physical damage I might have died on the spot. Godwin Tuvol Apollyon, said to be the sword of god. He was unparalleled with the sword -- a genius who’d only appear maybe once every a thousand years. His form of diplomacy was always at the end of a sword and he managed to get most of our surrounding neighbours to behave that way. In the novels the enemies of the House of Apollyon would affectionately call him the Demon of Tessa; having him on the battlefield was an instant-win button. “Yeah, you’re right. He does seem like someone who could magically fix all our problems.”

Interestingly, he may have disappeared, but he wasn’t actually deceased. In fact, I knew his current whereabouts.

The old men were frothing from their mouths; I could see them wanting to physically throw hands with me after that comment, but a friend intervened. “Madam, you’ve gone too far.” Drake, who had been patiently simmering at the opposite end of this long table, finally opened his mouth for the first time in six hours. At this point we were siblings -- kin who suffered the horrible experience of the old men’s endless ballad.

“Have I? Did I hurt their little feelings?” I scoffed and rolled my eyes. I threw up my hands and surrendered -- sarcastically. “No, no… I get it. You’re all swallowing your pride and waiting. Hoping our dear little Priscilla will grow up quickly and take over. Then she’ll somehow magically fix everything!” I shook my head. “How? How the hell could she possibly do that when none of you incompetent fools have come up with even half-decent solutions? Are you all really expecting this fresh eighteen-year-old with barely any life experience to save you? You’re all delusional.”

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

“And you’re saying you did a good job yourself? Preposterous!” the decrepit director stepped in once more to chide me.

“Me? Nah, you’re absolutely right about that. I’m doing a piss poor job of it. But you know, it takes two to tango. You can pile all the blame on me; I do hold executive privileges and the final say, but you know damn well you don’t need me to make most of the changes you need.” The governing board of Tessa was made up of a council of seven directors, each specialising in specific fields. Economy, industry, agriculture, technology, culture, population management, and defence -- which was helmed by Drake Fiscious. On top of them was the Chief of staff who managed these old men. Then above that guy was me, the governor of Tessa. In most cases my direct presence wasn’t necessary for them to pass new legislation and changes. As the chief overseer I did possess the ability to veto their decisions, but Marianne never bothered with any of it. Things were dysfunctional, but it would be hypocritical to say Marianne is to blame for everything. The old, disgruntled men glared and mumbled at me but couldn’t make new excuses. “This silence is your answer. The truth is, you’ve all been wasting the past three years with the same efficacy as I have. I may be as dumb as a rock, but aren’t you all embarrassed to say you’ve had a noble’s education and have nothing to show for it? Or what, did you mean to say you’ve received your education from Kahilea?”

Kahilea was the name of the enemy kingdom which bordered us.

When backed into a corner the obvious line which came out of their mouths would be: “how dare you?!”

“How dare I what? If it’s a fight you’re looking for, then now you’d be speaking my language.”

Before an actual brawl could break out, Drake stepped in between me and the old men. He wasn’t taking sides, though he’d probably be more in agreement with those old bastards.

Then suddenly...

“Wheeew…! What dis…? Did… did ja bastards start with… without me…?” A drunken man unexpectedly burst into the room. For a second I thought a homeless man had somehow wandered into our office. The man’s face was flushed red and his steps were unsteady. He wore the same kind of suit-like uniform the other directors wore to signify he was part of the governing board, except his was tattered and stained. Dishevelled hair, unkempt and dusty beard, snot and drool running down the corner of his mouth. I wanted to punch him. I honestly couldn’t tell by his disgusting disorganised appearance, but he appeared to be somewhere in the ballpark of his late thirties. A gentle breeze could probably knock him over with how unbalanced his stride was, but he continued to slowly zig-zag his way over to our table. He slammed the half-drunk bottle of alcohol with a loud thud. “What… why… why did not… no one tell me…?” his words were slurred and difficult to comprehend.

“R… Rolf!” the bald director angrily howled the man’s name. “Again?! Why are you only here now when the meeting started more than seven hours ago?!”

“Rolf?” I parroted. His name sounded somewhat recognisable, but the thing which jogged my memories was this moron’s appearance. The moment his stupid visage entered my vision a segment of the novel surfaced up to the front of my mind. [A large, oafish man with the mannerisms of a petulant child. He walked with great inelegance and pride, pushing everyone out of his way as though he were a king]. It was how he was depicted in the story, and having the misfortune to confirm it with my own eyes, I could only conclude it was an apt description. The man carried himself with the elegance of a boar and the hissing, shrill voice of a deranged lizard. I really wanted to punch his face in.

Who was this Rolf character who believed himself to be someone of such importance he could come into a meeting seven hours late? In truth he was one of Marianne’s many accidents; she was a woman who loved power but hated responsibility, so she delegated this buffoon the position of Chief of staff, meaning he held the second highest authority in this territory. Of course, it wasn’t because of his good looks, charming personality, his integrity, or his talent for governmental organisation… no, it was obviously because he covered her ass and let her do whatever she wanted. He was the same kind of scum Marianne was… perhaps worse.

The man took a large swig from the bottle of alcohol. “Phew…!” he let out an audible burp. “What, only… only sev… seven…? Pssshhh… you old farts keep talking on… and on… and on… it gets reeeeaalllyyy annoying… you know?” He took another gulp. “If… if I don’t come in… fashionably late… I wouldn’t be able to stand… stand it…” I really, really wanted to cave his skull in with the nearest chair. It was as though I was looking at a sentient piece of shit; this thing wasn’t human. He stomped around the room, making his presence known and laughing at the old men.

The bald director furiously walked up to him in order to snatch the bottle out of his hands, but this little shit was surprisingly nimble. He moved the bottle around whilst annoyingly making faces and gestures like a child pulling pranks. “Whoopssy… heeh… hehehee… You… you’re too slowwww…!”

I really, really, really wanted to take out my Brionac -- the god-slaying sword -- from my inventory and make him disappear from this world.

“What’s… what’s the big deeaallll…? That woman isn’t… isn’t even herreeee… so every… everything you say… is a waste of breath…” he said as he took another large gulp from the bottle.

The woman he was referring to was me, and I was indeed here. I was the ultimate authority of Tessa at present and this Rolf character was my delegate, but as demonstrated, neither of us seemed to have been doing our jobs properly. Well, I wasn’t Marianne so I was technically without blame. In a way, it could be said Marianne already received her punishment when she disappeared from this world and was replaced by me.

“You insolent bastard!” the bald director furiously exploded. His voice must’ve increased by a few dozen more decibel than when he was yelling at me. “Get out! Get the hell out of this place now!”

Yet, far from being intimidated, this obnoxious pig laughed at our poor director’s face. “Heh… are you surreeeee…?” Rolf was a head taller than most of the people here aside from Drake -- and also twice as wide. He stared down at the old man with a menacing grin. “Are… are you sure you want… want to… want… say that to me?” He continued laughing in that aggravating tone. “You know… just one word to… to that woman and… and I could get you killed.”

The director’s face began to boil red. I wanted to say he had steam coming out of his ears too, but this world wasn’t that whimsical. “Say that again, you son of a bitch!” he shouted. The old man’s hands balled into fists as he started rushing towards the drunken pig. Unfortunately, in his advanced age he wasn’t nearly nimble enough to cause concern. Even the inebriated buffoon understood this and arrogantly stood still wearing the world’s most punchable grin.

I was quite curious -- and possibly entertained -- to see how this would play out, but there was a party pooper in our midst. Our dear, anti-fun director of defence stepped in to break up the fight, but…

“Huh?” I subconsciously let out a gasp. I was confused. Drake’s movements looked a little funny there -- and not the haha funny. He moved so fast I briefly lost track of him and only regained it when he was already holding the director back. For a second I thought this was some kind of visual glitch -- or perhaps a skill of some kind; how could I have not been able to track his movements?

“Director Howard, please calm down,” Drake said.

“Calm down?! How can I when this idiot just said what he said!” the director then turned his eyes to my direction as if to pass the baton. I thought he was about to reprimand me for letting this pig ascend to his undeserved position. “Marianne!” he screamed my name. “You say something too!”

“Uhh… wuh…?” Rolf’s head swivelled like the base of a chair as he looked to me. His eyes widened and glimmered with anticipation as a creepy smile stretched across his greasy face, revealing lines of crooked and yellow teeth. “Oh…? Ma… madam…? You’re actually… actually here…? Hehee… heheheee… that’s quite the… the, um… the rare occasion…!” he said as he drunkenly walked towards me, knocking over some of the miscellaneous items off the table on his way. He attempted to greet me with the proper imperial noble bow, but to me it looked like a well-dressed pig trying to dance.

He was about a metre off and the stench of raw sewage assaulted my nose. I really, really, really, really wanted to erase this entire world because now I knew it was tainted with this thing’s existence. Being so close I was unfortunate to be shown all the disgusting details of his unkempt, frayed beard and cracked lips. His repulsively red and oily face covered in unseemly blemishes made me want to vomit. I wanted him executed right then and there for daring to tarnish my eyesight with his abhorrent appearance.

I felt his unpleasant eyes travel from my neck down to my bosom, and from my waist down to my buttocks and legs. He traced every womanly contour of the figure that was Marianne. His gaze was so raw and blatant it almost felt like he was touching me directly with those fat, sausage-sized fingers. I wanted to kill him. I was going to kill him.

“Madammm… why… why didn’t you say… you were here…? Kekekeee… you… uh… you should say…. Something to these… these annoying old bastards… they don’t… uh… they don’t seem to know their places…” he continued to slur and mumble his words. I could hardly understand what he was trying to tell me, but with a bit of wasted effort I managed to get the gist of it.

“Rolf,” I calmly called out his name. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Ehh…? Madam…?” He took a step back. Even he seemed to understand with his peanut sized brain something was off. “Is… is something… matter…? Um, the matter?”

There was silence. It was mid-winter and only the howling of the wind against the window echoed through the meeting hall.

The pig audibly gulped. The pupils of his eyes wavered as he glanced around for any sort of support, but of course there was none. “Should… uh, shouldn’t we be telling… telling off these losers? For… for overstepping their bounds…?” He tried to play off the awkward tension with a dry laugh, yet only silence answered his call.

I didn’t think this thing was human. I couldn’t. Even among these NPCs he seemed almost tailor-made to be the most unlikeable and disgusting waste of oxygen. I failed to understand why the author expended his precious brain cells to come up with such a useless character.

Sweat trickled down his revolting oily face. He looked to be sobering up a little. He started hacking and coughing, grasping at his throat and struggling to breathe. His face went from red to white as he fell to his knees and continued gasping for air. His haggard breaths sounded like the unpleasant squealing of pigs headed towards the slaughter. “Ma… madam…! Please…! For… forgive…”

He trembled as though he’d seen the face of the devil. He stared up at me from the floor with his pleading eyes, his face covered in his tears. “Ah,” I said to myself, finally understanding why he was suddenly so afraid. I saw my figure reflected in between the droplet of his tears. An expressionless woman with cold, uncaring eyes, glimmering with a bright, golden shimmer. To this pig, my face must’ve resembled the reaper’s.

The helpful little ding of a pop-up message elucidated what was happening.

[Murderous Intent has been activated.]

[Murderous Intent (level 10): The user expels a horrifying aura which temporarily decreases the stats of nearby opponents by 30% and lengthens the cast time of their spells and abilities by 50%. Opponents whose level is drastically lower (-50) than the user will be stunned for the duration of the skill. (Cost: 1 mana)]

As the pig grovelled pathetically across the floor in agony, I slowly lifted my foot and placed it atop of his head. With a gentle -- very gentle -- downwards push his head collided against the ground. There was a satisfying, audible crack. The sound resonated beautifully throughout the room like a climactic crescendo. In that instant I felt liberated. All the stress and frustration I had accumulated listening to the incessant droning of these old men had suddenly vanished out of my head. A great weight had unlatched itself from my shoulders and my body felt as light as a feather. I quivered in excitement as I saw the small trickle of blood which now nicely stained the broken tiles. This thing wasn’t dead yet, but with one more push I could end its miserable existence.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned back and was faced with the mountainous figure of my director of defence, Drake Fiscious, the party pooper.

“What?” I asked him.

The man grimaced. The effects of Murderous Intent didn’t discriminate unless I considered them my allies. At this point, none of these people had my favour.

“He will die.”

“And? If a tool refuses to work, then we have to replace it.”

“He is still your subordinate.”

“Is he?” I peered down at the fat bastard who was groaning to himself while huddled into a foetal position. “From how he’s been acting, I would believe it if you told me he was an enemy saboteur.”

I figured Drake would be the first person to celebrate if this buffoon was gone, but he was displaying an admirable amount of restraint. “Perhaps so, but he should be dealt with properly -- through the judicial process. Executing him here would be a grievous overreach of your position. No one here wants you to stain your hands like this.”

I glanced around the room. The courageous directors who had previously been yelling at me mere minutes before were now meekly hiding behind the desk with pale faces. They were as stiff as statues. Unblinking eyes fixed on me, anxious about what I might do to them next.

Perhaps Drake was right… or not. I honestly couldn’t care less about what he had to say, or anyone else for that matter. None of their opinions mattered; what high morals would mere characters from a fiction novel know about right and wrong? If any reason were to stop me, it was because I didn’t want to get my shoes dirty. I removed my foot from the pig’s head and made sure there weren’t any bloodstains.

“Drake, I’m temporarily promoting you to the position of Chief of staff until a more suitable candidate can be found.”

He nodded. “Understood, madam.”

“Then, for your first order… get this idiot off my property. Execute him or exile him, I don’t care which.” I’ve had enough of this meeting. I turned to the others, “this meeting is adjourned. We’ll reconvene… later. Whenever I feel like it.”

Right now, I needed to go for a walk.