A letter sent by the Grand Duke was not, as a rule, something the Chief Minister read.
He could read it aloud as a proxy for the Emperor, but it was not within his purview to read it freely.
Yet the words of that pig of a Chief Minister struck Zamuchin as very, very strange.
He had heard that the Empire was even more particular about ceremony than the North.
"We were told we could have an audience with the Emperor, so we made haste to arrive."
"Hmm. Country bumpkins don't simply get to lay eyes on His Imperial Majesty."
"Please, don't be like that. We ask only once."
At that moment, Dorgon rose and shuffled over to Zamuchin and the Chief Minister.
A bribe — nothing was more precise than that.
According to Dorgon's intelligence, a bribe of a certain size would get the Chief Minister to arrange an imperial audience.
And indeed, the Chief Minister took a very keen liking to the pouch Dorgon produced from inside his coat.
Zamuchin was smiling, but inwardly he was in a thoroughly foul mood.
To think that the Grand Duke of the North had to pay a bribe just to meet the Emperor.
"Heh. Follow me, then. His Majesty is in the bathhouse."
"You have our gratitude."
He bowed his head deeply.
They followed behind the Chief Minister.
Zamuchin and Dorgon took in the palace as they walked. Beyond the windows lay a scene not unlike slavery.
They even witnessed a flogging, and at the sight of it Zamuchin's brow furrowed slightly.
It had been ten years since such things were strictly forbidden in the North.
The bathhouse was inside the palace, yet it was remarkably filthy.
The Chief Minister pointed a finger toward where the Emperor was. Was that a gesture to enter?
The bathhouse was thick with steam.
The Emperor sat at the center of the bath.
Naked men and women were dancing or engaged in all manner of other activities.
The Emperor watched it all with an expression of great delight.
His deeply sunken eyes, aged skin, and long white beard trailing down his chin were unpleasant enough to be genuinely repellent.
Lord de Wintergard also wore a long white beard, but there was dignity in his. The Emperor had none of that.
"Who are you?"
At the Emperor's question, Zamuchin and Dorgon bowed their heads.
The clamor in the bath gradually subsided, but the Emperor bellowed at the top of his lungs, ordering everyone to continue.
"We are envoys from the North."
"From the North? That must have been quite a journey. And you came all this way?"
"It is an honor to stand before Your Most Exalted Imperial Majesty."
That was the entirety of the audience with the Emperor. The moment the Emperor waved his hand to indicate he had seen enough, they had no choice but to be practically thrown out.
Zamuchin and Dorgon looked at each other with expressions of utter disbelief.
"The Crown Prince is also somewhere nearby — shall we take a look?"
"Ah, if it's possible..."
"Then it seems we'll need one more pouch. What do you say?"
Dorgon pressed a few more gold coins into the Chief Minister's hand, and the man led them toward where the Crown Prince was.
It was not inside the palace proper.
Rather, it was a corner of the garden that adorned the palace grounds. There they found the Crown Prince and a certain woman.
The maids were wearing blindfolds. What the black blindfolds signified was anyone's guess.
"Good day to you."
"Wah!"
He suddenly cried out. The Crown Prince was pointing his finger at them, apparently furious about something.
The table before him was laden with all manner of delicacies.
That was probably the reason the maids were wearing blindfolds.
"Can you not see that I am spending time with my fiancée? Be gone!"
"Oh, fiancée, Your Highness the Crown Prince?"
"Kartina..."
Zamuchin watched them quietly.
In the end, the Crown Prince never once asked who they were.
Zamuchin and Dorgon left the spot immediately.
The oath of loyalty addressed to the Empire was returned to them, and after a perfunctory confirmation, it was handed back to the Chief Minister.
With a word that they would now be taking their leave, Zamuchin climbed into the carriage. Dorgon was already inside.
The palace gatekeepers closed the gates, and the carriage set off.
It was Dorgon who spoke first. Zamuchin leaned against the carriage window, saying nothing.
"What do you make of it?"
"There's no answer to be found."
That was what he had felt inside the imperial palace. What Zamuchin was curious about went beyond even that.
"If the Grand Duke had conducted himself that way, Hex would have taken his own life on the spot. I would have followed after him, and Berdo too would have died right there to demonstrate his loyalty."
"That he would."
"And yet there was no one like that in that palace. Did Dorgon already know the state of affairs within the Empire?"
"Seeing it in person — this is the first time."
Silence fell again. The carriage passed out beyond the palace walls.
They headed toward the Academy in the capital and its surrounding area — the place chosen for the North's envoys to lodge.
It was also where Cart de Vil resided.
"The world has changed. The North is no different from paradise."
"Is that so? The winters are so bitterly cold, though."
"Even if the winter is cold, if the heart is cold as well, then that is hell. Dorgon — you know this, don't you?"
"Ha ha ha..."
Upon entering Cart de Vil's lodgings, the agents planted in the North began to gather.
They moved with extreme care so as not to be detected, but Zamuchin did not speak of secrets in any particular way.
It was now certain.
The imperial family did not regard the North as an enemy.
To put it plainly — they paid it no mind whatsoever. More precisely still, they knew nothing at all.
"What do you think, Minister?"
"De Vil. I find myself wondering how you manage to live in a place like this. What a revolting neighborhood."
"I find myself missing the mountain terrain of the North as well."
Cart de Vil. A spy attached to the Foreign Ministry.
And one of the intelligence agents under Dorgon's command. Currently a professor teaching literature at the Academy.
Originally of Imperial birth, he had been exiled to the North during the period of artistic purification and had only recently had that exile lifted.
He lived very quietly, but in truth he was a spy for the North.
"I'm certain of it now. De Vil — you'll be able to return to the North before long."
"Truly? Hah... finally, to be done with this place."
"I haven't yet met the nobles in this area, but they'll be trivial sorts regardless. I don't expect to encounter anyone remarkable."
Zamuchin propped his chin in his hand and yawned. Dorgon and the other agents showed him various documents. Today had been nothing more than an appetizer.
"Starting tomorrow, we'll be meeting various nobles over the next few days. This is likely what the Grand Duke has in mind."
"Mm. And they've even divided themselves into factions in the midst of all this. Remarkable. Very well — let's have a look."
He memorized faces and committed names to memory.
Zamuchin had said he had no desire to look at trivial people, but these were the Grand Duke's orders, and so he assessed each person with precision.
"Tomorrow, there is one more person we'll be meeting first. Foreign Minister — his name is Roland von Barth. If you meet with him, the Grand Duke will likely be very pleased."
"Oh?"
The following day, they met with various nobles. The leading houses of certain factions. Well, the commanders responsible for the Empire's armies.
They flagged persons of interest and filtered out everyone of no consequence.
But Zamuchin's conclusions grew increasingly bleak. The verdict: there were almost no people who, if they came to the North, would be capable of making themselves useful.
Subjects starving to death, and resources left woefully underutilized.
Zamuchin kept it all wrapped in a smile, but he could sum up the Empire in a single sentence.
And he said it with full conviction.
"Hollow on the inside, and only the surface is splendid. Not a shred of substance. The nobles have nothing but greed, and the people are starving to death. The situation is so weak — how has it not already collapsed?"
Dorgon let out a hearty laugh at Zamuchin's question. It was nearly time to meet the head of House Barth. Dorgon had no choice but to give the orthodox answer to Zamuchin's question.
"That would be because His Highness the Grand Duke has not gone to war with the South."
"The Grand Duke? Well, he never did care much for war."
"Ha ha, that's not quite it. It's that the Grand Duke keeps subjugating the foreign powers that could invade the Empire, so they can't do anything."
"...And so it comes back to that."
"That said, withering away from the inside is simply a matter of time. That is my view, Minister."
"The orthodox answer, indeed."
They said nothing more, but they ran through various calculations between them. If the North were to turn its blade toward the Empire — what would happen?
The Empire would certainly fall. And the North had already amassed the national power to make it so.
"The Marquess of Barth is arriving!"
Zamuchin and Dorgon rose from their seats. A clean face, but one etched with fatigue.
He had heard that the man held gold veins within the Empire, but he was a noble who had been working furiously behind the scenes to fend off the underhanded maneuvering that came with it.
Zamuchin and Dorgon knew everything that had transpired behind the scenes. And they also harbored a certain expectation that some kind of agreement might be reached.
"The North has no reason to meet with me, does it?"
"On the contrary, Your Lordship the Marquess. We have always wished to speak with the great houses of the South."
"The North has traditionally maintained its silence, has it not? It has never once attended the noble council."
"Ha ha ha... The North is such a harsh place, you see."
A sly smile. Zamuchin was an expert at this.
Among the nomads, there was even a saying: do not be fooled by that smile.
But the nobles did not know the sinister thoughts concealed behind it.
Of course, nobles had their own back channels, but the experience of dealing with nomads was a cut above even that.
Nomads, after all, would go straight for the throat the moment things went sideways.
"If you are so inclined, we are open at any time. For any manner of cooperation."
"Cooperation..."
A gleam entered Barth's eyes. He had no way of knowing just how much the North had in the way of resources.
Getting there was a wretched ordeal, and getting back was no different.
To put it simply — until now, no one had thought the North remarkable enough to offer anything of value.
"...Let me ask you directly. If an emergency were to arise in the South, how does the North intend to act?"
Zamuchin and Dorgon exchanged glances. One of them spoke.
"We cannot give you a definitive answer on that just yet, but we will do our utmost."
"And what exactly that utmost means—"
"There is a saying in the North: when helping a friend, give your all; when you wish to save another, first ask yourself whether he is truly a friend."
"...I understand, for now."
"Is it not a fine saying?"
Zamuchin smiled again. House Barth would understand the meaning behind those words.
In short — could we become friends?
It also meant: are you the sort of person the North would find worth helping?