Exiled to a Foreign Land: Managing a Destitute Estate-Chapter 27: The Duel and Struggling Empire

Part 1

The sun had barely risen over the distant rooftops of Yortinto, casting a soft golden light over the quiet courtyard. Philip stood at its edge, eyeing the scene ahead—an odd blend of old-world tradition and modern magic. The venue, with its wide stone pavers and neat hedges, resembled a classic dueling ground straight out of a historical novel. But a closer glance revealed the hum of enchanted orbs capturing the action, and sleek, souped-up motorcars parked nearby, ready to whisk the aristocrats away once the show was over.

"What a grand spectacle," Philip muttered under his breath, tugging at his too-tight waistcoat. It had been tailored for the heroic cavalryman he used to be—before the debts, the scandals, and the pastries.

"All for your romantic 'escapade,' Master Philip," Lydia said smoothly, her voice tinged with dry humor. She stood beside him, dressed in a sharply tailored morning dress, surveying the spectacle with her usual calm, calculating demeanor. "By 'escapade,' I mean your failed attempt to rescue Lady Laura, which the entire world is now calling a 'lecherous romance'—thanks to those mistress rumors and daycare rumors."

"Don't remind me," groaned Philip, rubbing his forehead. "I just wanted to do something good—help working mothers. Instead, the tabloids accused me of trying to gain exposure to potential new prey. It's absurd!"

"We really need a revolution in media ethics," Lydia remarked dryly, her gaze flicking over the audience of aristocrats, all eagerly whispering into their portable mirror-devices, broadcasting the drama to the Collective Space.

Philip was about to comment when a familiar voice rang out behind them. "Philip, my dear friend! Well, well, you certainly know how to get me out of bed early."

Philip turned to see Kendrick, effortlessly stepping out of a carriage with an exaggerated flourish. His white cavalry jacket gleamed, gold braiding catching the light as he struck a pose that screamed both showman and confidant. Trailing behind him was Elora, radiant in a pastel gown that shimmered with glowing mana-silk. She waved at them, a wide smile spreading across her face.

"Darling! I heard you two are still going to shoot each other over that misunderstanding!" Elora cried, her voice dripping with playful theatrics. "After all that I did to help!"

Philip's stomach dropped. He had been bracing for Elora's anger over the mistress rumors. He had heard she was really upset, but her arrival—so poised and cheerful—completely threw him off balance. Lydia gave him a quick glance but didn't comment, silently understanding Philip's confusion.

"Elora..." Philip stammered, glancing nervously at Lydia. He wasn't sure what to say.

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"Oh, darling," Elora replied, her smile widening. "Don't worry. I'm no longer mad about your mistress scandal. No, no. After a little outburst, I realized logic had to overtake emotion." She paused for effect, winking at him. "And then it hit me. You're just trying to be more like Kendrick! I get it now—it's totally understandable." She threw her hands up in mock surrender. "Honestly, I can't blame you. Who doesn't want to be more like my brother?"

Philip blinked, half-amused and half-embarrassed. "I—I appreciate it, Elora." He rubbed the back of his neck, still reeling from the unexpected turn in the conversation.

"I heard that the purported scandals involving your secret mistress and your nascent daycare operations convinced the public your... interaction... with Laura must have been intentional," Kendrick cut in with a dramatic sigh. "Elora explained you're just doing it because you secretly want to be more like me. I completely understand. But please—next time, pick better timing for your 'pleasures.' Poor Ben was almost convinced by Laura to drop the duel after his private investigator dug up the truth. Yet your fresh reputation forced him to reclaim family honor in front of a crowd that now believes Laura was disgraced by you."

Elora flushed a deep pink, clearly mortified by Kendrick's bluntness. She elbowed him sharply. "Kendrick, hush! Let poor Philip breathe."

Philip rubbed the back of his neck again, laughing awkwardly. "I know it's hard to believe, but this whole thing is one colossal fiasco."

"We believe you," Kendrick said, shrugging. "Gossips always complicate things. Too bad for poor Ben and Laura."

Before Philip could respond, the hush of the crowd deepened. Laura arrived in a refined day gown reminiscent of Victorian fashion, discreetly adorned with small pearls. Her face showed she'd rather be anywhere but here. Behind her, her fiancé—Ben Harper—followed, his proud figure locked in an expression of reluctant duty. He wore the formal dueling ensemble of his house, embroidered with the family crest, which gleamed faintly under the soft morning light.

Philip felt a pang of regret. Everything about Ben's posture screamed reluctance, but the weight of public perception had forced his hand. Word said Ben's private investigator had confirmed that Philip had only tried to protect Laura. But in the public eye, with the rumors swirling, the damage had already been done. Backing down would brand Ben a weakling and disgrace his family.

Ben stepped forward. The official dueling mediator cleared his throat, scanning the onlookers. "Pursuant to Yortinto's old code, we gather to rectify an insult to the House of Harper. Master Benedict Harper challenges Master Philip Redwood. Weapons—pistols, standard range, single shot."

A ripple of excitement passed through the onlookers. It was rare for common folk to witness an aristocratic duel in modern times, so the crowd quickly swelled.

Laura cast Philip a desperate glance, eyes wide with fear. "Please don't kill him—just injure him," she whispered urgently. "He had no choice."

"I understand," Philip said quietly. "I bear him no ill will." His heart twisted. What was meant to be a simple plan to help working women had somehow spiraled into scandal, and now he was here, on the verge of dueling over nothing but public perception.

Focus, Philip. Trust your body. You know this—cavalry discipline, muscle memory. You've got this, the System's voice echoed softly in his mind.

Philip exhaled deeply, steadying himself. "Here's hoping."

The official gestured to an ornate chest. Two pistols, each etched with modest runic swirls, lay within. Lydia stepped forward, choosing one pistol for Philip, while Ben's second handed the other to him. The hush deepened, the crowd growing more expectant by the second.

Ben faced Philip, his expression taut with wounded pride. "Redwood, I hold no personal hatred for you, but the public belief that you shamed Laura has forced my hand."

"I'm sorry," Philip said, voice thick. He managed a small, apologetic shrug. "I never imagined daycares could be twisted into a seduction ring."

A few onlookers tittered at the mention of daycares, while others recorded the exchange. The official motioned for them to take their positions at a measured distance—typical for a formal pistol duel.

"All right," the official declared, stepping back. "When I give the mark—fire once."

Kendrick, near the ring of watchers, flashed Philip a grin. "Don't die, old chap! Elora's half-done with the wedding invitations."

"Brother!" Elora hissed, coloring.

Philip resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. Then, the official's command cut through the silence: "Duelists—raise your weapons."

A hush fell, total. Ben and Philip lifted their pistols. Philip's heart hammered, yet a strange calm settled over him. His cavalry discipline flickered to life, focusing his breath.

"Fire!"

Gunfire cracked almost together. Ben reached right for his gun, reflexes burning with anger and pride. But Philip's reflexes were quicker by a split second. His aim slightly upward. His muzzle spat a sharp arc of sparks.

A second before Ben's bullet erupted from his barrel, Philip's shot smashed into the side of Ben's pistol with a shriek of metal. The impact twisted the weapon, sending Ben's projectile into oblivion while its runic plating shattered in a flash of embers. The battered gun jolted from Ben's grip and clattered on the gravel.

Ben reeled, half-blinded by sparks. For an instant, no one breathed—few had ever seen such a precise disarm from someone appearing so out of shape.

"You... lose," Philip managed, his voice tight with adrenaline. His own pistol smoked faintly as he lowered it, breath quick. He'd disarmed Ben at the split second that could've been lethal for one or both.

Suddenly, Laura rushed forward, eyes brimming. "Ben! That's enough. Please—no more!" She flung her arms around him, as if stopping him from retrieving the pistol.

Ben, dazed, stood rigid. Slowly, he exhaled, meeting Philip's gaze with mingled resentment, embarrassment, and grudging respect. Though no one lay bleeding, the spectacle humiliated him.

Philip lowered his weapon with trembling composure, bowing as the old dueling code required. "Master Harper," he announced so all could hear, "believe me—I never intended to dishonor you or Lady Laura. If the world sees me as a buffoon, that's because I bungled my attempt to shield her. For the shame caused, I sincerely apologize."

A charged silence followed. Elora, half-laughing, half-tearing up, murmured, "Oh, how tragically romantic." Lydia, for once, looked relieved.

Ben glanced at the wrecked pistol on the ground, then at Laura clutching his arm, and finally at Philip. Tension seeped from his posture. "I... accept your apology," he said quietly. "I, too, wish none of this had happened."

A small ripple of applause broke out. Some watchers offered polite claps; others typed furiously on their mirror-devices. Soon, headlines glowed across the courtyard: "Pacifist Noble Pacifies Rival" and "Redwood's Surprising Aim."

With a flick of her wrist, Lydia came forward to collect Philip's pistol, tucking it away. "Master Philip, I'm pleased you're safe," she said in a low voice.

Elora swept in, hooking her arm through Philip's. "That was marvelous, darling!" she cooed, unconcerned by the gawking stares.

Kendrick ambled over, nodding at Ben, who stood quietly while Laura fussed over him. "Well done, Redwood," he said. "I told Elora there was no need to fret; you were always top of our firearms class. Still, I was worried Laura might leave here a widow."

Philip let out a trembling laugh, adrenaline still pulsing. The official proclaimed the duel concluded, praising both men for "restoring the dignity of the old codes," though more than a few onlookers seemed to suspect that the entire thing was staged.

Lydia gently tugged on Philip's sleeve. "We should depart," she murmured. "The War Office sent new messages."

Philip stiffened. He shot a final look at Ben, who gave a tight nod, and Laura, who mouthed "Thank you" through tears. Around them, rumor enthusiasts continued snapping images with mana-imbued recorders, sharing commentary far and wide.

Exhaling, Philip allowed Lydia to guide him to the waiting car. "Well," he muttered, his voice half-drowned by the swirling crowd, "that's one crisis resolved—maybe. A dozen more to go."

Part 2

The grand office of the Imperial First Minister, situated at the heart of Albecaster, the capital of Avalondia, was a room of imperial elegance with a touch of technological magic. Tall windows revealed a panoramic view of the bustling city, its spires rising to meet the morning mist. Inside, the room gleamed with polished marble floors, rich dark wood bookshelves filled with tomes on diplomacy, history, and the arcane, and several shimmering mana-lamps that floated gently above, casting soft light over the desk below.

The desk itself was a magnificent piece of craftsmanship, made of polished white marble with intricate carvings of the empire's crests on its underside. Behind it sat Sir Arther, the Imperial First Minister of the Avalondian Empire, thoughtfully scanning documents with sharp blue eyes that missed nothing. In his mid-thirties, with handsome chiseled features, neatly groomed brown hair, and a lean muscular frame, he appeared the epitome of cunning elegance and youthful ambition. Knighted for his groundbreaking work on diplomatic theory and renowned as a genius of statecraft, Arther belonged not to the stagnant nobility, but to a wealthy merchant family whose business interests stretched across Avalondia. His distaste for hereditary nobles, whom he considered mere fossils draining resources without offering anything in return, was well-known.

Following a brief but loud knock, the door to the office opened, and Dianna, his trusted aide, entered. Tall, slender, and exuding a calm scholarly air, Dianna's red hair was neatly pinned up, her glasses perched elegantly on her nose. She moved with purpose, an air of quiet intelligence about her.

Arther glanced up, offering a smile. "Dianna, tell me, what new disaster must I contend with today?"

Dianna adjusted her glasses calmly. "Two more metropolitan cities declared bankruptcy this morning, Sir. Both populations exceed one million."

"Ah, minor inconvenience." Arther waved dismissively. "Just have the Imperial Central Bank print another round of Avalondian dollars. It worked splendidly last time."

"With respect, Sir, that 'splendid solution' has our inflation spiraling toward catastrophic levels. The empire has effectively ceased manufacturing beyond luxury brands and defense equipment for peacekeeping expeditions. We rely dangerously on exporting raw materials, luxury goods, and overpriced tuition to wealthy international students living on nostalgia rather than contemporary prestige."

"Yes, but nostalgia is rather profitable, Dianna," Arther retorted lightly. "Who needs innovation when we can profit off old glory with minimal costs? Besides, we still have our three loyal trading partners—Continental Republic, United Eastern States, and Osgorreich Imperium."

Dianna cleared her throat tactfully. "So the Continental Republic just informed us that they will proceed with introducing tariffs on our raw materials, claiming unbalanced trade. The United Eastern States is suffering from a real estate crisis after their younger generation collectively decided renting was an acceptable alternative, vaporizing their property-owning class overnight. The resultant reduction in middle class headcount significantly impacted the demand for our luxury goods, especially for our globally famous 'Her Perspire' brand."

Arther's expression faltered slightly. "I suppose there's still Osgorreich, our loyal trading partner for the good part of the last few decades?"

"If you had forgotten, they are still engaged in that titanic struggle with the Arussian Empire, Sir. They require tangible military equipment rather than expensive luxury products and handcrafted vehicles with prestigious logos. And the last thing they need now is more of 'Her Perspire' perfume."

"Oh, yes, 'Her Perspire,' the luxury scent that bankrolls a quarter of our civil service expenses," Arther said with a wry grin, leaning back in his leather chair. "Maybe we just need to invest more in marketing? Or maybe come up with some new trumped-up inventions that would draw capital from around the world into our stock market, and then we can tax those transactions with more stamp duty?"

"Hardly practical, Sir," Dianna replied, keeping her cool. "We're facing a significant loss of manufacturing capabilities, and all we can offer the world now is over-priced luxury and a bunch of financial services. Our central bank is printing more Avalondian dollars just to keep the wheels turning, but the inflation rate is skyrocketing."

Arther let out an exaggerated sigh. "Wonderful. So we're really living the dream, aren't we? A dying empire trying to keep up appearances." He picked up a glass of water from his desk and swirled it lazily. "Now all we need is Celestica to show up with a grand speech about our 'greatness,' and everything will be perfect."

Dianna didn't react to the sarcasm. "Sir, Empress Celestica has been... less involved recently. Some reports indicate she may have taken a sudden interest in matters outside the palace. A few months ago, she disappeared for several days without explanation, and our intelligence suggests she actually traveled to various parts of the Empire and even met with some people. Three notable ones are Colonel Kendrick Nerwick, Lady Elora Nernwick, and Captain Philip Redwood."

Arther's eyes snapped up from the glass, his brow furrowing. "Redwood?" he repeated, intrigued. "What is Lord Redwood planning now? He is one noble that I wish had been more incompetent like the rest of his kind. Nernwick is no concern; they've largely retreated from imperial politics. But Redwood... what could Celestica possibly discuss with his grandson?"

Then, suddenly, Sir Arthur lifted his head as if having an eureka moment. "Don't tell me Celestica is conspiring with the Redwoods to overthrow the government?" Then, slamming a fist into the palm of his other hand, Sir Arthur said, "Oh, I see. She's been playing the 'innocent' card all this time, only to turn around and stab us in the back."

Dianna sighed deeply, adjusting her glasses. "With respect, Sir, Empress Celestica hardly needs to conspire with anyone. As Empress and a Realm Guardian, she already has absolute coercive power and full public support. Given our current approval ratings, if she decided to declare us traitors and assume direct control, I doubt there'd be much public resistance. In fact, the public might celebrate."

Arther grimaced, leaning back thoughtfully. "True, very true. But perhaps the Redwoods are exploiting Celestica's innocence, manipulating our docile Empress to further their ambitions?"

"Sir," Dianna interjected firmly, "again, Empress Celestica is over seventy years old. Innocence might not be the right descriptor anymore."

"Point taken," Arther conceded reluctantly, returning to seriousness. "Then what exactly did Celestica want with a disgraced cavalry captain who made global headlines by dishonoring... oh!" Another Eureka moment came upon Arthur as he spoke.

"She was being tricked by Lord Redwood to pay his grandson a visit, and then he used his grandson to seduce her to gain leverage over to use against us in the future. Yes! That must be it! Oh God, who would have thought the Redwoods would stoop so low." Arthur concluded as he made a flamboyant wink towards Dianna.

Dianna calmly adjusted her glasses again and pulled out a mana tab that did a quick maneuver on it and then gracefully placed it on Arthur's table. On it, a current picture of Philip was displayed. "With respect, Sir, given how Philip looks now... I think the only one he would be seducing is Elora. And probably with cash too..."

Arther paused, clearly embarrassed by the absurdity of his idea in light of the new information. "Well, you never know. Young people nowadays, they might have a different perception of beauty than what is conventional," he said, leaning back with a nervous laugh.

"Well, her perceptions might be more conventional than you think," Dianna continued, "She's old enough to be our grandmother, after all."

Arther's eyes widened in surprise. "Damn, I totally didn't realize. And to think I was frolicking with her last night..."

Dianna froze, narrowing her eyes at him. "Frolicking? Wait, what on earth happened? How could you not tell me? Damage control is most effective when it's done right after it first happens." Panic started to lace her voice the more she spoke.

Arther froze, realizing what he had just said. But he played it cool. "Oh, don't worry, no damage control needed. It was just a dream. Me and Empress Celestica by the beach, you know, the usual things..." He said in a casual tone as if discussing the most casual of things.

Dianna exhaled slowly, shaking her head with a bemused smile. "I strongly suggest you avoid mentioning such things publicly, Sir."

"Noted," Arther agreed sheepishly, clearing his throat. "So, you were saying?"

"Sir," Dianna corrected patiently, "there is something called learning, which occurs over time. Empress Celestica, despite her youthful appearance, has had more than several decades to observe, learn, and become more opinionated and independent. So it's highly likely that she is no longer that docile and obsequious entity she was when she first married Emperor Winston. Her political inactivity could simply be disinterest, as she was preoccupied with mourning the loss of her late husband. Maybe she is starting to come out of it."

"Nonsense," Arther chuckled dismissively. "Celestica never noticed anything beyond palace tea parties and scripted speeches for decades. She barely comprehends half the speeches we wrote for her. If I told her to recite a phone directory for a city district, she'd do it with that saintly smile. Believe me, she is highly gullible."

"That's precisely the problem, Sir," Dianna replied, unfazed. "You've been underestimating her for too long. I wouldn't be surprised if she's learned more in the past few years than she ever did under Emperor Winston's reign."

Arther leaned back, a deep frown settling on his face. "Interesting," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "If she really starts getting involved in politics, it would complicate a lot of things. Especially if she leans excessively toward any one of the factions. This empire is already hanging on by a thread; the subtle balance between the various conflicting interests is tearing it apart. I am already at my limit maintaining the fragile peace on the surface between the social classes and the political factions. The world used to be a much simpler place. During the heyday of the Empire, in times of crisis, we usually just instigated some small war against some weak but rich state and then made them pay indemnities. But now..."

Dianna sighed. "Frankly, we've become a second-rate power, given the Empire's second-tier production of mana, the reservoir accessible to Empress Celestica is only a tenth of the amount accessible to the Snow Queen of Arussia or Lady Sky of the Continental Republic."

Arther exhaled deeply, steepling his fingers beneath his chin, eyes narrowed in contemplation. "Dianna, assign our best intelligence agents to discretely observe the Redwood estate. Keep me informed of all of Philip's interactions, especially those involving Celestica."

"Understood," Dianna acknowledged, gathering her documents gracefully. "Shall I convene the economic advisors again, Sir? Given today's alarming developments, it may be prudent."

"Please do," Arther murmured, returning her smile with genuine warmth. As she exited, Arther's smile faded, his gaze distant. Despite his bravado and dismissive humor, the empire's worsening crises gnawed relentlessly at his thoughts.

Arther stood up, straightening his perfectly tailored suit, and crossed to the window, staring silently at Albecaster's graceful spires. The laughter and witty bravado masked deep unease: Avalondia's foundations were trembling beneath their feet.

"Interesting times indeed," he murmured to himself grimly. "Far too interesting for comfort."