Accountant Isekai

Princess Hildoara of Vandalland had grown a lot since she was a child. Her muscles were athletic from years of training, and she had matured nicely. At the moment, she wore something that looked like it had the pants of an 1800s men’s horse-riding outfit, a decorated purple 1410s England woman’s dress that went down to her hips, and some sort of vaguely Byzantine woman’s cloak. Any historian who saw it would have a heart attack.

At the moment, the princess was in her room. She gazed into her crystal ball. Hildoara wondered if Count Gustav had one of those yet. The noblewoman wanted to talk to him for a moment. After all, she would be very busy soon and might not have time to.

“Your Royal Highness,” a man with a swirly mustache and a suit of plate armor said. “Are you ready?”

She nodded, “I am.”

Hildoara put on her armor before grabbing an estoc and placing it on her belt. She took a deep breath and moved out of her room, going through the castle and into the great hall.

King Albiunus was at the end of the great hall. The monarch sat on a throne so large that it could seat a giant. It made him look more like a child than a king. He had a look of contempt on his face as he tapped his fingers against his seat. His body was gaunt, his eyes were sunken in, and his fingernails were so long that they looked like they'd snap off at any moment.

“It’s been years,” he gritted his jagged teeth so hard that they cracked again. “And yet you fools still can’t find my son? How can I possibly be at peace while he still lives?”

“Father!” Hildoara shouted.

His attention turned to her.

A cruel smile formed on his face, “My dear daughter, did you find your wretched brother?”

She gazed over the knights in the room. Most of them gave her nods.

“I have,” Hildoara said.

Albiunus’ smile widened, “Good. Good. Bring me his corpse!”

“You won’t see it. I’d say that I’ll send you to your other sons, but you’re not going to the same place they went,” she drew her sword and pointed it at his face with magic crackling from her weapon.

On signal, most of the knights in the room drew their swords and placed them at the throats of the knights loyal to the king.

“Oh. Just what do you think you’re doing?” Albiunus chuckled. “Trying to overthrow me? You fool. The nobles of this kingdom would never back a woman leader!”

“They aren’t backing me, but your son. After you and all the rival claimants are dead, he'll take the throne!” Hildoara declared.

“Hmph. It seems I will have to teach you a lesson. I challenge you to a wizard’s duel!”

Rather than reacting with fear, terror, or excitement, all the commoners in the room groaned.

Hildoara smirked, “I’ve long since surpassed you, Father. I will make your last moments ones of humiliation!”

She took a few steps back. Albiunus stepped down from his throne. All those who could use magic looked on with intense expressions. The people who couldn’t use magic laid down on the floor or bashed their heads against walls.

“Taste my wrath!” Albiunus shouted. “Meteor strike!”

A pebble lightly fell on Hildoara’s head, bounding off and landing on the ground.

Her smirk didn’t fade, “A predictable move from you, father. Let’s see how you handle this: Spear of the Gods!”

A flower grew from the palace tiles. It sprayed water on Albiunus’ face.

“Damn you!” he shouted.

Hildoara gave him a mocking salute with her sword.

“Why don’t they ever use the cool spells for their duels?” a commoner groaned.

Another said, “I wanna see meteors and magic spears, not pebbles and flowers!”

“Taste this!” Albiunus’ face contorted with rage. “Rotting flesh!”

A roast chicken on a nearby table rotted.

“In your arrogance, you’ve lost your touch long ago, Father,” Hildoara’s smile faded, and she narrowed her eyes. “It’s time to end this.”

She raised her sword in the air. Magical power gathered around it. The very air turned into a void. Reality distorted as her blade turned pitch black. That blackness concentrated around its tip, and Hildoara cast her spell.

“Black Hole!”

Tiny black spots formed all over Albiunus’ clothes.

“Noooooooo!” he shouted, collapsing to his knees. “Those clothes are ruined! I surrender! I cannot best you!”

“Victory is mine!” Hildoara said.

“Finally. It’s over,” a commoner stood up. “Please tell me you’re going to use a cool spell to kill him.”

“No. I have something different in mind. Knights, take him to the courtyard!”

Albiunus would be sent straight to Hell by a guillotine.

King Eduard the Defenestrater was two heads taller than most men. The monarch was known for his stern countenance. He wore great robes of purple, red, and silver. A beard that was neatly trimmed into two separate points that looked like a pair of mountains hung from his face. Currently, Eduard was on his crystal ball inside a military tent. His wife sat next to him. She was a beautiful woman with a somewhat practical dress of purple, red, and silver. Her golden hair was in a bun, and her every movement contained incredible grace and elegance.

“Are you certain?” King Eduard asked. “You’re just forgiving my debts, no strings attached.”

“I am. You don’t have to pay us a single bronze trachy,” Count Luthor answered.

“Very well. I will accept this.”

With that, he ended the call.

Eduard noted, “This is very strange. I’d have paid his debt, but he canceled it. What do you think of this, Eleanor?”

“I think we should ask our son this,” his wife replied. “It’ll be good for his continued education.”

Prince Jeremy entered the tent at their request. He looked similar to his father, except he had no beard.

“How foolish of them,” he said.

“Why do you say that?” Eduard questioned.

“They’re spending a lot of money for your sake, and you owed them a lot of money,” Jeremy stated. “Now, they’re not getting any of it.”

“Read between the lines, my son. Nothing is as it at first seems. First, would Count Luthor forgive my debts unprompted?”

That gave the prince pause.

“No. If you asked him to, he would, but he knows his financial situation.”

“He didn’t do it,” Eleanor stated. “His wife wouldn’t have suggested it either. Those cousins are way too similar.”

“Then who’s…that’s it! This must be Saint Gustav’s doing!” Jeremy said.

“Why him?”

“He’s the only one who has access to the family's records and could hold enough sway to convince those two.” The prince pondered, “But why would he convince his father to forgive his family’s debts?”

Eduard suggested, “Perhaps this is Dʰéǵʰom’s plan?”

Jeremy shook his head, “No. A god of his power wouldn’t concern himself with the debts of minor lords, even if one of them is his Saint. Gods have larger things to worry about. This is Gustav’s doing. That boy is far more clever than he seems. There’s some trick to this.”

“Let’s call upon our resident scheme expert, Duke Armand.”

They told the duke everything that happened. He was a very skinny man with a sly look. His mustache resembled an early 1900s movie villain who’d tie some woman to train tracks. The duke didn’t wear purple; however, his clothes were still very fancy.

“It’s a simple matter, your majesty,” Armand said. “A debt is a symbol of bondage, like that between lord and vassal or that between me and my wife.”

“Wives are bound to their husbands,” Jeremy nodded.

“That isn’t the type of bondage I meant, but I’ll take it. Now, forgiveness is reconciliation. However, it’s also the ending of conflict. The message is simple and clear: he’ll break the bonds of lordship with you if you don’t get him out of the conflict arisen from his debts.”

“Really, now?” Eduard questioned.

Armand stated, “It’s either that, or he just doesn’t trust you to actually pay back the debts.”

“It’s probably that he doesn’t trust me,” the king groaned.

Eleanor sighed, “You make things far too complicated, Duke Armand.”

“But what now, your majesty?” the duke questioned.

Eduard said, “The von Blitzburgs are in trouble, and they have given me good service, keeping those fucking stoners away from me. So, my plan will remain the same. When this campaign is over, I will give them some of the lands I conquered. I might give a bit extra too. I have no intentions of making enemies with any saints.”

Still, the king grimaced. It could be weeks, months, or even years before the Protein Shake tribe was subjugated. His magic was far more powerful. But the barbarians would hide in the woods, engage in hit-and-run warfare, and evade his forces as best as they could. This conquest would last for a very long time to come.

“Your majesty, the Protein Shake King has surrendered!” one of his men ran inside.

Other soldiers brought a ridiculously muscled man wearing nothing but a loin cloth into the room. He was shivering.

Eduard said, “Well, that was fucking easy. Why did you give up?”

“My men’s barbarian abs and pecs got frostbite,” the Protein Shake King stated.

“That’s what you get for wearing nothing but loin cloths and bikini armor in the North. Now, I will hold court in your castle to cement this conquest.

Numerous commoners and lords alike were in the shoddy, poorly constructed barbarian hall that looked like it could collapse at any moment. The building was also situated on the very edge of a 500-foot cliff. Still, Eduard didn’t regret his decision to hold court there. He raised his hand, and magic flowed through the hall. The walls and floor were reinforced so that even a point-blank hit from a trebuchet wouldn’t leave a single scratch.

“Court is now in session,” Eduard said.

Two peasants were ushered forward. One of them was morbidly obese and missing his front teeth. The other was very skinny. Eduard noted that the latter was properly averting his eyes from him while the other looked right into his face. Fatso did not please the king.

“You may gaze upon me now.”

The skinny commoner looked at the king.

“Tell me what your dispute is,” Eduard ordered.

“Well, I’ve got some land you gave my family, your majesty,” the skinny peasant explained. “And it’s supposed to be my land, for my crops and animals.”

“I am aware of why I granted you your land, yeoman.”

The peasant rushed out his next words, “Well, this one here’s been grazing his sheep on my land. He even broke my fences to get there.”

Eduard asked, “Is this true?”

“I’ll let my sheep eat wherever I want,” fatso stated.

“You will not. That land was granted to this man here for his livestock. Yours have no right to be there. If you do not stop grazing your sheep on his land, I will fine you.”

“No one tells me what to do!”

“Who is this person who speaks to me as if he has any authority,” Eduard couldn’t believe how stupid this motherfucker was.

“I won’t let anyone tell me what to do!” fatso declared. “Even my king!”

Eduard picked him up and threw him out a window that faced the 500-foot cliff.

In a mountain-top castle, a tall man with a thick mustache and practical yet ornate red outfit overlooked a vast forest. Two men snuck up behind him. They held a sword in one hand with the other hand ready to cast spells.

The mustached man said, “I’d say this is getting annoying, but I’m long past that point.”

They didn’t have time to react. Their target was behind them, and their bisected bodies collapsed. The mustached man pulled out a cloth, wiping the blood off his longsword before sheathing it.

A servant entered the room, “Another boyar attempt to overthrow you, Voivode?”

“Yes,” the mustached man sighed. “I was hoping they’d at least be smart enough to wear armor so I could make an example out of them, but you can see that my sword went right through them.”

“I’ll just do the usual, then.”

“Go ahead, but first,” the Voivode pulled out a crossbow and shot it straight up.

Another boyar fell from the ceiling.

“It’s a miracle that we haven’t run out of nobles yet,” the servant noted.

“More like a curse.”

The Voivode walked off, speaking as he did so.

A beautiful woman with dark brown hair and the sun in her eyes approached the Voivode as he walked into a courtyard.

“Dalv, the servants have prepared dinner,” she stated.

“I will see you there, Trish,” he grabbed her hand, kissed it, and smiled before his expression turned serious. “I just need to make sure the latest boyar plot to overthrow me is done with. It’s always the damn boyars.”

“At least it’s just the boyars. It’d be trouble if more than them came after you,” Trish said.

Then Dalv nodded.

“You’re right. The commoners wouldn’t want to overthrow me, but that isn’t what I meant. You never see foreigners trying to come after me. Can’t I get some variety at least?”

He groaned.

“I can’t believe it. I of all people know how dangerous having enemies within and without can be, but I’m begging for someone different to try to take my head,” Dalv slapped his face.

Trish said, “Sometimes, I worry about you, Dalv.”

“I would have thought you’d worry more because, hold on a moment,” the Voivode aimed his crossbow and shot another boyar who was hiding in a bush. “Because the boyars keep trying to kill me.”

“They’ve been trying to replace you with…I’m not even sure if you have any relatives who have a claim on Weltai anymore, but they’ve been trying to replace you with someone who’d support them for more than 250 years,” she stated. “If they were going to succeed, they’d have done it by now. No, your mental state is far more important.”

“He worries about my mental state all the time too,” Dalv sighed.

“Tell him that we appreciate his concern,” Trish smiled.

“We appreciate your concern,” the Voivode stated before nodding. “Well, that’s good news at least.”

“What is it?”

“Can’t say. There might be a boyar or one of their spies listening to us.”

Dalv kept walking, a grin crossing his face.

He thought, “So, our newest saint is finally acting? You’d better not disappoint me, Saint Gustav von Blitzburg. I expect great things from you.”