The Medieval-Modern Man with a Gamer Mindset

10. Learned from a Friend

What do people consider most important when they witness an event?

Some say it’s a touching lesson, others claim it’s the truth. A marketing department colleague I met at work once said:

“A story alone isn’t enough. Storytelling that connects each event and element, and the subtle appeal in dramatic production can stimulate customers’ needs.”

He failed to appeal to the executives during salary negotiations, but he certainly left a deep impression on me. His words still resonate clearly. It was as if I had finally grasped what I had only half-listened to in university lectures.

Events, when isolated, are just a list. It’s only when separate events are connected that they become a ‘story’. How these events are linked—that’s ‘storytelling’.

There was a hint in this storytelling technique. Sometimes, human imagination can foster greater conviction than lengthy explanations filled with truth and evidence. My mischievous friend, the son of a pastor, would scoff at this phenomenon.

“Truth can be contradicted by another truth, but faith, even if opposed, cannot be refuted.”

“What?”

“That’s why strong beliefs are powerful.”

“Cut the crap and add more MSG to the noodle soup. Why does it taste so bland?”

—

He who follows the truth can be persuaded, but he who follows faith cannot be swayed, so spoke the preacher’s son, fittingly interpreting the words. Of course, at that time, I simply slurped up the feast noodles provided by the church, thinking, ‘There he goes again, spouting his catechism.’

But now I understand. The fellow was a pastor in the making.

He had learned to appeal to emotions with thorough reason and logic, contemplating the church operations he would inherit from his father. Had I known I would become a king or noble, I would have paid more heed to these golden words.

And now, here I am, having realized the word ‘reticence’ in this uncivilized, barbaric, medieval-esque other world.

True secrets can be applied anywhere, regardless of the field. Even if they originated from the soft modern era, they are adaptable enough for this harsh medieval-esque other world.

This is why I stuffed gold coins into the servants’ bundles, only to be met with immediate protest.

“No! Where do you hear such fanciful nonsense!!!”

The unconvinced one was a man tied to a chair with leather straps, thrashing about. He was a servant who recently worried about his thinning hair and wanted to buy a hair growth potion from the alchemist. He was lodging a complaint, dissatisfied with my explanation.

His behavior reminded me of myself, copying answers rather than solving math problems, stirring a strange sense of kinship as I was about to continue explaining. But Sir Overte, the silent intelligence officer beside me, spoke first.

“…Firstly, it’s about Lord Confucius’ wife, Miriam Right Yubas. She wishes to reveal to the world the dubious aspects of the child she bore. Even the slightest suspicious circumstance can give significant hints to the discerning, without publicizing rumors related to the birth.”

Sir Overte, the one-hit wonder strategist, fiddled with his seaweed-like hair covering his forehead as he explained softly. Of course, it was impossible for the illiterate servant to comprehend all that.

The unfortunate servant, recalling rumors from within the castle, convinced himself. Yet, his sense of injustice didn’t seem to dissipate completely, as he began to weep, looking back at Sir Overte and me.

“Are you saying I’m falsely accused?! It was truly terrifying!!!”

Then he burst into loud sobs, spilling all the water he could. If this were an act, I could never trust anyone again. Sir Overte seemed to share my thoughts, staring intently in our direction.

“…This man’s shallow thoughts and faint-heartedness make him unsuitable as a spy. Persuasion is easy, but so is his spilling of secrets. Even if approached, he wouldn’t have revealed anything of importance. Further interrogation is worthless.”

“Indeed. If he were thoughtful, he wouldn’t have asked for an explanation.”

He may be short on thought, but his intuition seems sharp. The servant stopped crying and lifted his head as soon as he heard the conversation between Sir Overte and me. His eyelids trembled, and his bloodshot eyes darted about.

“What, what do you mean?”

Sir Overte, without a hint of irritation, explained clearly once more. It was thanks to his considerate nature, whether the servant understood or not. He did sigh, but it wasn’t because of the servant.

He seemed dissatisfied with his damp, limp forelock, sweeping it to the side. No matter how much he fiddled, it was as useless as explaining everything to the servant.

“…Secondly, it’s not about a non-existent crime. There’s certainly a spy within the castle, but revealing or even hindering them is not easy. It was necessary to warn the enemy.”

Those who sensed the situation weren’t the servants before me but others. The soldiers who accompanied me as guards and Edwina’s demeanor grew increasingly tense. Some soldiers shut their eyes tightly, and Edwina, at some point, clung to my back, trembling.

“…Thirdly.”

Just as Sir Overte was about to continue.

“Stop.”

I raised my hand, interrupting Sir Overte’s speech. It wasn’t to reprimand Sir Overte. Rather, it was to save the unfortunate servant, the innocent soldiers, and the fiercely loyal Edwina.

The only one who didn’t catch on was the unfortunate servant. He knew danger was imminent but not what kind. I wasn’t sure if this was specialization or just insensitivity.

I burst into a hearty laugh, facing Sir Overte’s fiery gaze, and maintained the utmost courtesy.

“Sir Overte, with such a performance, it’s only right to be fooled once. I’m impressed by your thoroughness, even though you’ve decided no interrogation is needed.”

—

“Your Grace.”

“I am deeply grateful for Count Overte’s passion and determination to thoroughly settle matters this time. However, as much as I understand your concerns, time is of the essence. Please reconsider.”

A brief exchange of glances ended with Count Overte’s concession. He fiddled with the buckle of his cloak unnecessarily and took a step back, his voice tinged with embarrassment.

“…Indeed, you are correct. I was so focused on the task at hand that I nearly missed an important aspect. Thank you for your caution, Your Grace.”

“What is light or heavy in such matters? It’s merely a difference of deadlines, but all are of great importance.”

“Such words from you are truly moving.”

Count Overte, our fervent spy, and I exchanged warm words, significantly easing the atmosphere. Soldiers and Edwina sighed in relief, while the unfortunate servant still looked around, puzzled.

“Eh? What?”

For the first time, a hint of expression appeared on Count Overte’s stern face. He seemed to take a dislike to the unlucky servant, his eyebrows furrowing. He growled as if a fierce beast raising its spirit before its prey.

“…Be thankful to His Grace. Had he not intervened just now.”

“That will be all, Count Overte.”

The mood, which had been carefully relaxed, was on the verge of becoming tense again. I held back Count Overte and smiled at the servant. Ignorance is bliss, as they say.

“Just continue without trying to understand anything and faithfully do as you’re told, and you won’t have any problems.”

“Uh… thank you?”

“In that sense, you’ve passed.”

“Excuse me?”

“What is your name?”

“Call me John, John of Brookside!”

The reason why the ruthless spy Count Overte recited his reasons to this servant was clear.

From the moment one enters the torture chamber, the chances of survival converge to zero. Count Overte’s earlier explanation was simply a long-winded way of saying he would make sure the servant faced his end unless he gave the desired response.

It’s excessive to strip the scalp off someone who’s already sad about losing their hair. And even if we let him go now, could he really engage in proper job-seeking activities?

There’s a theory called the stigma theory. Once someone returns from prison, they must endure people’s narrow-minded views, knowingly or unknowingly. It’s a truly dreadful thing.

I wanted this innocent and blameless man, John of Brookside, to continue living a healthy life. So, I decided to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

“John of Brookside.”

“Yes, yes!”

“You will accompany me to the monastery.”

I would have liked to take Edwina with me, but alas, the monastery is off-limits to women, just as the convent is to men. I had been pondering how to procure a trustworthy person.

But as if sent by heaven, a servant to faithfully assist me to the monastery, our John of Brookside, fell right into my lap. I’m not particularly religious, but I was certain.

This was fate.

“…I must have heard wrong.”

—

And sometimes, fate is met with personal defiance.

At this moment, John stood against destiny with the most brilliant heroic will of his life. The tragic part was that this place was a workshop of medieval experts who turned heroes into battered warriors.

There was no time to admire the heroic spirit John had summoned. A jailer, who had been quietly waiting, leaning against a wall stained with bloodstains, picked up a pair of tongs while humming a tune.

“Let’s see. How many rotten teeth do we have here~.”

With a brutal force that seemed ready to extract even healthy teeth after breaking them, claiming they were decayed.

As soon as John saw the jailer fiddling with the tongs and licking his dry lips with his tongue, he hurriedly turned his head to look this way.

“Your Highness! I will ensure your comfortable journey to the monastery!!!”

***

I had quite a good rapport with Sir Overton, the confidant and spy of Duke Aestleton.

But no matter how good the rapport, a clash was inevitable. As soon as Overton left the torture chamber, he turned his gaze away and spoke.

“…If you have devised a strategy, you must also know how to justify cruelty. If others knew the truth, they would say you’ve gone mad.”

I understood clearly what Overton meant. In these times, it’s more important to root out a single criminal than to save an innocent person. Even if it means turning a blind eye to the deaths of nine innocents to catch one culprit.

Such a barbaric and primitive notion… It was I who had said to burn down the whole house to catch a flea. Naturally, I felt cornered by those words, especially since my own life was at stake.

-If I had been a romanticist who appealed only to emotions, that would have been the case. I shared my thoughts with Overton, who was timidly expressing his complaints, to console him.

“Unusual events raise questions, and those questions stimulate the imagination. This is a measure to show Yubas.”

It’s the technique of storytelling, of implication. A deadly method for those who love to twist thoughts. Think about it. It’s natural for torture to lead to a funeral procession, but it didn’t.

If it were just that, one might think it went unnoticed, but.

“We move after the interrogation ends simply without any other torture. We act based on a conclusion we’ve already drawn, regardless of the truth, but from their perspective, with so many events happening in a short time, they need to sift through the information, it will seem different.”

“…Surely not.”

A spy is ultimately an entity maintained by a relationship of trust. They function on the premise that there are such and such reasons to be trustworthy. In other words, if you nudge that premise, you can make the enemy shrink back.

“The easiest way to defeat an enemy.”

The key to plotting a conspiracy is swiftness. The reason is simple. If you take the time to think calmly, you can find something that doesn’t add up.

It’s similar to why con artists mix all sorts of bizarre terms to hinder understanding. Since there’s a commonality in deceiving people, the strategies here weren’t much different.

“There may be various factors, but if we talk about ease, isn’t it about making them lay down their weapons themselves?”

You induce them to be certain through imagination, not giving them time to judge with truth and evidence. That’s the crux. …I wonder if I’ve rambled too much off-topic. Fortunately, Overton was nodding his head, not showing displeasure.

“Your Highness’s insight. I have taken it to heart.”

I’m embarrassed to be flattered too much as the son of the lord I serve. Such flattery isn’t bad, but it makes my cheeks red. I waved my hands and accepted Overton’s praise.

“It’s embarrassing to be praised so highly. Next, it’s Overton’s turn to take charge.”

“Of course. …I will do my utmost to ensure that nothing tarnishes Your Highness’s plan.”

“hahahahaha! Well then, shall we go?”

—

—

Praise is said to make even a whale dance, and here I am, the very picture of it. I couldn’t hide my bright smile as I strode out of the prison, continuing the conversation.

“To find the gold coins given as real bribes.”