Gustav stayed quiet for a brief moment after that, then added in a rougher voice,
“It never looked to me like the Regent was truly working with Orleandul or Armandis.”
That made Ludger’s eyes narrow slightly. Gustav continued before anyone could interrupt.
“Not in the way men like that usually work together. Not as partners. Not as equals sharing a design.” He shifted faintly in the chair, then grimaced through the movement. “If anything, it always felt simpler. Dirtier too.”
Rufas frowned.
“Simpler how?”
Gustav looked toward him only briefly.
“The Regent gave orders,” he said. “The others obeyed.”
That landed strangely. Because it did not fit neatly with the rest. Orleandul did not sound like the kind of man who obeyed anyone lightly. Armandis even less so. Not truly. Not without calculation behind it.
And yet Gustav did not seem to be speaking carelessly now.
“It wasn’t complete obedience in every matter,” he clarified. “I’m not saying the Regent controlled every piece of what they did. Men like Orleandul always have their own ambitions. Their own long games. Armandis certainly had his own appetites. But when it came to certain actions, certain names, certain pressures…” He let out a tired breath. “Yes. The Regent gave instructions, and they moved.”
Eclaire’s expression turned more thoughtful than angry for a moment. So the Regent might not have been inside their structure. But he had enough influence to point it. That was its own kind of filth.
Ludger stared at Gustav for another second, then asked, “What do you know about the Regent?”
Gustav lowered his eyes briefly, sorting through memory.
“Not as much as you’d want,” he said. “Probably not as much as I should.”
“That isn’t an answer,” Ludger said.
Gustav gave a faint nod.
“No. So here’s the answer.”
He shifted again in the improvised wheelchair, his voice flattening into the tone of a man reaching further back now.
“The Regent used to be an ordinary advisor under the previous Emperor. Nothing remarkable at first. Not a warrior. Not a major noble. Not one of those loud men who force their name into every room. He was the opposite, really. Easy to overlook if you were the kind of fool who measured influence by how much noise a man made.”
Jennifer folded her arms.
“So he hid behind being forgettable.”
“I am not sure,” Gustav said. “Perhaps he simply understood the value of looking small until other people made room for him.”
That sounded closer to the truth.
“He only became truly famous around ten years ago,” Gustav continued, “when he gave the Emperor some recommendations that improved the revenue coming from several labyrinths.”
That got everyone’s attention. Even Rowan’s focus sharpened slightly at that. Gustav noticed and continued.
“I don’t know the details,” he admitted. “Not the real ones. I only know the broad result. Somehow, through management changes, contract shifts, route control, or exploitation methods, I was never given the full mechanism, the Crown began making considerably more money from some of the labyrinth operations under imperial influence.”
He exhaled slowly.
“That success changed how people looked at him.”
Of course it did. Nothing made a court notice a man faster than proving he could increase money flow without openly destabilizing the structures everyone depended on.
“One profitable reform turns an advisor into a useful advisor,” Gustav said. “Several make him difficult to ignore. Especially if the Emperor begins to trust him.”
Rufas finally spoke, voice grim.
“And once that trust exists, the rest follows.”
Gustav gave a small nod.
“Yes.”
He looked back at Ludger.
“After that, his standing rose steadily. He became associated with practical results. With solutions. With the idea that while others argued over old forms and ceremonial pride, he understood how to squeeze more value out of what the Empire already possessed.”
Eclaire’s eyes narrowed faintly.
“Labyrinths,” she said. “That kind of beginning would buy him a lot of friends.”
“It did,” Gustav answered. “Merchants liked him. Administrators liked him. Military logistics liked him. Noble houses with investments tied to those revenues liked him. And once men start associating you with increased coin…” He gave a tired, humorless breath. “They become much more willing to call you wise.”
Ludger did not react outwardly, but the thought stayed with him.
Labyrinth revenue. Sudden rise. A man who looked unremarkable until he became too useful to remove. And a court full of people stupid or greedy enough to reward whatever increased flow in the short term without asking what had been changed underneath.
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Gustav spread one hand slightly, as much as his condition allowed.
“That is what I know. Or rather, that is the beginning of what I know. His rise started there. With labyrinth money. With practical gains. With a reputation for results.”
Then his expression darkened.
“Men like that are always the most dangerous once they stop needing to prove they’re useful.”
Ludger’s gaze stayed fixed on Gustav.
“Why wouldn’t you know the details,” he asked, “of someone who rose to prominence that quickly?”
His tone was flat, but the question carried enough edge to make it clear that I wasn’t told would not be good enough on its own.
For a man like Gustav, one who had moved money, guilds, killers, and secrets through the dark underlayers of the Empire, not knowing the foundation of a figure like the Regent was either incompetence or another lie.
Gustav seemed to understand that immediately.
“I don’t know,” he said.
Ludger’s expression didn’t change. So Gustav continued before the silence could harden further.
“I tried to investigate,” he said. “Quietly. Carefully. Not enough to draw attention, but enough to satisfy myself that I understood the man we were all suddenly expected to treat as indispensable.”
That at least sounded like something Gustav would do.
“And?”
“I found nothing.”
That made the air around them shift again. Not loudly. But enough. Rufas frowned. Eclaire’s eyes narrowed. Jennifer looked openly skeptical. Rowan remained still, but his attention sharpened further.
Gustav let out a slow breath.
“I knew nothing about what the Regent had done before becoming an advisor to the former Emperor,” he said. “No meaningful family background. No past connections worth following. No old obligations. No prior reputation in any circles that should have produced a man like him. No real trail.”
Jennifer frowned harder. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“No,” Gustav said. “It doesn’t.”
He looked at Ludger again.
“That was precisely why I looked into it.”
And apparently found a void. Not dead ends. Not hidden records. Not conflicting rumors. A void. That was worse.
“Either,” Gustav said, “he suddenly appeared in this world…”
That line made Ludger’s eyes narrow slightly.
“…or he was exceptionally good at hiding his traces.”
Silence followed that. Because both possibilities were bad.
One sounded absurd on the surface. The other sounded dangerous enough to prefer absurdity. Ludger squinted slightly.
A man who came from nowhere and rose that fast on “labyrinth improvements” alone was already suspicious. A man whose past could not be found even by someone like Gustav, someone who lived half his life through hidden channels and unofficial power, was worse.
Eclaire studied Gustav for a moment, then asked, “No childhood acquaintances? No house retainers who remembered him? No prior appointments? No old patrons?”
Gustav shook his head faintly.
“Nothing solid. A few useless whispers. Contradictory scraps. The sort of debris that appears around anyone important if people are desperate to sound informed. But nothing real enough to build on.”
Rufas looked grim. “That should have alarmed more people.”
“It probably did,” Gustav said. “Just not enough of the right ones or people didn’t care for some reason.”
Or not enough of them survived long enough to matter. Ludger didn’t say that aloud. He didn’t need to. His mind was already moving through the possibilities.
If the Regent had erased his past, then why? If he had no real past in the Empire, then where had he come from? And if Gustav was right that the man either “appeared” or hid himself that perfectly, then the labyrinth money was probably not the beginning of his rise.
Just the point where he allowed people to notice him. That was the kind of thought Ludger disliked. Because it meant the visible scheme was probably only the middle of a much larger one. His gaze remained on Gustav, but his thoughts had already moved beyond the wounded man in the chair.
The Regent. Labyrinth revenues. No traceable origin. Orders that men like Orleandul and Armandis followed without true partnership. It all fit together badly. Which usually meant it fit together well.
Eventually, Ludger spoke.
“So either the most useful advisor in the Empire came from nowhere…” he said quietly, “or someone spent years making sure he could wear whatever face and history he wanted before stepping into court.”
Gustav gave a slow nod.
“Yes.”
That answer did not help anyone feel better. Eclaire folded her arms, her expression colder now.
“And if it’s the second?”
Ludger’s eyes stayed narrowed.
“Then,” he said, “we’re not dealing with an ambitious court rat who got lucky.”
The floating swords around him continued their slow orbit, silent and sharp.
“We’re dealing with someone who started planning long before anyone important realized he existed.”
No one disagreed. Because at this point, disagreement would have required a more comforting explanation. And none of them had one. Gustav let the silence linger for a few seconds before speaking again.
“That is all I know.”
His voice sounded thinner now. Not because he was hesitating. Because he had finally reached the point where there was little left to hide and even less left worth protecting.
“If you want proof of our work,” he said, looking at Ludger, “or proof of the agreements between Orleandul, Armandis, and the others… I can’t give you any.”
Jennifer’s expression darkened immediately.
“You expect us to take all this on your word?”
Gustav didn’t even look at her.
“No,” he said. “I expect you to understand the kind of man Orleandul is.”
That, at least, was a fair answer.
“He made sure nothing traceable remained behind him,” Gustav continued. “Not if he could help it. He used intermediaries. compartmentalized tasks. verbal orders. disposable channels. dead ends. He trusted records only when they could be controlled, and control was never permanent enough for his taste.”
Rufas let out a quiet breath through his nose, grim and unsurprised. Gustav kept going.
“Even when deals existed, even when understanding was clear, it was rarely written in ways that could destroy him directly. He did not leave a neat chain for anyone to follow.” His mouth twisted faintly. “That was one of the reasons he survived so long around ambitious men. He understood early that evidence is more dangerous than enemies.”
Ludger said nothing. Because he already knew that. Or rather, he had expected it.
Men like Orleandul did not build quiet empires of filth by keeping signed confessions in desk drawers. If proof existed, it would be scattered, partial, deniable, or buried under enough dead hands that only a fool would expect one clean document to end everything.
And even if some clue surfaced…
Gustav had a point.
“Even if you find fragments,” Gustav said, as if following the same thought, “the Regent can simply say they are not enough.”
His voice flattened.
“And that would be the end of it.”
Not literally. But politically? Practically? Close enough.
Because without something overwhelming, men in power always had the same shield available to them: doubt. Not even honest doubt. Just enough of it to stall, muddy, redirect, and kill whoever pushed too hard.
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