The Duke's Daughter Goes Her Own Way
[Spring Weekends Tend to Make One Giddy]
Translated by: ME
(This is Author's Note)
In gratitude for your usual patronage, I've prepared a spontaneous short story.
This is a thank you to those who read and to those who put in points.
Since the main story updated at the same time has no comedic moments... I thought I'd gloss over it with this, or something...
Ellie is eleven years old. It's during the time she's studying for the academy entrance exams.
***
The May breeze is refreshing.
May was a good season in Japan too, you know. I remember when I was a kid in my previous life, I scratched a mark with a nail on the house pillar at my height, and my mom went ['Ahhh… orz']. It was a new house, so I ended doing something I'm sorry for. Mother from my previous life, I'm sorry about that.
May is pleasant in this world too. ...Though the humidity is a bit too low, and my skin gets dry.
Even eleven-year-old Ellie-chan's skin gets dry, so I wonder if Mother is okay… But if I voiced that worry, I have no idea what kind of reaction I'd get, so I can't.
Here in this world, a week is also seven days.
From Monday to Sunday, with Saturday and Sunday often being holidays. Places like the castle offices are closed on Saturdays, Sundays, and holidays. The actual names for the days of the week aren't ['Monday'] or anything, but for the sake of clarity, I prefer to use the previous world names, like going to the market on Sunday and heating the bath on Monday.
Clarity is important.
By the way, if you heat the bath on Monday, you should be able to bathe by Monday night. Why is bath day Tuesday? How scary.
Today is Saturday. …Not that the day of the week matters much to me in my current situation. But I'm usually home on weekends. Since many castle departments are closed, I take a break too.
Things like the Crown Princess education I used to do (though I'm not doing it now) also took weekends off.
Right now, I'm right in the middle of writing a thesis because I want to—no, I *must*!—take the Steinford exam next spring.
We held a family meeting to decide the thesis topic.
Since I'm going through the immense trouble of writing a thesis, I consulted Father, wondering if we couldn't utilize it for something. Like, aren't there any areas in our household that need investigation?
I'm going to be digging through a ton of literature, researching, and compiling it into writing anyway. I thought it'd be better if we could use it for something. Behold the secret technique: ['Waste Not Spirit']!
As a result, a groundbreaking idea emerged: if we utilize this well, maybe we can make Brother behave a little better?
It was so groundbreaking that the dozen or so people gathered in the dining room, including the servants, gave a standing ovation.
I'm so happy to be part of such a lively family.
Incidentally, the proposer was the butler, Thomas. As expected of a butler. Unlike laundry maids or porters, his brain is top-notch.
I was reading books for reference to write my thesis when it seemed unusually noisy outside.
I opened the window and stepped out onto the balcony.
As a side note, there are caltrops scattered on the balcony, so I always have a pair of wooden-soled flip-flops in my room that I can safely step on them with.
If you step on them with normal leather-soled shoes, they might even pierce through—they're that sharp. Stepping on them with wooden soles won't result in a puncture, but they'll mercilessly stick in. It makes walking difficult.
Don't ask what they're for.
It's not for crime prevention! It's Brother countermeasures!! He once climbed the outer wall and got up here! What is he, a ninja!?
Looking down from the balcony, I saw several servants running around.
[Caesar—! What's going on—?]
I called out to a servant I saw below, and he looked up at me.
[It's an intruder. We'll take care of it shortly, so please return to your room, Young Lady.]
[Okaaay~]
An intruder, huh. Someone's feeling adventurous.
Since my motor skills are a bit… unique… if I went out, I'd probably just get in the way rather than be of any help.
I'll obediently return to my room and continue reading the book I started.
***
What the hell!?
The man kicked the tree in front of him, cursing inwardly.
He had only intended to do a bit of reconnaissance. He found a grove that seemed to have no security and decided to enter from there.
At first, he was leisurely, thinking ['It's not as bad as they said,'] and feeling confident.
Right after that, as he walked, he felt his foot snag and break something like a string.
Damn! Did they set a trap!?
The moment he thought that, something like an arrow came flying from somewhere. Dodging on reflex, it lodged itself deep into a tree trunk right beside him.
It was like an arrow without fletching. And it didn't even have a proper arrowhead. It was more accurate to call it just a sharpened stick.
But it was stuck deep into the tree trunk.
Just how much force was it launched with?
What is this?
Could it be that what the bar owner said was true?
He thought that, but it was too late to turn back now.
***
The man was engaged in something akin to thievery.
He specialized not in breaking into commoner homes, but into noble mansions.
The ['something akin to'] part is because he specialized in ['stealing items requested by clients']. Sometimes it was money or goods, sometimes documents, sometimes information—it varied.
This time, the client was a noble. The reward was extravagantly generous, enough that just the advance payment would cover his drinking expenses for a while.
The request was: ['Find something from the Macnagan Ducal house that could be used to threaten them.']
Based on the man's past experience, nobles generally had shady aspects. Surely this Ducal house had them too.
And those types usually had a hidden safe or something in the core part of the mansion; if he could just get into that, loads of incriminating documents or whatnot would come pouring out.
Today, he planned to scout the mansion and at least find locations that seemed likely to hold important items.
It should have been that level of work.
He had talked about infiltrating the Macnagan Ducal mansion in a back-alley bar frequented by burglars, pickpockets, and con artists. He wondered if anyone there had information about that house.
Even if he let a little work-related info slip, everyone there was in the same line of business. No one would report him.
The layouts of noble mansions were surprisingly well-known in this industry.
Because there was information leaked by someone who had broken in before.
But he had never heard anything about the MacNaughton Ducal mansion.
Even though for the other four Ducal houses, there were some whose layouts, even the positions of guards on the grounds, were known.
He should have realized then.
What it meant that there was ['absolutely no information'].
And then, while everyone he asked just said ['Dunno'], the bar owner told him:
[I shouldn't say this, but… stay away from the Macnagan Ducal house. Even if you try, nothin' good will come of it.]
Huh? What's the old man talking about? And that was the end of the conversation.
Old man! What did you mean by that!?
In the Ducal house's grove, the man, now drenched by foul-smelling water falling from above, found himself thinking just that.
***
It seems a burglar-type dude sneaked in.
Despite appearances, our home security is perfect. It puts ghost to shame; it's more on the fiendish side. Call it Nightmare difficulty, Inferno, whatever you like.
Behind our mansion, there is a grove. Naturally, it's within the Ducal estate grounds.
You might wonder, why is that there? But a grove is a wonderful thing. In spring, you can gather wild vegetables; from summer to autumn, mushrooms… Of course, you can also find inedible things.
By my strict order, no traps are to be set on, or damage done to, the Aralia trees. They sprout new buds in spring. Yes. *Tara no me* (Aralia shoots). They're surprisingly expensive when bought at the supermarket. I like them tempura-style.
Such a treasure trove, this grove.
Its purpose, according to our ancestors, is to ['gather idiots and discard them']. It seems to have been the idea of the Duke four generations before Father.
It might sound like they're talking about hair in a drain, but here's the idea:
If you create an obvious entry point, thoughtless idiots will try to enter from there. Catch them, punish them, and toss them outside the estate grounds!
Brilliant! *Khorosho!* Well done, ancestors!
From anywhere other than the grove, like any normal noble mansion, guard knights patrol around, making infiltration difficult.
The grove, at first glance, looks completely unmaintained. Well, actually, we don't maintain it at all.
However, a few covert operatives are always hiding there, keeping an eye out for intruders… though their numbers are never large.
Since our ancestors' time, traps have been set in the grove.
Initially, it seems they were traps ['for catching enemies'], like leg-hold traps and noise-making alarms. But at some point, they evolved into traps ['for exterminating enemies'].
Currently, the grove contains numerous instant-death traps.
Looking at these beginner-unfriendly traps, a thought occurred to me.
…I kinda want to make that thing.
Yes, that thing.
A Bonfire.
You navigate through the beginner-unfriendly traps and reach the castle (our house). Just before it, there's a campfire. You rest a bit around the fire, then Go! to the castle where the boss is. That sort of feeling.
So I had one made. I asked the stonemason, gave him a design drawing, and had him make a stone sword too.
I stuck that in the middle, piled up ashes and charcoal collected from the fireplace…
A wonderfully crafted ['That Bonfire'] was completed. Even the Ashen One smiled at this!
If there were any reincarnator burglars or such, they'd definitely want to light it! Some might even think it's a save point!
But too bad for them, it's a trap.
If you light this bonfire, the ['fire-popping nuts'] hidden inside it go flying everywhere.
All the family members made ["??"] faces, but I'm satisfied.
Anyone in the family is allowed to enter this grove, and they are free to set or remove traps. However, if everyone just did as they pleased, we ourselves might get caught in the traps. It would also pose a danger to my spring delight, harvesting *tara no me*.
Therefore, a bird's-eye view map of this grove is posted in the butler's room. If someone sets or removes a trap, they must mark or erase it on this map.
Periodically, the covert operatives explore the grove using this map. If they find a trap not on the map, the person who set it and neglected to mark it receives 'educational guidance'. Incidentally, if a trap marked on the map has been removed or has deteriorated and become inoperative, the operatives note that on the map.
And then, at some point, people started looking at the map and thinking, ['They'll probably dodge this trap like this, so wouldn't it be fun if there was another trap where they dodge to?']
As a result, the grove has now become a terrifying, demonic forest where, without the map, you'll fall into vicious trap combos.
…Since the 'game' had kinda changed, I tearfully removed the bonfire. The stone sword is a favorite of mine, so I have it displayed in my room. I sometimes play pretend at lighting it. It's because my physical strength is too low to bring out this sword's full performance.
***
In our family's demonic grove, one man was caught.
It seemed he had fallen into several traps; he was soaking wet, covered in mud, and wounded all over.
Doesn't he know the term 'strategic retreat'? He should have withdrawn before it came to this.
He seemed to have been affected by some paralyzing poison someone had set, as he couldn't move well. This poison is automatically detoxified and expelled from the body after a few hours. It only temporarily robs one of bodily freedom.
When I went to the garden to look, the man was already stripped to his underwear, with his hands and feet bound.
Servants were swarming around him, doing something.
[What are you doing?]
I asked a maid nearby, and she smiled cheerfully.
[It's Punishment Time!]
[And what does that entail?]
[Well, first we're drawing on him, and then we'll hand him over to the patrol guards waiting outside.]
[I see. Well, that's reassuring.]
If he's handed over to the patrol guards, he won't be back on the streets for a while.
Burglary is a crime, but trespassing into a noble's mansion is a particularly serious offense.
He has ['UNKO'] (poop) written in beautiful calligraphy on his forehead, but it's his own fault. May he live bearing that heavy cross.
That ink won't come off for about two weeks…
Really, these weirdos popping up in early spring are a nuisance. Or is it because it's the weekend?
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