Incompetence

The next three days flew by in a blur.

The elf never visited Ryujin again, which was a huge relief. However, that didn't mean he had no visitors.

In fact, it was the complete opposite.

His bedchamber had turned into a mini conference hall, constantly filled with people bickering at the top of their lungs.

Was it a cultural thing for them to be 'the louder, the better'?

The air smelled constantly of incense, parchment, and medicinal herbs. Attendants, physicians, priests, and officials, all of them came and went. 

Each of them claimed they could 'cure' the Prime Minister had it not for the other parties delaying treatment.

Imperial knights sometimes had to step in before an actual fist fight could break out. 

It was a headache.

In the end, mornings were reserved for various examinations by the imperial physicians, who prodded at him like he was a particularly fascinating science experiment. 

Afternoons, on the other hand, were monopolized by the Temple priests who wouldn't shut up about sacred texts and divine trials. If he wasn't being poked, he was being prayed over.

Of course, not everyone stuck to their assigned schedule.

For a 'sick' patient, Ryujin was unexpectedly the busiest of them all. 

Aside from sleep, there was no time for him to actually rest on his own, much less venture out of his bedchamber.

Still, thanks to their endless chatter, Ryujin had managed to pick up a basic grasp of their language and some surface-level understanding of the Valtheris Empire. 

"His Grace remains unresponsive..."

[Unresponsive or unwilling?]

"Perhaps… His Grace's voice… stolen by divine punishment."

[The Heavens must be testing him!]

"His mind—"

[Perhaps His Grace's affliction is medical, not divine. Has he shown any signs of physical distress?]

"...poison…the assassins?"

"—adjust the medication!"

"...His Majesty should allow…those… to the Prime Minister…"

In between examinations, Ryujin was served meals by his attendants inside his room, but even his mealtimes weren't sacred, always cut short due to the arrival of important-looking guests who tried to initiate any form of conversation with him.

Oral, written, even music. Nothing was off the table.

Yes, they even brought in a musician who could play the harp. The musician played the most dramatic, soul-stirring ballads right next to his bed, trying to coax a reaction out of him.

Man, everyone tried really, really, really hard.

Ryujin almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

But he wasn't about to break character. 

He ignored them through and through, keeping his movements slow and deliberate, never reacting more than necessary. His days consisted of shifting between his bed and the balcony, occasionally sighing like some tragic poet.

The physicians, however, were persistent. 

Especially the Head Physician.

Every time the Head Physician visited, he would lean in and pry open his eyelids, murmuring something about pupil response. Ryujin tolerated it, blinking slowly, making his expression as vacant as humanly possible. 

He might not be able to speak, but he could absolutely weaponize his own incompetence.

After all, a useless Prime Minister wasn't a dangerous one.

Surely, the Empress Dowager and Rio de Carvalho's political enemies, whoever they are, should have lowered their guards by now, right?

They should no longer send assassins after him.

I'm such a hard worker.

As usual, the Head Physician hovered over him. He leaned in and pried open his eyelids. "Hm. Pupil response is normal."

"Does he even comprehend what we're saying?" an irritated minister asked. "These documents had to be signed. We have already been delayed for several weeks."

"I assure you, the Duke is as sharp as ever," a physician replied. "The question is whether he chooses to acknowledge us."

"The question," the minister countered, voice cold, "is whether he is still fit to work for His Majesty."

Ryujin, of course, was not listening. 

While people worried about his health, he was focused on something far more valuable—reading their thoughts. 

His patience for the last four days had bore fruit, and he could now safely gather intelligence without passing out.

The trick was brief eye contact, just long enough to pick up surface thoughts without drawing suspicion.

Hmm, if I keep showing no signs of recovering, I wonder if these ministers will petition for the emperor to kick me out of the palace. That'll be for the best.

Since even if I actually miraculously 'recover', I don't know a single thing about governance or administration. Better if the emperor gives the position of Prime Minister to someone who is actually capable, not a fraud like me. 

In the first place, I don't know what ministers do in a monarchy. The only things I managed back home were my spreadsheets for client commissions and taxation filings. 

Heck, I don't even write grocery lists, just buying things on a whim.

Just as the Head Physician and the minister began debating the best course of action, the ground trembled.

Craaaaack!

The air split like a splintering mirror. A sound eerily familiar to Ryujin, one he had heard too many times back on Earth.

A deep, guttural sound reverberated through the palace, shaking the walls and sending a jolt of pure instinctual terror down people's spine.

Screams erupted from outside.

The crowd in his chamber panicked, most bolting for the door, shoving and tripping over one another in a way that would have been hilarious under any other circumstance. 

On the other hand, imperial knights stormed in, weapons drawn, ready to protect their Prime Minister.

Ryujin, however, pushed himself upright and moved—against all common sense—toward the balcony.

He barely made it to the railing before he saw it.

A gaping tear in reality had opened in the middle of the maze garden, its swirling, dark center pulsating with ominous energy. Shadows writhed within, something large moving just beyond the threshold.

A Rift.

A Rift had appeared.

Before Ryujin could move, a creature stepped out of it. It was as large as a house, covered in white scales, with a long club-like tail that smashed everything in its path.

A white-scaled monster.

The same monster that caused the apocalypse on Earth.