Chapter 6: The Foolish Noble?

“Oh, Lady Rishali. You look lovely today as always.”

“Why, thank you kindly.”

Thanks to the cooperation of Knight Commander Paulik, I was allowed by my royal father to enter the Saripa National Research Institute—with bodyguards—so I could research the pest damage caused by the Butt-Cutter Bug (Rear-Burrow Bug).

“It’s only thanks to you, Takeru, that I’m able to walk around like this.”

“I’m honored to hear you say that.”

The Saripa National Research Institute is a research facility located within Saripa University.

It represents the pinnacle of scientific development in our kingdom, and many innovations have been born here.

Just being affiliated with this institute is a prestigious status symbol for any researcher.

“Lady Rishali, you must be very smart, being able to do research and all.”

“Oh, not at all. I’m still quite lacking.”

Under my father’s policies, Saripa University accepts both nobles and commoners equally.

The institute itself operates on a strict merit system. Even if you’re a commoner, you’re rarely looked down on.

On the other hand, if you’re from a prestigious family but lack intelligence, people will talk behind your back. It’s a harsh environment.

Despite that lack of class discrimination, Saripa University isn’t exactly full of talented commoners.

Commoners can’t afford the tuition, so in the end, it’s mostly nobles who attend.

There is a scholarship system meant to allow commoners to enroll, but...

Commoners usually don’t receive proper education, so they rarely score high enough on the exams.

As a result, the scholarship slots are taken up by nobles every year.

“I can’t even read,” one said.

“Then perhaps I should teach you sometime?” I offered.

“N-no, I couldn’t possibly ask royalty like yourself to spare time for someone like me!”

“You’re my escort, aren’t you? If you can read, it’ll be useful in many ways.”

Right now, Saripa is failing to unearth the hidden geniuses among its commoners.

Only those with money are able to contribute to technological advancement.

It’s an utter waste. Our nation’s technological power could be pushed much further.

That’s why my father has also put great effort into reforming the education system.

At the Saripa National Research Institute, my own research had received a fair amount of recognition.

“This certainly is a cheap and efficient method of extermination.”

“Lady Rishali’s insight is truly remarkable.”

In our country, the private sector had already been developing countermeasures for the Butt-Cutter Bug.

For example, they had developed a liquid repellent to apply to livestock’s anuses, which the bugs disliked.

But the scent faded after half a day, making the method insufficient.

“With this device, we can wipe them out entirely.”

“At the very least, we should see a major drop in their population.”

In that context, the Fully Automatic Butt-Cutter Bug Catcher Paulik proved to be highly effective.

Until now, extermination involved hiring children for “bug-catching jobs at the ranch,” but Paulik's machine was about a hundred times more efficient.

When we tested it at a nearby ranch, the bugs were practically gone in just three days.

“The bug corpses can be used as compost, so farmers are even buying them. There’s no waste.”

“From a cost-benefit perspective, the results are outstanding.”

“O-ho-ho-ho-ho!”

And just like that, my research got showered with praise—so much it was almost scary.

Modern knowledge hadn’t helped me much, but my childhood bug-catching hobby turned out to be surprisingly useful.

While Paulik’s anus had become a noble sacrifice, we managed to protect the rear ends of many citizens and livestock in return.

Feeling smarter than ever, I was riding high on my own brilliance.

“…Oh?”

“Is something wrong, Lady Rishali?”

“What’s that area back there?”

Just as I was starting to think of myself as a top-class scholar...

I happened to notice a dim, dirty section in the back of the research facility.

“Ah, that area...”

“I hesitate to say this, but that’s the hobby zone of a foolish noble.”

“A foolish noble?”

The rest of the research facility was spotless, but that area stood out with its grimy, unkempt appearance.

No one went near it. It was dead silent, as if completely isolated.

“He’s... someone who’s twisted his inferiority complex to an extreme. Best not to get involved.”

“But hearing that just makes me more curious. What is he researching?”

“Well…”

That part of the lab was suspicious enough to pique my interest.

So I asked one of the researchers nearby about the details.

“…It’s a study on magical tools that can be operated even by those with extremely low mana—called the ‘Low-Magic Poor.’”

Or so I was told.

“Low-Magic Poor” refers to people who are born with very little magical power.

A person’s magical capacity is determined by innate talent.

“The man in there has a magic rank of F. He can’t use most magical tools.”

“……”

“That’s why he’s devoted himself to researching magical devices that can be used even with low magic.”

In Saripa, over ninety percent of the population has a magic rank of E or higher.

Most magical tools are designed based on the assumption of a minimum magic rank E.

In other words, if your magic is rank E, you can use all the tools needed for daily life without issue.

But people with magic ranked F or G are forced to live with inconvenience.

They can’t cook without borrowing someone else’s fire, nor can they flush water after relieving themselves.

…Apparently, people like that are mocked and called “Low-Magic Poor.”

“…I think it’s a wonderful field of study. It would be incredibly helpful if those with low magic could also use magical devices.”

“However, the only ones who would benefit from such research are the Low-Magic Poor.”

“It’s been deemed unworthy of national funding.”

That was a harsh and very real issue.

When allocating national funds to research, the government must carefully assess what kind of benefits the study will yield.

“For the ninety percent of our citizens who already have sufficient magic, this research is meaningless.”

“That’s why the funding was cut. He’s apparently continuing the work using his family’s wealth.”

Since public money is being used, the results must be justified in a way that benefits the people.

For instance, my research on the Butt-Cutter Bug directly led to greater efficiency in livestock farming—an obvious national benefit.

That’s why my father approved the funding, and it actually produced results.

By contrast, it’s hard to argue that magical tools for the Low-Magic Poor offer the same level of value.

There are plenty of jobs in Saripa, like service work or manual labor, that don’t rely on magic.

People with low magic can still earn a living doing those kinds of work.

And sure, if they could use magical tools, it would be more convenient...

────But in terms of national benefit, it’s certainly lacking.

“Oh, um, Lady Rishali.”

“What is it?”

“I feel terrible asking you this, but…”

The researcher turned to face me, clearly uncomfortable, glancing toward the grimy section of the lab.

“Could you ask him to either stop his research or move it elsewhere?”

“…That’s a rather heavy request.”

“If Princess Rishali says it, that stubborn man might actually listen.”

They said it apologetically, bowing their heads to me.

It seemed the researchers wanted that low-magic man out of the facility.

“Isn’t that a bit much? He’s not causing trouble, and he’s funding his research with his own money, right?”

“Well, if he weren’t causing harm, we wouldn’t mind either…”

For that man, being low in magic must be a deep-rooted complex.

That’s likely why, even without public funding, he’s pouring his own family fortune into his research.

And if he’s not using government money, then it shouldn’t be necessary to stop him.

“There’s just… a horrible stench and smoke leaking out from his lab.”

“Several of us have gotten sick because of it.”

So, it wasn’t quite so simple after all.

“We’ve asked him to stop the smoke or move out if he can’t manage it.”

“But he refuses. Says things like, ‘I don’t get funding for countermeasures,’ and, ‘As a researcher, I have the right to use the lab.’ He won’t budge.”

“Lady Rishali, please…”

Apparently, the experiments he’s conducting are releasing toxic gases.

That gas leaks from his lab and is causing harm to other researchers.

“…Yes, that’s not something we can ignore.”

“I know it’s improper to trouble the princess with this, but… please.”

If that’s how things stand, then I suppose I have to get involved.

I won’t tell him to abandon his research, but I will make it clear he must stop causing harm to others.

And if he can’t manage even that… then asking him to leave might be unavoidable.

Technological research is important.

And the health of researchers directly affects the development of the Kingdom of Saripa.

We cannot allow other vital fields to fall behind because of the side effects of a study that doesn’t benefit the nation.

If the words came from a royal princess, perhaps he would rethink his stance.

“Then I shall speak to him myself.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Takeru, please come with me.”

“Yes, Lady Rishali.”

I steeled myself and headed toward the man’s laboratory.

If I could be of help as a princess, I had no intention of sparing the effort for the sake of Saripa.

“Ugh…”

“What is that smell…”

But the moment we stepped into the hallway leading to his lab—

A nauseating, cloying, greasy stench hit us right in the nose.

“Th-this really is the kind of thing that could make you sick.”

“……”

“Lady Rishali, if you’d prefer, I could go in alone and bring the man out.”

“No.”

But when I smelled that bizarre odor—

For some reason, a strange sense of nostalgia stirred within me.

“I’m fine. Let’s go.”

“Please, just don’t overexert yourself…”

At the very least, I had never smelled anything like this in this lifetime.

But somewhere, somehow—I had smelled this sickly, foreign scent before.

“The hallway walls are covered in these weird black stains… Lady Rishali, this place really isn’t good for your health.”

“Thank you for worrying, Takeru.”

I had to enter that room.

And I had to find out why this “nostalgia” was tugging at me.

“Pardon the intrusion, I’m coming in!”

Trusting my instincts—

I called out to the room’s occupant and boldly threw the door open.

────Whoosh.

Thick black smoke erupted from a chunk of metal.

“What… is that…?”

“…!”

Takeru scanned the room, bewildered by what he saw.

In the center of the room stood a massive piece of metal, dark and gleaming.

The smoke gushing from it was black and sticky, radiating oppressive heat.

“Th-this can’t be…”

“Lady Rishali?”

I knew exactly what that machine was.

And as I looked around the room, the source of that strange smell came back to me.

“This is…”

That’s right. It was the smell of tar.

Oily, smoky, and old-fashioned.

In other words, the “magical tool that doesn’t require magic” the room’s occupant was researching—

“Ah?”

A cranky voice called from the back of the room.

Turning toward it, I saw a thin, nervous-looking man furiously scribbling formulas across an entire wall.

“Do you need something from me?”

Clank. Clank.

Heavy, metallic sounds echoed rhythmically.

As black smoke billowed, the massive chunk of metal rose and fell again and again.

It was a weighty, oppressive, metallic machine.

A mechanical structure driven by nothing but heat and steam—relying not on magic, but on science.

“…A steam engine?”

Suddenly, researching bugs that chew through livestock anuses felt laughably small.

The man I had come here to scold, the one mocked as a Low-Magic Poor—

Was conducting research into a technological marvel that had once triggered the Industrial Revolution itself.