Taming a Munchkin

‘Since they make a living from the dungeon business.’

The list of names was a register of the people who had reserved a dungeon, and it was created so that those who might find it harder to purchase a dungeon due to their set of circumstances or those seeking a specific dungeon could conveniently transfer their reservations. As a general rule, the two parties would correspond via letter before proceeding with the transfer.

‘It’s very noble-like.’

Kynemeia grinned as she thumbed through the catalogue. She’d already chosen a few lotto dungeons that she knew to be a smash hit, so those should be enough, but a human’s greed knew no bounds.

‘Ah, this is…!’

Her eyes began sparkling when they fell on a certain dungeon that didn’t spawn magic stones.

‘But it has mithril!’

Following the advent of the very first dungeon and conquest of various others, the newly spawned ones began introducing some valuable rewards.

Take, for example, mithril! Although few in quantity at this stage, it could probably produce a sword or two, at least. Even in the original novel, the first-ever sword forged by the protagonist too was created from this mithril.

Kynemeia began scanning the reservation name list. As she went over the list with a fine-toothed comb, she espied a very familiar name.

[ Duron Harv ]

“…Duron?”

‘Ah, please…’

Kynemeia stood up, rubbed her eyes, and went to wash her face once before returning to her seat.

[ Duron Harv ]

‘…’

‘Why! Why must it be this man?!’ She cupped her cheeks with both hands as her mind revisited the details about Count Duron Harv.

[ Duron Harv ]

Resentment level: 9/10☆

Danger level: 10/10☆

Reason for resentment: Because Kynemeia’s grandfather, who was acting as regent at the time, purged Duron Harv’s uncle!

‘I mean, is there only a couple of nobles in this empire?! Why must it be Duron Harv of all people!’

But there was no other noble who would pull out all the stops for unconquered dungeons except Count Duron Harv.

“…”

Let’s not ask for trouble. With that line of reasoning, she stroked the catalogue with remorseful eyes.

‘Too bad, mithril…’

‘My mithril…’

In Kynemeia’s mind, she was already holding ownership over the mithril, and Count Duron Harv was none other than the mean mugger who’d snatched it away from her.

‘No…’

It was only her assumption that this was probably an expression of his resentment, so she couldn’t be completely sure that Count Duron Harv was the cause behind the surge in the price of magic stones. Admittedly, Kynemeia couldn’t ascertain that person’s perceptions about her unless she pitched her questions to him point-blank.

‘Right.’

After arriving at that decision, Kynemeia promptly pulled out her stationery and began penning a couple of modest letters; the first was addressed to the Dungeon Bureau, imparting her desire to purchase some dungeons, and the other was for Count Duron Harv.

[ To the ever sensible and rational Count Duron Harv.

I’d like to first extend my regrets for failing to enquire after you until now. I’m certain your fief must be abloom with persimmon flowers at present.

-Omitted-

The reason I’m writing you this impromptu letter is that, as I was perusing the reservation list to acquire a dungeon, I happened upon your name.

I wonder if you merely secured a reservation on that particular dungeon instead of making an immediate acquisition as you’re not terribly keen on buying it.

Should that be the case, I’d like to swallow my pride and request if you could perhaps vouchsafe me the dungeon.

You will not be disappointed by the compensation I’m willing to offer, I assure you.]

Such a lengthy missive, but ultimately, this was the sum and substance of it.

‘I should seize this window of opportunity to find out how the Count responds to me.’

After pouring wax on the envelope, she pressed her seal into it.

Then, the next day—

“A letter from the Count has arrived.”

The letter that a smiling Nanny Vanessa brought to her contained the following reply:

[ Every bit of my good sense and rationality flew away when your grandfather killed my uncle. ]

It was a blood letter through and through.

“Huwaaaah!”

She buried her face in her hands. As expected! A favourable outcome was unattainable! But she refused to yield. Because Kynemeia was brazen and owned a will of steel. Besides, wasn’t there a saying that goes ‘after several attempts’? A resentment level of 9/10 easily abating after a single paltry letter was unheard of! That’s right, happiness will only dawn after tribulations.

Muttering ‘third time’s the charm’ incessantly to herself, she started composing yet another long missive.

[ I have no doubt my grandfather in heaven must be feeling conscience-stricken over the incident. Naturally, I, too, think it was a pity.

I intend to construct a cenotaph and pay my respects, and I’m most inclined to provide fair compensation to his family. ]

Squeezing out some teardrops, she gently pressed her seal and dispatched the letter. ‘Third time’s the charm. Third time’s the charm.’

The following day, a reply from the Count arrived.

[ I shall accept your apology in the afterlife. Why don’t you descend into purgatory where your grandpa is sure to be waiting.

Once you go, your entire family can converge in hell. ]

Another blood letter.

“Fu…”

Musing to herself that the bastard must be short on blood because he had been using it to write his letters, Kynemeia took out another writing letter.

[ When my grandfather purged the nobles, it was all for a reason. Did your uncle not make a fool of the Imperial Family and exploit the sweat and blood of his denizens?

It is not my family who descended to hell, rather your uncle. I can hear the noises of the suffering denizens’ pickaxes hammering your uncle’s head in hell.

BONK! BONK!

Oh, is that the sound of a rock I’m hearing?

BONK! BONK! BONK! ]

BAM!

Kynemeia slammed her seal on the envelope with a grin. The Lyonne coat of arms embossed on the red wax was gleaming menacingly.

‘Who in the world said that third time’s the charm? Once the opposite party brings up my family and ridicules them, then all bets are off.’

And the following day, Count Duron responded in this manner:

[ You (beep—) like (beep———) (beeep————). ]

Kynemeia smirked as she wrote another reply.

[ It’s lacking in creativity.

Since I’m prepared to post this throughout the capital personally, I suspect hordes of people will soon bemoan the fact that you addressed a letter profuse with such profanities to a twelve-year-old child.

Thank you for providing me with an excuse to carry this out. Ah, I’m just conversing with myself here. ]

The next day, Count Duron posted his response.

[ I feel mildly apologetic towards you. I believe my previous letter was written by a cat. ]

‘A cat, he says. Guess he got a hold of himself now that he’s recovered his rationality.’

Kynemeia once again penned a letter level-headedly and composedly.

[ A cat, my foot. You’re already 32 years old, yet your behaviour is so deplorable it pierces the sky. I’ll never grow up to become an adult like you.

Regardless, I have no desire to speak with you any longer, so just transfer the dungeon to me. ]

Count Duron countered.

[ What about you, a twelve-year-old who has taken up gambling? It’s evident that you’re a corrupted girl. ]

She folded the letter in silence, then sketched an illustration resembling a bare mountain on one face of a fresh writing paper.

[ Your head is the corrupted thing you speak of. Quit your inane prattle and just hand over the dungeon.

The public already knows that you abused slaves under the guise of conquering dungeons, you bastard.

You’ve been refusing to hire the guild or mercenaries as it costs too much money and forcing slaves to roam the dungeons, haven’t you?

I’m sure even you are informed of the anti-slavery abuse act recorded in the empire’s legal codes. There must be more than a few slaves who have met with hardships at your hands. I look forward to how much your fortune will be contributing to the national treasury.

You have been accumulating funds for this day, haven’t you? ]

She used as much red ink as possible for the last sentence. Because it would be a severe waste to use her blood for that cretin. She poured red wax and stamped her seal into it with a bang.

Between an enormous penalty and an unconquered dungeon that he had no way of knowing could generate magic stones or not, which option would Count Duron Harv prefer?

‘The answer is obvious.’

The next day, Kynemeia received an answer from the Dungeon Bureau notifying her that Count Duron Harv had given her the dungeon.