Chapter 50 - Employment
I, Vihita, had been enjoying a rare vacation at Duke Nausa’s estate.
While sipping tea on the balcony, I leisurely indulged in snacks made from chocolate and bread sourced from the No-Hunger Dungeon.
I was even bubbling with excitement at the thought of personally going out to buy handkerchiefs made from cloth produced in the Textile Dungeon. And that was when a royal messenger arrived.
Apparently, Her Majesty Yuzha had summoned me personally. Farewell, my precious holiday.
And so, I found myself called to the royal palace—though I had no clue what for.
“Hey, Vihita. Sorry to bother you during your vacation, but I’ve got a job I’d like to give you.”
“A job... Your Majesty?”
What could it be this time? I already felt like I was doing just about everything under the sun, far beyond my official role in the Second Unit.
“That girl Auf you serve—what exactly does she do on a daily basis?”
“Um... well... She’s been dedicating herself to her studies, for the sake of the nation and the family...”
“Spare me the pretty words.”
“...She’s unemployed, Your Majesty.”
That was the truth. Lady Auf had been living in seclusion due to a skin condition, and had spent her time at home immersed in study and research.
Because of her condition, she had also been removed from the dukedom’s political marriage arrangements, and thus had no fiancé.
In harsher terms, she was a noblewoman lounging at home, neither marrying nor working, completely absorbed in her hobbies.
With an older brother set to inherit the family title and an older sister already married into another house, no one had really raised any issue about it.
So yes—unemployed. Quite thoroughly.
“What do you think of the Dungeon Archive in Sepans?”
“What do I think... how exactly do you mean?”
“To be blunt, that archive’s been utterly inactive for decades.
You see, for the past forty years, Sepans has had the same old No-Hunger Dungeon that never evolved or changed a bit.
Because of that, the current director didn’t even care about dungeons. They just handed off management to someone equally uninterested.”
“But recently, the dungeons have been growing rapidly, and things have started to shift...”
“Exactly. Now we’re getting complaints from researchers abroad. They say our analysis is weak, our descriptions sloppy.”
I was starting to see where this was going.
“In other words... you want Lady Auf to work at the archive?”
“Precisely. Let her handle rewriting the exhibit explanations and researching the dungeons’ emerging materials.
It’s not so different from what she’s already doing at home, is it? No need for her to even commute.
The archive’s director will continue overseeing sales, accounting, and visitors.
She’s not exactly suited to administrative work, after all.”
To my surprise, Her Majesty seemed to have a rather accurate grasp of Lady Auf’s personality.
She was brilliant, yes. But when it came to things like cooperation or socializing... well, there were a few catastrophic weak spots.
“Understood. I’ll relay the message to Lady Auf.”
And with that, I left the palace and returned to the duke’s estate.
Lady Auf was in her room, surrounded by various items from the dungeons, conducting her own research when I informed her of Her Majesty’s decree.
“Huh? I get to rewrite all the exhibit descriptions at the Dungeon Archive however I want?”
Her eyes sparkled with excitement. At least she seemed to be taking the news positively.
“And I can experiment with all the water in those jars on display, right? I mean, we can always reorder more. There are crops, soaps, mirrors—ahh, there’s so much to test and try, where should I even begin?”
...Did she just casually imply she’d be using water from every single dungeon floor? Was that just my imagination?
“And then, the mirror that’s currently a one-of-a-kind offering to the ducal house—I can order those in bulk now for research purposes, right?”
It seemed her thoughts had already shifted into full “exploiting-researcher-privileges” mode. Was this really the right person for the job?
“What about the budget? Can I use the proceeds from selling mirrors and soap at the archive for funding? How much control do I have over expenditures?”
My lady? Hello?
“Ahem... Lady Auf, your actual job is to revise the exhibit explanations. The budget still falls under the director’s jurisdiction.”
“But didn’t Her Majesty say I’d be in charge of researching dungeon items as well? Then the research expenses should logically be drawn from national funds.”
“...Well, in that case, please consult with the director. I doubt Her Majesty went into that level of detail.”
She hadn’t once considered her own salary. Her only focus was how much budget she could draw and what kinds of research she could conduct.
If left unchecked, she’d probably funnel every last coin the archive made into her experiments.
“Alright, then! I’ll head to the archive right away and hash things out with the director.”
And so, I escorted my lady to the Dungeon Archive, where she promptly began her meeting with the director.
She seemed unusually excited—speaking at lightning speed, trying to secure research funding with a barrage of rapid-fire explanations.
In the end, the agreement was that the archive could provide the minimum budget required for producing exhibit materials. However, any special funding for full-scale research would not be available.
Instead, a compromise was reached: 20% of any revenue generated as a direct result of Lady Auf’s research could be allocated as her research budget.
And for that specific clause, Lady Auf went so far as to draft an official contract.
Even after that, she continued delivering an impassioned lecture on the importance of dungeon research.
The director—whom Her Majesty had informed me was appointed to the role despite having little interest in dungeons—was already looking exhausted.
“…Well then, I look forward to seeing what you’ll accomplish, my lady.”
“Yes! You can count on me, Director!”
Lady Auf responded with a bright, beaming smile, while the director, with a weary face that seemed to say “This conversation is finally over, right?”, gave a small nod.
With that contract in place, she probably wouldn’t be doing much more than putting together documents unless she showed some results
But did my lady truly believe she could conduct research that would generate that kind of money?
“Now then, to begin, I’ve confirmed through my own experiments that the hot spring water from the 13th floor—when lightly brushed onto the skin—has a sufficient depilatory effect. It could be marketed as a new take-home product alongside the ones from the 1st floor.”
...Pardon?
What… what did she just say? I’d never heard about this before!
“Presumably, the miasma from the 1st floor is already potent enough to produce similar effects, so the efficacy likely remains intact even above ground. I believe this water could fetch a high price.
Of course, I’ll need to continue comparing the effects of actually bathing in the dungeon springs versus merely applying the water at home...”
She spoke so casually, as if this were a normal conversation—but excuse me, wasn’t part of that earlier contract about using 20% of the profits from that hot spring as her research budget?
Wait. What? How did this even happen? The whole discussion had started with her passionately pleading for a budget, only for the conversation to pivot toward “No funding without results.”
And somehow, in the middle of that long, fast-paced negotiation, the director got swept up and agreed to a clause that gave her 20% of whatever profit this makes?!
Come to think of it... that could already amount to an absurd amount of money!
“I’ll summarize my findings in a report and send it to Her Majesty Yuzha. I’m certain this will become a new source of revenue for the Kingdom of Sepans.”
Wait. Is she seriously planning to submit that report along with the contract?
“I’ll be using 20% of the profits from this depilatory hot spring I discovered as research funds, thank you very much!”♪
That’s what she’s going to tell Her Majesty?There’s no way that would ever fly.
That kind of decision isn’t even within the director’s authority. Where is that budget supposed to come from?
Meanwhile, the director—probably just happy to hear talk of a profitable new product—was suddenly all smiles.
Did he forget?! The contract?!
It might’ve been buried in that endless explanation, but she absolutely got him to agree to it!
“Well then, I’ll be taking my leave for today, Director.”
With that, Lady Auf left the archive, contract in hand.
Even I couldn’t let this slide.
“Um... my lady?”
“Yes? I’d heard they just appointed some random person as director, but he was even more random than I expected.
Honestly, he should remain as a symbolic figurehead only. For actual negotiations and transactions, I think we need to bring in someone reliable, and soon.
...Could you please relay that to Her Majesty, along with the contract?”
Afterward, I brought the contract to Her Majesty Yuzha and explained everything.
“That girl’s research budget will come out of a separate fund I’ll arrange myself. But that ridiculous contract—have it nullified immediately!!”
She was absolutely livid.
...Wait a minute.
Why was I the one getting scolded?!
I didn’t do anything wrong!
My vacation was ruined, and now this! It’s absurd! Absolutely unfair!
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