I Resign From the Coin Mercenary Knights

The Imperial Knights Commander’s office.

Rufus Weinricht sat upright, staring straight ahead.

‘…Eric.’

Yes, he was first reflecting on Eric.

Eric, who had been beaten in front of dozens of disciples. Who had even been treated like a beggar towards the end.

Though born of a misunderstanding, Weinricht could scarcely imagine the humiliation Eric must have suffered. He was likely still trembling with shame.

But Eric was not his sole contemplation.

“He wasn’t the only knight I failed.”

Weinricht recounted the numerous knights who had passed under his tutelage over the years.

While Eric was the first and last he had disciplined through expulsion since becoming Commander, there were countless others he had driven away through his own failings.

Not that the sheer number defied counting, but rather, he had never bothered keeping count to begin with.

Only now did he begin to grasp why he had so readily overlooked them all.

‘I failed to consider… No, I simply did not consider that they might have different goals and perspectives from my own.’

He was a man raised in privileged circumstances.

The mere fact of being born the heir to an affluent earldom was a stroke of fortune to begin with.

His territory drew its prosperity from the Empire’s second largest salt mine.

He could have lived in opulent idleness for life, yet from childhood, Weinricht had set his sights solely on becoming a knight, leaving the territory to his younger brother’s oversight.

Fortunately, he was also exceptionally talented.

Of average build but incredibly gifted with aura manipulation, he had attained expert ranks even before entering the academy. On his very first day as an Imperial Knights inductee, he had inadvertently defeated three senior knights in consecutive instructional bouts, essentially treating them as hazing targets – resulting in him having to dine alone that day.

It was an unbroken string of successes thereafter, amassing a dazzling record of achievements.

He had once singlehandedly held off the former Demon Lord Dullahan “Nebana” for half a day. Two decades prior, he had personally resolved the Arknight ducal succession crisis that had escalated to the brink of civil war. Subjugating high-rank monsters was a frequent occurrence.

At some point, everyone of note had begun deferring to him, pandering in whatever manner possible.

They would laugh at his inane remarks, accommodate his obstinate demands no matter how unreasonable – for he had reached the pinnacle of both power and might.

Living such a consistently privileged life for decades, he had unconsciously lost a crucial ability along the way:

The ability to understand others’ feelings and perspectives.

Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say he had simply lost interest. Preserving the integrity of the knights’ order had been his sole paramount concern.

‘That failure cannot be undone.’

Weinricht closed his eyes, recalling Eric’s haunting, hollow expression as he stared at the fallen coins.

Part of him yearned to ride for Eric’s residence in the third district, lay bare his egregious misunderstanding, inquire how he could atone, and even offer Eric’s reinstatement if desired – for none would dare mock him to his face regardless of the damage to his own dignity.

Yet he sensed Eric himself would have no interest in such overtures.

Weinricht had inflicted not one but two grievous wounds upon him. He could hardly fathom where to even begin apologizing.

‘In times like these, I should simply focus on what can be accomplished from my current position.’

Resolving to gather his wits, Commander Weinricht raised his voice.

“Enter, Ramsey.”

“…Yes, sir.”

Came the creeping reply as the veteran knight Ramsey entered the office.

A ten-year veteran with signature seaweed-like hair, Ramsey possessed upper expert-tier prowess and was particularly skilled with the halberd.

Though reputed for excessive idle gossip, he was nonetheless meticulous in following orders – likely the reason he had endured for a decade.

However, Ramsey had sustained irreversible injuries during the campaign to liberate Lancart.

“How are your wounds?”

Ramsey lowered his head despondently, Weinricht’s gaze falling upon his empty sleeve.

The loss of his right hand.

For a knight, such an amputation was utterly crippling – no, it effectively signaled the end of their knightly life. Even the loss of a pinky could compromise one’s form, let alone an entire hand.

“You said it was the Humanoid Lord who took it?”

“…Yes. The bastard ambushed me, I couldn’t react in time.”

“No. It was my foolishness that prematurely ended your knighthood. When word arrived that the goblinoids had joined forces, I should have rushed there personally.”

“I am grateful for your words alone.”

“And there is one more thing I must apologize for.”

Weinricht resolved to lay bare his failure to Ramsey – an unfamiliar act, leaving him somewhat awkward.

“…I am the one who sabotaged your opportunity to be ennobled as Lancart’s margrave.”

Ramsey’s expression contorted dramatically.

Disbelief. It seemed Eric had advanced this proposal without Ramsey’s prior knowledge or consent, likely intending to preserve Ramsey’s dignity by acting secretly on his behalf.

“While it was doomed from the outset, I will offer no excuses. I have committed an unpardonable wrong against both you and Eric.”

“Eric…? Why is he involved in this?”

“It was Eric who sought to provide you this opportunity. He must have been unable to contain himself upon learning of your injury.”

“……”

Ramsey stared back with a dazed look of incredulity.

Not only had I deprived Ramsey of a potential title, but I had also thwarted their chance at reconciliation, leaving an even bitterer taste.

“But have faith. Eric has already established a relief shelter in the refugee camp and extended a compassionate hand to the devastated Lancart in the wake of the humanoid onslaught. Like you, he seems to have incurred the nobles’ misunderstanding… But that is an issue I intend to resolve.”

“……”

“So you can prepare for your post-knighthood life without concern. I will ensure you can live as you wish, freely aiding the impoverished masses. If need be, I will even open my own coffers to support your endeavors.”

Weinricht forced a reassuring smile, though he felt no mirth whatsoever – only a sense that Ramsey might hesitate to seek his aid if met with cold indifference.

“You can trust me, Ramsey.”

But even such efforts seemed insufficient to inspire Ramsey’s trust, as he curtly excused himself from the Commander’s office with scant courtesy.

An impudent display, yet Weinricht felt no inclination to rebuke him.

Rather, he sensed an inkling of Ramsey’s true feelings.

It seemed Ramsey did not harbor warm sentiments towards Eric. Witnessing a commoner singlehandedly conducting the very philanthropic work Ramsey had aspired to, and even achieving success, must have left him feeling bitter resentment.

A form of jealousy, perhaps, but not an unsympathetic one. Ultimately, it stemmed from a sincere desire to aid others.

‘From now on, I need to live with greater consideration for my knights’ emotions.’

Belated as it was, now was the time to start.

And the first step would be to shield Eric from the nobles’ misunderstandings.

Until recently, Weinricht himself had viewed Eric unfavorably – a sentiment shared by many nobles, especially those who had lost substantial fortunes in Codanas. Perhaps it was less a misunderstanding and more a desire to vent their fury.

“And the best way to protect him would be… to grant him a noble title, wouldn’t it?”

No simple feat. Nor would dispatching him to Lancart suffice, as Eric would be unable to directly oversee the 18th district facilities.

After some contemplation, Weinricht recalled a privilege granted to him during the current Emperor’s inaugural year.

A promise to grant any single request without fail, bestowed with the rationale of “Thanking you for your support in the succession conflict.” An empty gesture, as Weinricht had never truly taken sides, but he had accepted it nonetheless.

Nearly two decades had passed before this privilege could finally be invoked.

Weinricht promptly entered the Imperial Palace.

Ding-dong-ding-dong

The bell beside the door rang out crisply.

This was proper decorum – ignoring a doorbell’s presence was rude, as incessant pounding could damage the door itself.

Yet some recent unwelcome visitors to my residence had seen fit to assault the very door.

An academy professor who seemed to have lost his entire fortune. A high-ranking tax office bureaucrat who had blustered about fabricated infractions before storming off. Even a ducal scion who had arrived with a full retinue of guards, silently glaring at me before abruptly departing.

Compared to them, this visitor displayed impeccable manners.

Though upon opening the door, his expression was utterly soured – as if he had squandered his fortune on Codanas.

“…The former Imperial Knights Second Gunnery Sergeant, Eric, correct?”

In his hands was an ornate scroll crafted from solid gold framing – a format used exclusively by the Imperial Palace, specifically for issuing imperial edicts. The high-ranking court official carrying it must have been instructed to observe the appropriate formalities with me.

“…In commendation of your distinguished contributions to relief and humanitarian efforts, enabling Our beneficent rule to flourish throughout the realm, We hereby bestow upon you the title of Viscount.”

A noble title.

Arbitrarily adopting the village name within the Imperial Demesne, I was also granted the surname “Wellesley.” Though no actual fief was provided, of course.

While the edict originated from the Emperor himself, the force behind it required little guesswork – the very man who had so thoroughly thrashed me just days prior.

This was not the compensation I had envisioned.

I had expected Commander Weinricht to either publicly exonerate me or, failing that, personally apologize while advocating for my appointment as the margrave of Lancart.

With utmost solemnity, he might have remarked, “Ramsey would want you in Lancart over himself…”

‘But granting me a title by imperial edict?’

Understandably, the Imperial Palace tended to be reluctant about expanding the ranks of nobility.

Even when an earldom proposed elevating capable subordinates, such requests were mostly rebuffed as an expanding privileged class was seen as detrimental to governance.

Let alone a court nobleman – granting me, a commoner, an unfettered title without any official duties attached. I was the very recipient guaranteed to incur the nobility’s envious ire. How such an audacious act was even possible beggared belief.

And yet, the outcome was not unfavorable. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Even a viscount without any landed fief was still a nobleman. And I now had a formidable presence watching my back, one capable of enforcing such an unorthodox decree.

The moment I secured a true shield. I was now Viscount Wellesley.