Being a boss is a bit like being a good father. You have to know how to manage your money, know when to scold, and know when to say no when it's necessary. Often, we resent our father, but once we grow up, we realize just how right he was.

Grandpa was old now, senile and sick. He no longer had a sense of priorities, and his decisions had become completely irrational. So, it was time for him to get into politics.

Business was doing well, and our titles of nobility allowed us to open even more companies. After painting the south in the colors of our flag, Grandpa decided to take on the north of the city by building a small on-site inn there.

However, things were not going to be easy. Bandit attacks, supported by the Lancasters, were increasing on the road. They no longer hesitated to attack our convoys even in the middle of the city. It must be said that we had become the perfect target.

Thus, Grandpa was forced to break open his piggy bank to send me to the church to learn to be a nun and write poems. Let's not go overboard, though; his open-mindedness had its limits.

In the meantime, Grandpa decided to focus mainly on politics. The voting system at the town hall is a bit basic: the higher positions vote for the lower ones, and for the lowest positions, such as Master of the Dungeons and Master of the Guilds, the higher positions vote.

But alas, there were already four positions filled at that time, and the town hall was no longer accepting applications.

It's a problem, indeed, so Grandpa had to ask one of his guards to go kill one of the candidates for the position, a certain Jamie Lancaster.

Grandpa had him executed like a dog, right outside the church, finishing him off with a stab in the lung.

Well, I think with that, a spot has just miraculously opened up in the queue.

Oh yes, I know, listen, murder is wrong, but Grandpa was old at the time, and he didn't know what he was doing.

Despite his efforts, this third attempt was unsuccessful, even though he did manage to pull off a successful bribery.

So it wasn't us who would take the position of Guild Master. It's sad, yes, but, you know, in such difficult times, an accident can happen so quickly, like slipping on a knife that ends up right in your throat— that kind of accident.

Gabriela Capécia, a beautiful young girl belonging to the Capécia family, a bourgeois family from Lyubeck. Grandpa sent his two best men to her: the first to tail her, the second to spy on her. If she had ever done anything illegal in her life—embezzling money, wearing pants, or kissing a man out of wedlock—his men would know. And if she was perfectly honest, well, too bad, the streets of Lyubeck are so dangerous these days.

Moreover, in a new strategy, Grandpa decided to buy an Elixir of Trouble, a kind of liquid to spray on your enemies to make them smell worse than a dead donkey.

He decided to spray it on all the other candidates at the next town hall meeting and then asked the whole family to apply for the same position at the town hall.

The strategy was well thought out: if the queue is filled with Linderbergs, it will be a Linderberg who gets the position. Simple and effective strategy.

Meanwhile, I was sent to the faculty of letters. Yes, it's true, I was only 12 years old at the time, but Grandpa intended to make me a high-society woman so I could marry the best match.

And also, Grandpa did not neglect politics. He decided to send the whole family to bribe the city officials.

He even tried to offer small gifts to the mayor of the city, but the mayor was so rich that it would ruin Grandpa, especially since he was having some supply problems at the time.

Coal had become so scarce in the markets that there wasn't enough to keep the forge running. And that's where most of his income came from.

The decision was made to build a lumberjack's cabin in the woods. Why a lumberjack's cabin? Pfff, I don't know, but according to what Grandpa told me, to get coal, you needed a lumberjack's cabin, so...

The town hall council was finally meeting, and when it was his turn, Grandpa pulled out all the stops: endless compliments, last-minute flash bribes, but they all voted for a woman.

"But what does she know about craftsmanship, damn it? It's a disgrace... This town is full of idiots," Grandpa kept repeating at the top of his lungs before being kicked out of the room by the town hall guards.

Meanwhile, the deliberations for the next position, that of the head of the dungeons, were underway. Grandpa told me he hadn't even bothered to apply. But the craziest part? All the members voted for his wife. And there, she was managing to secure a seat on the council.

Grandpa couldn't believe it. Not only had he not secured any position, but on top of that, it was his wife who had been elected to the council in his place.

"But... but... I was supposed to be... I was supposed to... but it can't be... it can't be... not my wife, but...she's a peasant, what kind of crazy town is this?" he mumbled as they returned home.

So now that Grandma had become the city's dungeon master, she could torture people and command the dungeon guards, while Grandpa was still just a merchant. Very well, everything is fine.

Well, not really. Grandpa still couldn't digest the fact that Grandma had obtained a seat on the council, knowing that it was thanks to him that she got there, knowing that he was the one who had gone to fetch her from the slums, following the trail of flies behind her with her limp foot. But everything is fine.

Since Grandma was so strong and charismatic, Grandpa asked her to apply for a higher position. After all, there was no candidate to block her way, so the path was completely clear for an inquisitor position, and you know what she did to piss him off? Guess what, she died.

Well, I don't think she did it on purpose, but at 74 years old, just after finally managing to set foot in the council, she passed away the next day. For Grandpa, it was like a betrayal, as if she was just saying, "Well, I made it, and you didn't."

By the way, Grandma's death deeply affected Grandpa, making him realize that he was the same age as her and that he was getting old. So, he set aside his pride and decided to focus on the crème de la crème of the family: me, Castille.

I had just turned 18 in the meantime; I was beautiful, rich, had completed school and finished college before everyone else, and I had a bright future ahead of me.

Grandpa had high hopes for me. He hoped that I would bring all those peasants to their knees and that he, from the afterlife, would delight in watching them all crawl, his enemies, before a woman five times younger than them.

At first, he sent me to apply for a position at the town hall, but alas, all the positions were taken. "Don't worry, my dear. Grandpa will take care of everything," he told me that day.

So, while Grandpa worked something out with a council member to free up a spot for me, he sent me to find a man, secure a good match, and a good husband, and if possible, forge an alliance with a good family. But the task was tough, and after tipping everyone, the family finances were no longer in good shape. This would need to be fixed.

As for me, I decided to give up the idea of marrying into a rich family, and yet, I had tried everything to get my hands on the fortune, well,i mean on the love of one of those fools.

I even went as far as reading a poem to one of those fools, but we eventually understood why our family had such a bad reputation in the city.

While passing by a sign near the town hall, Grandpa had found several insulting pamphlets.

The first said that I smelled bad, me, Castille Linderberg, what an insult. The second, Grandpa, as much as he read it, couldn't understand what it was about. He wasn't a poet, after all, but he forged swords, and I can tell you he had sharp arguments. Believe me, he wasn't above committing another murder, especially since they dared to insult his granddaughter. Besides, they had the audacity to post them on a board right in front of the forge.

When he left the forge, he saw people mocking him and his family, and he didn't like that. All the candidates for the position I coveted were being tailed by his men.

Give him five minutes in a dark alley with those gentlemen, and Grandpa would show them what hurt more, a poem or a longsword. But for now, those city warts were staying well hidden deep within the town hall, and we couldn't attack them without alerting the guards.

Meanwhile, I had finally gotten my hands on a wealthy man, a city man, not as well-off as I would have liked to claim, but we already had enough to deal with on top of the murders, so we would settle for it.

My husband was a rascal, and that was just fine because in the meantime, Grandpa wanted to build a bandit hideout and was sure that his talents could be useful in bothering the competition. You know, buildings, straw roofs, they burn so quickly. It's always useful to have people to do things the law doesn't allow. And besides, bribery isn't a crime; everyone does it already

Eventually, in the summer of 1778, one of the contenders for the position I coveted ventured a bit too far from the city and decided to enjoy himself in a quaint little tavern. So, Grandpa decided to have one of his men slit his throat.

Ah, bar fights, right? They're a real plague, you know. This poor man got attacked by three drunkards, and the city guard was so far away. No matter, we'll send him some poems—I think the sign in front of our forge is free.