Otaku Translation: I! Anomaly Cleansing Agent! C112

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Chapter 112: You Were Born to Be a Duke

This was… utterly absurd. How could something so ridiculous even happen?

Staring at the gleaming silver badge on the panel, not only were the nobles in the hospital room stunned, but Leon, seated in his wheelchair, was equally blindsided.

Just a few days ago, he had sneaked into the Lion family estate under cover of darkness. Not only did he eliminate their first heir, but he also systematically wiped out over two hundred key members, single-handedly orchestrating what would become known as the "Lion Blood Night," plunging the Lion family into ruin.

And now, the old Duke of Lionheart—clearly deranged or perhaps struck by some inexplicable madness—had barely waited five seconds after Leon was wheeled into the room before naming him as the next heir. Just like that, Leon became the biggest beneficiary of the Lion Blood Night debacle.

Damn it. Wasn’t this just asking for trouble?

Not only was he the ultimate beneficiary, but with his suspected involvement in creating the Lion Blood Night, any sane person in the Cleansing Bureau would send down an entire platoon of investigators to dig through every inch of his life.

“Everyone, please hear me out.”

Suddenly burdened with a two-ton hot potato smacked onto his face, Leon tightened his brows, guiltless yet undeniably suspicious. He quickly spoke up to refuse:

“I have no interest in this title. Perhaps consider someone else…”

“Insolent!”

Before Leon could finish, an elderly man with flowing white hair and resplendent attire stepped forward from the crowd, glaring at him with undisguised disdain.

“This is the title of Duke of Lionheart! And it was personally bestowed by the dying old duke. Do you think you can simply brush it aside with a word?”

So what’s it to you?

Had this been another time, Leon might’ve tempered his words given his generally decent manners. But desperate to get rid of this unwanted title—and shake off suspicions about his role in the Lion Blood Night—he wasn’t inclined to be polite.

“Who the hell are you?”

His response sent shockwaves through the gathered nobles. Leon swiftly scanned the old man’s attire, spotting the emblem on his chest—a copper crown adorned with three single-feather plumes.

Though cameras existed, they were still too expensive for widespread use, so identification often relied on badges and insignias. The kingdom’s heraldic laws were strict, requiring all emblems to adhere rigorously to regulations. For noble crests, the crown, shield, supporters, and mantle were mandatory elements.

The most crucial element—the crown—denoted rank. Below the Diamond representing the royal family, the five tiers of nobility (Duke, Marquess, Count, Viscount, Baron) corresponded to metals: gold, silver, bronze, iron, and tin.

Royal crowns bore a robin as their mark, while noble crowns featured feathered plumes symbolizing their support of the monarchy. A Duke started with five plumes; a Baron with one. Significant contributions earned additional plumes—an extra honor.

The three-plumed copper crown on the old man's badge revealed him to be a third-tier Count, likely one who’d achieved nothing noteworthy beyond inheriting his title.

---

“Heh, such arrogance—I thought you were someone important. Turns out, just a Count?”

Desperate to shed this troublesome dukedom and avoid scrutiny from the Cleansing Bureau, Leon decided to go all-in. Smirking contemptuously at the white-haired Count, he stood slowly from his wheelchair despite the pain shooting through his skin. Under the watchful eyes of everyone present, he sauntered over to the old man and jabbed a finger hard against the three-plumed copper crown on his chest.

“A third-tier Count with only the base three plumes… So you’re just a pipsqueak, huh?”

Pipsqueak? Me? A pipsqueak?

Upon hearing Leon’s “candid” assessment, feeling the strange gazes of the other nobles boring into him, the old man stumbled back two steps, blood rushing to his head. His beard bristled as he roared:

“You...”

“What ‘you’? Am I wrong?”

Worried his attack lacked sufficient force to ditch the cursed dukedom, Leon discreetly switched his badge, equipping the silver-tier [Elite Performer]. Crossing his arms and tilting his head slightly upward, he sneered with undisguised disdain:

“A count with three measly plumes… Hmph, do you really think those feathers mean anything? Collecting taxes half-heartedly, pretending to aid disaster relief, or even sending a lavish gift when a princess is born—any of that gets you a feather from the royals. At your age, still rocking only three feathers? If that doesn’t make you a pipsqueak, what does?”

“I… I…”

“What ‘I’? If I were you, I’d slit my throat already.”

With the boost from the silver-tier [Elite Performer], Leon’s handsome face radiated genuine disgust and cutting ridicule.

“Take my advice—die already.”

Patting the old man’s sagging cheek, Leon leaned in earnestly and suggested:

“Look how full of vigor you are. You could waste another twenty or thirty years of grain. But if you hanged yourself today, you’d save the kingdom a fortune. That’d count as a contribution, right? Think about it: if the royals heard of your great sacrifice, they might reward you posthumously with an honorary feather. Then you wouldn’t be a pipsqueak anymore. Win-win, don’t you think?”

Absurd. Ridiculous. You deserve to die…

Humiliated beyond measure, the purple-faced old man opened his mouth to retort—but then he met Leon’s eyes.

Two parts disdain, three parts scorn, and the remaining five filled with sincere conviction.

This damn bastard truly believed it. He genuinely thought someone like him—a “pipsqueak” noble—would be better off dead than alive.

“Huh… huh…”

Struck by the sincerity in Leon’s gaze, the torrent of insults and curses he’d prepared lodged itself in his throat. His blood pressure skyrocketed, and a thick, burning phlegm choked him. Eyes rolling back, legs twitching, the old man collapsed backward, unconscious.

Holy crap?

Leon hadn’t expected the guy to drop dead after just two sentences. Startled, he instinctively took a step back.

“You saw it. I only poked him twice.”

“…”

Yes, we all saw it. You only poked him twice—but didn’t you just stab his heart a thousand times with your words?

Most nobles cared about appearances, at least superficially. Watching Leon reduce the old man to fainting with just a couple of barbs left the dozens of nobles in the room utterly silent.

This new Duke of Lionheart clearly had no qualms about offending people. With the old count’s collapse as a cautionary tale, none dared speak up. If they did, they risked being publicly humiliated like him. After a brief pause, apart from a few familiar nobles calling for help to remove the fallen count, the rest maintained a collective silence. No one challenged Leon further, nor did anyone suggest an alternative heir. It was tacit acceptance.

After all, this was the Lion family’s succession issue, not theirs. Let the damage fall where it may. As for noble dignity? Laughable. Compared to real-world interests, it was worth less than a copper coin.

If the incoming Duke of Lionhead were competent and strong-willed, they might’ve opposed him. The more capable the new duke, the fewer scraps they’d get. But now…

Watching this reckless newcomer offend influential relatives and act outrageously in public, the assembled nobles couldn’t help but exchange satisfied glances.

Perfect. This impulsive, arrogant, clueless youth was exactly the kind of person suited to inherit the title of Duke of Lionheart.

Besides, once they’d carved up the Lion family’s assets in a month or two, wouldn’t this duke’s reign come to an abrupt end anyway?

---

The number of influential figures within the Lion family who could sway the inheritance decision wasn’t large. Aside from the old duke’s inexplicable endorsement of Leon, many had been killed or incapacitated by Bobby Lion, while others fell victim to Leon’s actions. Only a handful remained, either long-retired or frail. Among them, the most vocal voices belonged to the “in-laws” gathered in the hospital room.

Ignoring Leon’s vehement protests, the Lion in-laws wasted no more than five minutes deciding to honor the old duke’s wishes. Thus, Leon—a black-haired, dark-eyed outsider who looked nothing like a “Lion”—became the new patriarch of the Lion family’s ninety-thousand-strong golden-haired clan.

It was… utterly ridiculous. Like a farce.

Learning how the new duke had been chosen from the officer who wheeled Leon in, the Minister of Defense felt both elated and infuriated.

Elated because his daughter had assured him that Leon would never side with the nobility. Rather than worrying about him allying with the old guard, one should fear him flipping the table—or worse, collaborating with rebels to stage another bloodbath, wiping out the Lion in-laws entirely.

If Isha’s judgment was correct, having such an “un-noble” duke ascend would be a tremendous boon for the princess’s reforms. Having an ally in the otherwise impenetrable House of Lords was akin to driving a dagger into the heart of the old aristocracy.

As for why he was infuriated…

“Your Highness, these old nobles must be dealt with soon.”

Facing the calm Princess Veronica, the aging minister’s eyes burned with anger.

“The Lions control key areas in the Department of Public Works and the military—public infrastructure and arms procurement. Yet these vital departments are monopolized by the old nobility, passed down privately without formal appointments. Their chosen candidates leave you no choice but to rubber-stamp their decisions. This cannot stand!”

“Yes, they will be dealt with—but not yet.”

Princess Veronica flipped through Leon’s dossier, her expression serene.

“These old nobles are rot festering on the body of the kingdom. They must be excised. But if done improperly, the wound will bleed uncontrollably.”

She paused, recalling history.

“My father once removed three consecutive finance ministers and dismantled several smaller families, attempting to seize control of the kingdom’s finances. The backlash was ferocious. The kingdom’s treasury froze for half a year, exposing deficits totaling nearly six trillion credits. It nearly destroyed us. Even during the Patriotic War six years ago, we lacked sufficient funds, and the debt lingers to this day.”

Marking something on Leon’s file, she continued:

“So we cannot rush this. If removing the old nobility halts the nation temporarily, it will cause greater disaster. We must proceed step by step.”

She glanced at the circled note on Leon’s dossier and read aloud, her tone mild:

“As for the royals and nobles, they’re like lice in your pants. Once they start biting painfully enough, they need to be pulled out and crushed.”

Her listener, unaware of Leon’s rebel leanings, gasped in shock. But as he opened his mouth to protest, he noticed the faintest upward curve at the corner of the princess’s lips.

“It’s a crude analogy, but he’s not wrong.”

Unoffended by being likened to lice, Princess Veronica closed Leon’s file and picked up the report on the succession. Smiling faintly, she remarked:

“Duke of Lionheart… Hmm… Louse-hearted Duke… Quite ironic when you think about it. This man, who views nobles and royalty as parasites, has now become one of the strongest leeches feeding off the kingdom. I’m curious to see what he’ll do…”

Handing over the report, she chuckled softly—a rare sound—and pointed to a particular entry.

“That count he insulted into unconsciousness? He placed a cabbage in his bedroom and declared that Leon Lion’s tenure as Duke of Lionheart won’t last longer than the cabbage stays fresh.”

A cabbage… Meaning two or three months?

Accepting the report, the defense minister frowned, recalling his daughter’s glowing praise of Leon.

“Princess Veronica…”

Sighing inwardly, he asked cautiously:

“How long do you think he’ll last as duke? Will he be purged once the Lions are divvied up?”

“No, there won’t be a purge.”

The princess shook her head thoughtfully.

“Except for the count he mortally offended, the other nobles won’t care about a hollow duke. However, the Lion family might not outlast that cabbage. Without their influence in the military and public works, their political clout is minimal—one seat in the House of Lords. Their businesses rely solely on government contracts. Without military or bureaucratic backing, they’re finished.”

She paused, considering.

“Military, politics, commerce—the Lions have lost footing in all three. What sort of person could possibly salvage this sinking ship?”

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