As everyone knew, military rank in the Galactic Empire was worth relatively little, especially for psychics. As long as you reached the mid-tier strength of the third or fourth ring and served the Imperial Army diligently for more than twenty years, you could usually retire with several stars on your shoulders and return home in glory.
But noble titles above First Knight were much harder to come by. Titles with a "prefix" were harder still.
That meant a fief.
What's more, he was a count, which was the lowest rank among the "lords."
Of course, although they were both counts, he was different from those border lords in the frontier star regions. "Moonrail Mountain" sounded like a place name in the Empire's heartland, probably settled land on some developed planet. Perhaps he would only have the right to collect the fief's income, while its administration and security remained under the Chancellor's bureaucratic system.
...But it was still a fief!
Wasn't it the greatest blessing to receive money without having to worry about running or managing anything?
Ancestors, can I finally be said to have truly restored the family fortunes?
Sobek's blood surged, and he was so overjoyed he could barely manage a smile. But before he could lose himself in his happiness, he suddenly realized that something seemed wrong.
He immediately recalled that, during the final review session just now, the masked judge had said some nonsense to him about "every review being an opportunity." Could this be what he meant?
The thought had barely flashed through Sobek's mind when he saw Duchess Geraibean across from him wearing an unmistakably apologetic expression. "In any case, you've suffered a great deal during this time. Please forgive me. I personally never doubted you, but in my position, everything must be done in