It was a job easier said than done.
Stabilizing a capital in the short time frame of five months was no easy job, unless, of course, you’re one of the best rulers in all of history.
Justinian is already hated by the populace at this point in the novel, barely leaving his palace, and rumours of abusing his servants are already commonplace.
This was a hard job, a tough one.
He would need to do a complete rebranding before he could turn his dukedom into a powerful superpower; he would first need to regain the legitimacy and support of his people.
"Think... I’ve read hundreds of historical textbooks. I just need the right one now..."
His mind immediately went to the Roman Empire; its size and age alone should guarantee something he could use to rebuild his reputation.
After all, for a land so vast, there should be dozens of tactics used to maintain support across its territories.
"Bread and circuses..."
He muttered. It was the simplest and easiest solution he could think of.
He could afford to do it; while he wasn’t exactly the richest noble right now, he was far from poor. A little investment, and he could set up a huge festival with food and entertainment right away.
"As for my second option to fix my reputation..."
"A scapegoat could work."
Justinian’s historical knowledge began its work, trying his best to avoid the fate that would befall him. This was a hard task for someone such as him, but as history had shown,
Even an incompetent duke can do great as long as his servants are competent.
And in this novel, the servants are more than competent.
He immediately headed to his closet and grabbed a simple dark mantle with his house’s crest, making sure to blend the attire of peasants and nobles into one.
If he leaned too much on peasantry attire, he would risk being seen as weak, and if he leaned too much into noble attire, then he would be seen as arrogant.
A perfect blend could at least make him be seen as the lord of the people.
"87% unrest..."
He laughed nervously.
"This felt like taking over a doomed game and trying to salvage it."
Justinian looked at a mirror, adjusting his tunic’s collar and straightening his hair, combing it neatly.
"Good thing I inherited everything. The worst thing I’d need right now is to learn who and where everything is."
He left his bedroom with a confident stride. While his demeanor was lacking due to his lack of experience, he needed to try his best.
Appearances matter the most for dukes.
As he began to walk the halls, beyond the glass windows of his palace, he could see protests already ongoing outside, with placards bearing less than pleasant messages.
’Kill the duke!’
’The Capital shall fall!’
’Lord Rhyne deserves the throne.’
The third sign in particular caught his eye, one of his disloyal vassals, one who would have the biggest contribution to his fall.
"It seems everything is in place to guarantee my failure."
"But I won’t let that happen."
Justinian may have been unsuccessful in his past life, but he was not a quitter; he would die trying in this new life of his.
With another turn, he arrived in his throne room, the halls eerily silent and far colder than his bedroom ever was.
Ice crept upward across the room’s colored glass, a clear sign of how terrible the situation was, with less than five months of food and the climate clearly against them.
It was an uphill battle.
Across the throne room stood elite knights; surprisingly, all of them were deathly loyal, inherited from his late father.
They promised to protect Justinian till their last breath.
As Justinian took his seat on his throne, the cold, bare stone of the throne was freezing, and his breath was even visible from the temperature.
The knights looked at him with awe and caution. This had never happened before; the duke was actually sitting on his throne instead of rotting in his bed.
This was practically unheard of in their years of serving the Thirell Family.
"Bring me my steward. Changes will be made."