"Before that, wouldn't it be better to treat your wounds? From the look of it, you seem fairly badly injured."
Lucian's gaze moved over the many cuts covering Harald's upper body.
There were no major wounds, but there were so many small injuries that leaving them alone didn't seem wise.
"I'd like to say this is nothing a bit of spit won't fix, but this isn't the time for bluster. Better to apply some medicine before I cause others unnecessary trouble."
"Then use this instead of spit. It'll work much better."
When Lucian produced a red potion, Harald cried out in surprise.
"Huh— a potion? Something this precious?"
At the unexpectedly dramatic reaction, Lucian found himself at a loss for words.
Potions were certainly expensive, but they weren't so rare that a baron should react like this.
"Heh, is a potion really that amazing to you? It's not that precious."
As Harald stared at the potion in fascination, Torik cut into the conversation.
His eyes carried a sneer, like a city dweller mocking a country bumpkin.
"It costs a bit, sure, but for a baron it's nothing—something anyone could buy. Yet Father, you and your nonsense—kghk!"
Crack.
Before Torik could finish his sentence, a sharp sound rang out.
"Enough. Shut your mouth! As a prisoner, what makes you think you have the right to prattle on like that!?"
A groan slipped from Torik's lips as his cheek was struck.
The blow was so hard that the sound of flesh splitting rang out.
"And even if it can be obtained easily in other regions, what does that matter?
Even a single drop of common water is worth a fortune in the desert, and a piece of bread is a feast to someone who's starved for three days…!"
Harald cut himself off mid-lecture and shook his head.
There was a bitter air to him, as though he felt it was pointless to teach anything now.
All the more so because Torik didn't seem to be listening in the slightest.
"My apologies. You had to witness something unsightly."
"It's fine. Please treat your wounds first."
"Then I'll accept without ceremony."
Carefully opening the stopper, Harald applied the potion to every corner of his wounds.
Seeing a man of such massive build trying not to waste even a single drop made Lucian almost burst out laughing.
I thought he'd splash it on boldly—turns out he's as careful as a newlywed bride. Potions really must be precious around here.
"Hmph. Worked well. I'll be sure to repay you properly later."
Only after shaking out the bottle several times, as if trying to squeeze out the very last drop, did Harald hand it back to Lucian.
Taking the glass vial, Lucian waited until he had confirmed the potion's effects before speaking.
"So, what will you do now?"
"My territory isn't far. Let's go there. With all this chaos, I can't promise proper hospitality—but it's not as though I have nothing to offer."
"Will that be all right? There may still be sympathizers of the rebellion."
"Even if there were, it should all be over by now."
At the vague answer, Lucian tilted his head slightly—but chose not to ask any further.
If someone who had ruled a territory for so many years spoke with such certainty, it meant he had something to rely on.
After walking for about half a day, the territory Harald had mentioned came into view.
Though it was a relatively small domain, the walls erected around it looked as solid as those of Kelheim.
"An impressive fortress. It looks like it would hold firm even if a great war broke out."
"Spare me the flattery. I know better than anyone that it's a fortress far beyond what suits us."
Finding no way to refute that, Lucian fell silent.
In truth, the fortress did seem excessively elaborate for the size of the domain.
Unless it belonged to a wealthy great noble or stood on a border that needed constant defense, building something like that in a mere barony was honestly wasteful.
"Well, we have our own circumstances. I'll explain the details once we're inside."
"Understood."
As Lucian's group drew closer to the gate, they noticed round objects hanging from the walls.
A moment later, Torik's eyes widened when he realized they were human heads.
"W-why…!"
"I knew it would turn out like this. Idiots, the lot of them."
Ignoring Torik, who stood there gaping, Harald clicked his tongue.
Judging by the situation, the owners of the hanging heads appeared to be Torik's co-conspirators.
"What were you expecting? That those fools would seize the castle and rescue you?
Did the sons of the North really seem that weak to you?"
Torik said nothing, only lowering his head with lifeless eyes.
It seemed those men had been his last hope.
Soon, the group reached the castle gate.
"Halt! Who goes th—Baron Harald!?"
"Yes, it's me. I've brought back some traitors, so open the gate."
"Y-yes, sir! What are you standing around for!? Open it at once!"
Rumble—
Without asking Lucian's group a single question, the guards opened the gate.
As Harald led the way inside, people who recognized him gasped in shock from all directions.
"Baron Harald!? It's His Lordship!"
"The lord has returned!"
The townsfolk swarmed toward Harald in a rush.
Seeing the bloodstained tools in their hands, Lucian's group flinched—but no one tried to stop them.
On the contrary, Harald restrained Lucian's companions, who were instinctively reaching for their swords, and let the townsfolk be.
"My lord, are you safe!?"
"Can't you tell? I, Harald, am not the sort of man to die here!"
"Please, come inside at once! Your wounds must be treated immediately!"
"I've already applied medicine to every last one of them, so don't worry. The stuff works quite well, too."
Laughing heartily, Harald answered each of them in turn.
At the bizarre sight, Lucian found himself at a loss for words.
This felt less like a feudal lord returning home—and more like a respected village chief welcomed back by his people.
Approaching a noble without reason would normally get your head chopped off on the spot—that was imperial law…
"Surprised?" Raymond whispered with a smile to the stiffened group. "Scenes like this are actually pretty common in the North."
Felicia, only just regaining her composure, spoke haltingly in disbelief.
"What is this… exactly? No matter what, commoners—people who aren't even knights—approaching a territorial noble like that…"
"It's because of the North's harsh environment. This cursed cold, frequent internal wars, and even monsters lurking in the snowy mountains—this place has it all. No one survives without banding together, so the townsfolk all end up taking up arms."
"I see. So the entire populace is practically a standing army."
"Exactly. Except they don't receive any particular compensation."
One of the pillars supporting a lord's absolute authority was the protection of his people's safety.
Put another way, if the people had to pay for that safety with their own blood, the lord's authority could never be truly absolute.
Had the lord been a coward who shirked his duties entirely, he would have been driven out long ago.
But here, it wasn't that the lord abandoned his obligations—he simply lacked the resources and had to rely on his people's help, while still fulfilling his role.
Naturally, the people came to understand the weight their lord bore, and the lord, in turn, understood their hardships.
So that mutual understanding is what led to this…
It was ironic.
In the comfortable inland regions, commoners were ruled under ironclad discipline, yet here in the brutal North, people interacted with one another with such ease and familiarity.
After chatting animatedly with the worried townsfolk for a while, Baron Harald eventually addressed them in a serious tone.
"The rebellion has been put down. It was a close call, but thanks to these honored guests, we managed to get through it. I'd like to return to the castle and properly host our benefactors, but—"
"Uh… well, that is…"
At the baron's words, the townsfolk exchanged awkward glances.
Sensing the strange atmosphere, Harald's face creased into a frown.
"What happened to the lord's manor?"
"W-well, the traitors holed themselves up inside the manor, so we had to put it down by force and ended up smashing it up a bit."
"We cleared away most of the bodies, but the blood's still soaked in, so the smell is a bit…"
"Oh dear."
Harald pressed a hand to his forehead as if a headache were coming on.
If it had merely been damaged, that would be one thing—but inviting guests to a place where the bloodstains hadn't even faded yet would be discourteous.
"It can't be helped. Would it be all right if I invited you somewhere else?"
"Somewhere other than the lord's manor?"
At Lucian's question, Harald broke into a grin.
"A place with good liquor."
***
"Khah! This is great!"
Thud.
Harald slammed his enormous mug of beer down and wiped his lips.
It was behavior that went beyond lacking decorum—he looked as though he had thrown away all noble refinement entirely.
Seeing Lucian's group fall silent, Harald grinned.
"What? Am I too lacking in dignity for a noble?"
"Honestly speaking—yes."
"Hmph."
At Lucian's reply, Harald fell silent.
He didn't say it aloud, but there was a hint of disappointment on his face.
After letting the moment linger, Lucian grinned and continued.
"But that's exactly why I like it. Dignity should be observed where it belongs. Making a fuss about rank in an inn only makes everyone uncomfortable."
"Well now—what a silver tongue you've got."
Harald clicked his tongue in admiration at Lucian's eloquence.
True to those words, Lucian and Harald had rented out the entire second floor of an ordinary inn.
To nobles, it might feel uncomfortably grimy—but to Lucian, it was simply familiar and even nostalgic.
Sensing that Lucian's words weren't mere flattery but genuine, a smile returned to Harald's face.
"Very well, Lord Lucian. You said you came to reclaim the name Grimaldi and punish House Count Calyx. Do you have any plan?"
"Not yet. I don't know how things currently stand in the North, so I decided to see for myself before judging."
"Reckless—but also the right call. Any plan made without knowing the North wouldn't work properly anyway."
"For now, I'd like to hear about my grandfather. He passed away when I was very young, and I never even saw his face."
"So you want to know what kind of man Duke Klaus was."
As if reminiscing about the past, Harald gazed into the distance.
"He was a true son of the North."
"Then he was a warrior like you, Your Lordship?"
"No, a warrior? Hardly. He was utterly frail."
"…What?"
The completely unexpected answer made Lucian echo the question without thinking.
He had assumed someone Harald respected would be a born warrior.
"He was skinny as a rake—you couldn't find a scrap of muscle on him. He collapsed often during training, was constantly ill, and on top of that, he couldn't hold his liquor at all. One mug of beer and he'd be out cold!"
Harald burst into hearty laughter at Lucian's stunned expression.
After laughing for a while, he gradually wiped the smile from his face and closed his eyes.
"But he never shirked his duty. Even with a weak body, he believed he had to possess strength he wouldn't be ashamed of, so he kept training. Even when he was ill, he worried about the townsfolk first. Whenever something happened, he reached for his armor before anything else."
"He couldn't knock a single man down with his fists, yet everyone respected him. If some fool who trusted only his own strength dared to look down on His Grace, people would rush in together and beat the offender bloody."
At the nostalgia-laden voice, Lucian found himself at a loss for words.
In a harsh environment, a martial culture naturally takes root as a matter of survival.
Physical weakness is easily seen as unreliability, something to be scorned.
Yet Harald called his grandfather frail—and still held him in the highest esteem.
"If he had wanted to unify the North, half of it would have followed him. The Duke had that kind of trust."
"If I were to try using the same approach as my grandfather…"
"Impossible."
Harald answered instantly, leaving no room for doubt.
"He wasn't a warrior, but he was a Northerner. Born in the North, raised in the North, and more than anyone, he upheld the North's values. You are neither. Even if you tried to imitate Northerners now, it would be nothing more than a monkey's mimicry."
"Then is there another way? I came to punish House Count Calyx, but I don't have a single ally in the North. If I act alone without building a power base, my claims will be crushed easily."
"It's not that there's no way."
At Lucian's words, Harald grinned slyly.
"Northerners don't reject outsiders outright. If you have enough worth, they won't just respect you—they'll willingly worship you."
"I don't expect worship, but I'd like to hear what method you have in mind."
"It's simple."
Harald said, flexing the muscles still marked with fresh cuts.
"Defeat me."
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