"Did I hear something wrong?"
It wasn't unheard of for a commoner to issue an order expelling a knight.
Unless the visitor was an honored guest, it was customary to announce one's visit through a servant.
If the master refused to grant an audience, the servant would naturally convey the master's will.
But that only applied when the servant was acting as a mere messenger.
If he didn't even report the visit and instead took it upon himself to add mocking remarks, that was another matter entirely.
"...What the hell did you just say? No—before that, why are you deciding things on your own without even conveying the purpose of my visit?"
"Because the young master already gave his instructions in advance. I won't explain it twice. Leave quietly. Don't make this a hassle."
"You crazy bastard!"
Shing—
Palmyr's fury exploded, and before he realized it, he had drawn the sword at his waist.
The moment he pulled it free, he felt a flash of regret—but thinking it over, it wasn't a bad situation at all.
He had been in need of a justification to gain the upper hand before entering negotiations anyway, and now an excuse had conveniently presented itself.
'He's one of the men Lucian brought with him to the north. His rank may be no more than a mere ten-man captain, but if he accompanied him this far, he must be a close aide or a trusted subordinate.'
At the very least, he wasn't a disposable pawn whose death would be meaningless.
If Palmyr tried to kill this insolent bastard, Lucian would surely rush out to stop him.
"Then, naturally, it would create a situation where Palmyr ended up owing Lucian a debt.
On top of that, he could forcibly draw out Lucian, who was avoiding a face-to-face meeting—truly a perfect case of killing two birds with one stone."
"Why, you lowly commoner—you must be dying to get yourself killed! By the law against insulting a noble, I should have your head cut off on the spot! But if you kneel and beg for forgiveness, I'll let it slide just this once!"
Having finished his calculations, Palmyr thrust his sword forward while putting on the act of a knight blinded by rage.
In truth, he had no intention of letting it slide, but he needed to create the appearance that he had given the man a chance, so he said it anyway.
'With how arrogant this bastard's been talking, there's no way he won't refuse—'
"Ah, you're loud as hell. You look like you wouldn't even know how to swing a sword, yet you're strutting around calling yourself a knight with that pathetic pride of yours."
Palmyr, who had been smiling inwardly, once again blinked with a vacant expression.
A moment later, Palmyr truly exploded, his face turning beet red as his arm began to tremble.
"T-this… this crazy…!"
"What? You mad? If you're mad, then try swinging your sword. Though with your skill, you probably couldn't even cut me."
"I'll kill you!"
Unable to endure it any longer, Palmyr swung his sword with all his might.
He couldn't kill him outright—not if he wanted negotiations—but taking an arm or two would ease his anger.
The moment the descending blade headed beneath the ten-man captain's shoulder, aiming to sever his right arm—
Clang!
"Huh!?"
As his body staggered from losing balance, a shock like his grip was about to be torn apart shot through him.
Only after barely managing not to drop his sword did Palmyr retreat several steps and regain his stance.
'Who interfered this time?!'
Palmyr ground his teeth and swept his gaze around.
To deliver a shock of that magnitude to a knight like himself, it had to be another knight—there had to be someone else interfering.
Yet nearby, aside from the insolent ten-man captain and a few ordinary soldiers, there were only spectators standing well back.
'What was that? Don't tell me someone threw something from afar without coming close?'
"So you really did swing it. Sir, are you incapable of judging your own ability objectively?"
As Palmyr frowned, the ten-man captain's mocking voice reached his ears again.
Just as the enraged Palmyr was about to hurl another curse—
"…A sword?"
"Yes. As you can see, a sword."
The ten-man captain grinned and casually swung the sword he had drawn from his waist this way and that.
At the frivolous display, Palmyr's eyes trembled violently.
"Don't tell me—you were the one who knocked it aside?"
"Then what, did a ghost knock it aside for you?"
"…You insane bastard!"
A mere ten-man captain had blocked his sword?
No matter how confident Palmyr was in negotiation rather than brute force, he was still a knight.
He could imagine being overwhelmed by numbers or pinned down by a rain of arrows—but being outmatched one-on-one by a common soldier was something he had never even considered.
"What are you doing? If you've drawn your sword, you should fight properly."
"!"
"I trust you're not scared just because you were blocked once. If that were the case, then the standard of the Calyx Count's household that you serve would—"
"Shut your mouth! How dare a lowborn wretch like you speak of the Count's house!"
Palmyr bellowed furiously and looked around.
He had managed to stop the blasphemous words from continuing, but his shout only drew even more spectators.
If he backed down here, his own honor would be trampled into the dirt—Count Calyx's house aside.
"Damn it all! Fine, then! Today I'll personally take your head and set the Empire's law back in order!"
"Now that's more like it."
All thoughts of negotiation had already flown from Palmyr's mind as he released a killing intent.
Watching him, the ten-man captain, Hugo, grinned and began preparing in earnest for the fight.
"Let's see just what level the knights of the Calyx Count's household are at."
"Just look at that. The duel hasn't even been over for long, yet they're already lining up, desperate to tie themselves to you."
Harald said this while pointing out the window as he escorted Lucian to the guest quarters of the lord's manor.
Just as he said, it was plainly visible that every knight dispatched as a spectator was heading toward the manor.
"That's fortunate. If the news had been delayed, the Calyx side might have made the first move."
"Even if they did, so what? Even waving the banner of northern unification, the highest position he can claim is that of a representative. He can't style himself king and issue orders to us."
At Lucian's words, Harald waved a hand dismissively, as if it were nothing.
He wasn't wrong.
No matter how many lords the House of Calyx might draw to its side, it couldn't restrict their actions.
At best, it could posture above others as the representative of a massive alliance.
If it overreached and tried to interfere in the internal affairs of other lords, not a single one of them would want to side with Calyx.
"But you're different."
The boisterously laughing Harald soon fixed Lucian with an exceedingly serious look.
"You proved yourself a warrior—thoroughly following the traditions of the North and captivating everyone in the process. Even those who didn't witness our duel today will soon learn what kind of man you are."
"Above all, the blood of Grimaldi runs strong in you. Now that your qualifications have been acknowledged, even if you were to assert the royal family's rights, most would accept it."
"Your Excellency, the Viscount."
"Don't misunderstand me. I'm not telling you to raise a rebellion against the Empire."
At Lucian's subdued reply, Harald quickly waved both hands.
It was as if to say that this was merely an element needed for a focal point, and that he had not the slightest intention of rebelling against the Empire or restoring a kingdom.
"I'll be frank. Right now, the North needs a spiritual pillar."
"A spiritual pillar? Do the hardy people of the North truly need something like that?"
"Need it, indeed. No matter how tough the North may be, it's bound to feel unease in the face of the times."
"What exactly are they uneasy about?"
"The relationship between the Imperial Court and the North."
After a brief pause, Harald let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair.
Apart from the warrior's ferocity he had shown earlier, he now seemed weighed down by the heavy responsibility of a clan lord, fatigue evident on his face.
"Lately, the Imperial Court has shown nothing but weakness. That doesn't mean the North wants independence—but everyone worries about how a cornered Imperial Court might act."
For many long years, the North had belonged to the Empire, yet its relationship with the Imperial Court remained distant.
The land was harsh and barren, offering little in the way of resources, but its martial culture made its military strength second to none.
If the court interfered too deeply, it would gain nothing and only provoke resentment, so it had little choice but to leave the region half unattended.
The North welcomed this policy, living as part of the Empire—profiting through trade routes and faithfully paying its taxes.
"If possible, we'd like to maintain this relationship as well. But does the Imperial Court feel the same way?"
"Of course it does. It's already plagued with enough headaches—it won't want to make an enemy of the North as well."
"True. The problem is that the court's trust can be just as troublesome as outright hostility. We don't want to be suspected without cause, but neither do we want to grow any closer than we already are."
"Think about it. If you were strapped for cash, who would you ask for help—a mere acquaintance whose face you know, or a close friend?"
Only after hearing Harald's analogy did Lucian finally grasp the Northmen's way of thinking.
'They don't want relations with the Empire to sour, but even more than that, they don't want to answer the Imperial Court's requests for support by shedding their own blood…?'
Considering the long-standing relationship between the Imperial Court and the North, it made sense.
The North was a region where minor conflicts had never ceased since ancient times, and where every single person was precious.
Invoking a lord's duty to demand troops would cost the North far too much in sacrifice.
"Some fools, in their impatience, have started waging private territorial wars, trying to swallow up their rivals. They believe they need to grow in size and strength before the Imperial Court makes any demands for troops."
"Is that why they're siding with Calyx, invoking the name of Grimaldi?"
"Probably. There are quite a few who support him enthusiastically, but for most, it's about the need for the North to unify and speak with one voice."
In the end, it all came down to a matter of leeway.
When both sides grew anxious, they reacted overly sensitively to even the smallest movements, provoking each other further.
And on top of that, factions dreaming of true northern independence were running rampant, taking advantage of the chaos.
'They really do need a focal point. At this rate, trouble is bound to erupt from the North itself.'
In his previous life, with the emperor's fury fully unleashed, the North had instead lain low.
When the emperor fell and no longer had the luxury to keep his eye on the North, they relaxed and returned to their usual ways.
After the age of chaos truly began, the North started fighting again—but that was nothing out of the ordinary.
In effect, it was the Imperial Court's half-measured confidence—unlike in his previous life—that was making the North anxious now.
"So, Your Excellency wishes for me to become a focal point of the North, beyond merely reclaiming the name of Grimaldi."
"I won't ask you to go so far as to restore House Grimaldi outright. It would be far too shameless of me to ask someone like you—a Valdeck—to bury yourself in a backwater like this. But I do hope that, while keeping the name Valdeck, you'll become a bridge through which the North can communicate with the Imperial Court."
"In that case."
Lucian looked straight into Harald's eyes and spoke quietly.
"What would you do if I were to assert the royal family's rights outright?"
"…!"
At the sudden shift to formal address, Harald froze in place.
Lucian hadn't said Grimaldi—he had deliberately spoken of the royal family.
That meant interest in the throne itself.
It was a question of which side Harald would stand on if Lucian were to restore not just a symbolic focal point, but a true Northern Kingdom.
As a heavy silence settled in, Harald suddenly sprang to his feet and took out a bottle of mead from the cabinet.
He raised it to his lips and drank without pause.
Glug. Glug. Glug.
The fiercely strong liquor flowed down his throat and into his gullet without leaving a single drop behind.
After shaking out the empty bottle, Harald slammed it down on the table with a loud bang.
Despite having drained an entire bottle of mead, his gaze was not only clear—it was downright cold.
"If you truly intend to rebuild the Northern Kingdom."
Harald spoke softly at first, then answered Lucian in a voice brimming with heat.
"Then this old man will be the very first to raise a banner and follow behind Your Majesty!"
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