‘Did I hear that wrong?’
For a commoner to give a knight an order to withdraw isn’t unheard of.
Unless it’s a high-ranking guest, it’s normal to announce the visit through a servant. If the master refuses the meeting, the servant simply delivers the message.
But that’s when acting as a mere messenger. If he doesn’t even announce the visit and, on top of that, allows himself to mock someone on his own, that’s a different matter.
“…What the hell did you just say? No, more importantly, why are you deciding on your own without even stating the reason for the visit?”
“Because the young master already made it clear beforehand. I won’t repeat myself. Please leave quietly and do not cause a disturbance.”
“You damn lunatic!”
Overflowing with rage, Palmir drew his sword almost without realizing it.
In that moment, he thought he might have made a mistake, but he soon realized the situation wasn’t bad at all.
In fact, he needed a pretext to gain the upper hand before any negotiation, and that reason had just appeared.
‘He’s one of the men Lucian brought to the north. His rank is barely that of a captain of ten, but if he came all the way here with him, he must be a close subordinate or someone he trusts.’
He wouldn’t be an expendable piece that could be discarded without consequences.
If Palmir tried to kill this insolent fool, Lucian would undoubtedly come out to stop him. That would create a debt in Palmir’s favor, and also force Lucian to appear in person. A perfect double blow.
“A worthless commoner begging to die! For the crime of insulting a noble, I should cut off your head immediately, but if you kneel and beg for forgiveness, I’ll let it go this time.”
Having finished his calculations, Palmir pretended to be a knight who had lost control, pointing his sword.
He had no real intention of letting it go, but he needed to create the image that he had given him a chance.
‘With that arrogant mouth, he’s bound to refuse…’
“Ugh, how annoying. A guy who doesn’t even look like he can swing a sword, yet flaunts his title as a knight. What ridiculous pride.”
Palmir’s internal smirk vanished instantly, and he blinked, stunned. A moment later, his face turned completely red, and his arm trembled with rage.
“Y-you… you damned…!”
“What’s wrong? Does it bother you? If it does, try attacking. Even if you do, at that level you won’t cut me.”
“I’ll kill you!”
Unable to hold back, Palmir slashed with all his strength. He didn’t intend to kill him for real—he needed to negotiate—but he at least wanted to take off an arm to vent his anger.
The sword descended, aiming to slice the captain’s right arm just below the shoulder, when—
Clang!
“Huh!?”
He felt his body lose balance, along with a brutal impact that nearly shattered his hand.
He barely managed to hold onto his sword and had to step back several times before regaining his stance.
‘Who the hell got in the way this time?’
Gritting his teeth, Palmir looked around. To deliver such an impact to a knight, only another knight could have intervened.
But nearby, there were only the insolent captain and some regular soldiers; the other onlookers were watching from a distance.
‘What was that? He didn’t come close, so it was from a distance…?’
“He really attacked. Can’t even objectively assess his own skill, can he?”
The captain’s mocking voice reached his ears again. Palmir was about to let out another string of insults when he paused.
“…A sword?”
“Yes, as you can see, it’s a sword.”
The captain smiled as he drew his own sword and waved it around casually.
Seeing that nonchalant attitude, Palmir’s eyes trembled violently.
“Don’t tell me you were the one who deflected it?”
“Or would you prefer I say it was a ghost?”
“Y-you lunatic!”
A mere captain of ten blocked his sword?
Even if Palmir prided himself more on his political skill than martial prowess, he was still a knight.
He never imagined being bested one-on-one by a common soldier.
“What are you doing? If you’ve already drawn your sword, you should fight seriously.”
“…!”
“I won’t believe you got scared just because your strike was blocked once. If that’s the case, then the level of Count Calix, whom you serve…”
“Shut your mouth! How dare a lowly worm like you speak the name of the Count’s house!”
Palmir roared as he looked around. He had managed to stop even more reckless words from being said, but his shout had drawn more spectators.
If he retreated now, not only the Count’s honor, but his own, would be in shambles.
“Damn it! Fine! Today, I’ll personally cut off your head and restore the Empire’s law!”
“That’s the spirit.”
All intent to negotiate had disappeared. Palmir exhaled a killing intent that was almost tangible.
The captain of ten, Hugo, watched him and smiled, finally adopting a serious stance.
“Let’s see, then, what the knights of the house of Count Calix are really made of.”
***
“Look at that. The duel just ended and they’re already desperate to take your side.”
After bringing Lucian to one of the rooms in the lord’s manor, Harald gestured toward the window as he spoke.
Just as he said, it was easy to see all the knights who had come as observers now heading en masse toward the residence.
“That’s a relief. If the news had arrived any later, Calix would’ve tried to make the first move.”
“Let them try if they want. Even if they raise the banner of northern unification, at best they can act as representatives. They can’t proclaim themselves kings or give us orders.”
At Lucian’s words, Harald waved his hand dismissively.
He wasn’t wrong. No matter how many lords Count Calix managed to draw to his side, he couldn’t restrict their movements.
At most, he could act a little more arrogantly than the others, being the visible head of a large alliance.
But if he tried to meddle in other domains’ internal affairs, no one would want to follow him.
“But you’re not like that.”
Harald’s jovial expression vanished, and he looked at Lucian with absolute seriousness.
“You’ve proven yourself to be a warrior. And you did it by faithfully following the traditions of the north, winning over everyone present. Even those who didn’t witness the duel will soon hear what kind of man you are.”
“…”
“And above all, the blood of Grimaldi runs strongly through you. Now that your right has been recognized, even if you were to claim the rights of the old royal house, most would accept it.”
“Baron…”
“Don’t misunderstand. I’m not saying you should rebel against the Empire.”
Hearing Lucian’s grave tone, Harald quickly raised both hands.
He had not the slightest intention of inciting rebellion or restoring a kingdom by force.
“To be frank, the north currently needs a spiritual pillar.”
“A spiritual pillar? Even for the strong men of the north?”
“Of course. Even here, the passing of time brings unease.”
“What do you mean exactly?”
“The relationship between the imperial family and the north.”
Harald paused and, sighing, sank into his chair. He was no longer the imposing warrior from moments before, but a feudal lord burdened with responsibility.
“Lately, the imperial family only shows weakness. It’s not that the north wants independence, but everyone fears how a cornered imperial power might react.”
For centuries, the north had belonged to the Empire while maintaining a distant relationship with the imperial family.
Barren lands, scarce resources, but a martial culture so deeply rooted that its military power was formidable.
Too much interference would have only stirred resentment without yielding real benefit, so the Empire had opted for a policy of semi-neglect.
The north, in turn, accepted this stance—trading when possible and paying taxes diligently as part of the Empire.
“We’d like to maintain that relationship if possible. But will the Empire think the same?”
“I doubt they want to turn the north into an enemy. They already have enough problems.”
“That’s true. The problem is that imperial trust can be just as annoying as hostility. We don’t want them suspecting us, but we also don’t want to get closer than necessary.”
“…?”
“Think about it. If you were in trouble, who would you ask for help? Someone you just greet in passing, or a close friend?”
Lucian finally understood the mindset of the north.
‘They don’t want to make enemies of the Empire, but they also don’t want to be forced to spill their blood in its name.’
It made sense. The north had been plagued by minor conflicts for centuries and its population was small.
Demanding troops in the name of feudal duty would mean sacrifices far too great.
“Some fools, driven by impatience, are waging territorial wars to absorb other domains. They believe they must grow stronger before the Empire demands troops from them.”
“And that’s why they support Calix and his use of the Grimaldi name?”
“Probably. Some support him enthusiastically, but most just believe the north needs to unify and speak with one voice.”
It all came down to a lack of breathing room. Anxiety led to overreactions to every movement, which in turn only fed the chaos.
And to make matters worse, among the turmoil, factions dreaming of full northern independence had begun to emerge.
‘They really do need a point of unity. At this rate, the problem will explode from within.’
In his past life, the north had retreated when the emperor lost control.
When the Empire had been too busy to look their way, things quietly returned to normal.
But now, with a weakened yet still-present imperial authority, the tension was far greater.
“So then, Baron, you don’t just want me to reclaim the name Grimaldi—you want me to become the axis of the north.”
“I won’t ask you to restore the Grimaldi house. It would be unfair to force someone from Valdeck to stay tied to this remote region. But I do hope that, while keeping the Valdeck name, you become the link between the north and the imperial family.”
“In that case…”
Lucian looked Harald straight in the eyes and spoke calmly.
“What would you do if I openly claimed the rights of the old royal house?”
“…!”
The sudden shift left Harald frozen. He hadn’t said “Grimaldi,” but “the royal house.” This wasn’t just symbolism—it was a direct question about restoring a kingdom.
“…”
“…”
The silence grew heavy. Suddenly, Harald stood up, grabbed a bottle of mead from the cupboard, and drank straight from the neck.
Glug, glug, glug.
The strong drink vanished without leaving a single drop.
After shaking the empty bottle, Harald slammed it down on the table with a loud thud. Despite having drunk a whole bottle, his gaze was sharp—icy, even.
“If you truly intend to rebuild the Kingdom of the North…”
Harald started in a low voice, but his tone quickly grew fiery.
“Then this old man will be the first to raise the banner and follow His Majesty!”
____
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