Chapter 115
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 115
“Are you referring to the marriage alliance between Calix and Grimaldi from years ago?”
As far as Lucian knew, that was the only time the blood of the royal family had entered the Calix line.
However, Norbeck snorted at Lucian’s words as if they were ridiculous.
“I have no intention of claiming legitimacy through such a trivial matter. What I am speaking of is a much more fundamental right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you not even know where your own roots come from?”
Norbeck spoke with his chin tilted up, looking down on Lucian.
It seemed he was determined to provoke him by speaking in circles.
Lucian let out a short, dry laugh at the petty provocation.
“I’ll give you ten seconds.”
“What?”
“If you have something to say, say it now. Otherwise, I’m leaving.”
Norbeck stared at Lucian, looking utterly appalled.
This was a story about the very founder of the family. Any normal noble would have been shouting for him to speak immediately, driven by doubts about their own legitimacy.
“...Are you truly a noble? To think you wouldn't even make an effort to find out where your house began!”
“If you have nothing to say, forget it. The execution is soon, so you’d best make sure your neck is clean for the blade.”
Lucian turned his back as soon as he finished speaking.
Seeing this, Norbeck hurriedly clung to the bars. Judging by Lucian’s relentless stride, it seemed he truly wouldn't ask another question until the moment Norbeck’s head was lopped off.
“I am talking about what happened before Grimaldi became the royal family!”
“Hmm.”
Lucian’s footsteps stopped, his curiosity piqued.
Returning to the front of the cell, Lucian jerked his chin as if telling him to continue.
Though trembling with humiliation, Norbeck slowly began to recount a secret history of the past.
“Before our ancestors settled in Asagrim, back when we lived as barbarians, there were thirty-five tribes in the snowfields far to the north. Grimaldi and Calix were among them.”
According to Norbeck, life in the snowfields was grueling.
Food was always scarce, and stealing from others was a daily occurrence; even then, people still starved to death. The cold grew more severe every year, to the point where the sturdy fur clothes that kept one warm one year would become useless the next.
“Every tribe realized it. If we stayed, we would all die in the cold and hunger. But even knowing that, no one dared to migrate to another region.”
“Was there a powerful enemy?”
“No. It was because the cold had become so intense that traveling long distances was considered impossible.”
The speed at which the cold of the snowfields intensified was eerie.
If one tried to return to an area they had traversed without issue a decade ago, they would surely freeze to death. If it was that way for healthy adult men, it went without saying for women and children.
While everyone lacked the courage to move, someone gathered all the tribes and spoke.
—If we stay like this, we will all die. I will lead the tribes and take the vanguard, so those who wish to migrate together, bring all your food and follow me.
It wasn't an act of pure goodwill, but a trade: in exchange for braving the danger, they would share the scarce food.
Most of the tribes in the snowfields scoffed at the proposal, but eight tribes decided to follow him.
Thus began the life-or-death Great Migration of the nine tribes.
“As expected, the cold of the snowfields was harsh. Within a month, half of the nine tribes had perished, and in another month, half of those remaining were gone. Among the dead was the tribal chief who had first proposed the migration.”
As he lay dying, he passed the leadership of the nine tribes to his friend.
The friend who became the representative led the nine tribes in his stead, even while mourning.
Eventually, just as the food ran out and the remaining people were collapsing from exhaustion, they realized the cold was no longer as severe as before.
“The nine tribes succeeded in their migration. They settled in a land where plants and animals grew, and food could be obtained. However, people already lived there, and they viewed the tribes from beyond the snowfields as outsiders.”
No matter how much more livable the land was compared to the snowfields, it was still a barren territory. Since food and resources were scarce, the newcomers were bound to be ostracized.
The nine tribes felt the need for a union and decided to elect a king for all of them.
“There were two candidates. The son of the tribal chief who had first led them, and the friend who had later taken over the leadership. Fortunately, the friend yielded the throne to the chief’s son, so no major conflict broke out.”
The problem arose after the throne was handed over.
The tribespeople did not obey the new king’s commands. No matter what orders he gave, they neglected their duties or ignored him outright. Yet, whenever the friend who had yielded the throne appeared, they worked diligently as if nothing had happened.
“Only then did the king realize what was happening. Yielding the throne hadn't been an act of goodwill, but a mere formality. It was an insult, telling him that since the tide had already turned, he should hand it over with his own hands rather than being greedy.”
The king lamented his harsh reality but had no way out. If things continued, he would be nothing more than a puppet king, and in the worst-case scenario, he was at risk of assassination.
In the end, the first king of the nine tribes handed the crown to his father’s friend with his own hands.
“What followed is the usual founding myth. The leader of the nine tribes conquered and unified the natives to establish a kingdom. And he became the king, the progenitor of the Northern Royal Family.”
“An interesting story.”
If Norbeck’s story was true, the Grimaldi royal family were not natives of the North as written in the history books. It meant they had conveniently rewritten the fact that they were outsiders—barbarians from beyond the snowfields.
To some, this might sound like an insult to their house, but to Lucian, it was nothing more than an old man’s fairy tale.
“Yes, I’ve heard your story. But I don’t see the connection between what you just said and your claim to be of royal blood.”
“Because I am the bloodline of that first king.”
“What?”
“The one who first led the nine tribes through the Great Migration of the snowfields was the progenitor of Calix.”
“...Ha.”
A hollow laugh escaped Lucian’s lips.
So, tracing it back to their tribal days, it meant Lucian’s ancestor, Grimaldi, was the cunning friend of the tribal chief. And Norbeck’s ancestor was the descendant of the first king who had been stripped of his throne through schemes.
After pondering for a long time what to say, Lucian finally spat out his honest impression.
“Are you insane? You’re claiming legitimacy to the throne based on something that happened during the barbarian tribal era, before the Northern Kingdom was even founded? Has your brain rotted away in your old age?”
The insult was crude, bordering on vulgar, but no other words came to mind.
After all, Lucian had never imagined that Norbeck’s ambition was the throne itself. He thought the man aimed to be the head of the greatest house in the North and the representative of the lords, but the king?
Norbeck’s voice reached Lucian’s ears through gritted teeth as Lucian stood there in disbelief.
“Then what about you? The Northern Royal Family is a kingdom that fell a thousand years ago. Yet you poison people’s minds by babbling about the glory of the North and such. If a ghost from a thousand years ago can run rampant, why can’t I make such a claim?”
“....”
Lucian was at a loss for words.
It wasn't because Norbeck’s claim was valid, but because he finally understood the man’s psychology. An old man who had lived his whole life with the delusion tucked away in a corner of his heart that he could have been king.
If the world had been perfectly peaceful or extremely chaotic, it would have remained a delusion until he died. In times of peace, inciting conflict is a sin, and in times of war, surviving is hard enough.
But by a cruel twist of fate, an ambiguous period had arrived with Lucian’s appearance. A time peaceful enough that one didn't have to struggle just to survive, yet chaotic enough that no one could be held accountable for a conflict.
To the old man before him, this ambiguity must have looked like the final opportunity of his waning years.
“....”
Lucian stared quietly at Norbeck.
If a true age of chaos had arrived as scheduled, he might have realized his own foolishness and remained a family head who quietly protected his house. But now, there was only a pathetic old man who still believed his delusion was a feasible ambition.
Lucian took a deep sigh and turned away from Norbeck, who did not avert his gaze.
“You are a pathetic human being.”
“...!”
Norbeck’s eyes shook violently at the lament, which was filled with genuine pity.
A moment later, a shout erupted along with the sound of iron bars rattling.
“You damn bastard! Someone like you! How dare someone like you...!”
Lucian ignored the screams behind him and walked out of the prison. It felt too cruel to tell an old man who had lost everything that his lifelong dream was nothing but a delusion.
A few days later, Norbeck’s public execution was carried out as scheduled.
Norbeck waited for his approaching death without a hint of fear. Everything was already over; what use was there in clinging to life?
However, even at this stage, there was one thing on his mind.
‘How will the others react to my death?’
Would they cheer and condemn him with joy, or would they mourn and lament with regret? He was curious about the raw reaction of the commoners, stripped of political interests.
In a way, the reaction of the commoners was the yardstick by which a ruler was measured.
‘Either way, I shall not show a hideous sight in the face of death.’
Having made a firm resolve, Norbeck walked out with his chest puffed out with dignity when the time for execution arrived. He maintained an air of having nothing to hide, but no one was impressed. They simply waited with indifferent expressions for it to be over.
“He scraped and clawed from every corner, and now that’s how he goes.”
“It’s better for us. They say taxes are going down. Now we can finally breathe a little.”
“Tsk, tsk. I thought he was being too greedy in his old age, and sure enough.”
“Should I say it’s pitiful, or that it’s a natural consequence?”
Most of those gathered to watch the execution were former commoners of Calix. To them, their previous lord, Norbeck, wasn't a bad master, but he wasn't a good one either. While he fulfilled his duties as a lord, he also imposed heavy taxes and even conscripted them. They wouldn't cheer for his death, but they weren't about to shed tears of sorrow either.
“Heh.”
A hollow sound escaped Norbeck’s lips at the commoners’ whispering.
At the same time, his straightened back slumped, and the life vanished from his eyes. His expression was that of a man who had lost his last hope, or perhaps one who had just woken up from a long dream.
“A pathetic human... a pathetic human, indeed.”
“What are you doing? Don't stop, keep moving.”
A soldier nudged Norbeck from behind as he brooded over the words Lucian had left the day before.
Norbeck walked toward the execution platform as if possessed, looking around his surroundings once more. The gazes fixed on him still held neither joy nor sorrow. There were only commoners who stoically accepted the reality that their master was changing.
‘Heh, it would have been better if I had stayed submerged in the dream until the very end.’
In front of the executioner holding the axe, Norbeck knelt and offered his neck. The executioner’s raised axe reflected the light dizzyingly.
Watching the flashing light reflected below, Norbeck muttered.
“Reality is a cruel thing....”
Squelch—
Along with a murmur that no one heard, the executioner’s axe swung.
Even though Norbeck’s head fell with a clean cut, there was no dramatic reaction. Thus, without hearing anyone’s cheers or laments, the old dreamer departed from the world.