Chapter 72
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 72
“Shouldn't you treat those wounds first? You seem to have taken quite a few hits.”
Lucian’s gaze drifted toward the numerous lacerations covering Harald’s upper body.
While none of the wounds appeared deep, there were so many minor injuries that leaving them untended seemed unwise.
“I’d like to say a bit of spit would fix this right up, but I’m in no position to bluff. Better to apply some medicine before I become a burden to others.”
“Try this instead of spit. It’ll be much more effective.”
When Lucian pulled out a red potion, Harald let out a startled shout.
“Huh? A potion? Something this precious?”
Lucian was momentarily at a loss for words at the unexpectedly dramatic reaction. Potions were certainly expensive, but surely they weren't so rare that a Viscount would react this way.
“Pfft, are potions really that amazing to you? They aren't exactly rare treasures.”
As Harald stared at the potion in wonder, Torik interjected. His eyes were filled with the kind of mockery a city dweller might have for a country bumpkin.
“They cost a bit, sure, but any two-bit noble can afford one. And yet, Father, you act like—Gah!”
Smack!
“Shut your mouth! You’re a prisoner; what right do you have to prattle on as if you’re someone important?!”
A groan escaped Torik’s lips as he was struck across the face. The blow was so powerful that the sound of flesh splitting echoed through the air.
“And what does it matter if they’re easy to find elsewhere? Even a common drop of water is worth a fortune in the desert, and a crust of bread is a feast to a man starving for three days...!”
Harald stopped his lecture and shook his head. A hint of bitterness flickered in his eyes, as if he realized there was no point in trying to teach his son now. It was especially futile since Torik didn't seem to be taking his words to heart anyway.
“My apologies. You had to see something unsightly.”
“It’s fine. Please, tend to your wounds.”
“Then I won’t refuse.”
Carefully uncapping the bottle, Harald applied the potion to every inch of his wounds. Lucian almost burst out laughing at the sight of the massive man being so meticulous, trying not to waste even a single drop.
I thought he’d splash it on boisterously, but he’s acting like a blushing bride. I suppose potions really are precious here.
“Ahem, thank you. I’ll be sure to repay this debt later.”
Harald shook the bottle several times to get the very last drop before returning it to Lucian. After taking the glass vial and confirming the potion was taking effect, Lucian spoke.
“What will you do now?”
“My territory isn't far from here. Let’s head there. Things are a mess, so I can’t promise a grand welcome, but I’ll have something to offer.”
“Will it be safe? There might be more conspirators involved in the rebellion.”
“Even if there are, it’ll all be over by the time we arrive.”
Lucian tilted his head at the vague answer but decided not to press further. If a man who had ruled his lands for years was this certain, he must have a reason for his confidence.
After walking for about half a day, Harald’s territory came into view. Despite being a relatively small estate, the walls were as formidable as those of Kelheim.
“That’s an impressive castle. It looks like it could withstand a Great War.”
“Stop with the empty flattery. I know better than anyone that this castle is far beyond my station.”
“....”
Lucian fell silent, unable to find a rebuttal. In truth, the castle did seem excessively fortified for the size of the territory. Unless one was a high-ranking noble with vast wealth or a lord in a border region constantly bracing for invasion, building such a fortress for a mere viscounty was, frankly, a waste.
“Well, we have our reasons. I’ll tell you more once we’re inside.”
“Understood.”
As Lucian’s group approached the gates, they noticed several round objects hanging from the walls. A moment later, Torik realized those objects were human heads, and his eyes widened in shock.
“H-How...!”
“I knew this would happen. Idiots, the lot of them.”
Harald clicked his tongue, ignoring the gasping Torik. Judging by the situation, the owners of those heads were likely Torik’s accomplices.
“What did you expect? Did you think they’d seize the castle and come to rescue you? Did the sons of the North look that weak to you?”
“....”
Torik didn't answer, his head drooping as the light faded from his eyes. It seemed those men had been his final hope.
Just as the group reached the gate—
“Halt! Who goes th—Lord Viscount?!”
“Aye, it’s me. I’ve brought the traitors back, so open the gates.”
“Y-Yes, sir! What are you doing?! Open up immediately!”
Rumble.
The guards opened the gates without a single question regarding Lucian’s party. As Harald led the way inside, those who recognized him erupted in shock.
“Lord Viscount?! It’s the Lord!”
“The Master has returned!”
The commoners swarmed toward Harald in a massive crowd. Lucian’s group flinched at the sight of the blood-stained tools in their hands, but no one moved to stop them. Instead, Harald signaled Lucian and the others—who had instinctively reached for their swords—to stand down and let the people approach.
“My Lord, are you unharmed?!”
“Can’t you see? I, Harald, am not a man who dies so easily!”
“Please, come inside! We must treat your wounds at once!”
“I’ve already applied medicine to every nook and cranny, so don’t worry. It’s good stuff, too.”
Harald laughed heartily as he answered each person individually. Lucian was speechless at the bizarre sight. It felt less like a lord returning to his manor and more like a respected village chief.
By the laws of the Empire, a commoner approaching a noble without cause could lose their head on the spot.
“Are you surprised? You see this quite often in the North.”
Raymond whispered with a smile to the stunned group. Felicia, finally snapping out of her daze, stammered in disbelief.
“What... what is happening? Even so, for commoners to... they aren't even knights, and to a territorial noble....”
“It’s because of the harsh environment here. Between this cursed cold, frequent civil wars, and the monsters lurking in the Snowy Mountains, the North is a brutal place. It’s hard to survive unless everyone works together, so every commoner is forced to pick up a weapon.”
“I see. So the entire populace is essentially a standing army.”
“Exactly. Except they don't get paid for it.”
One of the pillars of a lord’s absolute authority is the protection they provide for their people. Conversely, if the commoners are paying the price in blood themselves, the lord’s authority cannot be absolute. If a lord were to abandon his duties like a coward, he would have been ousted long ago.
However, these lords only relied on their people because their own resources were insufficient; they still fulfilled their duties to the best of their ability. This structure allowed the commoners to understand the weight of the burden the lord carried, while the lord came to understand the hardships of his people.
And this is the result.
It was ironic. In the comfortable interior of the continent, commoners were ruled with iron discipline, yet here in the harsh North, there was such a lack of social distance.
After chatting with the worried commoners for a while, Viscount Harald turned to the crowd with a serious expression.
“The rebellion has been suppressed. It was a close call, but thanks to these esteemed guests, we managed to pull through. I’d like to take our benefactors to the castle and treat them properly, but...”
“Uh... about that....”
The commoners looked at each other awkwardly. Sensing the strange atmosphere, Harald’s face soured.
“Did something happen to the manor?”
“Well, those traitorous bastards holed up in the manor, so it got a bit... smashed up while we were rooting them out.”
“We cleared out most of the bodies, but the blood hasn't been washed away yet, so the smell is a bit....”
“Good grief.”
Harald pressed a hand to his forehead as if a headache were coming on. It was one thing if the place was a bit broken, but inviting guests to a place that still reeked of blood was an insult.
“It can’t be helped. Would you mind if I invited you somewhere else?”
“Somewhere other than the manor?”
At Lucian’s question, Harald gave a wide grin.
“A place where the ale is good.”
*
“Gah! That’s the stuff!”
Thud.
Harald slammed his massive beer mug down and wiped his lips. His behavior went beyond being informal; it was as if he had discarded every ounce of noble dignity. Seeing Lucian’s party remain silent, Harald smirked.
“What? Am I too undignified for a noble?”
“To be honest, yes.”
“Hmm.”
Harald fell silent at Lucian’s blunt answer. Though he didn't say it, he looked slightly disappointed. After a brief pause, Lucian continued with a smile.
“But that’s why I like it. Dignity is something to be maintained where it is appropriate. Insisting on status in a tavern only makes everyone else uncomfortable.”
“Well now, you certainly have a way with words.”
Harald marveled at Lucian’s eloquence. As he said, Lucian and Harald had currently rented out the entire second floor of a common inn. To most nobles, it might have felt cramped and filthy, but to Lucian, it felt familiar and nostalgic. Sensing that Lucian’s words weren't mere flattery but genuine, the smile returned to Harald’s face.
“Right then, Lord Lucian. You said you came to reclaim the Grimaldi name and punish the House of Calix. Do you have a plan?”
“Not yet. I don't know the current state of the North, so I decided to see it for myself before making a judgment.”
“Reckless. But also the correct call. No matter what plan you devised, it wouldn't work if you didn't understand the North.”
“First, I’d like to hear about my maternal grandfather. He passed away when I was very young, and I never even saw his face.”
“What kind of man was His Grace Duke Klaus, eh?”
Harald gazed into the distance as if reminiscing about the past.
“He was a true son of the North.”
“Was he a warrior like you, then?”
“Warrior? Not a chance. He was a total weakling.”
“...Pardon?”
Lucian asked back instinctively, caught off guard by the answer. He had assumed that for a man like Harald to respect him, the Duke must have been a natural-born martial artist.
“He was skin and bones; you couldn't find a lick of muscle on him. He’d collapse during training all the time, and he was always falling ill. And his tolerance for alcohol? One mug of beer and he was dead to the world!”
Harald laughed heartily at the dazed Lucian. After laughing for a while, he wiped the smile from his face and closed his eyes.
“But he never shirked his duties. Even with his frail body, he kept training, saying he had to possess strength he wouldn't be ashamed of. Even when he was sick, he worried for his people. Whenever trouble arose, the first thing he reached for was his armor.”
“....”
“He was a man who couldn't knock someone down with a punch, but everyone respected him. If some arrogant bastard tried to look down on His Grace just because they were strong, everyone would swarm them at once and leave them a bloody mess.”
Lucian was at a loss for words at the longing in Harald’s voice. In a harsh environment, a martial spirit naturally develops as a means of survival. People instinctively look down on those who are physically weak, viewing them as unreliable. Yet, Harald spoke of his grandfather as a weakling while holding him in the highest regard.
“If he had ever intended to unify the North, half of it would have joined him. The Duke had that much influence over people’s hearts.”
“If I were to use the same methods as my grandfather....”
“Impossible.”
Harald answered instantly, as if there were no room for debate.
“He wasn't a warrior, but he was a Northerner. He was born in the North, raised in the North, and he upheld Northern values better than anyone. But you are neither. Even if you try to imitate a Northerner now, it’ll be nothing more than a monkey’s mimicry.”
“Then is there another way? I came to punish the House of Calix, but I have no allies in the North. If I step forward alone without building a faction, my claims will be easily brushed aside.”
“It’s not as if there’s no way at all.”
Harald grinned at Lucian’s words.
“Northerners don't just reject outsiders. If someone proves they have worth, we don't just respect them—we’re willing to worship them.”
“I don't expect worship, but I’d like to hear the method.”
“It’s simple.”
Harald spoke, his muscles rippling beneath his lingering scars.
“Best me.”