Northern Duke Quest (1)
It was dawn after a hearty drinking session for the first time in ages. The group gathered in Valerius and Raven's room.
“Miss. Want some mulled wine warmed up?”
“Sure.”
The boozy gathering continued with simple snacks on the side. Of course, it wasn't purely for enjoyment.
“What's the plan going forward?”
They were traveling together for now, but Yanes and Sophia had no obligations after the dungeon. Still, Yanes—wanting to build ties—asked the question to showcase her skills and lend a hand.
“Contact the ducal castle and meet face-to-face. Tell 'em what needs telling, hear what needs hearing, then split. Done.”
“...That's extremely concise.”
It sounded simple, but the journey was anything but easy. Setting aside getting into the ducal castle, meeting the Northern Duke—whose whereabouts had been mysteriously unclear lately—was a tall order. And the conversation that followed wouldn't just end with polite observation.
“You wrote that report real nice. That'll do it. Honestly, a guy like the Northern Duke's got the brains to handle the rest.”
“Yeah, that checks out.”
Now that she thought about it, he had a point. A figure like Valerius just dropping a hint would be plenty—no need to second-guess. The Northern Duke wasn't some fool; hereditary or not, he'd been forged in the north's brutal upbringing. And strictly speaking, they had no obligation to grovel and persuade anyway.
“Hmm.”
Yanes eyed Valerius with fresh curiosity. She had a sharp eye for people, and her observational skills were top-notch. To her, Valerius might look like a dumb brute gorilla charging headfirst, but he was sly as a fox too—cunning enough to hide it.
The scale's too damn big.
He schemed and acted on a level no ordinary schmuck could dream of. His constant air of leisure suggested he'd already locked in some massive overarching plan. Abandoning the commander post to drag his private soldiers up north? That fueled the speculation.
“Ahem. Sir Valerius.”
“Yeah? Somethin' you wanna ask?”
Where was this hulking beast aiming? How high up? He'd ditched a top military spot as commander and bolted straight here.
“You aiming to become a high noble or something?”
“...?”
Valerius cocked his head, puzzled. Raven let out a deep sigh, casually rose, cracked the door, and peeked outside. No signs of life. Good.
Valerius thought to himself: Villainess sure different. Look at her go.
“You wanna spark a ducal rebellion in Serpia territory or what?”
“N-no, not like that! I mean... you planning to be the north's rallying point?”
Drunk and rambling, Yanes hastily rephrased. Only then did Valerius catch her drift.
Pretty smart for a medieval savage.
“So, you mean insurance, right? Even if the ducal house tanks, you're good?”
“Insurance? Sounds like it tugs at a merchant's heartstrings.”
“...Forget I said it. That's the gist, yeah?”
“Yep. You got a grand plan?”
Valerius quietly stroked his chin.
Truth be told, if the ducal house fell, the north would crumble outright. No changing that, no matter what.
“If we man Rozanica's walls with me and the Black Lions there. At least Rozanica won't fall.”
Defending just one city—not the whole north—was something Valerius could pull off. Prime spot for food, self-sufficient iron from the forges and massive smelters. Seria School provided killer manpower infrastructure too.
The catch? Rivers of blood and screams from countless folks. Loads of people he knew would die.
The Empire would declare full war, turning Rozanica from a city into a strategic hotspot. Not the peaceful life Valerius craved.
Hence, insurance. Propping up the ducal house was the smoothest path to stabilizing the north right now. Why chase risky headaches when easy fixes existed?
“...Figured as much.”
Yanes couldn't help but be stunned by his words. The sheer confidence to tank a threat the ducals couldn't—with Rozanica, no less—was impressive.
If he was this locked in, she didn't need to dive deeper.
“Then we'll handle ourselves.”
“Mm. Suit yourselves. Raven'll back you up good.”
“...Me?”
Raven shrugged like it was ridiculous.
“Beats hangin' with pretty ladies?”
“Untouchable flowers, man.”
“Your loss.”
The two men's banter drew a blush from Yanes as they snickered.
“D-don't talk so rudely!”
Sophia swiftly flicked Raven's forehead for her. The sharp thwack and Raven's yelp had Valerius cackling.
“Do whatever. Just one thing to burn in: stay the hell away from the duke's kids.”
“Any special reason?”
“They're jinxed. Straight-up doom.”
At the eerie claim, Yanes just gave a bored shrug. Bet she's talkin' 'bout Isolde. He always got heated mentioning her.
“Gotcha.”
“And no fuckups if you can help it.”
The booze, maybe? Why so pissed?
Yanes shot him a dagger glare for no reason.
Damn, that villainess face is terrifying.
Valerius flinched despite himself and averted his eyes.
The Serpia ducal house buzzed with rare energy. The Northern Duke—laid low by chronic illness—had recovered and joined the luncheon for the first time in ages.
Bang.
The door flew open, revealing a massive man. The heat and raw vitality pouring from his sturdy frame swiftly filled the room like an aura.
“Been too long, kids.”
“Greetings, family head.”
Groza Serpia, the current Northern Duke, rasped in his gravelly voice as he took the head seat. He waved to the waiting household, granting permission to eat.
No words needed; the family savored a rare, warm meal together.
“Family head. Feeling any better?”
Halfway through, sub-head Sigmund broke the silence.
“Owing to the young lady, fully recovered.”
“Haha. Glad to hear. Isolde went through hell for this.”
“I know. My thanks, Isolde. I'll repay the favor proper.”
“Just doing my duty.”
Sigmund sneaked a wink at Isolde behind the duke's back. Cheeky. She ignored it, quietly slicing her steak.
Meat and blade in view, that man popped into her head unbidden. His axe, charging wild to cleave monsters apart.
Raw power. Sturdy as any northern man should be.
Screech.
Unthinkingly, she pressed harder. The knife grazed the plate faintly—but everyone there caught the tiny sound.
“Hm?”
“Ah, my apologies.”
She bowed her head hastily, contrite.
“Isolde's been pulling late nights. Must be worn out.”
“No matter. Happens.”
Stern-looking but warm-hearted, the two men drew an inner sigh from Isolde. She was tired, it seemed. Daydreaming into a blunder like that?
“The imperial princess's coming-of-age is seven months off.”
A key event ahead. The emperor's youngest of two sons and two daughters. As expected for his pampered second princess, it'd be a massive, lavish affair.
“I'll handle it this time.”
Sigmund replied resolute. The north was always slammed, constant battles—so Isolde managed most external affairs. But as official Serpia heir, Sigmund had to represent at court rituals.
“Second princess and second prince are both unwed. Any shot?”
The duke's words made both kids twitch. Marriageable age, nobles swarming the gala—prime chance to align schedules.
“I'll give it my all, but...”
“Second princess is a long shot.”
The imperials had proposed marriage first; the duke accepted. As heir, Sigmund meant a princess to the harsh north—but no way they'd ship their baby girl to this frozen hell.
Odds favored Isolde and the second prince. Irritation tugged her brows as she spoke first. She got the need, but the topic always soured her stomach.
“I'll do my utmost.”
“Good. Appreciated.”
The duke smiled, pleased. Isolde's words satisfied him.
“Northwest's heating up bad. Looks like I'll head to the front.”
“Father. You just recovered. Let me go instead.”
Unrest spotted on the north front's west. Sigmund volunteered over their father heading out, but the duke shook his head.
Time to pass the duchy soon.
“You need to solidify your spot. Prep for the capital too. This time, I'll...”
Knock knock.
The interruption cut him off. Isolde's face soured, but the duke waved her down.
“Come in.”
“Pardon the intrusion, master.”
The entrant was the head butler, a longtime Serpia loyalist. He bowed deeply, face etched with regret.
“Master. The southern war hero requests a private audience.”
“...Southern war hero? Ah, that guy we sponsored back then?”
“Yes, exactly.”
The Serpia ducals backed north-born talent regardless of class. Cheap way to buy hometown loyalty from the gifted. Valerius had gotten their support too, naturally.
“Bit rude, but urgent?”
“...From what I heard, not trivial.”
The very mention was dicey, intent aside. No helping it.
“Family head.”
The duke, rising, glanced at Isolde who'd called.
“Mind if I join?”
“Got your interest?”
“With sub-head off to the capital and you to the front, someone's gotta run the duchy.”
The duke stroked his well-groomed beard.
“Fair point. In that case, all of you come. Chance to see the famed war hero.”
With that, the Northern Duke led his children to the reception room.
“Ah, greetings, Your Grace.”
“Pleased to meet you, war hero. Northern Duke, Duke Groza Serpia.”
Even a thug like Valerius couldn't play it loose before the duke. He shot up and clasped the proffered handshake with due respect.
Old bastard. I said private meet.
Spotting Isolde's smirking face, Valerius swallowed a curse and desperately schooled his expression.