Chapter 2
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: For Some Reason, No One Opposes It
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"…Me, becoming the Grand Duke? Me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Why? With the family head and the young masters all passed away, who else is there among the direct descendants of the Bilheim family besides you, Young Master Robertus?"
"That's true."
If everyone above me has kicked the bucket, then yeah, I automatically become the successor.
...
No, wait.
Thinking about it, this whole situation is ridiculous.
The deaths of my father and four brothers are shocking and tragic news.
Well, not really tragic. That's just for show.
Amen. Namu Amida Butsu. Don't go to a nice place—make sure to atone for your sins in some fitting hell.
Anyway, I've prayed for the souls of those five. The real issue comes next.
Me? Becoming the Grand Duke of Bilheim?
"Don't make me laugh."
"Young Master?"
I sprang up from the sofa where I'd been lounging, yanked open the wardrobe, and pulled out a massive travel bag.
"What are you doing right now?"
"I'm outta here."
I started stuffing clothes from the wardrobe into the bag willy-nilly.
"Where do you think you're going…?"
"Exile to the south."
"The south?"
"Yeah. Not this dog-forsaken frozen Bilheim territory—somewhere in the south of the continent where I can bask in warm sunlight on the beach, sipping fresh palm fruit juice."
"What about the Grand Duke position…?"
"Am I crazy? No way. Absolutely not."
"Why refuse it so vehemently?"
"Why? You tell me? Eline, what's the official title of the Duke of the North?"
"The official title… 'Great Guardian of the North, Ruler of the Northern Territories of the Radain Holy Kingdom, and Head of the Bilheim Family,' I believe."
That's right.
The Great Guardian of the North means commander-in-chief of the Holy Kingdom's northern army.
The Ruler of the Northern Territories is the lord of the Bilheim domain.
And the head of the family is exactly that—the family head.
"Commander-in-chief, lord, family head. Even one of those would tear a man apart, and the Duke of the North position piles all three on you."
"If it's the workload worrying you, don't be. The bureaucrats and servants will assist you until you're accustomed to the Grand Duke's duties."
"It's not about the work. I have to shoulder an entire army on my own, a domain that's practically a small nation, and a prestigious family with centuries of history."
"…You're right; the Duke of the North does come with heavy responsibilities."
"See? I knew you'd understand, Eline."
I haphazardly packed some clothes and slipped the key to the safe holding my slush fund into my pocket.
"So you're planning to sneak away in the dead of night?"
"Even you think the Duke of the North position is too much for a prodigal son like me, right? You've put up with serving me all this time, so I'll wire you a generous bonus later. Just cover for me if anyone comes looking in the morning—say you don't know where I went. Got it?"
"If it's an order, I'll obey, but…"
After an emotional farewell with Eline, just as I placed my hand on the door handle—
"—But do you think the Papal Court will just let you, Young Master Robertus, slip away?"
I froze.
The moment I heard "Papal Court," my body went rigid.
"…"
"The Duke of the North is a title personally bestowed upon the Bilheim family by His Holiness the Pope. If you arbitrarily refuse it and run…"
"…If I run?"
"The inquisitors would probably hunt you to the ends of the continent."
"…"
I stood there by the door, hand neither turning the knob nor letting go…
Thud.
I handed the bag to Eline and trudged back to the sofa with limp steps.
"Wise choice."
"Shut up."
I sprawled on the sofa and stared blankly at the ceiling.
"Shall I give you some space?"
"…Please."
"Understood. I'll return tomorrow morning to explain what you need to prepare for inheriting the Grand Duchy. Rest well tonight."
Eline unpacked my bag, neatly refolded the clothes, bowed gracefully, and left my bedroom.
"This can't be real. Right? It's a dream. When I open my eyes tomorrow, it'll be back to the usual—cracking open bottles of wine worth dozens of gold each with my drinking buddies in the salon, having fun with the entertainers…"
I muttered that vain hope to myself.
"…There's a limit to how much bad luck a guy can have. This is too much."
Despair quickly turned to resentment at my fate.
Not content with reincarnating a modern South Korean college student into this romance-fantasy world,
they stuck me in a place colder than Cheorwon, in a household full of human trash family members…
And now they want me to be the Duke of the North to boot.
"My retirement plan…"
My dream of fleeing south with my slush fund to spend my remaining days in warmth seemed shattered.
"…Hold on."
No, thinking it over, it's not over yet.
Who am I?
Robertus Bilheim. The Bilheim family's prodigal son.
A wastrel life squandering the family fortune on booze and women like water.
Naturally, public opinion about me in this northern territory is at rock bottom.
No one would be happy with a prodigal like me ascending to the Duke of the North.
So surely, something will go wrong during the succession process.
The bureaucrats might strike, refusing to serve under a guy like me.
The soldiers might riot in opposition to my ascension.
Or some other noble family in the domain might rebel, eyeing the position themselves…
"Right. I can use that as an excuse to declare I won't do it and bolt."
Plus, I'd have a perfect excuse for the Papal Court: 'I tried to take the position, but as you can see, the public opinion in the domain is too negative.'
It's not like I flat-out refused from the start—I gave it a shot, didn't I?
Even the Papal Court wouldn't easily brand me a heretic and punish me outright.
"Perfect."
So, for now, pretend to accept the title and go through the motions.
The moment discontent about me erupts in the domain, use it as grounds to announce my resignation and run.
Then follow my original plan: enjoy a warm life in the southern continent, no more shivering in the cold.
Heh heh.
My retirement dreams… were still alive.
Henriotte Ricart, the former aide and current head butler of the Bilheim family, had taken over as temporary regent following the sudden death of the Duke of the North.
In one of the conference rooms of the Bilheim domain's official residence, a lord's council he had convened was underway.
"Moving on to the final agenda item. One could argue it's the most important… the matter of Robertus Bilheim's succession to the Duke of the North."
The old butler's weary gaze swept over the participants.
"Those who oppose the succession or wish to raise an objection, please raise your hands."
"…"
"…No one?"
"I hate to say it, but… he'll be better than the late Duke Palthion."
An administrator cautiously spoke up.
Blatantly insulting the dead—a duke and their lord, no less.
Yet no one in the conference room contradicted him.
"Fair point… Young Master Robertus isn't exactly a model of virtue, but he's still better than the previous duke, isn't he?"
"Indeed. Even if he keeps indulging in debauchery after ascending, it'll be better than the last reign."
"Well said. At least he won't meddle in the staff's work every step of the way like the previous one…"
"And his other four brothers inherited their father's temperament in the worst way possible…"
"Exactly! It's like choosing between being mauled by wolves or torn apart by bears, but if I had to pick one of those five brothers for the ducal seat, I'd choose Robertus."
Irreverent criticisms of the previous family head and the four other young masters—excluding Robertus—poured out like a flood, starting with the administrator.
But Henriotte, their aide and butler, didn't stop them. He merely flipped through documents impassively, watching it all unfold.
"—So everyone here consents to Robertus Bilheim's ascension as Duke of the North?"
"""We consent."""
"Understood. I'll note that in the opinion document to submit to the Papal Court."
Henriotte scribbled something on the paper and handed it to his waiting aide.
"Alright, everyone, get moving. We have preparations for the new duke's coronation to handle now."
On the dawn when Eline visited, this time Head Butler Henriotte knocked on my door.
"Two weeks. The coronation will be in two weeks."
He delivered the shocking verdict with a stern face.
"Until then, Young Master Robertus, you will learn the virtues befitting a Duke of the North. The schedule is tight due to time constraints, so please keep up."
What followed were days like a dream.
A nightmare of a dream.
Booze, women, lounging, sleeping in… Henriotte and my other 'instructors' stripped away everything I loved most.
Instead, they filled my days with tortures disguised as education.
I was allowed only two things.
Hole up in the study, poring over mountains of books and documents on accounting, military science, etiquette, history, and more—endless boring lessons.
Or, in this freezing weather, roll around in the snow-and-mud-covered training grounds of the northern army, receiving one-on-one intensive training from Head Butler Henriotte.
Honest, upright days that I utterly despised.
The alcohol I'd built up in my body over years detoxed, along with the foggy haze in my mind.
In their place, solid muscle and the proper knowledge expected of a leader took root.
But I gritted my teeth and endured.
Because I believed someone—anyone—would surely rebel against my succession.
Day 1, 2, 3…
It has to happen.
Day 5, 6, 7…
…
Day 10, 11, 12…
It's late… Am I actually going to end up as Duke of the North?
And on the 13th day,
the coronation was finally just one day away.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
Eline had me stand before the mirror, holding coronation outfits against me to check the fit.
"Why is no one opposing me becoming the Duke of the North?"
"Well, there's no real reason to oppose, is there?"
"I'm a prodigal son! The Bilheim family's hopeless wastrel who just holes up in salons boozing it up with entertainers!"
"Ah, I see. You're wondering if the domain's people are dissatisfied with you becoming duke."
"Yeah."
"To cut to the chase: no, they're not."
"Why not?"
"…Forgive my impertinence, but do you know what the people called the previous family head, Lord Palthion?"
"What did they call him?"
"The walking disaster of the northern territories."
"…"
"A 'disaster' who groped every woman he saw and beat his subordinates versus a 'prodigal son' who quietly stays holed up in a salon drinking. Which would you prefer as your lord?"
"They're both trash, but…"
"If forced to choose, it'd be the latter. The people feel the same."
"…No sentimentality for my other brothers?"
"The other young masters inherited their father's temperament all too well."
My head spun.
All this time, I'd thought I was living like the trashiest prodigal imaginable…
But that was by modern South Korean standards.
Unfortunately, the average morality of nobles in this world was far below modern levels.
And the northern domain's people had suffered so much under their father and brothers—who were exceptionally vile even among nobles—that they weren't opposing me becoming duke. It was more like, 'Eh, Robertus is fine enough.'
Northern standards are no joke.
"Perfect. All the garments fit."
Having finished her task, Eline showed a faint hint of pride on her expressionless face.
"Then I'll take my leave. Rest well to prepare for tomorrow, Robertus. It's a event with His Holiness the Pope attending, so be in top condition."
She bowed to me and left the bedroom.
"…Tomorrow… I become the Duke of the North?"