[The Rightful Claim (2)]
The mobilization of the North.
The news was enough to shake the neighboring territories to their core.
The territories located in the northern reaches of the Empire had long ignored the land that was collectively referred to as the "North," a place so insignificant it didn't even merit a noble family's name.
Therefore, the rumor that the North had accepted a request from the anti-Viscount Lontes faction and was marching its troops to intervene in the civil war was met with mockery rather than fear.
"I heard the barbarians of the North are running around like headless chickens, trying to help the old vassals of Viscount Lontes. It’s absolutely chaotic."
"Isn't it a hilarious story? It’s the most absurd thing I’ve heard all year. I couldn't stop laughing."
Baron Piletian, whose territory shared borders with both the North and Lontes, chuckled as he drank with his friends.
It was true that merchants had been visiting the North more frequently of late. But that land still lacked a proper master. It was just a place where some brat, not even thirty years old, had come down from the capital and was strutting around with his head held high, calling himself an Administrative Officer.
To Baron Piletian, who had been a noble since birth and was destined to rule a region, a mere commoner bureaucrat was no threat at all.
'How dare he.'
There are nobles who truly believe their blood is blue. Baron Piletian was exactly that kind of man.
"Big trouble! We have big trouble, my Lord!"
Naturally, he didn't look kindly upon the adjutant who had interrupted his conversation with his friends.
Slap-.
"Who gave you permission to shout in this place!"
The adjutant, who had been knocked to the floor by the slap, remained prostrate and delivered the news regardless.
"Forgive my rudeness, but you must come out at once! The Northern army has arrived at the very gates of the Lord's castle!"
"What? Who? Where?"
Baron Piletian felt the alcohol drain from his system in an instant.
"The Northern soldiers are demanding that we open the road to Lontes! The people of the territory are in an uproar!"
"......!"
Why would the army of barbarians come to his land? Didn't they share a border with Lontes as well? Why were they being so unreasonable as to insist on passing through his territory?
Baron Piletian’s mind descended into chaos.
"The reason—what is the reason? Why would those barbarians dare to set their filthy feet on my land!"
"Filthy feet, you say."
"Wh-who is that!"
"I am Biyan. I command the Northern troops."
"......!"
A man, a head taller than anyone else, had appeared in the rose garden the Baron was so proud of. The Baron, forgetting that he should be furious about this unauthorized intrusion, was so overwhelmed by the killing intent radiating from the knight before him that he felt a primal urge to simply run away.
Of course, Piletian had his own knights. They were right there in the garden. It would have been appropriate to draw their swords against this knight who was issuing commands rather than requests, without even showing proper respect to his lord.
But the Baron’s knights were already cowering like stray dogs that had given up on a fight. Their pathetic display stood in stark contrast to Biyan, who stood tall and confident despite bringing only two subordinates.
The sight of a man who had abandoned his duty was truly miserable.
"I have already conveyed our request to your adjutant. Open the road."
Biyan delivered his business with an unyielding attitude. Open the road. It was a humiliating request.
'If I take a strike from that man's sword...'
'I'll die. I'll definitely die.'
However, the knights of this peaceful frontier territory, who were more accustomed to wine glasses than swords and waltzes than drills, couldn't even lift their heads or meet the eyes of a real warrior from the harsh lands where every day was a struggle.
No one at the party dared to point out Biyan’s rudeness or express anger at his humiliating demand; they only desperately averted their eyes, hoping the trouble wouldn't spill over onto them.
It was perhaps fortunate that Baron Piletian, who should have been grinding his teeth at those knights, was too frozen to breathe, paralyzed by the killing intent mixed with mana that Biyan didn't even bother to hide.
"Op-open the road, you say."
"Exactly as I said. Open the road."
"...Can't you go directly from the North?"
"If we cross Piletian land, we reach the Lontes Lord's castle immediately. We have no desire to point our blades at the commoners of Lontes who simply had the misfortune of having the wrong master."
"......"
"And that goes for the commoners of Piletian, as well."
"......!"
The implication that he didn't want to point his blade at them—the Baron knew full well that it was a warning that if things went south, blades would be at their throats.
After a moment of silence, the Baron finally opened his mouth.
"...Will it suffice if I simply open the road?"
"It will suffice. I promise there will be no looting of the commoners."
"...Thank you."
The Baron’s tone was quite polite. It was a remarkably courteous attitude for a man speaking to a mere knight, not even a regional Lord, but Biyan acted as if it were only natural.
Having obtained what he needed, Biyan turned his back without even a proper farewell. He then tossed a final remark to the party guests, who were still stiff, unable to hold their teacups or set them down, glancing around awkwardly.
"If I have failed to show proper courtesy, I apologize. I am but a barbarian, so I have lived a life far removed from manners, culture, and such things."
It was a well-packaged threat delivered to those who had mocked the Northern mobilization.
"How can I ever forget this humiliation, this tarnished honor!"
Tremble-.
After Biyan left, the party ended in a daze. Watching the backs of his friends as they left with awkward smiles and promises to meet again, Baron Piletian finally realized how pathetic he had acted.
'To open the gates of my territory out of fear of a single knight!'
If word got out, it was obvious where the fingers of those who had mocked the Northern barbarians would point. Such a thing could not be allowed to happen. The end of a noble who has lost his honor is clear.
"My Lord! If we negotiate again right now—."
Crash!
"Ugh!"
"Why was that big mouth of yours shut tight just a moment ago? You should have said that when that barbarian was threatening me in my own garden!"
"F-forgive me!"
The Baron’s bodyguard, whose head had been smashed by a teacup, prostrated himself at the Baron’s feet, begging for mercy. If it had been a Northerner, he would have begged for death first, but it seemed he didn't want to die just yet.
"I was out of my mind earlier and agreed to open the road, but there is no way to know if that lawless man who showed no respect is truly the commander of the Northern army."
"You are right, my Lord!"
The adjutant, whose face was bruised from the slap, quickly added, understanding the Baron’s intent.
"There is no need to keep a promise made to someone whose identity you haven't even verified. Disputes between territories must follow proper legal procedures."
"Then what should I do, adjutant?"
"You can protest the illegality of the situation and begin new negotiations."
The Baron nodded in satisfaction at the mention of starting new negotiations. He had agreed earlier because of the knight’s terrifying attitude, but if they followed proper channels, a mere knight couldn't possibly act so arrogantly toward a Lord of a territory.
"I will send men to their army."
"No, I will go myself."
"Pardon? You, my Lord, in person?"
"I will go myself, and I will make that knight who acted so cocky before me kneel in front of his own subordinates."
It seemed he calculated that if the rumor spread that he had forced the knight to kneel and disciplined him, the disgrace he had shown at the party would be offset. The adjutant was sickened by his master’s obsession with his own pride even in this situation, but since it wasn't the first time, he simply nodded and hurried to make preparations.
Neigh-!
Baron Piletian headed toward the army of barbarians in his carriage. He was chuckling to himself, selecting the words he would use to insult that arrogant knight.
"Whoa, whoa-. Whoa, whoa! What is wrong with these horses?"
Clatter!
"Ugh!"
He had been lost in pleasant fantasies when the carriage suddenly began to jolt violently, throwing the Baron against the wall. Furious, he reached to pull back the curtain covering the window to shout at the coachman, but—
'...Huh?'
The air felt strange. Even though winter hadn't arrived yet, there was a chilling sensation. An eerie silence, lacking the usual sounds of daily life.
"What is it!"
"......"
He called out to the bodyguard who had been riding alongside the carriage, but everyone—the coachman, the knights—was so stunned that they didn't even think to answer.
"Dammit! Stop! Stop!"
If they wouldn't answer, he would check for himself. The Baron finally stopped the carriage and stepped out.
"What on earth are you looking at that has you all so—."
The Baron, who had been spewing curses like a machine gun as he stepped out, froze the moment his feet touched the ground, wearing the same stunned expression as his subordinates.
Thud-thud-thud-thud-.
How long had he been standing there? The ground beneath the Baron began to tremble minutely. Small pebbles began to roll in every direction from the vibration.
Gulp-.
A strange silence, broken only by the sound of someone swallowing. The vibration grew stronger. The dust cloud in the distance grew larger.
Step, step, step, step-.
Between the vibrations came the sound of footsteps, moving as one, making the hair on his body stand on end.
At this point, anyone could tell. They knew what it meant—the sound of footsteps that created this vibration, kicked up that dust, and chilled the marrow of one's bones.
"...T-turn the carriage. Turn the carriage around."
Baron Piletian mustered his final ounce of courage to order a retreat. Even the pride of a noble with blue blood could not be maintained in the face of a trained army.
The Northern army moved without restraint. There was nothing left that could stop them.
Perhaps the mockery and insults they had hurled at the Northerners all this time had been a defense mechanism to hide their own fear.
The events in Baron Piletian’s territory were urgently relayed to the various Lords in the North, and for that moment, no noble dared to speak lightly of the North.
Soldiers with venom in their eyes. Worn, sharpened blades. Siege weapons of strange design. An endless line of mounted archers.
The Lords, who had never maintained a proper army since the Empire became the Empire—viewing them as nothing but money-draining ghosts—had to suffer through nightmares, fearing that the well-honed Northern blades would turn toward them after devouring Lontes.
"H-huff, huff-!"
The most severe case was Baron Piletian, who had faced that army from behind a single carriage. He was now at the point where he couldn't sleep properly for hours, desperately receiving news of the Northern army.
"They have finally set foot on Lontes soil!"
"The Lontes army has collapsed after a single clash!"
"Lontes deserters are scattering in every direction!"
"Urgent news! The Lontes castle has fallen!"
"My Lord, it’s a disaster! In the North, the Administrative Officer, the acting Lord, has begun to move!"
"They are demanding we open the road again. Please, make a decision!"
The North of the Empire had enjoyed peace, unaffected by the flames of war ignited by the Second Prince and the Empress's family. In less than a month, they had realized one thing: they now had to walk on eggshells around the Northern barbarians.
"...Open the road and tell the Northern Administrative Officer that we are holding a victory banquet, and ask him to attend."
The Baron’s brown hair had turned completely white in just a month.