Congratulations, Debut (2)
Clatter, clatter-.
The carriage was far less comfortable than it looked. People often claimed that high-end carriages treated with magic felt like riding on a bed no matter how fast the horses ran, but unfortunately, there was no such thing in the North.
Still, this was the first time since taking office that he was heading outside the North. Because of that, even as his backside screamed in protest, Aiden hummed a tune while looking out the window, feeling a flutter of excitement.
"Excuse me, we've reached the checkpoint."
Jamie, having traveled to the Lontes territory a few times, acted like he knew the ropes. Following Jamie’s finger, a rather imposing gate built into the valley walls came into view.
'How much force would it take to breach that?'
Aiden found himself calculating the logistics without realizing it, then swallowed hard, startled by his own train of thought. His position was steadily changing him, one step at a time, even without him noticing.
Meanwhile, at the Lontes checkpoint.
"Hey, that carriage. Can you identify the crest?"
At the veteran’s words, a sharp-eyed soldier squinted, observing the carriage approaching without any intention of slowing down, along with the dozen or so guards escorting it. The emblem on the carriage was a bit faded, but fortunately, the flags held by the escorting troops seemed to have been made recently; the intricately stitched embroidery looked so vivid it might jump right off the fabric.
"Uh... on a black background, white... ah, it’s a white wolf!"
"A white wolf?"
The veteran soldier spent a moment trying to recall which family crest featured a white wolf, when—
Hiiiii-in!
Only when the horses were right in front of them did he realize.
"The Lord of the North...!"
The crest used by the Lords of the North for generations. The White Wolf.
In other regions, people were busy mocking it, calling them barbarians. They sneered that only barbarians would use a wolf—not a noble lion, not a sturdy shield, not a sword of courage—as their most proud emblem. Because of this, the acting lords assigned to the North didn't use the crest even when they had to visit other regions. It was already frustrating enough to be pushed to the frontier by power games; there was no reason for an 'acting' lord to go around using a crest that invited ridicule.
But Aiden felt no reason to be ashamed of the crest.
'What's wrong with a wolf? It’s cool.'
A snowy field and a wolf. It was nothing but romantic, so why the fuss? It was even a white wolf. Didn't it feel like a grand epic was being written just by looking at it? Perhaps this mindset of Aiden’s was influenced by one of his favorite dramas, Game of Thrones. Wasn't the Stark family, who shouted "Winter is coming," inextricably linked to wolves?
'The North is meant for wolves.'
That was why Aiden used the white wolf with pride. It was a lighthearted decision. But the Northern knights, holding the newly stitched flags, had to bite their lips to hold back the overwhelming emotions welling up inside them. It was their crest, brought out into the open with pride for the first time in a very long time. They made a silent vow: they would live for the master who was not ashamed of this emblem.
Aiden hadn't asked for a pledge of loyalty or an oath, and he had never planned such an event, but the Northern barracks were already choosing to remain under Aiden’s command of their own volition.
Kwang-.
It was a dangerous sound to be called a carriage stopping. It was only natural, given they hadn't slowed down in the first place. If mercenaries had done this, the guard might have clicked his tongue at their vanity, but the aura exuded by the troops escorting the carriage was not something a mere frontier gatekeeper could handle.
"P-please, wait for inspection..."
Why was the one granting permission the one feeling intimidated by the one who needed it? The veteran soldier consciously straightened his shoulders, which kept curling inward, and announced he would inspect the carriage.
"Do you not see this crest?"
Then, a cold voice from a knight reached him. The veteran soldier thought, 'The people of the North have blizzards even in their voices.' Even while his mind looked down on them as "just barbarians," his fragile human heart hammered incessantly at the threat of a predator.
"That is enough."
At that moment, a low voice came from inside the carriage. It wasn't a loud tone, but the knights, who had been radiating killing intent, all bowed in unison.
Clatter.
The carriage window opened with a slightly rattling sound, but no one laughed. The dry gaze of the man who poked his head out from the window landed on the veteran soldier.
"Shall I step down?"
"N-no! I-I greet the ruler of the North!"
Thud!
The veteran soldier, without even realizing it, slammed the spear he was holding into the ground and paid his respects. In his mind, he knew the person in the carriage wasn't the true Lord of the North, but merely a transient acting lord sent temporarily from the center, but if you couldn't read the heavy atmosphere, you couldn't keep your job as a gatekeeper.
Kuu-ung-.
Hii-ing!
The gate opened heavily, and the horses began to walk again, tap, tap, tap. The flag with the white wolf fluttered in the wind as it stepped onto Lontes land. It was truly the first time in decades.
***
"He really said he’d come in person?"
"That’s what they said."
"He usually ignores the invitations we send."
"Aren't there business interests involved? I heard he’s quite fond of this sort of thing, so he must be eager."
As a man so fat his buttons looked ready to burst joked playfully while making a circle with his thumb and index finger, laughter spread instantly among the people holding wine glasses. The rather spacious mansion was in full swing, both inside and out. Because spring hadn't fully arrived yet, the sky had darkened quickly. However, the party hall was filled with glowing stones and luminescent orbs, giving it quite an elegant atmosphere.
People were gathered in small groups, but the content of their conversations was all similar.
- Someone is coming from the North.
Except for Jefferson, the adjutant of Lontes and the host of today’s party, no one had met the Lord (acting) of the North in person, so they were all adding their own bits of gossip about the man they’d heard rumors of.
"It’s common for officials who come to the North to love money, but this time seems a bit different."
"You mean the way he’s starting new projects?"
"Yes."
"He must want a big bite. Otherwise, there’d be no need to drag us into it."
"The 'Northern Development Fund,' or whatever it’s called?"
"What a ridiculous name."
"Still, the amount of money going into that is quite significant. Tsk!"
"But if we ignore it, the contracts might fall through."
"I intend to settle the matter today."
Among them, a gaunt man with a goat beard was openly lamenting the cold, hard cash he had to cough up for the development fund. The goat-bearded man was supplying various daily necessities used at the Northern logging sites. Since the volume of goods consumed by the workers and transporters was substantial, the amount his private merchant guild received from the Lontes Lord’s castle was enough to keep him happy. The North even added a small commission to the invoices sent to the Lontes castle, and this amount was split between the goat-bearded man and the North. It was a sort of bonus. Since the Lontes castle was paying the bill anyway, it wasn't a transaction where anyone lost money. There was no risk of getting caught, either. After all, the one who benefited most from this win-win strategy was the person with the signing authority: the adjutant, Jefferson.
But human nature is such that once you’re full, you want to sit, and once you sit, you want to lie down. The goat-bearded man was dying of annoyance at that damn Northern Development Fund that had to be paid implicitly with every transaction. If he didn't have to pay that, he could have smiled and put a large diamond necklace around his mistress’s neck this spring!
Whether he knew that or not, the host, Jefferson, seemed too busy to notice, trying to welcome the Northern guest who would arrive soon. He was running around checking the food, the drinks, and the seating arrangements, and people wondered why he was acting like that when he wasn't usually the type.
"Isn't the adjutant a bit strange today?"
"I was wondering that too. Why is he so restless... It’s almost as if..."
Talk of Jefferson’s behavior arose at other tables as well. A white-haired baron barely managed to swallow the words that were about to follow, but his conversation partner, who was equally adept at reading the power dynamics, realized the next words would have been, 'Doesn't it look like he’s serving his own Lord?'
In other words, Jefferson was currently paying more attention to that mere commoner-born acting lord from the North than to the Viscount of Lontes.
'Are they more deeply involved than we know?'
But because they thought there was no reason to genuinely care about the North—those country bumpkins—they simply guessed that Jefferson had something he wasn't telling them.
Although they were in the same boat as the North through business, their disregard and contempt for the North remained unchanged.
"Actually, that Northern Development Fund—it’s called a fund, but who doesn't know it eventually ends up in the acting lord’s pocket!"
Regardless, the goat-bearded man’s voice was growing louder. Perhaps he felt more confident as those around him subtly agreed. If they could encourage the goat-bearded man and save the money they had to pay into the development fund, it would be like getting something for nothing, so there was no reason to stop him.
"I heard the new acting lord of the North is quite young. Maybe because he’s young, he doesn't know how the world works! It’s the way of the world that if you get greedy beyond what you can handle, your stomach will burst, yet he doesn't know his place—."
"Doesn't know his place, you say."
In an instant, the people at the party felt the air in the hall grow heavy. The deeply low voice was light, as if he found the situation quite amusing, but he made no effort to hide that he was displeased.
"......?"
The heads of everyone in the room, including the goat-bearded man, turned in unison toward where the voice had come from.
"......!"
And at the same time, everyone was struck dumb.
Among the high-ranking officials of Lontes, who looked like peacocks adorned with red, yellow, and blue silk, dizzying embroidery, flashy feathers, and jewels to show off their wealth, a group had entered. They were Northern people, wearing nothing but black and white achromatic furs. And in their midst was a man with black hair and pale, dry-looking skin.
He wasn't decorated with jewels, silk, or feathers, but I dare say he exuded a more overwhelming aura than anyone else in the party hall.
The brow that looked as sharp as if it had been carved. The cold eyes that gave no hint of his thoughts. The fangs that were briefly visible when his low voice flowed out.
Gulp-.
Sounds of dry throats being swallowed came from all around. The man hadn't introduced himself with a single line, but everyone realized who he was. And their minds were thrown into complete chaos.
'Didn't they say he wasn't a Northerner?'
'They said he was a young official from the capital who was greedy for money and didn't know how the world worked!'
'Who the hell is he? Who spread such false rumors?'
In the eyes of the Lontes people, the man with black hair and black eyes was, ironically, the incarnation of the white wolf on the flag held by the guards.
"I asked who it was that didn't know their place."
Whether the room was shocked or not, the man walked forward without hesitation and looked down at the goat-bearded man. It was a truly absurd debut for high society, but the women, whose eyes had already grown dreamy, were thinking that there could be no more fitting entrance for them.