The Fiancée (1)
Kyle's wooden sword tore through the air in a razor-sharp thrust.
"Hyaah!"
Whoosh!
But in that very instant, a blue sword energy bloomed along Bran's blade.
Crackle!
With the burst of energy, Bran's figure vanished.
Fwoosh!
Before Kyle could even react, the point of the blade was resting at his throat. It had all happened in the blink of an eye. Kyle swallowed hard and raised both hands.
"I... I yield."
Astonishment washed over the faces of the soldiers watching the bout.
"Good heavens...!"
"That sword energy just now—it was blue, wasn't it?"
The color of one's sword energy was the standard by which a knight's realm was judged. And everyone knew what blue meant.
"The Young Lord is a 5-Star knight...!"
"Impossible! He's not even twenty yet!"
"Even Hektor didn't reach 5-Star until he was past twenty-five!"
Even Hektor, hailed as the First Sword of the Balathion Kingdom, had never achieved progress this swift.
Could it be... that the lord we serve is the greatest talent on the continent?
The soldiers gazed at Bran with eyes brimming with awe and admiration, while Ygritte hid a proud smile of her own.
Bran extended a hand down to Kyle, whose legs had given out beneath him.
"Kyle, that final strike of yours was quite impressive."
Kyle grasped his hand and pulled himself to his feet. "And yet I couldn't so much as graze you."
Bran chuckled lightly. "All the more reason to keep training, Vice-Captain Kyle."
Kyle's eyes went wide. He straightened his back and boomed, "I'll train harder than ever, Young Lord!"
Bran turned to the coachman. "Is everything ready?"
"Aye, shall we set off?"
Their carriage rolled south once more.
Three days later, the carriage arrived at the kingdom's capital, Erdia.
The coachman flicked his whip and called out, "The walls will come into view any moment now."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the horizon opened wide. The colossal ramparts gleamed blindingly in the sunlight; the great walls encircling the capital boasted an overwhelming scale, and magic towers soared as if to pierce the very sky. An endless procession of people streamed in and out of the massive gates.
"Whoaaa..." Hans burst out in awe. "Are all of those people? It's like a swarm of ants!"
For soldiers who had spent their entire lives in the northern countryside of House Stark, the capital's scenery was nothing short of a miracle.
"Look at those buildings! They're so tall!" Lianna cried out, breathless with excitement. "I've never seen anything like this, not even in my dreams! Those towers look like they could touch the clouds!"
Bran gazed out the window as well. Buildings aglow with 9th-circle magic, vast plazas bustling with citizens—even for a man accustomed to the skyscrapers of the modern world, the sight was striking.
But at the same time, he could see its limits.
Carriages and pedestrians tangled together in chaos. No doubt because there's no proper traffic system to speak of.
And then there was the stench of refuse stinging his nose.
As I thought—the sewage system is primitive.
Even in a metropolis, the sanitation was little better than what you'd find in the countryside.
With a population density this high, the place might actually be more vulnerable to plague.
Noticing his expression, Ygritte asked, "What has you so deep in thought, Young Lord?"
Bran smiled, his eyes still on the window. "Ah, I was just thinking that weapons won't be the only thing we sell. There's no end to what this city might buy from us."
While the soldiers stood entranced by the capital's grandeur, he quietly began sketching out new business ventures inside the carriage.
The moment they had settled into their lodgings, Bran and his party set out to secure contracts with the capital's major trading companies.
Their first meeting was with the Goldwin Trading Company, whose headquarters occupied a five-story stone building in the heart of the commercial district.
"Welcome, Young Lord Bran."
A middle-aged man of imposing build greeted them with impeccable courtesy. "I am Alexander Goldwin, head of the Goldwin Trading Company."
The daggers from Bran's Forge were already making a name for themselves in the Free City of Belogar, and from the company's standpoint, this deal was a thoroughly attractive proposition.
"Was your journey a comfortable one?"
Bran answered with equal courtesy. "We arrived without incident, thank you."
Once the formalities had been exchanged, Alexander got down to business. "Did you bring the samples?"
At Bran's gesture, Lianna carefully produced a wooden box and set it on the table. When the lid came off, a row of silver-gleaming daggers lay neatly arranged inside.
A spark of interest lit Alexander's eyes. He picked up one blade and scrutinized it in minute detail, then drew its edge lightly across a sheet of paper—which parted with a whisper, though he hadn't applied the slightest force.
"This balance, this edge... and you're telling me one of these daggers goes for only 7 silver?"
Quality like this should have fetched at least 10 silver on the open market. And while weapons normally varied wildly in quality from piece to piece, Bran's Forge products boasted a uniform consistency with no duds whatsoever. Any trading company in the kingdom would salivate over a deal like this.
"You can truly supply a thousand blades a month at this quality?" Alexander asked.
Bran smiled faintly. "The quality will only rise from here. It will never fall."
He continued with easy confidence. "And daggers won't be the only thing our forge produces going forward. We plan to manufacture longswords, spears, armor—the full range of military materiel. Sign a contract with us now, and you'll receive priority supply for years to come."
Alexander's eyes widened. "Military supplies across the board? An ambitious plan indeed."
The two men hammered out the finer terms, and at last Alexander smiled in satisfaction and extended his hand. "Excellent. May this contract endure a long time, Young Lord. It will bring prosperity to both House Stark and the Goldwin Trading Company."
Bran clasped the hand firmly. "I couldn't agree more."
"That went more smoothly than I expected, Young Lord," Ygritte remarked as they stepped out of the trading company.
Bran gave a short nod. "This is only the beginning."
"Where to next?"
Bran was silent for a moment before answering. "House Roheim."
Ygritte's eyes flew wide. "The House Roheim? But that's your..."
"That's right." Bran's voice dropped low. "My fiancée's family."
In the heart of the capital's noble district, a three-story mansion of red tile and white marble rose in stately grandeur—a colossal fortress that flaunted power and wealth in its very stones.
House Roheim. Merchant nobles with the kingdom's key industries in their grip. Their trade network spans the entire realm.
Bran regarded the mansion through cold eyes.
"Announcing the arrival of Young Lord Bran of House Stark!"
As the servant's cry rang out, every gaze in the central hall swung toward Bran's party.
And then—
"Bran!"
A woman in a lavish gown crossed the hall with graceful steps. Her silver hair glittered beneath the chandeliers, and her deep emerald eyes lent her an air of mystery.
Selena Roheim. Bran's fiancée.
She greeted him with a dazzling smile. "It's been far too long, Bran."
When word of Bran and Selena's engagement had first spread, noble society had been left aghast.
— The degenerate of Stark, engaged to the Silver Rose of Roheim?
But hidden behind that engagement was a deal to hand over House Stark's northern iron fields for a pittance—something only possible because the old Bran had been utterly enslaved by Selena's beauty.
And in the end, House Roheim meant to milk Stark for all he was worth, then betray him.
They were the family destined to accelerate House Stark's ruin in the years to come. Now that he wore this body, he had no intention of showing House Roheim a shred of mercy.
The moment the servants withdrew, Selena glided close and looped her arm through Bran's. The scent of her perfume rose around him, heady and inviting.
"So you finally come to see me. You must have been terribly busy—not so much as a single letter..." She pouted, coquettish and petulant all at once.
The Bran of old would have flushed scarlet and been led around by the nose. Instead, he quietly freed his arm.
"Selena, we should talk business first. We're both busy people."
For an instant, her expression stiffened. But she quickly recovered her graceful smile and answered in a silken voice, "My, aren't we in a hurry."
Selena brushed lightly against his sleeve, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Of course, I understand. This is the venture you've poured your ambition into, Bran—you must be eager to show results."
She took a step closer, her gaze turning wistful. "But we are engaged, you know?" Her voice was sweet as dripping honey. "You could stand to be a little more affectionate with me."
Bran's eyes narrowed. "I have a meeting with another trading company in two hours. I'd appreciate it if you understood."
Selena sighed, feigning disappointment, then spoke again. "I've heard the rumors—your new weapons are selling splendidly. This deal interests not only me but my father as well."
She took his arm once more and steered him along with practiced ease. They settled by a window flooded with bright sunlight, and no sooner had they sat down than servants arrived with trays of the finest tea and pastries.
Selena raised her teacup with elegant poise, took a sip, and came to the point. "You know our family's infrastructure, don't you? With us behind you, Bran's Forge could claim the number-one market share in the capital overnight."
Bran lifted his own cup with a face of stone.
Selena bit her lip.
What is this? Am I missing something? The Bran I knew would have signed the contract on the spot after hearing that...
Even so, she kept her composure. "Our families have been partners for a long time, so my father specifically instructed me to extend you every courtesy."
Bran took a leisurely sip of tea. "But that's not the whole of it, is it?"
Selena swept back her lustrous hair. "Lower your price by 40 percent from what you've proposed, and House Roheim will distribute Bran's Forge products across the entire capital as our foremost priority."
Bran set down his teacup—and let out a small scoff.
"Pfft."
A fine crease instantly appeared on Selena's lovely brow. "...What's so funny?"
Bran chuckled. "Ah, sorry. I just found it amusing." His gaze had turned glacial. "So we sell you the weapons, and we swallow the loss whole—is that it?"
Selena donned her soft smile once more and reached out with a slender white hand to caress his. "Bran, it wounds me to hear such talk between us. I'm only thinking of you..."
Bran laughed lightly. "Thinking of me, is it?" His eyes sank cold. "How amusing. And is that why you've been exploiting the Northern Mountains' iron mining rights for next to nothing all this time?"
In that instant, Selena's face froze. "That's..."
Bran cut her off without mercy. "That's not business, Selena. That's called exploitation."
She was utterly thrown.
What is happening? This idiot degenerate, of all people...!
The Bran of the past would never have dared such an attitude.
"Then let me ask you once more." Bran's voice was calm, but iron lay beneath it. "This demand for a 40 percent cut—is that House Roheim's final offer?"
Selena's mind raced, and she reached an instant judgment.
...Sweet words won't sway him any longer.
Her gaze transformed in a heartbeat—cold and calculating, like a serpent's.
"You've changed a great deal, Bran."
The soft smile, the honeyed lilt—gone without a trace. "The Bran I knew couldn't even meet my eyes properly..."
A voice steeped in frost cut across the hall. "And now he has the gall to bandy trade terms about with me."
