Chapter 13
Chapter 13
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Northern Archduke (2)
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Marquis Marcus hadn't even revealed who he was. Of course they should know. What if they didn't and slipped up? They'd die. That was the kind of man he was.
Arrogant, narrow-minded, stubborn, and greedy to the core. But his blue blood ran thick. Not quite like Serath, but he was a powerhouse who could wield mana quite adeptly. The difference between them had nothing to do with raw strength—it was that Marcus lacked any real support, leaving him without loyal subordinates.
"I guaranteed your safety, didn't I? Can't do that forever, though. Serath's superiors upstairs aren't thrilled about it."
The North was undeniably strange. Unlike other borders, two factions were locked in a tug-of-war under the same roof.
"Once the edict is lifted, the 9th Legion becomes untenable. Obvious, right? No more steppe barbarians as enemies means no excuse to keep troops at the border."
Feeding soldiers, equipping them—it all came down to money. Sure, there was a margrave, but with the Imperial Edict of Isolation gone, the imperial family would order a full withdrawal.
That's why Serath's imperial military wanted the barbarians hammering their castles forever, just to hold onto Northern influence. And she was a soldier bound to obey orders from above.
"Me? I'm a pacifist."
Well, Marcus probably didn't view us steppe folk with any special contempt. More likely, his aim was to scoop up the Northern Defense Army's castles and remaining troops when the 9th Legion disbanded.
Free of military oversight, he could seize Schmatra outright and rule the North as archduke. It diverged from the original story, but knowing his personality explained why he'd sent an envoy to drag me here.
"Put simply, we're on the same side. Hard for that head of yours to grasp, but that's politics."
Straight to the point. My head ached—not mine, Serath's.
I got why she'd hesitated when Roman's kid tried to stab me. If I'd gone berserk right there, the military brass would've gotten exactly what they wanted.
"So come along. I'll protect you."
Marcus extended his hand to me. That he was offering the handshake Serath had refused—worldly affairs were truly mysterious.
I didn't take it, just watched. Barely three seconds in, his patience hit rock bottom.
"What are you doing?"
"Thinking."
"Do you steppe barbarians need time to think just to say 'got it'? No matter how thick your skull, you should know which side keeps you breathing after hearing me out."
"Answer's already set. What I was pondering was why you imperial bastards offer handshakes with piss still on your hands. Think I get the gist now."
"What...?"
I didn't need to pick a side. Both had tracked me down while I lounged chewing jerky, and both needed me—for lifting or keeping the edict. Why choose?
Even if orders rained down from the military, worrying wasn't my job.
"Weak body means a suffering mind. Serath's weaker than me, so she's got more headaches."
I washed my hands at the sink. Soap bubbles filling between my fingers felt nice.
Rinsed clean with warm water, then dried them fluffy against the wall heater.
And before stepping out...
I turned to Marcus, his face rigid as stone.
"But you're weaker than Serath, and your head's a total void."
Day two.
The hunt took place in an eastern forest a short distance from the castle walls. They used tamed raptors to catch small game like pheasants or ducks.
Handier for tracking prey than expected—one would be useful. But on the magic beast-ridden steppes, I'd need something tougher.
Maybe hit up Kara of the Naftha Tribe? With luck, I could snag... er, get one of her beasts on loan.
"Hey, Ivar."
"What?"
"Something go down with Marquis Marcus? He's been glaring daggers your way. Not my imagination."
Two groups dotted the field: Serath's soldiers and Marcus's.
Probably still sore from the bathroom yesterday—his mood reeked of it. But I'd sworn off dealing with piss-handed filth, so I brushed Serath off with "nothing happened."
"That so? Better shift positions anyway. Overlapping game or a stray arrow could spark trouble."
His men had peeled off for recon first. Once Marcus was well out of sight, Serath's mana range contracted again.
To her, looking somewhat relieved, I asked why she'd been posted to this backwater. She gave a wry smile.
"Family lost the power game. If I'd been more... flexible with men, maybe I could've clung to the capital after Father died. Lacked the knack, though."
"Ever think of retrying?"
"You sane? Quit the army now and dive back into high society?"
Her gloved finger jabbed my chest. Even that cheeky poke carried refined poise.
"It's hell. Every word's a potential backstab, and purges flare up whenever the throne succession shifts."
"Got it."
"Not getting cocky over a few party dance asks, are you? Compared to the imperial city, this fringe-of-a-fringe's schemes are kids' play."
"Just popped into my head. Nothing to do with me."
If Serath thought more flexibly, she could've shielded her men post-edict. But that seemed beyond her for now.
Fine, keep watching. I nocked an arrow at a skybound bird.
It grazed a wing; the bird plummeted into the thick woods. I loosed the falcon and pursued on Karangal.
"Gonna grab it quick—stay put."
"Huh? Yeah, sure."
Forest swallowed the sun instantly. I scanned around, gradually urging Karangal faster.
Falcon screeched behind, but I blew past the prey. Moments later, hoofbeats echoed from both flanks.
Not Marcus's crew. White-armored Northern Defense Army elites—the ones Serath had just sent scouting.
Wagner, right? Serath's adjutant from the steppes blocked me, face grim, sword drawn.
"Better go farther out? Commotion'll tip Serath."
"Won't happen. Know the lady's range cold."
"Orders from up top? Block the edict lift?"
"You... know your stuff."
Marcus nailed it. Serath wasn't alone in wanting the Northern Defense Army intact. Her men were desperate.
"Lady's daughter of Count Leonhardt, old imperial defense stand-in."
"Heard. Servants yapping en route to the john."
"9th Legion folds, we're okay, but the lady—ditched by central command—won't get recalled. Future's locked then."
Wander the continent rootless or bend knee to Marcus, half-hostage holders. Her elites couldn't stomach the latter, swords out behind her back.
"Your numbers won't kill me."
"No need. Casualties suffice."
Barbarian bares fangs mid-falconry, slays imperials in woods. Report filed, done.
"We die here to you—Defense Army's duty done."
"Even Red Ghost can't rewrite that."
Before death-ready dismounts, I stroked Satchpi. It pawed, itching to bolt—no need.
"Fair enough. I get your resolve. So you told Lady Flora to slip me the poisoned cup at last night's banquet?"
"What...? Wasn't us."
"Thought you loyal troops, but wicked lot."
"No! Not our doing!"
So Serath, irked at her own lovestruck gawking and squeals over my every move—unlike some pure teen girl's—framed an innocent girl as assassin?
No. Even for their superior, bloodless tears.
Lamenting, I checked for other presences—clear. Approached slow, fished something from my pocket.
"Two mistakes. First, this ain't for Serath."
Serath could protect them: off Marcus, claim North herself. Quit military, revive Icefern name—she'd manage.
Attacking me sours steppe ties. She'd beg aid explaining—want Harald's mana circuit smashed?
Wagner lucked out. Facing him: an intellectual sworn off murder and assault.
"And why assume full assault leaves me no choice but to kill you?"
Axle gone—sole weapon. Subdue elites harmlessly? One thing needed.
I shoveled the last rank jerky chunk in. And—
『Kneel.』
Soul Devour. Seventh Rune, Night Lord.
"Guhk!"
The dragon-will laced words buckled their knees in an instant.