The Northern Memorial Service
In a shadowed corner of the Grand Duchess's castle, where darkness lay thick as ink, Caleb—the Imperial Audit Team's deputy—stood in an empty guest room far from prying eyes. He chewed his nails anxiously.
'Prince Enoch is too damn rigid. If I return to the capital empty-handed, His Highness the First Prince will cast me aside.'
The pressure had driven Caleb to act alone. And so, here he was. He had summoned the North's four opportunistic barons—Baron Killian, Baron Rowen, and their associates—to a rundown tavern. Though they might have lied in front of Enoch to avoid the Grand Duchess's gaze, a little coercion wrapped in the Empire's authority and the promise of a way out would surely loosen their tongues. After all, rats who chased profit always behaved that way.
With a soft click, the door opened cautiously. Four nobles stepped inside, their faces etched with unease.
"D-Deputy, sir. Why have you called us at such a late hour...?" Baron Killian asked, reading the room.
Caleb smiled and gestured to the chairs. "Please, sit comfortably. I've called you here as the deputy of the Imperial Audit Team to make you all a very attractive offer."
The four men glanced at one another and swallowed hard.
'They're scared, just as I thought.'
Caleb lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I saw what happened in the courtyard this afternoon. Quite the performance."
"P-Performance? What do you mean...?"
"I know everything. How the Grand Duchess holds your leashes and forced you to surrender your assets to cover up the embezzlement from the castle's vault."
The Eighth Prince didn't even register in Caleb's mind. He never imagined the man would think that far ahead. It was all conjecture. Yet Caleb pressed them with absolute certainty.
"...!"
The four nobles' shoulders twitched. Had he struck the mark? Caleb sensed his deduction was correct and flashed a triumphant smile.
But the true reason for their shock was entirely different.
'This crazy bastard! He thinks the Grand Duchess is extorting us?!'
'Her Highness spared our lives once! It's that lunatic Eighth Prince from the imperial family who's taking eighty percent of everything, you idiot!'
The nobles wept tears of blood in their hearts. Yet they couldn't possibly speak the truth aloud.
"Fear not. I stand before you under the orders of His Highness the First Prince, Arzen."
He invoked the First Prince's name. "At the banquet to be held in two days, with the Third Prince and all the northern nobles gathered, I want you to denounce the Grand Duchess's crimes. Testify to how she has embezzled the North's budget."
Now, come crawling and weeping. Swear you'll escape the Grand Duchess's oppression and become the loyal limbs of the great First Prince.
Caleb crossed his arms leisurely, waiting for their answer.
But—
"W-We can't denounce anyone! No, we won't!" Baron Killian refused, trembling violently. The other nobles beside him reacted the same.
Caleb clicked his tongue inwardly. Were they truly that terrified of the Grand Duchess's retaliation? It made sense. Giselle Claude's military power and authority as the Iron Duchess were absolute in the North. It was only natural for these outsiders—who didn't know when they might return to the capital—to hesitate before pointing a blade at their lord's throat, relying only on the Audit Team's flimsy protection.
'Foolish, pathetic fools. To shake like that under some backwater lord from a northern hole.'
Caleb had completely misread the true reason for their terror, yet he remained convinced he had seen straight through these country nobles' minds.
The way to move cowards like these was simple. Just shove a sun far greater and more overwhelming than the provincial power they feared right in front of their faces.
Caleb, who had been slightly flustered, quickly composed himself and offered a relaxed smile.
"If you refuse, I suppose there's nothing to be done."
"......"
"However, should you find the courage to denounce the Grand Duchess..."
Caleb lowered his voice. "His Highness the First Prince, Arzen, will personally guarantee your safety and your prosperity in the North."
The First Prince, Arzen. The absolute powerhouse known as the Empire's next sun. No matter how much these northern bumpkins might resist, they would have no choice but to kneel before that name.
But Caleb understood neither the ecology of the North nor the madness of the Eighth Prince, Cael.
The nobles exchanged glances, reading one another's eyes.
'His Highness the First Prince will back us?'
'Don't talk nonsense! The First Prince is all the way in the capital! But the Eighth Prince holding our leashes could storm our mansions tonight and slice our heads off!!'
'Exactly! Denounce her? Over my dead body!'
A madman holding a gleaming blade to your throat right now was hundreds of times more terrifying than an absolute power sitting safely in the distant capital. If they denounced the Grand Duchess for no reason and somehow dragged the Eighth Prince into the mess, it would be their funeral.
The four men recalled what Cael had said a few days earlier.
- If you're even a day late, this goes straight to Giselle's desk. Got it?
The moment Cael's chilling smile resurfaced in their minds, the four men swallowed hard, shivering.
"What will it be? Wouldn't it be better to join hands with us and take the easy path?"
Pressed by Caleb, the four nobles eventually nodded in resignation, choosing to survive the immediate crisis.
"U-Understood. We'll... do as you say."
"A wise choice."
Watching the trembling nobles, Caleb laughed with satisfaction, convinced he had overturned the board in the North. At the banquet, the Grand Duchess would fall because of their testimony.
That night, in the Grand Duchess's office.
Treasurer Godwin carefully spoke up. "Your Highness. About the Northern Memorial Service scheduled for tomorrow. Since the Imperial Audit Team remains in the castle, wouldn't it be better to postpone it for a few days?"
It was a time when the Empire's eyes were sharp. His suggestion stemmed from concern that holding an event where large numbers of troops gathered in one place might give them unnecessary ammunition.
But Giselle, who had been reviewing documents, shook her head.
"No. We proceed as planned."
"But Your Highness..."
"If we delay even the rite to honor the souls of those who died protecting the North—just to watch the Empire's mood—how could that be the act of the North's ruler?"
Giselle set down her pen and gazed at the blizzard outside the window.
"This is the bare minimum courtesy and duty we survivors can offer them. Prepare without wavering."
"...Understood, Your Highness."
Godwin's eyes reddened. Suppressing the emotion welling up from deep within his chest, he bowed deeply.
"I will keep it in mind. I shall prepare with utmost sincerity and without fail!"
Meanwhile, in Cael's room.
Standing by the annex window and watching the raging blizzard, I quietly opened the wardrobe and took out a black coat.
"......"
As I ran my hand down the coat, I recalled the description from the original novel around this time.
The Northern Memorial Service. The day to honor the soldiers who died fighting magic beasts.
In the original work, the Northern Memorial Service was depicted as an ocean of tragedy and despair. Due to the Empire's food control and lack of medicine, countless soldiers had died. On the day of the service, the cemetery outside the Grand Duchess's castle was filled with the wails of bereaved families—so loud they spilled over the castle walls. The Empire sent not condolences but a mocking letter asking, 'Can't you even stop a single magic beast without casualties?'
Back then, Giselle had bitten her lip until it bled, swallowing her tears alone.
'But this time...'
Thanks to the large quantities of food and medicine I had smuggled through Viola, we had prevented a massive death toll.
"Still, some people died."
The elderly in the slums who couldn't endure the hunger and cold before the supplies arrived. The soldiers at the outer posts who were torn apart by the claws of smaller magic beast waves that came earlier than usual.
This was the cold reality of the North, used as the Empire's shield.
"Haa..."
I let out a bitter sigh and fastened the black coat tightly. Tomorrow, I would quietly pay my respects to their souls.
The next morning.
Giselle, having neatly donned her outer coat, was about to leave the office when—
"Oh. Heading somewhere?"
Cael, who had been leaning against the corridor wall with his usual slovenly posture, greeted her. Instead of his usual flashy, luxurious coat, he wore a somber black one fitting for a funeral.
Giselle immediately understood the meaning of his attire and frowned.
"You will remain in the castle."
She had no desire to see the Empire's trash ruin the sacred memorial service with his presence.
But Cael shrugged and approached her side.
"Come on. I'm supposed to be the Grand Duchess's husband. Isn't it a bit much to exclude me? I should at least show my face to preserve my dignity."
"...Haa."
Giselle pressed her temple and sighed. Since he wasn't entirely wrong, she couldn't simply drive him away.
"...I warn you. If you cause any disturbance, I will not let it pass."
"Yeah, yeah~ Don't worry. I've got some tact, you know."
When Cael smirked and walked ahead, Giselle glared at his back before following.