The North's Sole Trash
The North's mornings came late. Even the sun seemed a beat slower rising over this frozen wasteland. Yet the deep indigo of dawn was gradually paling, and ashen rays slipping through the window cracks began to illuminate the desk.
I roughly rubbed my tired eyes with my fingertips and let out a long, heavy sigh as I stared down at the mountain of ledgers.
"...Haa. Damn... haa..."
...Why so many sighs? Because flipping through the books revealed the staggering scale of supplies shipped to the heroine Ayla—beyond imagination? Well, sure, it was absurdly massive. Enough to make me want to bolt south right then and smash her glass garden to pieces.
But I'd seen the territory's people's wretched state with my own eyes yesterday, so that blow was somewhat expected.
Was it because there were too many 'rats' siphoning off the territory's hard-earned blood money?
"...No, the opposite."
A hollow mutter escaped my lips.
Corruption. Embezzlement. Misappropriation. None of it existed from the start.
Production, reserves, consumption, and outflows to the South—I'd cross-checked them all through the night. Verified the figures, compared monthly ledgers, cross-referenced warehouse logs with merchant transport manifests. Even double-checked for dual books.
But the results were despairingly clean. The numbers matched perfectly, without a single discrepancy. Not a speck of tampering or diversion anywhere.
...Normally, by now, some pocket-lining villain should pop up, right? A manager who'd skimmed grain amid the North's turmoil, or a vassal gnawing away at the territory's finances bit by bit.
Then I'd slam the ledger shut and declare, "Alright. Time to hunt down the rats and make them pay." Perfect setup for a satisfying scene.
'Ooh, has the Grand Duke finally changed?!'
'He's purging the treacherous scum!'
You know, that clichéd but refreshing power fantasy beat.
But nothing like that. The reason this vast, mighty North teetered on collapse?
It was all the monumental trolling by one Theodor Balder—this deranged lunatic—acting alone.
If anything, the ledgers brimmed between the lines with the vassals' tearful struggles. Traces of their bloodshot-eyed efforts to sustain the territory on scraps, splitting and twisting budgets to keep the remaining people from starving while carrying out the Grand Duke's insane orders to lavish the heroine.
"Wow... I really was the sole trash."
I slid off the chair and knelt before the pile of ledgers on the desk with a thud. Then, hands planted on the floor, I bowed my head deeply.
The so-called silent atonement on stone.
'Sorry for suspecting you. You were all loyal retainers.'
While everyone bled to save the North, the lord alone lost his mind to pink-tinted romance and shat all over everything.
'I... I was the trash.'
I was banging my forehead on the floor in shame and bone-deep self-loathing when—
Knock knock.
"Hans here, Your Grace. May I enter?"
Hans's polite voice from beyond the door made me jolt upright. I brushed the dust from my knees, hastily straightened my rumpled collar, and settled casually back into the chair.
"Ahem... Enter."
The door creaked open cautiously, and Hans stepped in. He glanced between the ledger mountain and my hollowed eyes before asking carefully,
"...Did you stay up all night?"
"...There was a lot to review."
I averted my gaze, replying evasively as if nothing was amiss. Hans regarded me steadily for a moment, then bowed lightly.
"Breakfast is prepared, Your Grace."
"Understood."
I rose with a curt reply. My body ached from the all-nighter, but I had no time to fuss over mere fatigue.
Hans bowed and stepped toward the door. As I followed, I paused abruptly.
"Hans."
He turned at once.
"Yes, Your Grace."
I asked in a subdued voice,
"Did you handle everything I mentioned yesterday?"
Hans replied without hesitation, as if he'd been waiting.
"Yes. All supplies bound for the South have been halted. For those already en route, I've dispatched the territory guard posthaste to turn them back."
I nodded slowly.
"Then... can we catch the food wagons with the reserves?"
Hans's gaze dropped briefly in calculation, then he spoke calmly.
"Since the guard was sent the moment you commanded it, they should catch up if they move swiftly."
Good. I exhaled shortly.
"I see."
As I nodded once more, Hans eyed me cautiously, as if he had more to say.
"Something else?"
"...Forgive me, Your Grace."
Hans's voice grew even more tentative.
"Shall I issue the recall for the Iron Blood Knights as well?"
A sharp edge slipped into my voice instantly.
"What?"
Hans's shoulders twitched ever so slightly. Thinking I'd taken offense, he bowed deeply at once.
"M-my apologies for the presumption."
"No."
I furrowed my brow and pressed,
"Did you say knights?"
Hans hesitated a beat, then nodded.
"...Yes, Your Grace. You personally dispatched them for Lady Ayla's estate security and protection."
"...Recall them. Every last one, immediately."
My voice rose unbidden.
Damn. No wonder.
I'd felt off when Hans mentioned sending the territory guard—not the Grand Duke's knights—to retrieve the wagons. Why use the guard for urgent enforcement when swift elites were available?
One puzzle from my all-night ledger dive clicked: the territory was barren of knights to deploy, so the guard was patching the gap.
That massive 'knight maintenance and supply' chunk flowing south? I'd assumed it was just payroll skimmed off for her largesse... but no. He'd shipped the North's elite Iron Blood Knights wholesale to the South like a parcel.
This thick-skulled bastard really lost it!
What was the North? Harsh environment aside, it was the frontline bulwark holding back mana beasts pushing from the interior. Military might was more vital here than anywhere.
Yet he'd sent the North's monster-slaying specialists to the balmy, beast-free South—for bodyguarding?
Pure, unadulterated idiocy.
"Send a rider at once. No excuses—tell them to haul ass back now!"
"Yes! Your command shall be obeyed, Your Grace!"
Hans bowed deeply. I pressed my throbbing temples, inwardly clicking my tongue.
Everywhere I dig, more insanity.
Hand over food, loot emergency funds, now package up the territory's defenders too? The deeper I went, the more ludicrous feats emerged—mind-boggling.
At this rate, I half-suspected Ayla was a succubus descendant, beaming 'love rays' via letters to melt brains pink. Otherwise, no explanation for this level of simping.
I was scared the next reveal would be gifting her the damn front gate.
"...Then, Your Grace, shall I escort you to the dining hall...?"
"Wait."
I stopped Hans again. Breakfast. Right, it was time. But my mind lingered on those skeletal children huddled under ashen skies.
While I supped thin soup at that ornate mahogany table, someone in the territory might starve that very moment. Even recovering the wagons would take days. Sure, warehouses overflowed with potatoes rotting as 'livestock feed,' but force-feeding the starving masses had limits.
"Hans. The North is barren, but teeming with mana beasts, correct?"
Hans blinked at the abrupt question, then replied,
"Yes? Ah... yes, that's so. Fortunately, absent a major wave, the remaining guard can hold without the knights."
"Do you hunt those beasts for food?"
"...Yes. They're edible."
Hans paused, then continued.
"Beast-type mana beasts like horned boars or ice bears have decent meat. It carries their signature heavy blood tang and gamey stench, but with the territory's meat scarcity, folks prize it as a delicacy once masked. They're vicious and hard to hunt, so not frequent."
"...What?"
I doubted my ears for a second.
"Hans, didn't you say potatoes reek of dirt, so they're just feed? But rank, bloody mana beast meat is a 'delicacy'?"
Hans looked puzzled at my bafflement, replying as if obvious.
"Because... it's meat."
"......"
Ah. Spot on. No counterargument.
True, back home, meat was once so rare people rioted for it. No matter the stench or chew, it'd trump dirt-crusted tubers any day.
Right... balanced macros matter. I'd pick meat over potatoes too.
Anyway, if they ate it—craved it even—that was a win for us. Gamey smells? Drown 'em in Ayla's party 'premium spices' from the warehouse and stew long enough, problem solved.
"Cancel breakfast."
I grabbed the thick overcoat I'd thrown on yesterday.
"Pardon? But you haven't eaten since yesterday..."
"No time. No knights? Then the strongest steps up. Right?"
Theodor Balder. If this moronic ex-owner left one useful thing, it was this body—the continent's top swordsman's overwhelming power.
"Hans. The moment the rider goes out, set up the territory's largest cauldrons in the central square. Haul out every last 'South-bound premium spice' from storage too."
"Y-Your Grace! Why the sudden cauldrons...?"
Grinning past stunned Hans, I replied,
"You'll like today's menu."