Just Picked It Up on the Way
The guards standing rigidly at either side of the grand duke's castle gate had completely lost their minds at the sight of the massive shadow approaching from afar. The grand duke, covered head to toe in bright red blood. And in one hand, he dragged the carcass of a mammoth the size of a four-story building, along with wolf corpses. They stared in disbelief, mouths agape, not moving an inch until I was right in front of them.
Thud, kurrrung—!
As I reached the gate and roughly slammed the mammoth's tusk onto the ground, a heavy vibration shook the earth.
"……."
The guards dropped their spears to the ground and froze like statues. I roughly swept back my blood-matted hair and issued a dry command.
"Call for people."
"H-Hic! Y-Yes, sir! Right away, Your Grace!"
Only then did the guards snap out of it at my chilling voice, turning pale as they scrambled inside the gate.
After a short while, dozens of territory soldiers and Hans came rushing out, panting.
"Y-Your Grace!"
Hans, who reached me first, took one look at my wretched state and approached with a face drained of color, his usual meticulous composure gone.
"Wh-What in the world happened! All this blood…! Are you injured anywhere?!"
I gave a lazy nod toward the stunned Hans.
"No injuries. It's not my blood."
"Pardon? Then this blood is…."
Hans's gaze naturally shifted to my back. And in the next instant, the old butler's eyes widened to their limit.
ice mammoth……?! Did Your Grace hunt down that monstrous magic beast alone?!"
……What a naming sense.
I swallowed a baffled chuckle inwardly. Ice mammoth? Did they just slap "ice" in front of any animal name to make it a magic beast? At this point, romance novel authors had a consistent naming convention.
But outwardly, I maintained the utterly indifferent, dry expression befitting the continent's strongest northern grand duke. Casually lifting my chin, I tossed out a line.
"……Just picked it up on the way."
"How could you do something so dangerous… Why alone…."
Hans, stammering in shock, suddenly turned to look inside the territory. Just as I'd ordered that morning, massive cauldrons were bubbling furiously over wood fires in the plaza.
For a moment, Hans's pupils trembled faintly.
Orders had been given, but the territory's harsh reality meant no ingredients to put in those cauldrons. And here was his lord, who had gone out alone beyond the walls and "picked up" a mountain of meat.
Soon, Hans's bloodless lips pressed tightly together.
"……Your Grace."
Hans bowed deeply. His shoulders trembled slightly, as if suppressing surging emotions.
Ah, that burdensome loyalty. At this rate, I would be the embarrassed one.
"I want to wash up first." I said, shedding my sticky, blood-soaked outer coat. "Can I leave the butchering to you?"
Hans hid his reddened eyes and bowed even deeper.
"Just give the order. I'll strip every last bone clean so the territory folk can eat their fill."
His voice carried deeper resolve than ever.
Under his guidance, I headed straight back to the mansion and soaked my weary body in hot water. After scrubbing off the bloody stench and loosening my knotted muscles, I finally felt alive. Freshly clean and changed into comfortable clothes, I returned to the plaza.
Huh?
A truly rare sight unfolded before me.
Soldiers struggled to butcher the wolf corpses, but atop that massive mammoth's crown, someone swung an axe relentlessly. On closer look, it was Hans.
That old man is butchering that?
I stopped unwittingly and watched.
I knew from experience. That mammoth's hide and bones were tougher than ordinary iron plates. Even I had to put force into multiple strikes to barely pierce it.
Of course, Hans sweated like a flood, his face flushing beet-red with every swing. He looked incredibly strained, yet his axe blade clearly tore through the mammoth's tough hide, stripping off chunks of flesh.
What the hell? He's no ordinary old man.
At the very least, he was several times stronger than the regular guards who couldn't even properly skin a wolf without grunting.
Slaaash, clang!
The large chunks of mammoth meat sliced off by Hans's axe went straight into the furiously boiling giant cauldrons. The plaza-filling territory folk had gathered around the cauldrons, staring hungrily at the cooking meat. They sucked on empty spoons, barely holding back from lunging in.
Seeing that pitiful scene, I scanned the surroundings and spotted wooden crates piled in one corner. I flung open one that looked pulled from the warehouse, revealing sacks stuffed with powders.
Grabbing a sack, I approached the boiling cauldrons.
"Smells too strong."
I muttered indifferently and dumped salt, pepper, and various spices from the sack generously over the soups.
"Gasp!"
"H-He's pouring those expensive things like that…?"
Gasps of shock erupted from the watching folk and soldiers. And rightly so—in this era, spices were luxury items worth their weight in gold.
One might think selling them to merchants and buying cheap grain in bulk would benefit the territory more….
But with people starving right now, who has time to sell that crap?
Time was money. First priority: stew this meat deliciously and feed them.
Haa….
After dumping spices into several cauldrons, I grew annoyed and dropped the sack.
"You there."
"Y-Yes! Your Grace!"
"Finish sprinkling it."
I shoved the remaining spices at the nearest soldier and turned to survey the plaza.
Hundreds of eyes fixed on me at once. A mix of awe, bewilderment, and disbelief.
…Damn, this feels awkwardly burdensome.
I'd never received such blatant stares in my life; it felt utterly unfamiliar.
They're handling the butchering and cooking fine anyway… Time for me to head in and rest.
From last night: ledgers, mammoth raid, unloading labor. Physical and mental fatigue had hit the limit.
As I turned toward my chambers—
"Your Grace."
Hans blocked my path, politely offering a steaming bowl of meat soup.
"You've had nothing but that bit yesterday morning. It would harm your precious health. Please eat this first."
At Hans's earnest suggestion, I glanced at the bowl, then at the plaza packed with folk.
The mammoth meat is a mountain, but….
Wait, didn't our territory have around tens of thousands of people? Even accounting for those who'd fled Theodor's screw-ups, mouths were still too many.
Even pumping up volume with soup broth alongside that four-story mammoth, it was ridiculously insufficient to fill everyone.
Whoa, feeding tens of thousands properly requires way more food than I thought.
The weight of being a lord pressed heavily. As I moved to refuse the soup, calculation hit: might as well solidify my public image as lord while at it.
Just then, I spotted a heap of potatoes rolling near the spice crates.
Livestock feed, they said they don't eat it?
I lightly pushed away Hans's bowl.
"No need."
Then strode over and snatched a large potato from the pile. Without even brushing off the dirt, I shoved it into my mouth and bit down hard.
Crunch—!
The savage sound of raw potato crunching echoed across the plaza.
Folk and Hans held their breath, watching the shocking scene.
The noble northern grand duke, yielding meat to the people and nobly chomping raw dirt roots meant for livestock.
I indifferently chewed the potato, turned, and declared over my shoulder in a low voice.
"This is enough for me."
"Y-Your Graceee—!!"
Sobs erupted behind me from the folk. Perfect exit.
I inwardly cheered and walked with dignified strides toward the mansion bedroom.
The moment I rounded the corner, fully out of sight—
"Ptoo! Hack, ptoo! Ptoo!"
I spat the potato chunks from my mouth like mad onto the ground. I scrubbed my tongue with my sleeve and spat repeatedly, but the awful taste lingered.
Damn, it really tastes like eating straight dirt!
No metaphor. Not the fluffy, nutty potatoes from modern times. This was an unrefined emergency crop: bitter, tasting solely of raw soil. I'd swallowed it half-dazed yesterday morning without tasting; now, sane, I instantly understood why locals scorned it as livestock feed.
Haa…… But this performance was definitely necessary.
I smacked my tongue, inwardly consoling myself. No matter how much meat I'd hauled today, the previous owner's atrocities lingered. No way the folk or retainers truly trusted this body yet.
To flip rock-bottom public sentiment fast and solidify rule, crude spectacles like this were perfect.
Swallowing curses, I stuffed the bitten dirt potato into my pocket and headed to my chambers.
Creeak, thud.
The instant I entered, I flopped onto the massive bed.
"Haa……."
Exhausted. Body ached like it'd been beaten; above all, starving like mad.
Clutching my empty stomach, I stared blankly at the ceiling, then fished out the pocketed potato.
Maybe cooked it'd be better…?
Glancing around, my eyes lingered on the golden candelabra atop the bedside table. And its tip: flickering candle flames.
I rustled up on the bed, squatted before the candelabra. Roughly wiped soil from the potato with my collar, then cautiously held it to the wavering flame.
I glared resentfully at the potato charring in the feeble heat, muttering.
"…When the hell will it cook?"
Listening to the folk's tearful sobs of emotion, Hans stood motionless for a while, bowl in hand. Spice aroma wafted thickly over the steaming meat soup. But his gaze lingered toward the mansion, where the grand duke had vanished.
"……Butler sir."
A cautious voice came from beside him. Hans turned to see administrative officer Kyle approaching. He'd witnessed the plaza scene too, face still dazed.
"His Grace…."
He hesitated, choosing words, then added carefully.
"Doesn't he seem… changed somehow? Ordering the knights' return, turning back all carriages to the south…."
Hans didn't answer immediately.
Changed, huh. Even thinking such of his lord was irreverent. Yet he couldn't deny it.
Until now, Grand Duke Theodor had seemed less the North's master and more a man lost, heart stolen elsewhere. Even as folk suffered cold and hunger, his gaze rarely turned north.
For Lady Ayla alone, he'd empty the North's coffers to grant her wishes. At some point, his eyes fixed solely on her, not the North.
Even at the capital academy, retainers shouldered the real work. Theodor merely rubber-stamped; underlings patched the crumbling territory.
One letter opened the vaults; one missive sent precious goods and troops south. The folk's winters? Rarely in his sight.
But.
Hans glanced at the plaza. Cauldrons still steamed; soldiers busily butchered mammoth and wolf meat. It all started with the duke venturing alone to the snowy mountains and dragging back the haul.
At least today, he saw the North. The starving folk, the emptying warehouses—and acted, bloodied himself.
"……Perhaps."
Hans finally spoke quietly.
"Maybe he's ended his long wandering and finally sorted his thoughts."
"Wandering, you say…."
As Kyle cautiously asked, Hans's eyes darkened slightly.
"Think on it. When the previous duke and duchess died so vainly, the young lord was merely ten."
At that tender age, he shouldered this vast, monster-ridden, freezing North. Losing parents, bearing the grand duke's weight—too harsh for a boy.
"In that unbearable pressure and loneliness, the Lady Ayla he chanced upon in the south became his sole escape, his salvation."
Hence the blind clinging. Lingering at the academy, ignoring the North's reality—perhaps the same reason.
"……Getting lost like that? Before cruel fate, it's entirely possible."
The officer, a North veteran, hesitated to respond. He knew the cycle: hope, then disappointment.
Hans eyed the soup. The duke had refused it. After biting potato before the folk, he wouldn't take it easily now.
Silently, Hans poured the soup back into the cauldron, stirred with the ladle, and scooped a fresh portion heavy on meat chunks.
"Though His Grace says roots suffice, as his retainer, I cannot let my lord go hungry."
Hans carefully handed the steaming bowl to a trusted guard captain nearby.
"Deliver this to His Grace."
"Yes, butler sir!"
The captain bowed deeply and dashed toward the mansion.
Hans watched his back briefly, then turned to the plaza. Boiling cauldrons. Hungry folk. And finally, a lord seeing the North.
Inwardly, very briefly but clearly, he thought.
If it was truly just a momentary loss of way…
……Then perhaps our true lord has returned.