A Gathering Storm in the Court
The heart of politics in the Atun Kingdom—the central court.
To the common folk, this was the sacred domain where the King resided, the grand hall where every national policy was drafted and debated.
The public believed that noble, high-minded statesmen gathered here to deliberate on the realm's future. In truth, it was a chaotic battlefield of psychological warfare, far more vicious than any physical front line.
Today was no exception.
While soldiers bled and died daily on the borders, the capital nobles were busy squabbling over their own plates.
"Your Majesty! The border skirmishes with the Lapis Kingdom are growing more severe by the day. We must dispatch reinforcements immediately to break their spirits! We beg you to heed our counsel!"
"We beg you to heed our counsel!"
"That is out of the question, Your Majesty! Sending more troops now will trigger an all-out war. We beg you to reconsider!"
"We beg you to reconsider!"
"Do you lords possess not a shred of patriotism? Our young soldiers are dying out there as we speak!"
"And we oppose this precisely to prevent even greater bloodshed!"
The hall erupted into a cacophony of raised voices.
Shouts and accusations flew back and forth between the factions.
Duke Langton, who had recently rushed back to the capital on a chartered express vessel after receiving an urgent dispatch, had been dragged straight into this political circus the moment he arrived.
Power in the kingdom was split: the Crown Prince's faction held about forty percent, while the Second and Fourth Princes' factions claimed roughly thirty percent each. But as the Commander of the Royal Forces and the acting Chancellor, Langton's presence was mandatory.
He could feel it in his bones—war with the Lapis Kingdom was imminent. Yet, the opposing factions opposed everything simply for the sake of opposing. He felt the throbbing headache, which had finally cleared up during his trip to the countryside, beginning to flare up again.
Damn fools. Do these high-and-mighty capital nobles have half a brain between them? At this rate, this kingdom will collapse within thirty years.
Duke Langton massaged his temples.
A sharp pain shot up the back of his neck, and a high-pitched ringing returned to his ears.
He was already losing his hearing due to old age, but the sheer stress was bringing back his migraines along with a barrage of phantom noises.
The royal court was filled with officials suffering from similar ailments, though everyone simply accepted it as an occupational hazard.
As the nobles under Duke Langton's banner raised their voices, Duke Lion—supporter of the Second Prince—and Duke Vector—supporter of the Fourth Prince—joined forces, their veins bulging as they shouted back.
Though the Crown Prince's faction was the strongest individual force, passing any measure became an uphill battle when the other two factions allied against them.
Is this what I spent my entire life fighting for? To watch this pathetic display?
Langton felt a wave of self-loathing.
It was deeply ironic that once these men stepped outside the hall, they would stiffen their necks, put on dignified airs, and bask in the prestige of being the kingdom's elite.
SLAM!
A sharp, irritated crack echoed from the throne.
Unable to bear it any longer, the King had finally unleashed his fury.
"Enough! Do you lords have nothing better to do than bicker? If this is all you are capable of, why are you even in government? Instead of proposing sound policies for the realm, you present me with this pathetic display!"
"Forgive us, Your Majesty!"
"We deserve death, Your Majesty!"
The King's arms trembled with rage.
He probably wants to execute every last one of them.
Langton sympathized deeply with his sovereign.
It had been ten long years since the princes split the court into warring factions.
The King's face was heavily lined, looking far older than his actual years.
Exhausted in both mind and body, he looked as though he might collapse and die at any moment without surprise.
As if to prove his deteriorating health, the King's voice came out raspy and strained.
"The matter of war cannot be ignored. Let the Chancellor's office deliberate on this and gather the consensus of the House of Nobles."
"We obey your royal command."
The nobles bowed their heads in unison.
In the end, the issue of troop deployment was delayed once again.
The Chancellor's office was the stronghold of the Crown Prince's faction, while the House of Nobles was dominated by the other two factions. It was obvious their opinions would clash.
The factions would have to negotiate, but the prospect was so headache-inducing that even the King had essentially dumped the problem onto Langton's lap.
An all-out war with the Lapis Kingdom was inevitable. Yet, the process of debating and reaching an agreement seemed endlessly grueling.
More agonizing, blood-drying days lay ahead.
With the major issue deferred, a series of trivial petitions followed.
Reports of ongoing famines, outbreaks of disease, and minor territorial disputes between lords were read aloud.
Even during these minor matters, the factions clashed sharply, but they were resolved far more quickly than the discussion of the great war.
And then, finally, the agenda item Duke Langton had been waiting for arrived.
"...Next is a petition submitted by Baron Farrow."
"Baron Farrow?"
"His family resides in the northernmost region of the kingdom, constantly enduring barbarian invasions. Recently, the former lord led his forces into battle, lost an arm, and suffered severe health complications, leading his eldest son to succeed him."
"Ah, Baron Farrow."
There were about thirty provincial lords in the kingdom, but the Farrow family had never stood out, so their name rarely crossed anyone's lips.
Even so, the Farrow family had historically been fiercely loyal to the crown, and politically, they leaned toward the Crown Prince's faction.
The King gestured, urging Viscount Harion to proceed.
Viscount Harion began to read the petition aloud.
I, Your Majesty's humble servant, Jeron Farrow, respectfully offer my greetings to His Majesty the King and the esteemed ministers of the court.
The reason I take up my pen to write this petition is that the movements of the northern barbarians have become highly unusual. Those who once engaged in small-scale raiding have begun to descend in massive numbers and establish permanent settlements, rapidly growing into a formidable force. In response, the former lord took up his sword to subjugate them, but our forces were repelled. Having sustained grievous injuries, he has retired, and I have succeeded him as head of the house.
...[omitted]...
Upon deep reflection, I have concluded that the barbarian threat cannot possibly be resolved with our fief's forces alone. A large-scale subjugation campaign is required, which can only be achieved if the central government dispatches reinforcements immediately.
Alternatively, we could pacify them through trade. Should this path be approved, we would be able to import raw ingredients for potions, iron, and hides from them. What is required for this is a trade charter, and I humbly pray for its approval.
I only hope that Your Majesty, in your boundless grace, will look favorably upon your foolish servant's two proposed solutions.
"What?!"
"A trade charter?!"
The solemn expressions of the nobles listening to the petition instantly warped.
The nobility of this era despised significant change. Their reluctance to go to war was rooted in their fear of the aftermath.
War was a catalyst for shifts in the balance of power. If handled poorly, influence would concentrate in one faction, throwing the entire political landscape into chaos.
A trade charter was even more sensitive.
It was a proven fact that any family granted a trade charter would experience rapid growth. Even if they were minor now, they would eventually rise to become an influential house.
The nobles viewed a trade charter as a direct ticket to immense wealth and power, which was why they reacted with such collective outrage.
Duke Lion, the leader of the Second Prince's faction, was the first to scoff.
"Has this young, newly instated noble lost his mind? How dare he speak of a trade charter—a privilege that bypasses all royal customs and checkpoints?"
"A mere baron from a backwater mountain valley has grown far too bold!"
"This must never be permitted!"
An immediate uproar swept through the hall.
This reaction was entirely expected. The atmosphere made it clear that not a single soul would support Baron Farrow.
Even the nobles of the Crown Prince's faction remained silent, unwilling to back such an audacious request.
But then, Duke Langton took a step forward.
"Your Majesty, I, Langton Parens, request permission to speak."
"...!"
"Granted," the King replied.
"Why is the Duke speaking up now...?" whispered a noble.
Under normal circumstances, this petition would have been dismissed and buried immediately. For a mere baron to presumptuously demand a trade charter was an offense; the Farrow family would have been lucky to escape without punishment.
But when the speaker was the leader of the Crown Prince's faction—the strongest candidate for the throne—as well as the Chancellor and the Commander of the Royal Forces, the dynamic shifted entirely.
"Not long ago, upon hearing that the northern barbarians were rising and that Baron Farrow had been gravely wounded and forced to retire, I was deeply concerned. Thus, I personally inspected the territory," Langton declared.
"Ah, yes, you did. Is the situation in the Farrow Territory truly that dire?" the King asked.
"The front lines are locked in ceaseless combat, and they are barely holding on. When I visited the region myself, the devastation I witnessed was beyond words. Compounded by the severe drought, corpses are constantly piling up in the Farrow Territory. The barbarians have repeatedly demanded trade, but because such an act is forbidden without royal sanction, the Farrow family has chosen to bleed, acting as the kingdom's shield. However, they have now reached their absolute limit."
"How grave..." the King muttered.
"Was it truly that bad?" murmured another noble.
At this point, the nobles began to run complex calculations in their heads.
The crown would either have to conscript troops from each lord's territory to send reinforcements, or grant the trade charter. Neither option was appealing.
With a major war on the horizon, dispatching troops to subjugate the barbarians would incur massive losses. Even if each noble house only contributed a few hundred soldiers, the financial burden would be staggering. Moreover, there was no guarantee that a single campaign would solve the problem, given that the barbarians' stronghold lay deep within the Great Snowfield.
Duke Langton had spent his entire life on the battlefield. If a veteran like him spoke with such gravity, the situation in the north had to be truly critical.
The King massaged his temples, feeling a headache coming on. Ruling a kingdom meant dealing with all sorts of crises, but lately, it seemed as though only bad news arrived from every corner of the realm.
With a heavy sigh, the King asked, "What is your recommendation, Chancellor?"
"Baron Farrow's proposal seems to be the most prudent course of action," Langton replied. "It presents an opportunity to secure raw potion ingredients in bulk. If we can import iron and hides from them, we can lay the groundwork for the upcoming war, which may drag on for years. In my humble opinion, granting Baron Farrow a temporary trade charter until the barbarians can be fully subjugated is the best way to prevent the bleeding of our military forces while securing vital resources."
Whispers broke out once more.
The nobles offered various interpretations of Duke Langton's stance. Though they spoke in hushed tones, anyone who wasn't completely deaf could easily make out what they were saying.
"The justification, the circumstances, and the solution are all perfectly sound... but why is Duke Langton pushing so hard for a young baron?"
"Could it be that Duke Langton has decided to groom the Baron?"
"For what possible reason?"
"Who knows? Perhaps he met the young Baron Farrow during his visit, was impressed by his character, and decided to become his patron."
All sorts of wild speculations began to circulate.
Duke Langton remained completely impassive, offering no reaction to the rumors swirling around him.
His silence only lent credibility to the whispers.
Soon, a rumor began to spread like wildfire through the capital: Duke Langton had officially become the patron and supporter of Baron Farrow.
Duke Langton had kept his promise to Jeron Farrow. It was only natural, given the contract they had signed.
Langton raised his voice even louder, pressing his advantage.
"Your Majesty! We must either dispatch immediate reinforcements to the Farrow Territory or authorize them to open a market, establish peace, and pacify the barbarians. I beg you to make a wise decision!"
The stone Duke Langton had cast sent massive ripples through the political waters.
Yet, the nobles' attention was no longer on the danger threatening the northern border. Instead, they were entirely consumed by the shocking revelation that Duke Langton might have taken a new protégé under his wing.