Speak Your Desires
"Speak your desires. Then I'll assign additional personnel. Satisfied now?"
At those words, the duchess nodded reluctantly, clutching the hem of her skirt with both hands.
And with that, the little farce came to an end.
What happened next? Simple enough. We boarded the carriage heading to Ron Manir as originally planned, departing the Grand Duchy territory.
It had been less than thirty minutes, but his ferocious aura was etched firmly into my mind.
Bardovan Sernt, was it? The Empire's mad dog. Most striking was how he'd played the treason card to pry the princess away from me.
True to a hunting hound. He didn't give a damn about his own safety. Crazy bastard.
"Your Grace."
I turned at the voice, clear as ice crystals. The carriage interior was cramped for maximum mobility. Only I, the 7th Knight Division captain, and his vice-captain rode inside.
"What is it?"
"If I may ask... why forgive the Imperial Guard Captain's ravings? I apologize profusely, but..."
She averted her eyes subtly as she asked. She'd been right beside me during the exchange, along with the captain—not to mention the commanders trailing behind on horseback.
But the captain silenced her with a sharp rebuke.
"Don't wag that idle tongue, Vice-Captain."
The vice-captain flinched in immediate panic.
"...Ah, my apologies. But it was such outrageous nonsense—daring to deceive and slander Your Grace..."
"I said shut your mouth, Freina Sherpen."
"......"
Grandfather and granddaughter, right.
"Forgive me, Your Grace. I overstepped."
She bowed her head to me at once.
I leaned against the jolting carriage wall and flung open the window. Ron Manir's hazy lights were gradually coming into view, even to the naked eye.
Treason, illicit ambitions—sure, it was enough to warrant an immediate beheading or imprisonment. A clear instigator of discord.
But executing him outright? Who knew what ripples that might cause.
I couldn't afford to stir up trouble without even grasping the full picture.
Human psychology's a bitch like that. No matter how much shit you spew to justify the punishment, people see what they want to see.
Especially the princess. Highly likely. Practically a given.
You know how it is—say something to a girl in middle school, she cries, and suddenly you're the villain.
Better to show mercy, seize the psychological high ground. The Guard Captain? He's the one closest to the princess, isn't he?
Might even become my biggest leverage to bind her.
"A natural question. Especially for a proper vassal serving their lord."
"No, Your Grace... It's nothing. Just the vice-captain's carelessness. I'll enforce discipline as captain."
"Enough. It was to avoid greater chaos in the North. My personal feelings alone aren't enough to start something. Does that sate your curiosity, Vice-Captain?"
"Ah... Yes, Your Grace."
She cast her eyes down, ashamed of her blunder. Her white uniform pants trembled with every jolt of the carriage.
I turned my gaze back to the window, taking in the view.
The North's milder night air brushed my cheek. Why did my thoughts pile up like the snow heaped along the roadside?
No matter how I spin it, sharing a roof with the princess is a bad idea.
What the hell did that duchess whisper in her ear?
Even if I'd stayed at the Grand Duke's Residence instead of the Castle, it'd be the same. Just recall what happened to that bastard who treated the palace like his bedroom.
How the fuck does a national leader pull that shit?
If it were forcing a pregnancy to claim the throne, maybe—but...
Hm.
"......"
Craving the world's most sacred prize, making it his own. Along with that thrill of depravity.
Hmm.
Come to think of it, a doomed Northern Duke in some tragic tale might fit the bill perfectly.
The Northern Duke archetype has all sorts of uses. Yeah, reframed like that, it clicks differently.
Fuck.
What the hell am I even thinking?
I shook my head sharply. Insomnia must've dredged up nonsense. I focused on the carriage's silence instead.
"Th-thank you, Your Grace."
I glanced sidelong at the vice-captain. Beside the white-haired knight expressing gratitude for mere clarification sat her white-haired grandfather, face etched with deep displeasure.
I didn't reply. For the sake of the captain—her superior and kin.
In Ron Manir, there are two major rough meetings. First, the parley with nearby lords. Second, the military council on Ron Manir itself.
Given the circumstances, the schedule was packed tight. Not that these issues differed fundamentally from before.
Boils down to one thing: talking shit.
Entering the citadel with the commanders, the first sight was a lavish feast piled high with delicacies. And the local lords seated at the table.
They all rose as we entered.
"Your Grace."
"Baron Almus Lindmerg, ruling the capital duchy of Pelrib, at your service."
"Viscount Alispear Demore, lord of Ron Alman. Nothing to boast of, but please treat me well, Your Grace."
Greetings buzzed through the hall like flies. I gestured vaguely and followed Ron Manir's lord to the empty head seat.
The servants directed the commanders to stand along the walls. Only then did I survey the room.
A table reeking of greasy meats and potent wine. And the lords still standing to welcome me.
"Sit."
Chairs scraped in unison at my permission.
"First, my apologies to all. Summoning you so late at night."
"Not at all, Your Grace."
"Please don't trouble yourself, Your Grace."
Blood-rare steak sent up savory fumes from the plates. Just days after news of the Capital's destruction.
No deeper meaning here.
Toasting my wine glass stem idly, I continued.
"You've all heard about the Capital. Your territories aren't far from the Northern Frontline, so news reached you quickest."
"......"
"......"
The silence was icy. These transparent fucks. Undeterred, I pressed on.
"You're gathered to discuss the Empire's welfare in depth. As you know best..."
No one had touched the spotless cutlery. No grease, no spit. The tense hush before we entered must've been suffocating.
One might question a feast amid apocalypse—but it's par for the course.
This was a formal reception for me by the lords, who were honored guests themselves. Ron Manir's lord couldn't snub them.
These were lords within a day's ride. Ones requesting private audiences or imperial approval to delay decisions.
Translation: Their greed wasn't voiced—it screamed from their mere presence.
Fuck the North; we're looking out for number one.
So what do I do? Simple. Shove reality down their throats. With the Capital fallen, the North holds hegemony. Ditch the petty greed, kneel, and lick the floor while you rethink.
"Eat first."
They hesitated with forks, so I gestured encouragingly one by one.
Parley's parley; food's food. Ron Manir went all out—waste not. Too lavish just for talk.
To ease the mood, I sipped wine first. Forks finally clinked. Lords offered pre-meal pleasantries with perfect etiquette.
"...An infinite honor to dine with Your Grace."
"Thank you for inviting me, Your Grace."
Yeah.
"So, what do you want?"
But hold off on eating.
My blunt question froze everything like a clatter of silver. I swirled the crimson wine lightly, then lifted my head.
"There must be reasons for defiance. What do you want so badly you ignored the North's requests?"
This is why I enforced the princess's stipend and came straight here. Leaving their greed unchecked risked derailing Ron Manir decisions.
Ron Manir Station.
The sole civilian line touching the North, bar a few supply routes. Vital hub for future expansions.
Even my quick thoughts hint at advantages; staff briefings will reveal more.
Can't lose such a strategic chokepoint and buffers lightly—especially with a military council looming.
"......"
Silence deep as a midnight lake.
What is greed, anyway?
Humanity's greatest drive, no? Can we call it pure evil?
Nah.
Apply the same to me: My Northern goals are blatant greed too.
In this overnight apocalypse, what meaning do abstract ideals hold now?
Ting, ting. My fingers tapped the wine glass repeatedly.
So what the fuck do you want?
My prior words were brutally direct—unprecedented, even. The North's shield-bearer haggling interests post-Capitalfall.
The first to react was the lord diagonally across. His fork trembled faintly, suspicion dawning first.
"Y-Your Grace... Forgive me, but what do you mean?"
"Which part?"
"Well..."
I knew his name. One seeking imperial ratification.
He glanced at the 7th Knights behind me, then spoke cautiously.
"It sounds as if we, loyal Empire subjects, are calculating gains amid this heaven-shaking horror. If my ignorant misreading... punish me accordingly, Your Grace."
No. Spot on. Nailed it.
I nodded.
"Exactly. No misreading—absurd to suggest. You grasped it perfectly."
"Then..."
"The North already blockaded and requested merger of your lands for Her Highness's safety. As fellow subjects."
Eyes converged, frigid. Those sealed lips would fell the timid with heart failure.
I twirled the stem deliberately.
"That's why I ask you who rejected that loyalty: What do you want?"
"Your Grace, it wasn't defiance—just premature without imperial approval—"
"Treason, then? No, surely not—we're all equal subjects."
"Th-that...!"
Murmurs rippled instantly. Cutlery clinked, chairs scraped needlessly. The chill shattered into clamor—tainted.
I scanned it all deliberately.
"Military council with commanders next. No stalling—speak freely."
The Capital burned wholesale—a historic crisis. True loyalty would've feigned compliance early.
The North's eerily firm resolve.
No mere lapdog like the Guard Captain could resist; doubt the intent, sure, but swept up regardless.
Bottom line: Only those testing the waters post-Capitalfall were summoned.
"......"
"......"
Some lords looked rattled.
Maybe eyeing eastern trade routes for their own kingdom. Or latching to new powers for gain.
Won't fly now.
Why? Capital—the biggest branch—gone. Half the neighbors already North's.
Ridiculous schemes on doom's doorstep. Pathetic.
Blockades and palisades stack by the minute; their trade routes choke real-time. Private pleas for favors? Pipe dreams.
Want greed? Get Northern approval first—not Capital's ghost.
Why? Obvious. I'm greedy too.
Amid stunned silence from relentless shocks, I declared once more.
"What do you want?"