Chapter 125
Chapter 125
"What kind of nonsense is this?!"
"Joining Bifrost's faction?"
"They wouldn't even accept us!"
"And why side with the losing faction?!"
Chaos was inevitable.
From any angle, Logan's words defied common sense.
"My lord, why do you think that way? There seems to be... a problem with that plan."
Dwain stepped forward with an awkward expression, voicing the doubts on everyone's behalf as the head of the civil retainers.
But Logan's answer was far from satisfactory.
"What gratitude would we earn by helping the winning side? At best, it would only delay our family's ruin. But if we turn the tide for the losing side, the rewards will be far greater."
There was logic in Logan's words—
Assuming the MacLaine family possessed the power to shift the balance of a war that had split the entire kingdom in two.
"...I fear we'd only be boarding a sinking ship too late."
Dwain tactfully implied, Are you out of your mind?
"It's not sinking yet. A few sails might be torn, and the hull may be leaking, but there's still enough strength to keep sailing."
Was it a relief that Logan at least acknowledged reality?
Or was it maddening that he still intended to charge ahead despite knowing the risks?
Dwain, overwhelmed by the turmoil in his chest, momentarily couldn't speak.
He hadn't checked everyone's expressions, but he was certain most retainers shared his disbelief.
Yet, the Grand Prince before him would push forward with his plans regardless of their opinions.
And above all—
"Have I ever led you astray before? Trust me. I can do this again."
That infuriatingly predictable excuse—the one that had become his trump card—left no room for further protest.
"Ugh..."
"And what if we fail?"
"Huh?!"
Dwain, clutching his head, turned toward the voice like a man stumbling upon an oasis in the desert.
Philip!
The young man with striking gray eyes—competent yet shameless—looked up at Logan with a bold question.
Dwain gazed at him with tearful gratitude.
And then—
"We won't fail. I'm confident."
"Can you at least share your reasoning?"
"Not right now."
"Hmm. Again with this... Well, you haven't failed yet whenever you've spoken like this. I suppose I'll trust you'll explain later."
Why even ask?!
If you were just going to back down, why step forward at all?!
Dwain trembled with betrayal as Philip easily retreated, fists shaking in frustration.
It never crossed his mind that Philip's question might have been prearranged with Logan to soften the retainers' resistance.
Who asked you to concede?! We were supposed to logically dissect this! This isn't a discussion—it's a decree!
Swallowing his own unspoken protests, Dwain's chest tightened with frustration. Unable to bear it any longer, he stepped closer to the Grand Prince and whispered fiercely with flushed cheeks:
"You said Jordan was behind that incident! So why side with the Second Prince's faction?!"
It was a question anyone could deduce—but one too sensitive to voice openly.
Yet Logan only smirked coldly.
"Don't worry. We'll make them pay dearly for it."
The vague response offered no reassurance.
The icy smile curling Logan's lips felt like a warning, and Dwain deflated helplessly.
"Ugh..."
In the end—
"Prepare for war! We march the moment negotiations with the Second Prince's faction are settled!"
Dwain couldn't stop the lord's declaration—effectively delegating most authority to Logan.
And that very day—
MacLaine's communication reached the Duke of Walterheim's estate.
[We will join the Second Prince's faction.]
The declaration startled the official handling communications, quickly summoning the estate's master.
But the lord of the castle remained cold despite the seemingly favorable news.
"Now you want to join us? How can I trust such words?"
A frigid sneer. Yet the infuriating red eyes in the communication orb only grinned wider.
[Well, if you refuse, I could always go to the First Prince's faction instead. But are you really going to turn us down, Your Grace?]
With that single remark, Jordan Walterheim exploded.
CRASH!
"How dare you toy with me?!"
His roar alone overturned bookshelves and desks. The official barely caught the flying orb, arms trembling in fear.
The Jordan Walterheim of old wouldn't have lost his composure over such words.
But the slow erosion of his advantage and the creeping sense of impending doom had chipped away at his patience.
He hadn't exhausted all his resources—but neither had his enemies.
[Haha. How could I ever disrespect Your Grace? Especially after receiving such a... memorable gift recently.]
The mocking words snapped Jordan back to cold clarity.
Ralph and Jeff—the elite knight brothers he had sent.
Along with a top-tier assassin.
A month ago, he had concluded none would return.
They had likely perished in that arrogant bastard's territory.
But he couldn't show weakness.
"Hmph. A gift? I've no idea what you mean. So you're joining us because of that?"
[Not exactly. But siding with the underdog and flipping the tide promises greater rewards, don't you think?]
The underdog.
The label twisted Jordan's expression further—proof that even outsiders saw them as losing.
Yet his reply was calm.
"If you think we're losing, why not join the First Prince's faction? Why say this to me?"
[Hmm. Our judgments differ, it seems. Well, if you insist. Regardless, our joining comes with conditions.]
Jordan scoffed internally.
Joining the faction of the man who sent assassins?
This is no different from openly declaring he'll stab us in the back.
"Conditions... Why should I even entertain them?"
But Logan continued unfazed.
[Simple demands. Recognition of the Bifrost territories we seize, half of Marquis Calria's lands adjacent to MacLaine, and at minimum, restoration of our ancestor's lost title of Count. How does that sound?]
The terms were so outrageous they bordered on absurd.
Jordan couldn't help but retort.
"You want me to legitimize your unauthorized seizures? And half a Marquis's lands? Hah. Ridiculous. Are you serious?"
[Given the risks we're undertaking, it's hardly excessive.]
The smug grin on the other side made Jordan's eyebrow twitch.
In any other circumstance, this brat wouldn't dare act so brazenly.
But prolonging this would only wound his pride further.
"Come here yourself if you want to negotiate. Repeat these terms before me, and I'll consider it."
A challenge he never expected Logan to accept.
Yet the orb nodded.
[Haha. Is that so? Very well.]
"...What? You'll come? Heh."
Jordan could only nod with a complicated expression.
"Aren't the terms too excessive? Those lands are likely already earmarked for division among them."
"If they're quibbling over that now, the Second Prince's faction is already doomed. And the more excessive the demands, the less they'll suspect us."
"Suspect? They'll use us as cannon fodder the moment we join."
"That's a risk we'll have to take."
"The forces we've painstakingly built could be wasted on pointless battles."
"Ah, not this again. You approved after seeing Liberatio, Father."
The MacLaine family's true strength far exceeded outsiders' estimates.
Not just in basic military power—but in the devastating new weapons they had prepared.
Those privy to the secret were confident they could turn the tables even as sacrificial pawns.
But Patrick's concern lay elsewhere.
"It's precisely because of that... Liberatio or whatever. Maybe I've grown old and timid, but I worry whether we can safeguard it."
"...Don't worry. Once our strength is proven, no one will dare challenge us. That's why we're siding with the underdog."
"Is that truly your only motive?"
"Hm?"
"I find it hard to believe you genuinely want Prince Romain on the throne."
Patrick still remembered the incident at the Grand Noblesse—
The event that ignited the civil war.
His son had been smiling as it unfolded.
The slain secretary, Larry Clet, had been a key figure in the Second Prince's faction.
Patrick couldn't shake the ominous suspicion that this war participation was an extension of that day.
"Well, Prince Romain isn't exactly fit to be king either."
Logan's smile dragged that suspicion to the surface.
"Don't tell me you—"
"These are turbulent times, Father. Today's enemy could be tomorrow's ally—and today's ally, tomorrow's enemy."
The two factions seemed irreconcilable, leaving little room for playing both sides.
"But we'll seize every advantage for our family in the chaos."
His son's confident smile stifled Patrick's warnings.
"...Right. That's how it should be."
He had long since relinquished full authority over the family. All he could do now was trust and move forward.
Patrick studied his eldest son's face—long since beyond his control—then silently patted his shoulder.
There was no need to voice the inexplicable foreboding souring the mood.
I must be getting old. What's the point of baseless premonitions?
Yet inwardly, he prayed fervently:
May only glory await at this path's end.
And if unforeseen obstacles arose—
I'll clear the way. Even at the cost of my life. So I beg you, gods—let only light shine upon my sons' futures.
Praying to deities he'd never sought before, Patrick forcibly suppressed his unease.
Ronian was thoroughly pleased with recent events.
Though the civil war had thrown the kingdom into chaos, that was an external matter.
Their family, meanwhile, was reclaiming ancestral lands and restoring the glory of two centuries past.
And through this war, they would rise even higher.
Perhaps they'd even regain the invincible prestige of their founder, the Sword Saint Adam MacLaine—a founding hero of the Grandia Kingdom.
With Brother here, it's entirely possible!
And he would stand by his brother's side—a sword carving out that glory, a vanguard etching their names into history.
With that resolve, Ronian trained relentlessly every day.
Never again would he lack the strength to fulfill his brother's plans.
Then one day, as news spread of their family preparing to march again—
An unexpected order came.
"...Guard the family? Me?"
"We're leaving only six knights and a hundred soldiers across ten forts, including the two towns. Far too few for our expanded territory. A direct descendant must remain to command them and oversee the militia's training. And in case of emergencies—"
"Brother."
Ronian cut off Logan's third explanation mid-sentence.
"Hm?"
"It's necessary, right?"
"...Yes. Strictly speaking, this isn't our war. Not all direct descendants need to go."
"If the worst happens, I'd have to succeed the family."
"That won't happen, but—"
"Brother. I'm not a child anymore. I understand what you're saying—and why it's needed."
Logan fell silent, studying his brother.
Only eighteen, yet Ronian's height now matched his own. His radiant red eyes gleamed with confident warmth.
The face he'd always seen as youthful now faintly overlapped with that of the Aura User who had single-handedly led their family against the Empire in far harsher times.
Blinking a few times, Logan chuckled softly.
"Haha. Right. I've been nagging too much."
"Go safely. I'll guard our lands until you return. Without fail."
"...I'll trust you."
Patting his brother's shoulder, Logan turned away—his chest swelling with pride.
His little brother had grown dependable enough to entrust everything to...
"But just in case—"
"Brother. Please..."
His dignity cracked slightly, but paternal worry was hard to shake.
It's precisely because the stakes are so high.
Certainly not because he was becoming an overbearing old man.
Logan lied to himself convincingly.