The Romance Fantasy Male Lead and Preparations for the Battlefield
In the farthest reaches of the Northern Frontline, where blizzards howled without mercy, a lone boy stood amid the chaos.
His hair was black as midnight, his eyes a piercing blue. Skin pale as fresh snow, features so perfectly sculpted they seemed carved by a master artist. He was far too handsome for the brutal battlefield. A pristine black uniform clung to his frame, utterly untouched by the swirling snow, mud, or blood.
Even the knights of the empire’s central territories would have nodded in approval at such a knightly bearing. It was a sight that perfectly suited the noble blood of a grand ducal house.
He was Caron Hartvalt, second son of the Hartvalt Grand Ducal family. The young man countless members of the ducal house praised as the next Grand Duke. The son most favored by the current Duke.
Caron withdrew a letter from his inner pocket. The wax seal had already been broken. It was an urgent missive that had arrived yesterday from his father, Duke Roderick, at the main castle.
The letter contained contents that were difficult to believe. The incompetent half-brother who had spent his days drowning in drink had suddenly begun displaying both skill and cruelty. Valgrim was openly shielding him. And even Reina Garyen had entered his service.
Do not underestimate Kyle.
Caron stared down at the letter in silence. His elegant brow furrowed by the smallest fraction.
Kyle.
A pathetic, ugly creature. A name-only elder brother who had never posed the slightest threat to his path. Someone Caron had assumed would simply rot away if left alone. Yet that same Kyle had suddenly bared his fangs.
“After all this time…”
Caron’s dark eyes sank colder than the blizzard sweeping across the North.
“Just what are you plotting, Kyle?”
His voice carried an unmistakable, thick killing intent.
Fine. It doesn’t matter how you’ve changed.
Whatever Kyle did was of no real concern to him. The only thing that had ever mattered was Elena.
Elena…
His first love, Elena Verdin. The girl who had always offered him a clear, bright smile whenever they met in the capital. Though they had been childhood playmates, his feelings for her had only grown deeper and more vivid with time.
Her family, the Verdin barony, had been dragged into the imperial family’s ugly conspiracy, branded with false charges of treason, and thoroughly destroyed. The helplessness Caron felt that day still remained as a vivid scar in his chest.
To stand against the imperial family that destroyed her house, I need power.
Not mere personal strength, but military and political power so great that even the imperial family would hesitate to touch it. Only the seat of the Hartvalt Grand Duke could grant him that.
Wait for me, Elena.
He would find her again and make her his Grand Duchess. He would clear her family’s unjust stigma. He would protect her so that no one could ever oppress her again. That was the sole reason Caron had spent years honing himself on this frozen frontline, staining his hands with blood.
If Kyle… if that bastard is aiming for the position of Grand Duke…
The letter crumpled in Caron’s grip.
I cannot possibly let him live.
The seat of Grand Duke was the absolute shield he needed to protect Elena. Anyone who tried to take that shield from him could never be forgiven.
Everything is for Elena.
Northern Duke’s Castle.
The sound of a quill scratching fiercely across parchment echoed through the late Grand Duke’s private study. Valgrim was writing a letter in bold, powerful strokes. The recipient was Volkrik Ironside, a fierce general who had once served under Valgrim, fought through countless battlefields at his side, and now held the position of Commander-in-Chief of the Northern Frontline.
The letter’s contents were simple. It stated that Kyle would soon head to the Northern Frontline, followed by Valgrim’s cold, objective assessment of the boy after observing him with his own eyes over the past several days.
“Take it.”
Valgrim folded the letter and sealed it with red wax, then tossed it to Kyle, who stood across the desk.
Kyle caught the flying letter with ease. He merely checked the seal before slipping it into his pocket. Valgrim’s eyebrow twitched slightly at the action.
“You’re not going to read the contents?” Valgrim asked, sounding intrigued.
“Is that permitted?” Kyle countered.
“If I said it wasn’t, would you really not look?”
“Of course.” Kyle shrugged, answering calmly. “I have neither proper justification nor the right to read it.”
His green eyes did not waver in the slightest.
“Especially when it is a military correspondence addressed to the Commander-in-Chief on the frontline. For the messenger to tamper with it arbitrarily would be a taboo that ignores the most basic military regulations. There is no reason for me to do something so foolish.”
In his previous life, Kyle had reigned as the Blood Cult Leader. The Blood Cult was a world governed by the logic of absolute power. The law of the jungle prevailed. Yet that did not mean it was a lawless demon realm.
Challenges for the position of Cult Leader occurred every five years in life-or-death duels, but order and discipline still existed. Military commands and hierarchy were enforced with terrifying strictness—especially military law during times of war.
A satisfied smile spread across Valgrim’s lips at Kyle’s answer.
“You know more than I expected.”
“If I didn’t even know that much, I would deserve to die.”
“Khahaha! How amusing.”
Valgrim looked at Kyle and asked, “So, when do you plan to depart?”
“I would like two days to prepare before leaving,” Kyle requested.
“Two days. Very well.” Valgrim nodded readily. “Since I suddenly pushed you toward the battlefield, I’ll make sure you receive proper supplies. What do you want? Speak freely.”
The moment he received Valgrim’s full support, Kyle began reciting the list he had prepared.
“First, I need proper armaments for myself and my subordinates.” Kyle folded his fingers one by one. “Swords are basic, of course. Please provide plenty of daggers for when we lose our main weapons in battle or for close-quarters use. Most important of all are leather under-armor and plate armor perfectly fitted to my body and Reina’s, protecting vital points and joints. Standard-issue armor will suffice for any future subordinates I recruit.”
Even with the Blood Spirit Divine Scripture, minimizing wounds on the battlefield was best. Especially in war rather than duels, stamina management was essential.
“Also, please prepare the highest-grade recovery potions, hemostatic agents, suturing tools, and medicinal herbs in abundance so I can stitch my own wounds if necessary.”
“I understand the potions, but why do you need suturing tools? Aren’t there priests on the frontline?”
“The battlefield is not always an environment where priests can arrive in time,” Kyle answered coldly. “Rather than bleeding out while waiting for holy power that may never come, it is far better to stitch my own flesh and stop the bleeding with my own hands. I must always be prepared to extend my own life.”
Valgrim’s lips curved upward again at the answer.
“Good. I’ll give you only the highest quality. What else?”
“I need an identity guarantee document bearing Grandfather’s orders and authority.”
“An identity guarantee? There shouldn’t be anyone on the frontline who doesn’t know you’re a grand duke’s son. Why would you need something like that now?”
At Valgrim’s question, Kyle’s eyes grew serious.
“It concerns the matter of command authority.” Kyle continued in a calm tone. “If I try to lord over everyone the moment I arrive simply because I am a grand duke’s son, what would happen? It would infringe upon the authority of Commander-in-Chief Volkrik, who has led the soldiers through life and death for many long years on that frontline.”
Valgrim’s eyes narrowed. Kyle continued without concern.
“The soldiers on the frontline will not follow a newcomer like me. Forcing them to obey through sheer power would consume unnecessary time and blood. No one can predict what fatal consequences that might bring to the frontline in the meantime.”
Division of command was one of the greatest taboos in war. Kyle had witnessed countless enemies collapse due to command disputes during his time as Blood Cult Leader. Even in history, there were innumerable armies that had fallen because command was not unified.
“The most important thing in war is the unification of the command structure. The position of Commander-in-Chief must be fully respected as Commander Volkrik’s rightful authority. I have no intention of interfering with the main force’s command.”
“Oh? Then what exactly do you plan to do on the frontline?”
“Instead, please guarantee me a degree of autonomy.” Kyle finally revealed his true purpose. “The right to form and operate a small independent special unit that can move without being bound by Commander Volkrik’s orders. The right to directly request high-level information from the commander to understand the war situation. And finally, priority supply rights from the battlefield depots so that we can receive necessary military supplies at any time.”
Even as he made these demands, Kyle drew a clear line.
“I promise I will not request authority to mobilize large-scale forces beyond a small special unit. That level of autonomy and support will be sufficient.”
Valgrim stroked his chin, staring sharply at Kyle.
“Do you even understand how great a privilege those rights you’re asking for would be on the frontline?”
Nominally, he claimed he would not infringe on command authority. Yet the priority information rights, supply rights, and freedom to operate an independent unit he demanded were enormous privileges. In essence, he was asking for a legally sanctioned blade that operated beyond the commander’s control.
“Of course I know full well,” Kyle said, the corner of his mouth twisting upward. “But as the grandson of the Hartvalt Grand Duke, is there any reason I cannot demand at least this much? If I abuse these rights and cause a fatal incident on the frontline, Grandfather may personally take my head at that time.”
A bold demand, staking his own life as collateral. Valgrim stared for a moment into Kyle’s eyes, which were beginning to take on a bloody hue.
“Kuhahahahaha!”
He burst into hearty laughter.
“Very well! Since I was the one who pushed you onto the battlefield, and I did promise to spare no support for one month, I will certainly guarantee you that much.”
Yet when Valgrim’s laughter faded, a beast-like killing intent flashed in his eyes.
“However, keep this in mind, Kyle,” he warned. “The greater the authority I grant you, the more severe the consequences will be if you disappoint me. I will end your life in the most agonizing way possible.”
“I will keep it in mind. There will be no occasion for my neck to fall.”
Kyle nodded calmly. The negotiation had gone smoothly. He continued firing off his remaining requests like a rapid volley.
“Please also prepare the finest warhorses for me and my subordinates. Running to the frontline for days on foot would be nothing but a waste of stamina. In addition, I will need detailed maps of the Northern Frontline and a logbook containing battle records from the past several months.”
Information and mobility—the most basic essentials of war.
“Furthermore, I demand firm identity guarantees for Reina Garyen and every single person I personally take as my subordinate on the frontline.”
Strength entered Kyle’s voice.
“Even if they are my personal knights, as long as they follow me, they must receive proper treatment as legitimate forces of the Hartvalt Grand Ducal family. No one must be allowed to mistreat my subordinates on the basis of their origin or gender.”
Leading others also meant bearing responsibility for them. Those who had entered the Blood Cult each carried desperate circumstances. People who had been pushed out by the world, trampled upon, and lost everything, yet still craved strength.
Even as their Cult Leader, he had guided them by offering the possibility of a future. Reward those who follow. Kill those who defy. That principle remained ironclad within Kyle even now. Taking responsibility for and caring for those who followed him was his duty.
“You certainly know how to pick out only the things you need with devilish precision,” Valgrim said, smiling faintly as he looked at Kyle. “I grant it all.”
Kyle decided to test one final, difficult request.
“Then I have one more favor to ask. Could you also provide me with the list of those belonging to Caron’s faction currently stationed on the frontline, along with information on their movements?”
At that moment, Valgrim’s face turned icy cold.
“That I cannot do.” It was a firm refusal. “My acting as your shield and providing support is solely to test whether you have the qualifications to bear the family’s burden. Identifying and weeding out political enemies within the family is something you, who aims to become the next Grand Duke, must accomplish on your own.”
Kyle nodded without the slightest trace of disappointment.
“Well, I didn’t have high expectations for this part anyway, so I understand.”
It had been a throwaway attempt on the off chance it might work. While it would have been convenient to obtain, identifying them himself would not be particularly difficult. In the crudest terms, simply checking who was wearing armor on the frontline would allow him to filter out eighty percent of them.
“Then please at least assign me one trustworthy guide. I have never been to the Northern Frontline, so I am unfamiliar with the geography and current situation. I need someone with abundant battlefield experience who knows the way well.”
It was a reasonable request. Valgrim stroked his chin, thinking for a moment.
“Then I will assign you Graham.”
“Sir Graham, you mean?” Kyle’s eyes widened slightly.
Graham Berk, the elder knight who had once taken it upon himself to judge Kyle. Though now retired and largely withdrawn from active duty due to age, he was one of the legendary “Three Swords” who had guarded Valgrim during the bloody pioneering days of the North.
“If it is him, then there could be no one better.” Kyle smiled with genuine satisfaction. “Thank you.”
Once all the requests had been organized, Valgrim examined Kyle with sharp eyes.
“You really are a strange one. You understand the nature of command authority, and you know the importance of logistics and information. Have you been secretly studying military strategy or war?”
Kyle answered calmly.
“I was simply a little interested and looked into it.”
It was the truth. In his previous life as Blood Cult Leader, Kyle had not been a military genius on the level of Sun Tzu, Han Xin, or especially Yi Sun-sin.
Yi Sun-sin’s ability made me realize just how monstrous he was compared to my previous previous life.
Ingenious strategies and tactics, complex formations, mysterious schemes that could reverse the flow of battle—those were not his area of expertise. Still, he was not completely ignorant.
After all, I was the one who gave final approval to the strategies painstakingly devised by experts and personally commanded dozens of massive wars where tens of thousands of lives hung in the balance.
If logistics collapsed, the army would starve. If command became entangled, the army would be annihilated without even swinging a sword. Without information, an army could destroy itself simply by marching. There was no romance in war. As the Blood Cult Leader, Kyle had always achieved victory, yet he had felt that truth every single time.
“Then in two days, I will depart for the Northern Frontline.”