The First Clash at the Northern Frontline
The eyes of the Northern Frontline were not kind toward Kyle Hartvalt. The rumors that had reached them from the main family alone were damning enough. A degenerate who drowned himself in drink. The shame of the ducal house.
On top of that, the knights loyal to Caron Hartvalt never missed an opportunity to tear Kyle down. To them, he was nothing more than a nominal eldest son standing in Caron's way. That was why they were so vicious in slandering him.
Naturally, every kind of ill fame surrounding Kyle had spread thickly across the Northern Frontline as well. So there was no reason for the soldiers here to look at him favorably.
'Huh?'
'This is different from what I heard?'
Yet the moment Kyle actually passed through the gates, his appearance was slightly different from the rumors they had heard. Black armor forged from Black Ice Iron.
A thick fur cloak draped over it. It was the very picture of thorough cold-weather gear—hardly the flashy style favored by the knights of this era. Flanking him were two other knights. Reina Garyen. And Wulfran Gecht.
Both of them, like Kyle, wore Black Ice Iron armor and proper Northern cold-weather equipment. Behind them followed the transport support unit led by Graham Berk.
On the other hand, the knights loyal to Caron openly frowned at Kyle's attire.
'Is that really what the eldest son of the ducal house should be wearing?'
'Black Ice Iron armor? How utterly vulgar.'
'Degenerate or not, to show up at the Northern Frontline in such a crude lump of iron.'
'No dignity whatsoever. Simply barbaric.'
They shuddered at Kyle's savage appearance. And that fury only grew stronger when their gaze fell on Reina.
Reina Garyen. She was famous as the greatest beauty of the North. Because of her overwhelming appearance, her genuine talent for swordsmanship—which had once earned her the title of the North's greatest genius—had never received proper recognition.
Without a true master, she had reached the level of a middle-grade knight. It was well known that her pure sword skill already surpassed even most upper-grade knights.
But what Caron's knights saw was not that talent. What they saw was only Reina's face and body.
'Damn it, why is Sir Reina...?'
'What the hell did that degenerate do to her?'
That such a woman stood beside the degenerate Kyle. And not in a splendid uniform or form-fitting knight's attire, but in dull, dreary Black Ice Iron armor. The fact twisted their stomachs.
'Forcing Sir Reina into such barbaric gear!'
'Typical degenerate—his tastes are just as low.'
'How can he commit such a vulgar act?'
In that way, they inwardly directed gazes full of disgust and contempt toward Kyle.
"……."
In contrast, Caron Hartvalt watched the scene in silence. His blue eyes had sunk into a cold, frozen depth. A quiet murderous intent lurked within the gaze he fixed on Kyle. Yet Caron barely spared Reina a glance.
She was a woman countless young knights had desired with lustful eyes. Her beauty was indeed worthy of being called the greatest in the North. But to Caron, such things held no importance. He acknowledged that Reina was beautiful. However, the only woman in his mind was Elena.
Under those many gazes, Kyle dismounted from his horse. His military boots sank into the snow-covered ground.
Crunch. Crunch.
Kyle did not even glance at the knights of Caron's faction who glared at him. He did not spare Caron so much as a look either. Instead, he walked straight toward Volkrik, the commander-in-chief waiting below the ramparts. Standing before him, Kyle bowed his head with immediate courtesy.
"Kyle Hartvalt and his two subordinate knights report their arrival at the frontline, supported by Graham Berk's transport unit, to Commander Volkrik Ironside."
It was a concise, unadorned report. He did not flaunt his status as the ducal heir. For a moment, the surrounding gazes shifted subtly.
'Is he really a degenerate?'
'He's surprisingly polite.'
'He didn't invoke his position as the ducal heir and instead showed proper respect to the commander?'
'Could it be that Young Lord Caron's faction has been spreading false rumors?'
The soldiers of the frontline looked at Kyle with surprise. The older knights narrowed their eyes in silence. He was different from the degenerate they had heard about in rumors. At least the Kyle standing before them now continued to display an appearance perfectly suited to the Northern Frontline.
A faint spark of interest also flickered in Volkrik's eyes.
"I welcome your arrival at the frontline, Your Grace the Ducal Heir."
His voice was low and rough.
"I was told you carry a letter from His Grace the previous Grand Duke that was to be delivered to me."
"Yes. Here it is."
Kyle took out a letter sealed with wax from his coat and offered it to Volkrik with both hands. Volkrik checked the seal, then looked directly at Kyle.
"Your Grace."
"Speak freely."
"Do you know what His Grace the previous Grand Duke wrote inside this letter?"
Kyle answered immediately.
"I do not."
It was a response without the slightest hesitation. Volkrik's eyebrows twitched faintly.
"You never considered opening it to check?"
Kyle replied calmly.
"I was merely ordered to deliver the letter. I was not granted the right to inspect its contents."
His green eyes did not waver.
"For a mere courier to open a military letter at will would be a fundamental violation of military regulations."
Volkrik stared at Kyle in silence for a moment. Then, beneath his thick white beard, a faint smile appeared.
"I see."
It was a short answer. But it clearly carried satisfaction. Volkrik tucked the letter into his coat.
"Your Grace, the journey here must have been difficult because of the weather. Please go inside and rest for now."
"Thank you, Commander."
Kyle bowed his head politely once more. There was no welcoming ceremony prepared for him. No banquet, no reception. This was the frontline. Had a large force arrived, they might have arranged a simple welcoming event to boost morale. But Kyle's core strength consisted of only three people.
There was no reason to waste the frontline's precious food and time on them. Kyle showed no dissatisfaction with that fact. Volkrik's gaze deepened with interest once again at his attitude.
'He doesn't demand empty formalities. Hmm… he somehow reminds me of His Grace the previous Grand Duke.'
At that moment, Graham Berk approached.
"It's been a while, Sir Volkrik."
Volkrik gave a short laugh upon seeing him.
"Sir Graham. I thought you'd be lying sick in bed at your age, but you're still walking around."
"I thought you'd be the first to die. Haha! How could I lie down first when you're still in your prime?"
The two old veterans shared a brief laugh. They were comrades who had fought together for many long years. But they did not linger in reminiscence. This was the frontline. It was not a place leisurely enough to indulge in private feelings during official business.
Graham took out a ledger from his coat and handed it to Volkrik.
"Here is the list of personnel and supplies for the transport unit. Please check it."
Volkrik accepted the ledger and scanned it quickly. Graham added,
"Let me be clear. These supplies are not general provisions for the entire Northern Army. They were separately organized by His Grace the previous Grand Duke specifically to support Kyle Hartvalt, the Ducal Heir."
Volkrik nodded.
"Understood."
He called over the staff officers nearby and gave his order.
"Do not mix these supplies with the common warehouse. Classify and manage them separately as support materials for Kyle Hartvalt, the Ducal Heir."
"Yes, Commander."
The staff officers immediately recorded the command. Volkrik looked at Graham again.
"I must read His Grace the previous Grand Duke's letter first. Come with me."
"As you wish."
The two old men headed toward the commander's office. Though called an office, it was little more than a barracks set up inside the citadel. There were no luxurious decorations or luxuries. That was the Northern Frontline.
"Your Grace, I will guide you to your quarters first."
"Yes, I would appreciate that."
Kyle's group followed the guide toward their assigned lodging. Once the three of them had moved away and both Volkrik and Graham had left the area, the suppressed malice finally reared its head.
"Ha."
One of the knights following Caron let out a derisive laugh.
"Did you see that degenerate's appearance?"
The first to speak was a young knight from the Blue Tiger Knights. He deliberately raised his voice so those around him could hear.
"He came crawling in covered head to toe in that pitch-black iron like some mercenary thug."
Another knight chuckled.
"To think the eldest son of the ducal house would look like that. He must have been born without any sense of dignity."
"His tastes are as barbaric as you'd expect from a degenerate."
Their voices gradually grew louder.
'They're badmouthing Kyle. No need to stop them.'
It was vulgar talk. But Caron saw no reason to intervene. It was not a bad thing for the knights who followed him to harbor hostility toward Kyle. The stronger that hostility grew, the more solidly Caron's faction would solidify within the frontline. So there was no reason to stop them.
And soon the knights' slander turned toward Reina.
"But Sir Reina is the real problem here."
One knight licked his lips as he spoke.
"Dressing the North's greatest beauty in such drab armor. As expected of a degenerate—his tastes are filthily barbaric."
"Exactly. He should at least have put her in something pretty."
"Haha."
Laughter erupted. A few veteran knights of the frontline sent them contemptuous glances. But because they belonged to Caron's faction, they kept their mouths shut for now. However, their silence did not last long.
"By the way," one Blue Tiger Knights knight said with a sly grin, "why do you suppose Sir Reina suddenly started calling that degenerate her lord?"
"Who knows," another knight said, deliberately shrugging his shoulders. "Maybe he didn't want other men seeing his woman's body, so he covered her up completely in armor?"
"Is that what it means?" a third knight laughed openly. "It means even that proud Sir Reina eventually spread her legs for the degenerate."
The air froze instantly. The faces of the veteran knights of the frontline hardened with fury. No matter that they were from Caron's faction, this had crossed the line. This was the frontline. A place where they shed blood and entrusted their backs to one another.
Even if they were newcomers, once they had joined the frontline they were fellow knights. To speak such insults toward a comrade was unbearable. Especially not from men who didn't even wear proper armor and only fought in advantageous battles.
One veteran knight finally gripped the hilt of his sword.
"These bastards are…!"
He was about to step forward when—
"Heh heh, well now."
A man's voice rang out from one side of the plaza. It sounded as if he were laughing. But cold killing intent was mixed within it.
"The discipline of the Blue Tiger Knights has truly fallen into ruin. As a former member, I feel utterly ashamed."
All eyes turned. A rough scar crossing his eye. Empty, unfocused eyes. A solid build and quiet steps. It was Wulfran Gecht. He should not have been able to see. Yet he walked forward without the slightest awkwardness.
Crunch. Crunch.
Wulfran stopped in front of the three knights who had just been slandering them. He pointed exactly at the three men. His unfocused eyes were aimed at them as if he could see perfectly. Confusion flashed across the three knights' faces at that fact.
"W-what the…"
"How is that blind man…"
Ever since he had lost his eyes, his hearing had become exceptionally sharp. Distinguishing people by sound was easy for him. But Wulfran offered no answer. He simply thought to himself.
'It's been more than four days since the incident at the main house. Has the news still not reached them?'
The three who had just spoken happened to belong to the Blue Tiger Knights. The members of the Blue Tiger Knights who had remained at the main house were already dead. They had been slaughtered inside the waiting room by Kyle and Reina. But it seemed those dispatched to the frontline here still did not know that fact.
'No need for me to tell them.'
Wulfran had no intention of informing them either. Only one thing mattered. They had insulted his lord and his comrade. That alone was enough.
Wulfran took out a single glove from his coat. Then he threw it at the face of the knight who had most blatantly insulted Reina.
Thwack!
The leather glove struck his cheek. It fell onto the mud-mixed snow.
"You…!"
The knight's face flushed red as he tried to shout. But Wulfran's voice came first.
"Insulting one's lord and comrade is something a knight cannot overlook."
His tone remained polite. Yet the killing intent contained within it was anything but courteous.
"You have insulted my lord, Kyle Hartvalt, the Ducal Heir, and you have vilely insulted Sir Reina Garyen."
Wulfran slightly raised his head. With his sightless eyes… he looked precisely at the three men.
"Therefore, Wulfran Gecht, formerly a knight of the old Blue Tiger Knights, hereby challenges the three of you to a duel right here and now."
The three knights' faces hardened with displeasure. He was nothing more than a blind retired knight. Yet that man was standing before them issuing a duel challenge.
Wulfran continued quietly.
"You may refuse, of course."
A faint smile hung at the corner of his mouth.
"However, in that case, everyone on this frontline will come to understand that the knightly honor you spoke of was nothing more than empty lip service."
Hoooooo—!
Within the cold wind, a chilling tension settled. The first day Kyle Hartvalt arrived at the Northern Frontline. His subordinate and Caron's knights had their first clash.