The Northern Grand Count (Not a Grand Duke) - 1
Wiridia County. Until only a few months ago, it had been a northern frontier territory under direct imperial administration.
Owing to its place on the northern fringe, it served in peacetime as a marketplace for barter with the nomads—and the moment the Emperor ordered a campaign to subdue them, it transformed overnight into a military staging ground. A place of miracles, in its own way.
The reason such a place had vanished from my memory even after I received it as my fief was simple.
I really hadn't had the bandwidth to remember it.
Thinking back carefully, every single event that had exploded since I was granted Wiridia had been intense.
The Empire, barely recovered from its wounds, had mobilized a great army and launched a northern campaign. We had won that massive expedition, and the Emperor had become Khan. The Emperor had personally held a grand triumph. An imperial grandson of maximum legitimacy had been born. I had become that prince's godfather. The founding of the Inspectorate Ministry had been decided. The transfer of the Tailglehen countship had been decided. And to top it all off, the first abdication ceremony in imperial history had erupted.
All of that had happened in a mere half-year. And that was only the public events—throw in the private ones and the list became incalculable.
Yeah. I had every right to forget.
The embarrassment slowly faded, replaced by a sense of righteous confidence. With all that going on, who could be expected to remember a mere countship? Honestly, the Emperor himself had probably mistaken Wiridia for imperial demesne until quite recently.
"I shall visit the territory as soon as possible and set things to rights."
Of course, I didn't let that confidence show. We had both forgotten, but the fact remained that imperial assets had been used to administer a mere noble's fief.
And the Emperor, apparently understanding just how dynamic my past six months had been, simply nodded and was about to move on—
"Come to think of it, Minister. I hear there are no problems in your territory, but something rather interesting has come up."
"Pardon?"
What was this now? No problems, but something interesting had happened?
Can those two things even coexist?
It felt roughly like hearing someone say, "I drank, but I didn't drink and drive." If the Emperor called it interesting, something absolutely insane had gone down.
"You'll get the details from the chief local administrator on-site. I only received a written report myself, so I can't explain it as thoroughly as he can."
But when told to go see for myself if I was curious, I had no grounds to object.
If I thought of it as the price of neglecting my territory all this time, it wasn't such a bad deal.
Thanks to the Emperor's implicit command, I set out for Wiridia at once. On the surface it had been a suggestion, not an order—but between the talk of territorial management and "something interesting," it was as good as telling me to get there immediately.
It was bizarre. The man had made me a capital shut-in under the pretext of overseeing the founding of the Inspectorate Ministry, and now he was kicking me out at lightspeed. What kind of guy was this?
The problem was that the reason I'd been kicked out this time was one hundred percent my own doing.
"I present myself before Your Excellency, the Count of Wiridia. I am Alfred Gelbein, formerly the chief local administrator of the Wiridia region."
And so, upon arriving at the center of Wiridia County, the chief local administrator greeted me. Meanwhile, I couldn't figure out why that word "formerly" sounded so forlorn.
"You have worked hard managing Wiridia in my stead all this time. It was work I should have done myself—I am thoroughly embarrassed."
"Knowing how Your Excellency has devoted yourself to the Empire, how could I take such words to heart? On the contrary, I am nothing but grateful to have been able to assist Your Excellency even a little."
The moment I offered an apology, the chief local administrator bowed to the waist and answered with utmost courtesy.
Don't do that. It only makes me more embarrassed.
"Moreover, I have grown quite attached to this region, so I was glad to have time to settle my lingering affections."
Sensing my feelings, the chief local administrator continued with a faint smile.
"That is fortunate."
The embarrassment remained, but I felt the warmth of his consideration and smiled back. Thank you for saying that, at least...
"Ah, please come inside first. There is much I must report to Your Excellency."
"Yes, let's do that."
I flinched briefly at the words "much I must report," but obediently followed the chief local administrator to the lord's office.
First of all, surprisingly, it seemed the Emperor had been right—there were no problems in the territory. If something had gone wrong, the chief local administrator's expression couldn't be this calm.
At least we avoided the worst.
I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Thankfully, I had avoided the title of "great lord who caused an accident by neglecting his fief." That alone was an encouraging achievement.
...Now I just needed to find out what this Emperor-certified "interesting matter" actually was.
A jurisdiction issue, maybe?
That guess suddenly occurred to me. Perhaps some mishap had arisen from the local administrators trying to hold things together in a territory that had a rightful owner—a reasonable enough theory.
The possibility was fairly high. Even though the owner had forgotten he'd received the fief, and the administrators were veterans who had managed Wiridia since its days as imperial demesne, once it changed from imperial land to a noble's territory, proactive administration became difficult for them. After all, the true owner was someone else.
Yes, if it was something like that, it would be fine. As the rightful lord, I could simply handle it at once.
"The number of nomads within Wiridia has increased sharply."
But it wasn't. The happy circuit I'd so carefully spun shorted out the moment we arrived at the lord's office.
"The number of nomads?"
"Yes, Your Excellency."
I took the seat of honor without ceremony and spoke. Honestly, my happy circuits shorting out was so routine it wasn't even surprising anymore.
I was merely puzzled that nomads who had been incorporated into the Empire—who had become legitimate imperial subjects—had specifically flowed into my territory.
Aren't the great lords supposed to be controlling them?
It was strange. At present, the nomads were under the control of the thirteen great lords who had received titles from the Retired Emperor. These were men who had earned their ranks through shrewdness and political tightrope-walking—not incompetent types.
Moreover, as newly risen nobles and lords, they would want to expand their power by any means. They'd be working to absorb even wandering tribes and clans without affiliation, to create as many subjects as possible. Under normal circumstances, nomads had no reason to come all the way to a territory belonging to the heartland.
There really shouldn't be any reason.
Are they fighting among themselves?
I even wondered that. If the northern great lords were grabbing each other by the collars, the nomads might head south to the heartland to avoid the fighting.
But I had heard no such news. In the first place, if imperial lords engaged in unauthorized armed conflict, the Empire would take the heads of everyone involved. Lords of the Empire fighting each other would be civil war—
"Furthermore, the number of nomads visiting the marketplace has surged. It seems the majority of the crowds that would have headed for neighboring territories have concentrated in Wiridia."
"......"
Hearing that, I felt the stirrings of something ominous.
"Chief local administrator."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
"While I was absent, did any letters arrive from other nobles, by any chance?"
The chief local administrator nodded firmly, as if he had been waiting for that very question.
"All thirteen great lords of the North have sent letters."
Damn it.
Just as my happy circuits always shorted out, my despair circuits always proved correct.
I've been chosen.
It wasn't a phrase one used for people, but there was no more fitting expression.
I had been chosen by the northern great lords.
For a noble, a title is a symbol of wealth, honor, and power. The territory that comes with the title is also an easy benchmark for measuring a noble's standing.
But is a title and a fief all there is to being a noble? Not at all. Noble society has the social season—a melting pot of connections—and true power comes from the center, not the provinces. No matter how lofty a title or how prosperous a territory a noble holds, if he lives like a shut-in on his own land, his influence dwindles.
Of course, three of the current dukes remain exclusively on their lands, but dukes already possess the connections their houses have built over three hundred years, countless blood relatives, and political factions. Even if a duke himself does nothing but breathe on his estate, his influence does not diminish.
But newly risen nobles have none of that history, those blood ties, or those factions.
So of course they wanted to make contact with the center somehow.
And I was the stepping stone for that contact.
I understood. Bearing the name of great lords, having become the representatives of the North, it was only natural they wanted to exert influence at the center. Natural, too, that they didn't want to remain isolated in the North and wished to make contact with heartland nobles.
But I never imagined it would be me. The Duke of Victory's territory is right there in the North, after all. If they were going to hitch themselves to a line, I would have expected them to choose the seasoned Duke of Victory—who is also the Emperor's father-in-law—not some noble still in his twenties.
This is their way of asking me to look after them.
I nearly sighed. The increase in nomads within Wiridia meant: "We will not stop those who wish to become subjects of the Count of Wiridia." A lord was voluntarily yielding subjects who would pay him taxes.
The concentration of nomads at Wiridia's marketplace was for a similar reason. It was voluntary economic submission: "We will trade only through the Count of Wiridia."
It was certain. The one marquis and twelve counts of the North had extended their hands to me. Thirteen great lords and a formidable nomadic military force would support me—so please become our leader and guide us. That was the hand they offered.
Are these people really former tribal chieftains?
It was confusing. No matter how I looked at it, this was pure, one-hundred-percent settled-noble political maneuvering—not tribal chieftain behavior.
Or was nomadic political scheming no different from civilized people's after all?
"...First, let me see the letters."
"Yes, I shall bring them at once."
After a moment of silence, I finally managed to speak. They had become my faction members without my knowing, but I at least needed to confirm what they had said.
I'm going insane.
I had come simply to look after my territory and ended up becoming the leader of a faction I had never imagined. And a small but solid one composed entirely of great lords, no less.
No—with a marquis involved, I couldn't even call it small. If a faction that included a marquis could be called small, what faction could claim to be large?
Is this divine punishment?
Suddenly a memory from the past surfaced. On the way back to the Imperial Capital after the northern campaign, I had thought that if a faction composed of northern great lords emerged, the Emperor would have a rough time of it.
But I never imagined I would end up belonging to that faction. If I had known, I wouldn't have laughed at the Emperor and moved on.
Yeah. This is divine punishment.
Mock others, and the suffering comes back to you.
It was poetic justice so perfect it gave me chills.