Northern Grand Count (Not Grand Duke) - 4
Marquis Barandiga, Batal Gurt of Barandiga.
Count Kaitana, Daran Kzan of Kaitana.
Count Kirgia, Kchur Darian of Kirgia.
Count Virs, Nevila Lutun of Virs.
Count Digera, Haral Mungerte of Digera.
Count Ikilan, Sarna Sikratiha of Ikilan.
Count Gorming, Gilke Korko of Gorming.
Count Yudher, Nachav Olan of Yudher.
Count Ramandia, Ugan Gorta of Ramandia.
Count Kital, Irad Natlan of Kital.
Count Rakar, Hokor Biyu of Rakar.
Count Loromana, Enji Araha of Loromana.
Count Charaul, Jaya Tatakia of Charaul.
And last of all, Count Wiridia, Karl Crassius of Wiridia.
Fourteen great lords in all had gathered in the County of Wiridia. Not mere nobles, not even ordinary titled aristocrats—these were the great territorial lords who each governed a vast domain of their own.
The banquet hall was packed with every major northern lord, beginning with Count Kaitana. I lifted the glass resting on the table and began to speak.
"The Empire and the North stood opposed for long ages, yet that was nothing more than a tragic history born of mutual misunderstanding. Worse still, there were wicked men who exploited that gulf and stoked discord between the two powers. The wise who sought peace were persecuted by those same wicked men and could only shed tears."
I stressed the sorrowful confrontation between Empire and North, the traitors who had caused it, and the good sages who had died amid their schemes. Empire and North could have understood each other and become one; only a handful of traitors had kept them apart.
Of course there was no need to name which traitors I meant.
"Yet Heaven itself must have grieved at a confrontation that spilled blood and tears, for at last the Empire and the North have become one. Warm coexistence, not cold hostility, has come to us."
With those words I stepped toward the great lords one by one—toward the men who, like me, held glasses and wore faint smiles.
"This was possible only through Enen's grace and the Great Emperor's protection, and only because the sages who pursued peace still lived. Thanks to them the Empire has ended its long history of confrontation and opened a new history of harmony and coexistence."
I raised the glass high, as if offering it to Heaven, as if displaying it before the whole world.
At the same moment the thirteen great lords watching me—no, the nomads who had ended the age of confrontation and entered the Empire's embrace—lifted their own glasses toward the sky.
"We have opened a new history. Across thousands of years, only we are writing a history that is truly unique."
It was no exaggeration. In all of human history, settled peoples and nomadic peoples had never truly become one. Only now, with the Empire holding the entire North and the nomads offering the title of Khan to the Emperor, had settlers and nomads become a single whole.
"Therefore I, Count Wiridia, Karl Crassius of Wiridia, swear before Enen and the Great Emperor: I will advance so that this history of peace and prosperity never collapses. I will serve as the bridge between the settled folk and the nomads who have at last become neighbors."
At that declaration the smiles of the nomadic great lords grew even deeper. As a believer of the Dawn Church I had sworn before Enen; as an imperial noble I had sworn before the Great Emperor. For a people who valued face above all, this was the highest oath—one that even death could not break. In the lords' eyes I had just declared that I would forever lead and protect the Northern faction.
Of course I possessed neither piety nor loyalty. Yet for the sake of my own peaceful life I would have to live out my days as head of the Northern faction. Neglect the North and I would have to clean up both the Emperor's scolding and the North's wounded pride at the same time.
The motive was somewhat strange, but the result was a perfect, if peculiar, oath. Beneath that oath the fourteen great lords cried out with all their hearts.
"I, Karl Crassius of Wiridia, shall never forget the friendship and the great cause of the comrades gathered here! For the protection of Heaven's Mandate and the order of the continent!"
"For the protection of Heaven's Mandate and the order of the continent!"
I watched the great lords drain their glasses in hearty gulps and drained mine as well.
I had not particularly built friendship with the northern great lords, nor did I understand their cause—yet the Northern faction had been launched all the same. I had become its leader, and so long as I fulfilled my duties the North would obey and respect my commands.
...Yes. So long as I fulfilled my duties.
This is driving me insane.
A hollow laugh escaped me. Honestly I was never the sort to show my face much in high society, yet the moment one becomes faction leader one is expected to display vigorous social activity. If I lived like a dead mouse the northern great lords would go looking for another leader and peel away.
They had formed the faction precisely to exert influence at the center and to deal with the nobles of the heartland. If the faction leader himself turned into a shut-in, the members would feel slighted.
The weight of a faction leader...
I quietly closed my eyes. Not even the weight of a family head—now the weight of a faction leader. How had my life come to this?
"Count. Allow me to pour for you this time."
While I stood there blankly, Marquis Barandiga approached with a wine bottle in hand.
It still felt surreal enough to induce cognitive dissonance. No matter the gap between a long-established heartland noble and a newly risen one, a marquis was bowing his head to a count. The sight of the hierarchical order being smashed so thoroughly was almost embarrassing.
"Surely it is more proper that I pour for Your Lordship first?"
"Oh? Is that so? It almost feels as though our titles have been swapped—how awkward."
Anyone listening would know it was a joke, yet I could not laugh. Even to my own eyes a faction whose leader was a count and whose members included a marquis was far too strange.
I felt a genuine chill that the Emperor might one day declare, "This is an improper state of affairs," and simply elevate the County of Wiridia into a marquisate.
"...Come to think of it, between friends there is little point in fretting over whose title is higher."
I pushed aside the horrific vision of the seal in my breast evolving into the white seal of a marquis and finally managed to speak.
Every current marquis was a giant who already wielded formidable influence. Even Marquis Barandiga, relatively weak in power, was the sole marquis of the North; the symbolic weight alone made demotion unthinkable.
So I told myself not to worry too much. Count would be the final rank for me.
It surely would.
After the banquet celebrating the founding of the Northern faction ended, I showed the great lords to their rooms.
Fortunately Wiridia had once been a staging ground for the northern punitive armies, so there were more than enough chambers suitable for high-ranking guests. The irony that those rooms now housed northern nomads rather than northern punitive troops was not lost on me.
"It must mean the age of conflict has given way to an age of harmony. And I am glad beyond words that you, Karl, stand at the forefront of it."
"You flatter me, Your Grace."
I offered an awkward smile at the Duke of Victory's words. Having been drafted by the Emperor's silent order, praise about standing at the forefront of harmony felt painfully excessive.
First slave would be closer to the truth.
I managed a bitter self-assessment yet forced the smile to stay in place. I could hardly wear a gloomy face in front of the Duke of Victory while he was offering congratulations on the faction's founding.
News travels fast with him.
A moment of genuine awe struck me. The Duke of Victory already possessed immense influence as a duke and head of the northern heartland faction; now that he was the Emperor's father-in-law his information network had become terrifyingly swift. Learning of a Northern faction known only to the Emperor and the parties involved, and sending congratulations on the very day of its founding, was anything but normal.
Of course the Duke of Victory was not the sort to abuse early knowledge, yet the thought that he would henceforth know my every move still made me feel faintly embarrassed—
"By the way, people will start calling you the Northern Grand Duke now."
...?
"Pardon?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Northern Grand Duke?
Just hearing the words made my skin crawl. In this Empire there was only one grand-ducal title: the Grand Duchy of Kabaschleitz, reserved for the heir to the throne. Only one.
Yet at my reaction the Duke of Victory merely burst out laughing. Honestly, tossing a bomb at someone and then laughing about it seemed a bit much.
"It was my own nickname in younger days. Because my domain lay in the north, I suppose—before long people started calling me the Northern Grand Duke."
"...Is it even permissible for a noble to be given a nickname like 'Grand Duke'?"
"Even if others call me Grand Duke, my actual rank is still duke, is it not? The Retired Emperor paid it no great mind, so set your worries aside."
The Duke of Victory kept laughing, but this was nothing to laugh off. Even for a duke, hanging the nickname "Grand Duke" on a mere noble reeked of treason. And the Retired Emperor—himself a notorious paranoiac—had simply let it slide?
Impossible. Paranoia aside, a collateral member of the imperial family would never stand idle while a duke rose that high.
Sensing my doubt, the Duke of Victory continued, still smiling.
"There was a popular romance novel in the old days that featured a character called the Northern Grand Duke. It was also a historical novel set in the age of the Muno Empire, and the fellow ultimately submitted to the imperial house, so no one made a fuss."
Ah.
That I could accept. The nickname had not been bestowed because people seriously rated the Duke of Victory's power and prestige so highly; it had simply stuck because noble young ladies loved the novel. Getting worked up over a nickname like that would have been ridiculous even for an emperor.
Northern Grand Duke?
I glanced at the Duke of Victory's image in the communication crystal.
Age had mixed some white into the brilliant silver hair, yet the blue garments that were the emblem of House Nuren remained, and above all there was the post of Deputy Commander of the Imperial Army. He truly looked as if he had stepped straight out of a painting of the Northern Grand Duke. I seemed to recall that in his youth he had been a handsome man pursued by many young ladies.
And now they want to call me the Northern Grand Duke?
Admiration for the Duke of Victory slowly turned into something heavier. Just as he had said, the nickname "Northern Grand Duke" was about to be passed on to me.
A domain farther north than his, leadership of a faction that commanded vigorous northern nomads, and two campaigns under my belt.
Fuck.
Unfortunately, I too looked as if I had been painted as the Northern Grand Duke. Worse—I was still in my twenties, an active-duty Northern Grand Duke.
...Then is the Golden Duke the Southern Grand Duke?
The thought suddenly occurred to me. Romance novels sometimes featured a sly, money-soaked Southern Grand Duke instead of the cold, martial Northern one.
It fit perfectly. Anyone could see the Golden Duke was the Southern Grand Duke. He even had twelve wives.
It really is a romance fantasy, isn't it.
In the oddest place of all, I once again realized exactly what kind of world this was.