Here to Collect the Debt
"I've come to collect the withheld funds. I know you're all in here."
"When can I get a firm answer?"
"W-we need to verify first."
"Then verify it now. His Grace the Grand Duke said that if he doesn't receive a proper response, the North will do everything in its power."
Jackson's posture was rigid and unyielding. Leroy positioned himself right beside him. The minister's face showed nothing but panic. This wasn't something he could handle lightly; if mishandled, he might end up shouldering the blame himself. And for a problem like this, that blame would inevitably lead to his head.
"W-we'll give you an answer if you step out and wait..."
"So how long do we wait?"
"We can't say for sure."
"Then we'll have to stay here until it is."
Jackson sat down firmly in his seat. Leroy stood tall, scanning the surroundings. The guards hesitated, unsure how to deal with them. If these had just been green upstarts, they could've been thrown out without issue.
But Leroy looked every bit the Northern general. Towering a full head above the others, with white beard and faint scars etched across his face. He carried no sword, but his stance screamed that anyone approaching would regret it.
"I forbid it. This is where we receive imperial guests and conduct state affairs—how dare you act so rudely!"
"Then just pay up and we'll leave. Why make us wait like this?"
"These country bumpkins don't even know manners. You lot!"
"Haha! Manners are for those who deserve them! You halfwit."
The minister's face flushed crimson at Leroy's mocking laughter. He barked orders at the guards: drag these country yokels out immediately.
It was no longer time for Jackson's words—now Leroy would fight with his fists. The Grand Duke knew it too. Showing anger here was tantamount to treason. In the imperial palace, even the flimsiest excuse could be twisted into rebellion.
"B-break their legs if you have to, those yokels!"
The guards charged one by one. Leroy grabbed the first one's nape and wrestled for control. When a new guard rushed from behind, he hooked his leg while keeping his grip, sending the first tumbling. The followers pulled back slightly. The armor made getting up a struggle.
After a tense standoff, Leroy lunged first. Just like before, he clamped the nape and flipped the armored guard over. Two now flailed on the floor. Leroy's strategy was simple: trip them up. Drawing a blade would put him at a disadvantage, but these guards in heavy plate armor were helpless once down. They were decked out like parade pieces—impractical for real combat, and impossible to rise from alone in such finery.
The North disdained full plate like this. Only heavy cavalry wore it, at best.
"Armor you might've seen decades ago. How do you expect to stand in that?"
"W-what are you fools doing? Drag them out!"
Jackson merely watched from his seat, head held high without a hint of bowing. The guards rushed again, this time all at once. But they couldn't touch Jackson. Leroy sidestepped the frontrunner and tripped him with a foot—crash.
They didn't look battle-hardened.
"Don't you know to surround from all sides? How do you guard anything like this!"
Under Leroy's scolding, the guards slowly encircled them. No need to rush en masse now. Plate armor shrugged off blows anyway. Just tighten the noose gradually.
Jackson sat unfazed, watching calmly. Whatever happened was a win. If the Emperor stiffed the North, great; if they got the money, even better.
Only one bad outcome: the fight dragging on. He was confident in endurance, but prolonged delays could fizzle into nothing. One unbreakable rule: never leave on their own terms.
"Like a brawl, do you? What kind of soldiers can't beat this old man!"
As Jackson steeled himself, Leroy was tossing guards left and right. His lip split, blood trickling from his nose, but he showed no sign of retreat. His initial vigor had waned, yet he held.
"Is there a problem?"
One sentence. The guards began withdrawing. Gaunt frame. Draped in loose robes. Hair unbound, surrounded by the crowd. Naturally, the emaciated man took the Emperor's throne.
The Southern Emperor.
"I came because of the commotion. What's going on?"
"Y-Your Majesty..."
The minister prostrated himself. Guards returned to posts. The fallen ones staggered up. With the Emperor present, Jackson and Leroy had no choice but to kneel.
His arrival was a slight curveball.
"The Northern Grand Duke has sent a letter."
"From there? What does it say?"
"P-please read it yourself..."
At the Emperor's glance, the minister unrolled the scroll. No patience for tedium. He read the words slowly.
Jackson eyed the Emperor's expression, stealing glances but reading nothing. One certainty: more days of dying than living ahead.
"Hm. So what do you want from Us?"
"Your Majesty, we are merely messengers for the Grand Duke. Our demands are all written there."
"Is there reason for Us to review it?"
The Emperor seemed utterly disinterested. Leroy bristled at the attitude but held his tongue. Unexpected.
Honesty it was, then.
"Your Majesty, the North bleeds lives fighting nomads without a scrap of Southern aid—and we've endured till now."
"You've suffered."
All bowed at the reply—except the Northerners. Words wouldn't end this.
"Thus, we demand only the support funds and grain decreed by imperial law."
"And if We say no?"
"We bring the Grand Duke's answer to that."
Leroy rose. Against orders, perhaps—but to convey the Duke's fury fully. Courage forged in readiness for death. That was how Leroy de Wintergard survived.
Maybe not today.
"He offers two choices. First: the North's gates flung wide open."
No more blocking northern nomads. Their privileged status revoked.
But everyone knew nomad incursions southward would doom the Empire.
"Even as nomads ravage the Empire, the North will stand aside."
"S-such insolence..."
The minister tried to interrupt, but the Emperor waved him off. Leroy pressed on.
"Second: Your Majesty comes north himself."
"Tell him to come, then."
"A misunderstanding, Your Majesty. By imperial law, the Grand Duke marches south for one reason only."
The Northern Grand Duke commanded freely northward. Southward, only through proxies.
Except one case: quelling internal rebellion.
"Planning treason, are you?"
No anger in the Emperor's tone. Crossing south meant mountains—and the passes long neglected. Nomad routes, deliberately so.
"Not treason, Your Majesty—just rightful payment."
"We see your game."
No fear left. Jackson rose too. No need to spell out goals. The Emperor might guess.
"You're busy with nomads anyway—emptying the North or coming here amounts to the same."
"Precisely, Your Majesty."
The Emperor had no intent to sign the North's bill. Empty posturing instead.
"We'll review it. Tell him that."
"We cannot, Your Majesty. We were ordered to return with a firm answer."
Murmurs rose. None dared contradict the Emperor.
No matter who.
Yet Leroy stood tall.
"Ordered to die, then. Fine. No money."
"Understood, Your Majesty."
"Instead, something to serve the purpose. But We need more review—go."
Leroy and Jackson exchanged a brief glance. That would do.