Chapter 158
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Translator: Prime Works
Chapter: 158
Chapter Title: Flower Gale Bombardment (1)
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“Young Master Lloyd?”
It was an unusually languid evening.
He’d spent the whole day sweating buckets on-site.
Strapping on his tool belt and directing operations hands-on.
Basking under the blazing sun like he was photosynthesizing with the workers.
It was the kind of evening where he just wanted to wash up and flop down right away.
But whether she sensed his mood or not, a maid came looking for him the moment he returned to the mansion.
“Young Master Lloyd? The Count asked me to tell you to head to his study as soon as you got home.”
“His study?”
“Yes, Young Master.”
The maid smiled brightly.
“He seemed in a great mood. Said there’s some joy to share with you.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Joy to share. What could it be?
Lloyd shrugged.
‘No way he hit the lottery. Obviously not. Or maybe some good news from the capital?’
Perhaps the Queen had announced more support policies.
Or maybe they’d build a direct road from the capital straight to their territory.
It’d be nice if some sweet deal like that dropped into their lap.
With those thoughts, Lloyd followed the maid’s lead.
She knocked on the Count’s study door.
A warm voice uniquely his drifted from inside.
“Come in.”
The tone was somehow a bit brighter than usual.
There really must be some good news.
Lloyd felt his heart thumping with idle anticipation.
“Thanks for showing me, Emily.”
Had she not expected him to remember her name?
Leaving the blushing maid behind, he stepped into the study.
There sat the Count and Countess on the reception sofa.
“Come on in. Hard day’s work?”
“A bit.”
He sat across from the couple.
The Countess tilted the teapot for refreshments.
“A bit? In this sweltering heat, slaving away outdoors all day. Must be exhausting. Your throat’s probably parched. Have some of this first.”
Pour.
He took the cool teacup.
Wetting his dry throat, he gauged the couple’s expressions.
“So, what’s this about? Something good?”
Sure enough, both were beaming.
The Count couldn’t hide his smile, his mouth corners practically touching his ears the whole time. The Countess kept her dignified look, but even that couldn’t conceal her subtle delight.
‘There really is something.’
Lloyd racked his brains.
The Count and Countess weren’t frivolous types.
They knew how to express great joy or sorrow with elegant restraint.
That might be why.
In over two years, he hadn’t seen them this thrilled. The closest was back when they cleared the family’s debts?
‘So this is big news on par with paying off those debts.’
What could it be?
As his curiosity grew,
The Count finally got to the point.
“Oh, look at me. I called you here and forgot the main topic. Here, take this first.”
The Count placed a thick bundle of envelopes on the reception table.
Even a rough glance showed at least fifty.
“What’s this?”
“See for yourself.”
“...”
Fifty-plus letters?
The envelopes varied in size and color.
The common thread? All luxurious.
‘What the heck.’
They looked like missives from high places.
Lloyd tilted his head and picked up the top one.
He carefully broke the wax seal.
Out came fancy letterhead with ornate patterns. Even the paper felt top-quality, soft and smooth.
He unfolded the letter.
His eyes scanned it.
- To the esteemed Count Frontera.
May glory ever shine upon the Frontera family.
Lately, we’ve noted the rising fame and honor of your house, filling us with admiration. We’ve heard your eldest son remains unmarried. Our second daughter is also without a match, so we’d like to discuss this closely with you.
Wishing prosperity and triumph for the Frontera family once more, we hope for fortune, blessing, and opportunity to strengthen ties between our houses. We await your favorable reply.
- From the south. Count Cordona.
“...”
Lloyd blinked.
Did something get in his eye at the site today?
Or had he suddenly gone dyslexic?
‘It definitely said “mate” and “second daughter” and all that.’
Boiling it down: a marriage proposal.
A strategic alliance via wedding between the houses.
“How about it?”
The Count asked.
The old man had leaned way over the table, body stretched forward.
His eyes sparkled eagerly.
His mouth grinned ear to ear.
Lloyd gave an awkward smile and asked,
“Hmm, no way all these other envelopes are the same, right?”
“Check them yourself.”
“...”
“These are formal proposals between noble houses, all sent at once via the capital’s House of Nobles. I sorted them a bit, actually.”
“Sorted how?”
“By depth of history and prestige.”
“You stacked the envelopes?”
“Exactly.”
“...”
“It’ll make it easier for you to weigh and decide. Hmm, does it feel like I’m overdoing it as your father?”
“No, no, it’s not that, but...”
“Not that, but?”
...It’s a little overwhelming.
‘Sigh.’
And honestly, bewildering.
He skimmed the rest, minding his expression.
Count Perano from the north, Count Esperia from the west, Viscount Sicily the magnate from the southwest, and so on. Plenty from local viscounts and barons too.
Practically every decent noble house in the kingdom had sent one.
‘What’s going on.’
Had he ever been this popular?
Fifty-nine proposals.
Even tallying every crush, secret admirer, or idol he’d liked, Lloyd wouldn’t hit fifty-nine.
“So, any houses that catch your eye?”
“...”
While Lloyd read, the Count’s face grew even happier as he asked.
Lloyd drained his teacup slowly instead of answering.
Stay calm.
Don’t get swept up.
Don’t let the mood carry you.
A few sips of cool tea settled his fluster.
Cool reason returned, thoughts organizing.
First up: why the flood of proposals.
‘Only one reason. Our house is skyrocketing.’
Not just rising.
They’d swept the monster domino ravaging the eastern region.
One of the few territories to survive.
Now the hub for eastern reconstruction.
The Queen openly announced support.
They’d been elevated to countship.
And he’d thwarted an assassination attempt on the Queen in the capital.
In short: the family basking in Queen Alicia’s full favor.
‘The kingdom’s most solid prospect for the next thirty years. Rising star. Nuclear jackpot stock guaranteed. So they’re rushing proposals to tie knots before we peak, snag us early.’
Situation clear.
Response clear too.
“I hate to say this while you’re happy, but we should reject them all.”
“...Huh?”
The beaming face froze, cracking.
Lloyd pressed on to the stunned Count.
“Now’s not the time to marry.”
“Why? Why not?”
Bewilderment and disappointment filled the Count’s eyes.
Lloyd got it completely.
How thrilled must he be at powerhouse suitors chasing his son?
Only to reject them all.
Treading carefully not to hurt him, Lloyd explained.
“To elaborate, the timing’s off. We’re focused on reconstruction, and marriage gains right now are minimal.”
“No gains? What do you mean? That even if we marry, their material support won’t matter?”
“Yes. The royals cover our needs adequately, and anything from them won’t be free. Plus, there’s more why it’s premature.”
“Care to share?”
The Count shifted in his seat.
Lloyd spoke cautiously.
“Answering these would half mean getting used.”
“Used...”
“You’ve guessed it. Why they want marriage ties. Because we’re rising under Her Majesty’s favor, right?”
“Of course.”
“Exactly. Our peak’s far off. Value’s still climbing. Wait a bit longer. Our worth will rise more in that time.”
Like Gangnam land pre-development boom.
Or Apple stock right before iPhone exploded.
Frontera’s golden age hadn’t come.
Just the upswing starting.
Bite now on sweet offers?
Regret later for sure.
“That’s why it’s premature. Hold off a few years. Then higher-caliber proposals will come.”
“Hmm, so no need to rush ties with houses grabbing early?”
“Yes, exactly. Time’s on our side.”
“But time’s not on yours, it seems.”
“Pardon? What do you mean?”
“You’re an old bachelor already.”
“...Guh.”
Unexpected counter to the solar plexus.
Cold facts smacked his head.
“Think about your age. Twenty-seven already. Which noble heir stays single that long?”
“Umm, but...”
“Don’t I deserve grandkids by now?”
“...”
There it was. The grandkid attack.
The Count had a point.
Twenty-seven.
Prime in modern Korea.
But on Laura continent? Textbook old bachelor.
‘Can’t back down here.’
Lloyd steeled himself.
Truth: zero desire for arranged marriage to some unknown noble lady mismatched in personality, hobbies, looks.
He wanted sweet dating with a normal girl, normal marriage.
So not now. Later.
When he met someone he truly liked.
Then he’d tell the Count formally.
Lloyd gathered his thoughts and spoke.
Now’s truly not the time. These are pure profit calculations for them. If we falter later? They’d ditch without hesitation.
...Calm persuasion.
The Count listened silently.
Clinging to lingering regret.
Unexpectedly, the Countess ended the standoff.
“Dear, follow Lloyd’s lead this time.”
“Madam?”
“He says no. We’re not marrying for him.”
“...”
“He’s always reliable. Trust him.”
“Whew.”
The Count surrendered.
Glancing over with mixed feelings.
“Truly your wish?”
“Sorry.”
“Fine. What now?”
“Simple. Send rejection letters.”
Drive the nail in.
Lloyd stated firmly.
He felt a twinge of guilt toward the Count.
But no choice.
♣
“Whew. Really no helping it?”
That night.
Past midnight.
Count Frontera still hadn’t left the study.
Pacing instead of sitting.
Deep sighs each time.
Chewing regret.
Because of dinner.
‘Does the boy even want to marry?’
Worry gnawed.
Once a wild playboy, worrisome.
Now too diligent. Worry doubled.
‘Working site all day’s good. Sweating hard’s fine. But marry soon, please.’
Son wasting time as bachelor.
What parent wouldn’t fret?
Especially with fifty-nine stellar offers.
To reject wholesale.
The elation from the influx matched his plummet of disappointment.
‘But... he’s so firm. Must respect it.’
That’s loving a son.
So honor his will.
Resolved, Count Frontera sat at the desk.
Spread blank paper, took pen.
“Whew.”
Laden with regret.
Brimming with reluctance.
His nib grudgingly moved.
- To the esteemed Count Cordona.
May honor and fortune grace your house.
We felt boundless joy at your gracious proposal. It deepened trust between our houses. A timely handshake from an unexpected quarter feels like great blessing.
Thus, regret upon regret.
Sorrow beyond measure.
Unable to bond specially with your prestigious house tears at my heart. Yes, I write this steeped in deep sighs. Is this the crush of lingering disappointment?
So please, no misunderstanding upon reading. Though we sadly decline this proposal... and so on... so regrettable... details... nonetheless truly... chatter... this is my heart... blather....
Thus, amid deepening night, rejection-not-quite-rejection letters were penned.
Next day.
Twenty pigeons bore the fifty-nine reluctant replies, flocking vigorously toward the capital’s House of Nobles.