Chapter 198: Dmitry Duchy (3)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 198: Dmitry Duchy (3)
Dmitry.
It was his hometown, a place he hadn't visited in a very long time.
Rodwell had left Dmitry to prove himself in the capital. Now, taking in the surrounding scenery, memories of the past washed over him.
'How many years has it been?'
He couldn't quite remember.
One thing was certain: the outskirts of Dmitry Castle had never been this pleasant.
When he first left, the slums had reeked of filth. Now, those shabby hovels had been torn down, replaced by a beautiful, bustling town. Dark, gloomy faces were nowhere to be found. Well-fed, healthy children ran through the streets with bright, energetic expressions. Shifting his gaze, the walls of Dmitry Castle loomed in the distance, exuding an overwhelming presence.
They seemed even taller than before.
Not only that, but the structure had been redesigned for optimal combat efficiency, and magic defense formations bristled along the ramparts.
'A lot has happened.'
Dmitry had been swept into the vortex of war while he was gone.
They had waged war against Barco, clashed with the Northern Lords to claim the northeast region, and even faced the threat of Marquis Benedict, the commander of the rebel forces, marching on Dmitry. Forged in the fires of these conflicts, Dmitry had undergone a continuous transformation. It had once been little more than a decent frontier territory; now, it was arguably the most well-equipped domain in the entire kingdom.
Following the war, Rodwell Dmitry was ordered to take a leave of absence.
Though Dmitry had ascended to a duchy, it had not completely severed its military ties with Cairo.
Regions bordering other nations, such as the Western and Southern Fronts, were designated for joint defense. Rodwell was informed he could continue his service on the Western Front if he so wished. Furthermore, having been promised a promotion during the post-war commendations, he would be assigned a commander-level position upon his return.
He stood at a crossroads.
Should he remain in Dmitry, or head back to the Western Front?
Seeking the answer, he pushed his complicated emotions aside and passed through the city gates.
Instantly, awe washed over him.
The sight before him was vastly different from the Dmitry he remembered.
"……What on earth happened here?"
Well-paved roads and sturdy stone buildings.
It was a level of development unfathomable for a frontier city. But what caught his eye more than anything else were Dmitry's soldiers. He had noticed it at the gates; they were exceptionally well-trained, patrolling in ironclad formations. Their disciplined movements and sharp, predatory gazes made it clear they wouldn't tolerate even the slightest disturbance. Seeing them, Rodwell was immediately reminded of the soldiers he had seen Roman leading on the battlefield.
It was undeniable.
They had changed.
These were no longer mediocre frontier guards; they exuded an aura that could easily overwhelm the Kingdom Army.
Rodwell walked down the street, feeling like a stranger in his own home.
It hadn't been that long since he left, yet he couldn't easily process his hometown's drastic transformation. Needing time to calm his chaotic thoughts, he stepped into a nameless tavern, took a seat, and nursed a beer while listening to the chatter around him.
"Hahaha, did that really happen?"
"I'm telling you! Some rookie made a mistake, and we almost got buried alive down in the tunnels. If Lord Roman Dmitry hadn't secured the shafts, I wouldn't even be sitting here today."
"That's the truth. Ever since he protected the shafts with those magic artifacts, there hasn't been a single casualty."
"To Lord Roman Dmitry, the man who saved my life—cheers!"
"Cheers!"
Clink!
Their beer mugs collided.
The men, clearly miners from the iron mine, talked animatedly about Roman Dmitry. The other tables were much the same. No matter how a conversation started, it eventually circled back to Roman. Recounting his exploits on the battlefield, the people beamed with immense pride at being part of Dmitry.
The entire city brimmed with vitality.
The iron mine provided abundant jobs, and the wealth it generated created a virtuous cycle that stimulated the local economy. Naturally, the people were thriving. And because they knew this peaceful prosperity stemmed from Roman Dmitry, his name was a constant fixture on their lips.
A profound sense of cognitive dissonance washed over Rodwell.
Before he left, his only older brother had been "The Fool of Dmitry," a man mocked by everyone.
Gulp, gulp.
He downed his drink.
Then, with a soft thud, he set his glass down and stood up.
His mouth tasted bitter.
* * *
That night, Rodwell Dmitry could not sleep.
He was the second son of a baron.
Why had he lived so desperately?
There was no grand, overarching reason.
He had struggled simply to become someone worthy of carrying Dmitry's future. Yet, during his brief absence, the world had flipped upside down. The Roman Dmitry who was once mocked at the mere mention of his name was gone. Everything Rodwell had seen and heard today proved just how deeply the people of Dmitry revered Roman.
He felt hollow.
His mind was a tangled mess.
The bitter realization set in: the current Dmitry suited Roman far better than it ever suited him.
"…………This is just miserable."
All his efforts up until now felt meaningless.
He had been the one qualified to be the successor.
While Roman took naps, Rodwell had practiced his swordsmanship until his hands bled. While Roman drank, Rodwell had inspected the forge. While Roman chased women and brawled with the guards, Rodwell had sat alone in his room studying military tactics. Everyone had taken it for granted that Rodwell Dmitry was the true successor. Even those who had sworn his position was unshakeable when he left for the capital now couldn't hide their discomfort when looking at him.
It was guilt, plain and simple.
Because their hearts now belonged to Roman Dmitry, they found it impossible to face Rodwell with genuine sincerity.
It was a cruel reality.
Though a pang of resentment pierced him as he watched his lifelong efforts crumble to dust, he couldn't bring himself to blame the people who followed Roman. The results spoke for themselves. Dmitry was flourishing, its people were happy, and the Baron's family now ruled a duchy.
There was not a single flaw to be found.
Roman Dmitry was the perfect successor.
'And I've even lost an eye.'
His empty socket throbbed.
For a swordsman, losing an eye altered far more than one might think.
Every swing of his sword felt foreign, and his depth perception and sense of distance were permanently skewed.
He looked up at the night sky from his balcony.
It was pitch black.
Just like his future, Rodwell Dmitry was lost in an abyss of confusion.
'There is no place for me in Dmitry. And even if I return to the Western Front, I am no longer the man they want.'
He was backed into a corner.
In truth, stripping away all other excuses, Rodwell simply could not forget the sight of Roman on the battlefield.
The common folk only had rumors. They merely gossiped about the overwhelming martial might Roman displayed when he slaughtered Gustavo. But Rodwell had witnessed it with his own two eyes.
It was overwhelming.
Visceral.
Watching Roman paint the battlefield in blood with every blink of an eye, Rodwell had already surrendered the position of successor in his heart.
The Dmitry Duchy.
It was no longer a mere barony.
To rule over the entire northeast region, Roman Dmitry was infinitely more qualified for the position of successor than he was.
He wrestled with his thoughts all night.
After spending a day or two in solitude, he was summoned to his father's office.
There, he voiced the conclusion he had painstakingly reached.
"I am not stepping aside simply because he is the eldest son. After returning to Dmitry and observing the people's daily lives, I realized that the vast majority have already accepted Brother Roman as Dmitry's successor. I do not wish to use my time away in the capital as an excuse. Even if I had stayed in Dmitry, I could never have achieved what Brother Roman did. If anything, being directly compared to him would have only made the people's decision easier. Father, I do not wish to leverage my past efforts to jeopardize Dmitry's future. So..."
The genius of Dmitry.
The future of Dmitry.
He had lost his way entirely.
With a defeated expression—a stark contrast to his once-confident self—he looked up at Baron Romero.
"Please let me go. For the time being, I think I need some time to myself, far away from Dmitry."
He stood up.
Then, offering a deep, final bow, he walked out of the office.
* * *
In the office, where only the two of them now remained, Baron Romero spoke.
"……There was a time when I placed an excessive burden on Rodwell. It was because you, my eldest son, were known as the Fool of Dmitry. It was because of the nobles who sneered that a family of commoner origins had inherent limitations. Seeing Rodwell master swordsmanship so quickly and display abilities far superior to his peers, I believed he had to be the successor to carry the Dmitry family's future."
Romero's chest tightened.
Rodwell was a second son who had always been mature beyond his years.
Because Romero had relied on him—perhaps even more than his eldest son—the defeated look in Rodwell's eyes just before he left weighed heavily on his heart.
"At an age when he should have been coddled, Rodwell lived a life crushed by his father's expectations. All because of a single word of belief from me, a single trusting look. The child who used to act spoiled eventually developed a fierce gaze and did everything asked of him without a single complaint. Rodwell was the pride of Dmitry. And today, I had to tell that same Rodwell, who lived his entire life for Dmitry, that I cannot grant him the position of successor. It is a truly cruel thing. Yet, even now, I do not think that choice was wrong. For the sake of Dmitry's people, it is only right that you, Roman Dmitry, become the successor."
However, his feelings as a father were an entirely different matter.
Though he had made the correct, cold decision as the head of the family, sorrow had painted his face the moment Rodwell walked out.
'I am not a very good father.'
Roman had always been his sore spot—the child he worried about the most.
That was why Romero couldn't help but lavish more attention on him. While he took Rodwell's great accomplishments for granted, he would rejoice as if he had conquered the world whenever Roman did even slightly well. Roman was the child who had shared their meager life as commoners. Back then, Romero believed that looking after his troubled, eldest child was simply what a father was supposed to do.
Conversely, he thought he could compensate Rodwell simply by handing him the keys to the family.
Only now, having grown older and weathered the storms of life, did he realize just how clumsy he had been as a parent.
Though the world revered Baron Romero as a self-made legend, he was still a deeply flawed father.
"Roman."
"Yes, Father."
"I am not a very clever man. Even after doing something I regret so deeply, I still do not know what I should do as a father. Normally, I would have gone to your mother and asked for the answer. But just this once, there is something I want to ask of you."
"Please, speak."
Father and son locked eyes.
The new future of Dmitry.
Rather than a life where they were merely revered from afar, Romero wished for Dmitry to simply remain Dmitry.
"Take care of your younger brother. He is a brother who has lost a great deal. I am not certain if asking this of you is the best choice for Rodwell, but I do not believe it is a bad thing for a family to actually act like a family. Just as I am the father to both you and Rodwell, and just as I constantly strive despite my shortcomings, I hope you will also act for the sake of your family. This is my final request to the one who will inherit Dmitry."
The word 'family.'
Roman remained silent for a moment.
His current life was still unfamiliar to him.
Though he retained the memories of his past life, he was living a completely different existence now.
"I understand, Father."
It was a simple, straightforward answer.
At those words, a relieved smile finally graced Baron Romero's face.
* * *
Roman left the office.
Walking down the hallway, he looked down at his hands.
'In my past life, I choked the life out of my own flesh and blood with these very hands.'
Their faces were still vivid in his memory.
The faces of siblings flushed with rage, vowing to kill him, glaring at him with bloodshot eyes and cursing him until their very last breath. Even the siblings he thought he had maintained a decent relationship with were no different. In their final moments, they hadn't resented the father who instigated their fratricidal war; they had only resented Baek Joong-hyuk, the one squeezing the life out of them.
That was what 'siblings' meant in the life of Baek Joong-hyuk.
But his current life was different.
From his interactions with Lauren Dmitry to observing Rodwell Dmitry today, Roman began to redefine his relationship with them in his mind.
"Foolish bastard."
It was pathetic.
Rodwell looked as if he had given up on the entire world just because he lost a single eye. Despite the years of blood, sweat, and tears he had poured into his training, he had yielded the position of successor without a moment's hesitation. It was a sight utterly unimaginable in his past life. Unlike his former siblings, who had struggled like rabid dogs to grasp even a shred of petty power, Rodwell actively chose to avoid conflict within the family.
The world was a harsh place.
But if Rodwell was his younger brother—if he was someone born of the same bloodline—Roman refused to let him crumble like this.
He intended to take this opportunity to show Rodwell exactly what kind of man his older brother was, and what it truly meant to live as a Dmitry.
He moved with purpose.
Arriving at his destination, Roman looked out over Dmitry's training ground. There, beneath the bright sunlight, he found Rodwell Dmitry silently swinging his sword.