The Count's Secret Card
At an age when he should have long since handed the title to an heir and retired to rest, the Count was still bent over reports from every corner of his territory, coughing all the while.
"Damn it all. Every single day feels like hell. Did my father feel this way too? *Cough, cough.*"
Catra County sat at the far eastern edge of the Empire — a territory encompassing four cities and seventeen villages, including the trade city of Catraneo. In sheer scale, it ranked among the largest of the Empire's counties. Not quite a march, perhaps, but close enough. Since time immemorial, Catra had served as the Empire's eastern gateway and the mouth of its great trade routes, and the man who ruled this vast domain was past eighty — ancient even by the standards of the old.
And then, on top of that — perhaps it was the toll of overwork, repeated day after day.
"*Cough, cough* — hrrk. I... I cannot die like this. There is still so much left to do..."
As he spat dark blood into his handkerchief, the Count could feel it: his time was running out. He needed to forge an heir as quickly as possible and pass on the mantle of family head. But the lineage had always been a thin one, and at present there was no fitting successor to inherit the Countship.
"I must hold on at least five more years. Five more years, at least."
There was, admittedly, one person. A single fool of a son — one who had died of syphilis ten years ago.
"*Khh.* A wastrel who knew nothing but swinging a club around and toying with women. And yet, thanks to him, this family finally has hope. Life truly is an unknowable thing."
Still, the thought of that son who had at least left two heirs behind softened the Count's mood slightly. He tucked the bloodstained handkerchief into a drawer. His failing health had to remain a secret.
"Add that woman, and it makes three, does it?"
Including another blood relative he had discovered only recently, there were now three potential successors in total. One of them would inherit the title of Count Catra.
"Katrin, was it? The filthy whore's blood running in her veins troubles me... but she will make a fine card nonetheless."
Recalling the precocious little girl with those striking crimson eyes, the Count allowed himself a sinister smile.
"The eldest's child and the second's are both too dangerous — their mothers' families hold too much power. In that respect, at least, the girl will never plunge the house into turmoil."
The first daughter-in-law, born of a ducal house that could command the Empire itself. The second daughter-in-law, forever eyeing the County like a hawk. As the Count chuckled grimly at the memory of their ambitions, a knock shattered the silence of his study.
"Brother! Brother!"
The door was flung violently open, and a bald old man came rushing in, breathless. It was Klipstol — his younger brother, who had spent twenty straight years living in the capital until his recent return home.
"Brother! You must hear what I have to say!"
They say a man grows more dignified with age — but that fool had only grown more childish. Human nature was truly beyond comprehension.
"Enough of this, you fool! Have some noble decorum! What in the world do you think you're doing?"
At his brother's scolding glare, Klipstol shouted back.
"Brother! This is no time for lectures. I have been gravely insulted!"
"Insulted? Who would dare lay a hand on a member of House Catra?"
"Some lowly common knight insulted me and my retainer!"
The Count slammed his fist on the desk and shot to his feet. A knight was a noble's vassal, his servant — for one to insult his master was blatant insubordination. This was a matter that demanded death.
"Who was it?"
And so, to his brother bristling with fury, Klipstol began his tale of grievances.
"The country bumpkin from Marcel!"
"The bumpkin from Marcel?"
"You know the one — that ignorant ponytailed knight with the halberd! He insulted my retainer, and then..."
As his brother laid out the incident in painstaking detail, the Count's expression shifted by the moment. First bewilderment, then confusion — and finally, sheer disbelief.
"Did Sir Rian truly do such a thing?"
"Of course he did! A common knight, daring such a thing! And worse, an outsider meddling in our family's affairs! This is a crime, plain and certain!"
"He must have had his reasons. Let this one go."
Klipstol bristled at the sight of his brother backing down. The Count Catra he knew was a man of fire — a noble who never yielded an inch to anyone.
"Is it because the man is a Master-class knight? The mighty House Catra, tiptoeing around some knight? Unacceptable! Impossible!"
"He is no ordinary knight — that is precisely why. And he is hardly a man who acts without thought. He must have meant something by it."
"Brother!!! You may not know this out here in the sticks, but the capital is crawling with Master-class knights! More of them than there are pebbles on the road! Has old age made you timid? Bowing your head to a mere intermediate Master!"
"Hm?"
The Count faltered at his brother's outburst. That fool — a full month back in the family, and he still knew nothing about the knight called Rian Limeberg. Sir Rian was never an intermediate Master. He stood far above that.
"Don't tell me you don't know how far Sir Rian has actually come?"
"Isn't he an intermediate Master? I heard he's equal to the commander of the Catra knights."
"You thick-headed fool! That was seven years ago! Things have changed! *Aigoo* — those ears of yours... No wonder you burned through all that money and got chased out of the capital."
The Count let out a long sigh, then spoke again.
"As you say, Sir Rian is publicly known as an intermediate Knight Master. But that is false intelligence. Within the family, he operates as a high-tier Master."
"He... he was a high-tier Master?"
The ranks of knighthood divided broadly into two great categories.
The Knight Expect, who could not yet manifest aura. And the Knight Master, who could.
And within the Knight Master realm — the stage every knight in the world yearned for — there existed five tiers of attainment: low, intermediate, high, uppermost, and apex.
Which meant that Rian Limeberg was the finest knight in all of Catra. The House of Catra had not produced a high-tier Master in nearly two hundred years.
The thinness of the family line — and the absence of any knight of true attainment. These were the chronic weaknesses of House Catra. And Knight Rian was the precious asset that filled that gap.
The Count deliberated a moment, then made his decision.
"Keep this between us. Don't go running your mouth again..."
"There's more?"
"In truth, Sir Rian reached the apex tier last year."
"He — the apex tier? You mean the apex tier, the very threshold of Grandmaster?"
"Yes. Only a handful within the family know this. Speak of it to no one."
Klipstol wore an expression of utter disbelief. Of course, any ordinary man would have reacted the same way — the apex tier of Knight Master was a stage that defied imagination.
"Is he insane? Why would an apex-tier Master be serving as a mere guard knight? He'd be granted a title the moment he set foot in the capital!"
"Which is exactly why I told you not to touch him."
Two in the North. Two in the Center. One each in the West and South.
The Empire counted six Grand Knight Masters in all — and the East, tragically, had none. More astonishing still: in the thousand years since the Empire's founding, the East had never once produced a Grandmaster.
But what if Rian Limeberg actually reached the realm of Grandmaster?
The Empire would be turned upside down. A new history would be written in the East.
And yet, a problem would arise at the same time. A Grandmaster-class knight was required, without exception, to found his own house.
In other words — the moment Sir Rian attained that realm, he would have to leave Catra County.
"Come to think of it, this may work in our favor. If I bind him to my third granddaughter through a political marriage, that might be the finest card of all..."
For the past twenty years, the Count had wrestled with exactly this dilemma as he watched Rian Limeberg grow stronger by the day.
If only that man had been born his son...
What would happen when Rian returned to the Marcel Barony? He had to be kept here, whatever it took. But how? That problem, at least, had just solved itself.
A political marriage. That was the answer.
If Rian wed the next head of the family, then even as a Grandmaster, he would remain bound to Catra for good.
"Brother — isn't there a gap of more than twenty years between them?"
"What does that matter? A Grandmaster would live at least two hundred years."
As the Count spoke, he happened to glance out the window — and spotted Rian approaching. The man seemed to have come to discuss something, and that something was surely whatever his fool brother had just ranted about.
"Count Catra. I've come because there is something I must report."
Rian entered the study and bowed with perfect courtesy.
"Lord Klipstol. A good day to you."
He even inclined his head toward Klipstol, who was still wearing a sour expression.
"It's Klipstol!"
"My apologies, Lord Klipskol. My memory is not what it should be."
"No! Klipstol, I said! You're doing that on purpose, aren't you?"
"Not at all. My hearing is poor — I misheard you."
"Don't lie to me!"
Yes — even that flawless-looking fellow had exactly one flaw. A trifling weakness: he was abysmal at remembering people's names. Or was that a serious one? And hadn't he also damaged his hearing in some childhood accident? To reach the apex tier despite carrying such penalties — the man was enviable, truly enviable.
"Enough. Everyone knows Sir Rian's memory and hearing are poor, so let it go, brother. Now then — what is it you wished to say?"
"I wish to take on a disciple."
"Everyone in Catra knows you have a gift for nurturing talent. This is good news for the County."
"You flatter me. I would like to teach Lady Katrin — would that be possible?"
A conventional political marriage could never bind that man. Lisanne guarded him like a hawk with its eyes afire. But a teacher and a student — what of that bond?
"Do as you wish."
"Truly?"
"Yes. I will spare no support in backing you."
"Thank you!"
Rian Limeberg. A man with no thirst for a knight's glory, no hunger for wealth. Undeniably a strange one — and precisely for that reason, the perfect choice of guardian. And the fact that his strength remained unknown to the Empire was a bonus.
"I say it again and again, Sir Rian: I have always trusted you. So if there is ever anything you wish to say, come find me at any time."
The one person in all of Catra whom the Count — a man of absolute, unchallenged power — feared. It was a single nameless knight.