The Vacant Throne of the North
The victory banquet after I'd become the Grand Duke of the North was a massive event. High nobles typically stayed in the Capital for days for occasions like this. Naturally, they needed lodging, so it was standard for the head butler or head maid to arrive early and handle preparations and cleanup. That's why the head butler, who'd come to the capital ahead of time, suddenly learned via telegram that the duke and duchess—due today—had met a tragic end.
"There's no one else who can legally inherit the dukedom besides you, Sir Volka! You must return. You have to go back and find out what caused their deaths!"
At the head butler's words, every eye in the banquet hall turned to me. I patted his shoulder to calm him down first.
My brother and sister-in-law. In other words, the original novel's male and female leads had died suddenly. The romance novel's ending had come and gone long ago. But even so, for the central figures of this world to drop dead like this felt off somehow. I was curious too about why they'd died. Still, that didn't mean I could rush back north right now.
"The audience with His Majesty comes first. Heading north can wait until after."
"What do you mean, don't you know?! If the duke has passed, this is no ordinary matter! Who knows what those vultures in the north might do...!"
"Calm your emotions, Head Butler."
There were too many eyes on us. No matter the reason for their deaths, this was the passing of the original novel's male and female leads. And considering the empire's current chaos, it seemed unlikely they'd gone peacefully—maybe sharing fruit and fermented crab, only to drop dead absurdly.
Something smells fishy.
The six-year war against the monsters. The four-year conflict with the kingdom alliance led by the Kramkin Duchy. The imperial authority was shaking. The empire's nobles, having sacrificed immensely during the wars, were aggressively challenging the imperial family to claim their rights. Why? The biggest issue was that the imperial army—the emperor's direct force and the empire's real bulwark against division—had been massively depleted.
And in this mess, the North steadfastly supported the current emperor. Even in the original romance novel, there were several arcs where the female lead outsmarted the nobles scheming against the emperor, earning favor from the imperial family. In other words, to those nobles hoping for the throne's collapse, the northern duke's house must have been a massive thorn in their side.
"I'll head north and look into it. It's my brother's death—I have no intention of sitting idle. But not right now. First, I need to claim the reward for what my men and I bled for over ten years."
It was suspiciously well-timed, this eerie death. No matter how I spun it, with Adrakkin blood running through my veins, it made sense for me to uncover the truth. But not yet. No matter how urgent, I had to fulfill the purpose of coming here first—that was the natural order.
"My apologies, Sir Volka. I spoke out of turn... I'll have a vehicle ready to depart as soon as the banquet ends."
"Thanks."
After the head butler left the banquet hall with a pale face, I sighed and straightened my tuxedo tie once more before lifting my head. Wanting to leave a good impression, I flashed a grin, but I felt a few nobles who'd been glancing my way flinch and tremble.
"Don't smile, sir. It ruins everyone's appetite."
Sharp, but factual. My ugly mug to begin with. Add the war scars and the beastman tribe tattoos they'd inked over them—including on my face—and objectively... I'd make a back-alley thug piss himself and bolt.
"The uniform would've been better. In this tux, you look like high-class cheese slopped on food waste."
"Food waste is a bit much..."
"In short, it emphasizes the ugliness even more, sir."
I sighed.
"Let's just get the audience over with and leave."
If the war hero had been some ordinary scion from a normal house, I'd have gotten lines like, "Ooh, a war noble! How about meeting my daughter? I'd love to talk business!" and mingled with the other nobles. But my looks kept anyone from approaching me warmly. And it wasn't just the looks.
The Hellhound Brigade had been mired in controversy from its formation. Imperial citizens discriminated against beastmen. Hell, they still didn't have citizenship—obvious, right? The glances thrown my way from all over the banquet hall weren't kind, but even more piercing were those aimed at my adjutant.
I stepped in front of her, blocking the stares pouring her way. I didn't want to stay here long. No reason to.
"I wish to see His Majesty."
The emperor wasn't at the banquet. When I told the Imperial Guard, they scanned me from head to toe before politely escorting me somewhere.
"A heads-up... the audience might take a bit."
"Understood. He's busy, no doubt."
"A different reason, but... yeah."
The upper-floor conference room in the palace where the banquet raged. Noisy shouts and fierce arguments leaked through the ornate doors. The guards opened them. I entered with my adjutant. And I understood why they'd said the audience might be delayed.
"The East can never accept this outcome! Your Majesty! We suffered the greatest losses in the monster war!"
"Greatest losses? Greatest losses?! We in the West fought the full-scale war with Kramkin Duchy! Your Majesty! The West is worse off! You must allow more aid to the West!"
"If aid is impossible, we request the lifting of various restrictions on the South. To recover our losses independently, we need more troops and capital."
"Lower our taxes, or hand over the various business rights the imperial family has monopolized until now!"
An old, weary lion. And hyenas clawing to tear off every scrap of flesh. That was the perfect description of the scene before me. The aged emperor looked powerless and exhausted. Even in the original novel, there were frequent depictions of him suffering under the sway of the great nobles.
"I shall remember your wise counsel. Withdraw for now. I wish to spend time with the empire's war hero."
At the emperor's words, the nobles—who'd been raising their voices to pressure him—turned their gazes to me. They startled briefly at my face, then spotted my adjutant's fluffy, glossy long tail and began hurling looks of contempt and disgust.
"We'll take our leave."
The great nobles rose and began filing out of the conference room. Most avoided even glancing at me or my adjutant behind me, ignoring us completely—but as always, lunatics existed regardless of status.
"Filthy four-leg bastard."
A young, hot-blooded southern noble muttered it low as he passed. My adjutant's body flinched at the words. "Four-leg." To beastmen, it stung worse than any pad insult. In the empire, where beastmen discrimination was severe—especially in the South, with its history of outright enslaving them—the humiliation doubled.
My adjutant couldn't react. Beastmen still had no citizenship. Starting a fight here meant a noble could execute her without legal repercussion. So I stepped up instead.
"What did you just say?"
I strode to the young noble, grabbed his collar, and hoisted him up. Average build, but my brute strength and size made lifting him one-handed easy. Forearms thicker than most women's waists. Height just over two meters. And above all, my face—a strategic weapon of intimidation. I shoved it right up to his.
Ugly face plus scars and tattoos? The effect was absurd.
"Hngh."
The guy instinctively cowered, letting out a pathetic squeak. Before he or the watching southern nobles could protest, I raised my voice. Ten years commanding troops had honed my massive lung power. My roar echoed through the conference room.
"The beastmen fought for the empire for ten years—heroes of reversal! His Majesty himself promised them citizenship as reward! These soon-to-be imperial citizens, these heroes who fought for the empire—and you insult them?! This spits on His Majesty's authority, who recognizes the beastmen!"
Frankly, I wasn't the Grand Duke of the North yet. No one from the Adrakkin house treated me special, no personal faction. All I had were 5,000 loyal beastmen, my command experience, and this body. To keep southern nobles from screwing me over, I needed a grand justification—and the emperor was perfect.
"I challenge you to a duel, punk. As an imperial soldier, I can't let you who insulted His Majesty and my adjutant go free."
I raised my other hand—the one not holding him—and clenched it into a fist. Seeing a fist the size of his head tighten made the young noble's face drain from pale to corpse-like. And then the stench spread through the room. His fancy tux soaked yellow.
"Wh-what is this outrage?! Put me down now!"
The southern nobles protested, but I bellowed back at them.
"You want me to let an insult to His Majesty and my adjutant slide?! I won't rest until my sullied honor is restored. A duel. You're a noble. I'm a noble. To the death."
Of course, I had no real intent to kill. I glanced at His Majesty. Handing him the right to defuse this. The emperor, harried by nobles moments ago, smirked. Looked refreshing.
"Stand down, Major Volka."
"As you command."
I dropped the piss-soaked noble punk. Legs giving out, he collapsed and crawled away on all fours in terror.
"His Majesty's command made me drop you, but I still demand an apology for the insult. Hey, you—the one crawling on 'four legs.' Apologize to my adjutant properly."
I demanded of the punk. The southern nobles bit their lips, but the emperor's sharp gaze pinned them. By invoking His Majesty, I'd tied the insult to imperial authority. East and West nobles? They were rivals from the start. Allies in gouging the emperor, sure—but no reason to cover for this mess.
An old, sick, dying lion was still a lion. And the punk noble had some sense.
"...Sorry."
He barely stood and muttered it curtly, but I wasn't satisfied.
"More sincerely. Bow your head—that's manners, right?"
"Why should I...!"
The punk bristled, so I wordlessly shoved my face closer. Strategic-ugly weapon. He flinched, face paling again.
"...I apologize for my rudeness. I'm sorry."
He bowed to my adjutant. She stayed expressionless, but couldn't hide her lip twitching up.
"Apology accepted... sir who crawled on four legs."
The punk's fists clenched, but I silently shoved my face in again. He flinched and spun, fleeing the room without a word.
"We'll remember this."
The southern nobles growled, but I nodded coolly.
"Me too. That southern nobles crawl on four legs when push comes to shove."
The southern nobles glared murderously before turning and leaving the conference room. Now it was just me, His Majesty, and my adjutant.
"Refreshing. Those annoying bastards."
His Majesty's informal voice finally burst out. I smirked and approached.
"How have you been, Your Majesty?"
"If I look well, your eyes must be failing badly. Not well at all."
"You look tired."
"I am. And it's a situation that can't be anything but."
His Majesty smiled faintly at my adjutant, who quietly stood by my side.
"Thanks to the beastmen's efforts, the empire escaped crisis. You're here to collect what I promised before the war ten years ago, right?"
"Passing the citizenship bill for beastmen is truly urgent, Your Majesty."
"They've earned it. Of course! The Hellhound Brigade's feats make it a given. A given... but..."
His Majesty looked apologetic. That expression alone told me the situation.
"The bill's passage is proving difficult, I take it."
"Southern nobles are fiercely opposed. Granting beastmen citizenship would cost them dearly—they still discriminate daily."
Legislation needed majority noble approval.
"Northern noble support would smooth it over."
My eyes narrowed at that.
"My brother..."
"I heard. Sudden death, they say. Tragic. And suspicious."
"...Murdered?"
His Majesty shook his head at my question.
"Can't say. Figuring it out is your new mission. Duty of blood—and my command to you."
Now I had another reason to head north: investigate my brother's death. By imperial order. And for beastmen citizenship.
"Major Volka. From this day, you are the Grand Duke of the North."
I had to go north.