The Duke of Ten Thousand Changes (4)

The truth is, I never put much stock in etiquette. If such things had truly mattered to me, I wouldn't have breezed through my own engagement ceremony, nor ordered the residents to stop bowing their heads every time they laid eyes on me.

That said, I could feel people's perception of me shifting each time I cleared some momentous hurdle. The siege of Andrassy County had been the first turning point; the melting of the ice at Miren Port, the second. By now, people had come to see me not as 'one of Drek Esterzy's sons,' but as the duchy's next leader.

The proof was in the way the soldiers looked at me — steadfast loyalty and trust, burning with fervent hope. It was the very same look the Steel Guard gave my father. Eyes like those could never be forced into being. They were feelings I never would have earned had I truly been the tyrant the rumors made me out to be.

The people of Sirakos seemed to sense it too. Taman, who used to latch onto me like a magnet the moment she saw me, had started reading the room — and that was proof enough.

"You have arrived, o one who walks beside the sacred being."

When we moved on to the shipyard, Grothar, chief representative of the lizardmen, came out to greet us.

"I told you to speak casually with me, Grothar."

"That is not so easy as it sounds."

Grothar hissed softly through his teeth. It was the distinctive laughter of the lizardfolk.

"Monster!"

"What's a monster doing here?"

The Sirakos men panicked, hands flying to their weapons.

"Sheathe those blades before I snap your wrists and your necks," Birgir warned his men.

"Have you forgotten where we are? This is the North. A lizard walking on two legs is nothing out of the ordinary here."

That was the universal prejudice about northerners — apparently we lived cheek by jowl with monsters. In fairness, we northerners were still working through our own adjustment period with the lizardmen. The language barrier alone was a serious problem. We had language experts assigned to the effort, but results would naturally take time.

"These are engineers from the lizardfolk nation. We have concluded a technical alliance for the building of ships."

"Ships...?"

The Sirakos men looked up at the warship under construction.

"...That's a ship?"

"Grothar, show our guests around the ship, would you?"

Grothar led us to a vantage point close to the hull. Up close, the sheer scale of the thing struck home far more powerfully.

It was as if Count Andrassy's painstakingly engineered fortress had been set afloat on the water — a square foundation, towering walls bristling with countless watchtowers, and cannons packed in dense, unbroken rows.

"She is called the Drakka-Kash," Grothar declared, his tone brimming with pride.

"Drakka means dragon, and kash means strength. It is my humble attempt to capture Lady Ruby's grandeur with my meager talents."

"So this... is a ship modeled after Ruby?"

"But of course."

I'd commissioned a ship and gotten a religious observance instead. Well... no harm done. As long as the end product turned out well, that was all that mattered.

I relayed Grothar's explanation to the Sirakos delegation. Birgir asked, eyes full of suspicion:

"Does this thing actually move?"

"They say it runs on a mana core for motive power. Your Imperial Capital has its Floating Castles, does it not? Think of it as much the same mechanism."

"Hm. Fair enough — if they can float a castle in the sky, I suppose the sea is no great stretch."

Birgir nodded, looking far from convinced.

"Still, she'll be slow, won't she?"

"I'm told she manages about a third the speed of a conventional sailing ship."

"A third? That's not sailing, that's crawling. This won't do, Little Brother. A warship that can't perform evasive maneuvers has no meaning as a warship."

I passed Birgir's objection along to Grothar, who hissed softly before asking:

"Is this man a shipwright of the human race?"

"No, he's the king of a nation called Sirakos. A rather gifted captain in his own right."

"How foolish. A king, and yet foolish. Why would a ship need to evade? My Drakka-Kash destroys anything that enters her range. Please inform him that overwhelming firepower is the beginning and end of a ship."

Hearing the translation, Birgir's expression turned ugly.

"I guarantee it. If my Blood Tide gets behind this tub of yours, I'll have her sunk to the bottom inside a minute."

"Please inform the foolish king that my Drakka-Kash carries cannons on her stern as well."

"Stern cannons? Ha! You think fixed guns are going to hit a sailing ship running at full sprint?"

"Please ask the foolish king whether he cannot see the rotating turret mounted atop the watchtower."

"...Let's simply agree that we each hold different philosophies. Slow ships and fast ships both have their strengths, don't they?"

I cut in, unable to stand by and watch any longer. Neither of them looked the least bit persuaded. I could understand Birgir's position, mind you — a sailor's pride lives in handling his ship as deftly as his own body, and if ships turned into slow, floating fortresses, everything these men had spent their lives mastering would be rendered pointless.

"You said you had an interest in our ships?"

"I did — that's part of the agreement. Trade can hardly run on slow ships alone."

"Then build me the finest ship afloat. It's high time you learned what a real ship is, Little Brother."

Birgir was already blazing with competitive fire.

After the tour of the shipyard, I guided Birgir to the site where I had laid my barrier — partly so I could explain just how the port's climate had been changed.

"What's that over there?"

As we walked, Birgir pointed to one side of the street, where an unusually dense crowd had gathered.

"That is Miren Port's most famous sight."

Lucian answered without missing a beat.

"That is the very spot where His Grace changed the weather. Pilgrims have been flocking in from all across the duchy."

"It's really nothing. The city's brand new, you see, so there isn't much else to look at, haha."

I forced out a laugh. The memory of that cringe-inducing sign — Weather, Obey — planted on that very spot was still fresh in my mind.

"Hmm? Nonsense. Don't other cities draw pilgrims too? If it's a place that important, we can hardly not see it for ourselves. Wouldn't you say?"

"Indeed, I find myself looking forward to it."

The moment Birgir showed interest, Finlock chimed in in eager agreement. There was nothing to be done about it now. I led the party onward with the heart of an ox being led to the slaughterhouse.

"Duke Iden!"

"It's Duke Iden!"

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pilgrims had spotted me. One after another they flung themselves to the ground, bowing until their foreheads pressed into the dirt. In the space of a breath, the street became a chapel.

And there, rearing up at the heart of it all, stood an altar of stacked timber. The sign erected before it had, in the meantime, upgraded its message considerably:

...Whoever wrote that sign, come out here.

"Quite the popular figure, aren't you, Little Brother?"

Birgir was already grinning from ear to ear.

"Did you truly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠say something like that? No — don't answer. I'll enjoy imagining it in my head far more."

"...Whatever you imagine, I promise the truth was far more mundane."

"No need to be so sheepish about it. Solitas was human once too, or so they say."

"Haha... thank you."

"So your Awoken Ability is weather control, is it, Little Brother?"

"It does a bit of everything."

"Then 'Duke of Ten Thousand Changes' it is. In my opinion, that's the perfect name for you. Look around you — does anyone here treat you like a tyrant? A tyrant is a man like me. When I step out onto a street, everyone's too busy hiding like rats to even breathe."

Birgir clapped me on the shoulder and roared with laughter.

With Birgir II finally setting his signature to the agreement he had been holding in reserve, the Esterzy Duchy and the Kingdom of Sirakos were formally bound in a trade alliance.

We had agreed to establish trading posts in one another's ports as tokens of friendship — and the Sirakos representative appointed to run the Miren post was Taman.

"Iden."

"...Why are you calling me that?"

"Turns out I'm two years younger than Uld. If I get two years older, d'you think I could get as strong as her?"

"Island Lord Taman."

"Yeah?"

Taman looked up at me with a perfectly innocent expression.

"Why is the person who's supposed to be at Miren Port following me all the way to the ducal castle?"

"The port's boring. Same old scenery every single day."

Taman lay sprawled on the sofa, head pillowed against the armrest, legs kicked straight up in the air. Whatever meaning that pose was meant to convey, only she would ever know.

It occurred to me that this, too, might be one of King Birgir's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠calculations. He'd offered generous terms in the agreement — and in exchange, quietly handed off the job of babysitting his wildcat.

I pretended not to see her and buried myself in the mountain of overdue paperwork. The most pressing problem at the moment was the deteriorating food situation. In the short time I'd been away, trouble had broken out all across the duchy — bandit gangs springing up, granaries raided, merchants jacking grain prices to outrageous heights.

The first Sirakos trade fleet would arrive in ten days, and between now and then stood a mountain of problems that had to be solved first.

"Is being a duke always like this?"

"Like what?"

"Staring at papers all day?"

"I'm the one in charge. I doubt King Birgir is any different."

"In our kingdom, we just dump all the bothersome work on Finlock."

"...Let's just say I don't have a Finlock."

The only person I trusted enough to hand internal affairs to was Lucian — but Lucian's official title was, at the end of the day, 'advisor,' which made offloading work onto him an awkward business.

"By the way, what's with that cat? It's got wings."

"That's a Hellcat. It may look harmless, but it's a high-tier monster, so absolutely do not touch—"

Taman was already stroking the Hellcat's head. What followed unfolded precisely as predicted: the Hellcat let out a screech of pure spite and raked vertical lines across Taman's face. She flew into a towering rage, swearing she'd skewer the insolent furball, and I barely managed to keep cat and human separated.

Through all manner of interruptions, I finally managed to wrap up the paperwork. Now it was time to hoist the sails and move on to the next stage.

The first update came from Adras, chief of my intelligence bureau. Mabel had finally branded me an 'unlawful occupant of the title' and declared a full-scale military campaign. Mercenaries and knights, I was told, were flocking to her banner.

But the response was said to be thin. Until the seven provinces of the Empire or Raphael himself threw their weight behind her, no real groundswell could be expected.

While Mabel made her own preparations, I drew up one crucial plan of my own — a move absolutely essential to restoring my father, and one that would set my position as head of House Esterzy and Duke as firm as bedrock.

"Duke Iden."

The purple-haired knight stepped into the office and bowed her head. Behind her followed a man with a thick, bristling red beard.

"Vitten, Thalia. It's been a while."

"The office feels strange, my lord. Honestly, it feels like it's been years."

Vitten grinned, easygoing as ever. The two of them had only just returned from the northern front. Thalia looked exactly as she always had, while Vitten looked like he'd been through the wringer — and come out stronger for it, his aura noticeably deepened, his bearing weathered ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with hard-earned experience.

"How was the front?"

"We swept the whole area around Stormrock clean. Plenty of them, but nothing but small fry. As for Demon Duke Ragnor — his whereabouts remain a mystery."

"Good."

I smiled faintly, one hand resting on the map.

"Time to start getting ready to move up."

"The hour has finally come."

Thalia's violet eyes blazed.

Fifteen years ago, it had been land stolen from humanity — Thalia's homeland, and the place that left a bitter scar on every soul in the North.

It was time to take back the city of Lester.