How the Romance Fantasy Male Lead Avoids Flags (3)
There were a few days' grace period until the Founding Festival. In the meantime, the situation allowed him to simply lounge in the guest quarters prepared within the Imperial Palace, eating and amusing himself comfortably while awaiting the festival.
But as he lay on the bed, he suddenly bolted upright. The trait of the diligent transmigrator: even in sleep, he springs up and rejects rest.
I'm the Northern Grand Duke, after all. The capital was a place he rarely visited, tied up with defending the north. At a time like this, he needed to handle the things that could only be done here.
"Satisfactory."
He muttered as he picked up the newspaper laid out before him. For starters, he'd slammed an ad right into the paper. In this era, newspapers circulated only in the capital and its environs, naturally. Joseon had something like the jo-bo, official gazettes that reached even the provinces, but alas, this was a world where feudalism was still in full swing. Unless it was a hyper-centralized state like Joseon or China gone mad, getting capital news to the provinces in newspaper form was a pipe dream.
But that was fine. This was the capital. A place overflowing with idle blue-bloods who could read and ambitious commoners.
Of course, the ad's wording was straight from the Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition. Shackleton had run a similar recruitment ad for his crossing expedition, drawing over five thousand applicants—a legendary ad with a competition ratio nearing 200:1. Even by modern standards, it stirred a man's dreams of romance and adventure.
How much more so in this era, where Romanticism lived and breathed? It was a direct hit. Plus, unlike Shackleton, he was offering big money.
He gazed contentedly at the ad printed in the paper. Now the fish hooked by knighthood and such would come swarming.
The more applicants, the better. It meant he could properly sift the gems from the junk.
"Your Highness, Grand Duke... You truly published the ad with this wording?"
"Any problem?"
"No, not exactly, but..."
Roena entered the guest quarters, holding a freshly printed, steaming copy of the newspaper. Her mouth said no, but her face was etched with shock. The expression of someone convinced their liege had finally lost his mind to some demonic obsession.
"Even so, with no guarantee of survival... isn't it a bit too frank? Will people really volunteer for the north after seeing this?"
"The world is wider than you think, and there are more hot-blooded youths dreaming of rebellion than you imagine. Those with nothing but their bloodlines suffer deeper inferiority complexes than you'd expect. If they're not desperate to prove themselves, that's the odd one."
"But..."
"No need for you to worry. Glory for those who crave it, money for those who need it. With a hook this sturdy, what is there to fret over?"
He replied nonchalantly.
Noble families' second or third sons had no lands to inherit. Most faced a bleak future, wondering how they'd make a living. But rotten or not, they were still noble-born. If they decided to earn their keep as knights in the north, their families would provide basic gear and horses, at least. Lands and titles went to the eldest, but they had to set their other sons up with some startup capital.
Far better than idling away in the capital, right?
"And you're overlooking one thing."
"Pardon? Something I've missed, Your Highness?"
"This is a remarkably gentlemanly recruitment method. Honest ad, honest pay. How gentlemanly is that?"
"...?"
Roena tilted her head.
But it was true. He felt no pangs of conscience dragging people to the perilous north.
Take Frederick William, the Soldier King—father of our famed Potato King, Frederick the Great. He had a hobby of collecting tall soldiers by the era's standards. He formed the Giant Grenadier Guards from youths over 180 cm, and when they ran short, he resorted to kidnapping from foreign lands. He even snatched foreign diplomats in broad daylight before releasing them. That said it all.
Estiang aimed to emulate the Prussian army, not their marine spirit. He was simply being upfront and gentlemanly in his hiring.
"So this is practically charity. Job placement, proper treatment for the talented, encouraging migration north. How gentlemanly."
"...I see, Your Highness."
"Mark my words: applicants will swarm like clouds within days. I'll handle the interviews personally. Just prepare the venue and setup in advance."
"...Understood."
Roena left the guest quarters with a dubious look.
Dangerous? So what. Anyone scared off by "survival not guaranteed" was useless in the north anyway.
Might as well scoop up soldiers, technicians—anyone useful beyond knights.
Heh heh heh.
In short, Estiang's newspaper ad proved highly effective. It began stirring considerable buzz in the capital.
In an era where Romanticism still thrived under the banner of knighthood, copying a proven success under similar conditions guaranteed results. Just as Shackleton's ad had drawn London's gentlemen to 4 Burlington Street, it set the hearts of capital nobles' spare sons ablaze.
Lands and titles were the eldest's anyway. If they needed an economic foundation for independence, heading north for high pay wasn't a bad bet, danger or no.
Besides, wasn't Estiang the empire's youngest Sword Master, a master swordsman of renown? Becoming his direct knight was promotion enough.
They might even learn secret aura techniques.
Youths harboring dreams of glory were scribbling applications left and right: "Hey, you too?" "Yeah, me too."
"Amusing."
Helena Iliad. Iliad's Red Rose. The woman infamous for a temperament as foul as her stunning beauty held a newspaper in hand.
Her sharp green eyes fixed unblinkingly on Estiang's ad.
"Butler, what do you think?"
"Extremely... well, extremely frank, milady."
"Yeah? Everyone's buzzing about it. All the riffraff are clamoring to go north."
The old Iliad ducal butler sweated profusely as he replied.
"Frank, yes, but becoming the Grand Duke's knight has its perks. The high rewards matching the risks are appealing, too."
"Men's thinking baffles me. They could die on a whim, yet they want to go? Butler, if you were young, would you have volunteered?"
"...Serving House Iliad is my calling, but in my hot-blooded youth? Hard to say. I'd have been intrigued, at least."
"That much, huh?"
Helena set the paper down with a smirk.
"The fool who runs an ad like that, and the fools who get hooked and rush in? All idiots."
"...Milady, that's fine here, but—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. You think I'd badmouth them to their faces? I can tell who's fair game for my attitude and who isn't."
She waved off the butler's tactful remonstrance with evident annoyance.
Yet a spark of interest gleamed in her emerald eyes.
Estiang Berg. Top-tier famous among imperial nobles by reputation alone, yet almost no one had seen his face.
Normal nobles showed up religiously to balls and festivals. Networking at social events was basic survival, right?
But Estiang flipped the bird at that unspoken rule. A year after inheriting, no marriage or betrothal news. He skipped every event, never setting foot in the capital.
And the rumors from the north? Only that the Berg Grand Duke was army-obsessed, pulling all sorts of stunts to build a mighty force.
After staring at the paper for a long while, Helena spoke.
"Fine. He's interviewing applicants soon, right? Time to sneak a peek at his face."
"Milady, I must insist: offending the Grand Duke would be disastrous. Please—"
"I know. Just a look, okay?"
Helena shot back irritably. Fearing her whims, the butler clamped his mouth shut.
"Just looking. Curious what he looks like. Rumors paint him as some burly brute, but they say he's surprisingly refined. Might be my type?"
One corner of her mouth quirked up.
At her mutter and expression, the butler's face fell.
His lady had taken an interest in Estiang—that much was clear.
Gods, please...
As her butler of over twenty years, he knew her personality and speech all too well.
Just don't let her "like" turn into nagging to his face, meddling in trivia, or slapping some girl's cheek for approaching him. Her "flirting" was more duel challenge—pure self-destruction.
She was the type to do it.
The butler prayed fervently in his heart that Helena wouldn't fixate on Estiang.