A Fucked-Up Day in the North (2)
Estiang Berg. Ruler of the vast northern frontier, shield safeguarding the empire's peace—the Berg family. The current head of the house and the youngest Sword Master. Revered by the people as the Lion of the North, the Grand Duke of Berg.
And that was me.
More precisely, the sub-male lead from the romance fantasy novel my sister wrote. Though now, it was me.
'Sis, I've got something I'm really curious about.'
'What? Ask something stupid and I'll smack you.'
'The names sound Romance-language, but why's the family name German? First name feels French, surname German.'
'Who cares?'
'It matters. Imagine someone named Kim Ttajaho—how weird would that be?'
'Get lost!'
A memory flashed by. I'd teased her endlessly about a name like Kim Ttajaho, never dreaming I'd become that person. It left me feeling all sorts of unsettled.
As a history major, I'd read my share of alternate history novels. Not as much as fantasy or wuxia, but plenty. Naturally, I'd devoured stories of possession or reincarnation into novels.
"Of all things, my sister's novel."
I rested my chin on my hand, lost in thought. Possessed into my sister's book? This was no easy fate. Only those who'd endured it could grasp that subtle, nauseating discomfort.
At first, I'd naively thought, At least it's not an apocalypse story—total luck!
The problem was...
"......"
I stared at the documents piled before me.
I'd skimmed the novel since it was my sister's, but I'd read it all. The story I remembered was a romance fantasy where the male and female leads flirted sweetly.
So why was I, a sub-male lead of all people, wrestling with paperwork to keep my territory from being swept away by monster waves? Why the tearful ass-busting efforts?
Wasn't this a genre shift? From romance fantasy to alternate history.
It had been just a year since ascending to Grand Duke. He'd spent that time introducing reforms left and right, trying to make things work. Combined with preparations before taking the seat, it was over three years.
And still, the road ahead was long.
"No helping it."
With a faint sigh, he picked up the document in front of him. One he needed to approve. And beside it, a mountain more awaited.
Knock knock.
"Enter."
"Your Grace. Very busy?"
"Afraid so."
Roena, his adjutant, stepped in. Every time he saw her jet-black hair swaying, he wondered if it wasn't uncomfortable. She'd said it was fine even under her helmet.
Not his concern, though.
"Lady Roena. What brings you?"
"I figured Your Grace would be buried in paperwork by now."
"I'd borrow even a cat's paw right now."
"Perfect timing, then. Glad I came to help."
Roena smiled faintly and sat across from him. With practiced hands, she began sorting the chaotic stacks by type. She couldn't approve them, just organize for ease of reading. Even that helped immensely.
A routine scene. He took the sorted stacks she passed him. For a while, they worked in silence: sorting, reading, stamping approvals.
"Your Grace."
"Hm?"
"About the new staff officer system we piloted recently. The knights' reactions are... mixed."
"They don't see much effect?"
"Most don't think it's ineffective. But many wonder if it's really necessary."
"Convenient enough, but just a minor convenience."
"Yes."
Hm. That was a clear issue.
Since becoming Estiang Berg, he'd grasped the Berg Grand Duchy's reality: a frozen, barren shithole. Short summers barely allowed quick-growing spring wheat for meager harvests. Mana stones and monster byproducts kept finances flush, but monsters swarmed constantly.
The Grand Duke's prime duty: defend the empire's northern border and the Great Wall from monsters.
Yet the army was short on standing forces—peasants grabbing pitchforks on call. So, as a strategy game fan and history buff, he'd tried every military reform he knew.
The staff system was one such pillar.
This era had aides, of course. A mishmash of medieval, Renaissance, and early modern vibes, thanks to romance fantasy tropes.
But past aides were mere talented secretaries or assistants. His was closer to a modern General Staff.
Gather smart folks, train them systematically—that was it.
Still...
"It's a transition phase. That knights see even minor convenience is a win."
"A win?"
"Desk-jockeys drawing lines on maps won't get sneered at by battle-hardened knights. That was my biggest worry."
He set down his stamp and met Roena's eyes.
"This 'minor convenience' they feel? It's offloading chores they used to handle: hay counts, arrow tallies, supply lines. Trivial, but can't be slacked on. Right?"
"Yes, but..."
"Staff handles that cleanup. That's the convenience now. Nice to have someone else do it, but it's the same old work. That's their take."
"Even so, it lets commanders focus on battle."
"No, Lady Roena. I want more from staff than that. Training's short and shallow now. Fix that, and it'll change."
He stated it with conviction.
Modern staff weren't mere secretaries. Their origin? To counter one genius like Napoleon, build a system of ordinaries. Prussia's early staff drew little notice.
But he knew the results after decades: refined mission-type command.
The north's fate was endless monster wars behind the Great Wall. Minimizing blood was obvious.
Hence, General Staff and staff training for mission command.
"Your Grace speaks with such certainty."
"Wanna bet?"
"No need. If you say so, it will be."
Roena smiled lightly.
"Flattering me needlessly. Back to work."
Oof, weak to flattery. That thought stayed internal. Outwardly, he played the stern Grand Duke, eyes back on papers.
Roena thought.
Her lord, Estiang Berg. Lion of the North, empire's youngest Sword Master.
He seemed made of perfection: flawless looks, status, talent. A shining star.
But as his close adjutant, she knew better.
Estiang slept in mornings. Hated work like anyone, despite his diligence.
She knew his personal quirks from years of service.
Yet even she sometimes found him baffling.
Like now.
"Lady Roena."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"We need to standardize bow quality for army supplies."
"Pardon?"
"Gather the bowyer artisans supplying the army. Demo them, then renegotiate contracts."
Roena blinked in confusion. Why summon artisans out of nowhere? He'd just been flipping papers like they annoyed him, now creating more work.
Perhaps her puzzlement showed. Estiang gazed at her steadily.
"Lady Roena. Uniform quality is critical. Handmade means some variance, but minimize it—that's priority."
"......?"
"That lost look. You'll see soon."
She tilted her head. He wore his usual impassive face.
The Grand Duke's still so autocratic.
No malice. Just fact. He assumed he held the truth, pushed forward confidently. What else to call that but autocratic?
Yet none of his reforms had failed yet.
So, as ever, the loyal adjutant nodded.
"Yes, Your Grace. As commanded."
She was his most capable, devoted adjutant, after all.