A F*cked-Up Day in the North (4)
Ludwin Court Count straightened his attire. From the Imperial Capital all the way to the Berg Grand Duchy. It had been a journey of more than three weeks by carriage. For a courtier past sixty, dragging his frail old body along was no small ordeal. But when the counterpart was the Grand Duke of Berg, dispatching a court count as special envoy was necessary just to match his station.
Estiang Berg, the young lion of the North. Though their blood ties had thinned considerably over generations, the Grand Duke of Berg still bore the imperial bloodline. Moreover, wasn't he the greatest bulwark shielding the Empire from the northern monsters? For generations, the Berg Grand Duchy had been the Emperor's strongest loyalist force—practically his chamberlain. There was ample reason for Ludwin Court Count, the Emperor's closest aide, to come in person.
"Ahem."
Ludwin cleared his throat needlessly. After one last check in the mirror, he sat in the reception room, wondering how long he'd been waiting. Then—bang—the door to the reception room flew open.
"Have I kept you waiting long? If so, my apologies."
"Not at all, Your Grace. It's my fault for arriving unannounced without prior notice."
The court count rose immediately and bowed in perfect courtly fashion. An abrupt visit without warning could offend the Grand Duke's dignity. With a smile gracing his features, the court count added,
"This was a secret command from His Majesty, so I had no choice but to commit this breach of etiquette. I beg Your Grace's forgiveness."
"If it's a secret decree from His Majesty, then it can't be helped."
Estiang replied nonchalantly and took a seat on the reception room sofa. With a casual wave inviting him to sit, the court count finally settled into his own chair.
The lion is young, but still very much a lion.
The court count thought to himself. Across a small table, facing the young lion of the North—it was no wonder he bore that moniker. Even without any intent to intimidate, an innate pressure emanated from him.
They say he's undertaking sweeping military reforms. Obsessed with forging a powerful army, to the point of fanaticism.
The court count briefly recalled the late Grand Duke of Berg. It seemed a lion's cub could never be whelped from a dog's litter. Nodding inwardly, the court count cut to the chase.
"Then, in His Majesty's stead, allow me to convey his words to Your Grace."
Estiang merely nodded in response. Clearing his throat once more, the court count spoke.
"His Majesty invites Your Grace to the Founding Festival two months hence. Though past Grand Dukes of Berg have rarely attended, His Majesty subtly urged that this time, it would be wise to do so."
"His Majesty has invited me to the Founding Festival?"
Estiang's brows furrowed instantly. A Grand Duke couldn't just ride off alone on horseback. Naturally, he'd require a grand procession befitting his rank. Assembling such a massive entourage would take a month to reach the capital. Another month to return. He couldn't just show his face and leave; participating in the multi-day festival and banquets would add yet another month. All told, three full months away from his post.
A general on the front lines—practically the same as the front itself—leaving his territory vacant for three months?
"I imagine Your Grace finds this quite unappealing."
But the court count was a seasoned noble. As if he'd anticipated this, he smoothed it over with a gentle smile.
"His Majesty very much wishes Your Grace to attend if at all possible. It seems he's feeling a great deal of responsibility in various matters."
"His Majesty feels responsible?"
"Your Grace has long passed marriageable age, yet remains unwed."
"……."
Estiang fell silent. At twenty-three, he was no longer merely a heir; as a ruling noble, he was well past the point where marriage was expected. To put it bluntly, acquaintances weren't saying, "You should start thinking about marriage soon?" They were more like, "What the hell are you doing still single?"
"Things have been so busy it just happened that way. I'm not opposed to marriage in principle, but—"
"The late Grand Duke was twenty when he sired Your Grace. That's already three years delayed. His Majesty would surely breathe a sigh of relief once the Berg line produces an heir."
"So, His Majesty wants me to at least make an appearance this time? Rubber-stamp my face for the record?"
"How dare I presume to divine His Majesty's intentions, but yes, that may be part of it. After all, Your Grace is His Majesty's distant kin."
A multitude of implications passed in their brief exchange. As ruler of the Empire, the Emperor desired Estiang to secure an heir swiftly. A severed lineage would be a monumental headache. In this era, where producing heirs was a noble's duty, Estiang remaining unmarried at twenty-three was a genuine problem—even for the Emperor. Knowing this, Estiang couldn't flatly refuse as he had at first.
"Hmm……."
As Estiang let out a short groan, the court count chuckled with a kindly smile.
"That much is the surface reason."
"Surface reason?"
"Indeed, Your Grace. Did this old man not drag his weary bones here in person to pay his respects? That was mere pretext for the audience. Now comes His Majesty's true message."
"The true message. His Majesty sent you all this way to issue a secret command?"
Estiang's expression grew serious.
"His Majesty granted me full authority as special envoy. He said Your Grace would surely find some excuse to wriggle out of it."
"Hit the nail on the head. Can't fool His Majesty's eyes."
"What does Your Grace desire?"
The court count threw down his gambit. Before setting out to meet Estiang, he'd received a special mandate from the Emperor: Full authority granted—use any means necessary to drag him to the Founding Festival. By year's end, at minimum, secure a betrothal. It was deeply political, yet crucially important. The court count's gaze hardened with resolve.
"What I desire?"
"Yes, Your Grace. His Majesty has made promises; attend, and anything you wish will be granted."
The court count affirmed decisively. In that instant, Estiang's eyes sharpened. With the Emperor going to such lengths, refusal was impossible. Now, the key was fleecing this kindly old court count for maximum concessions.
"What I desire, you say? Then let me confirm: His Majesty truly delegated full authority to you?"
"Yes, verbally. To accommodate Your Grace in every way."
"Good. I can't leave this place vacant for long. I can't lead a pompous delegation to the capital—that would strand us on the road for at least two months."
"Surely Your Grace doesn't intend to travel alone?"
"I'll ride horseback solo. Changing mounts day and night, I can make it in under a week."
"……Understood."
The court count nodded helplessly. He'd hoped to preserve some dignity or face for the Grand Duke. Imagining Estiang galloping alone without retainers, he quickly banished the thought. At least as a Sword Master, safety wasn't an issue. But Estiang's demands weren't over.
"Very well, Court Count. As His Majesty's plenipotentiary, why don't you name a figure."
"Pardon? Name what?"
"How much can you offer?"
Estiang boldly demanded funds. The court count's words caught in his throat. The North was harsh, but monster byproducts and magic stones brought substantial revenue—not poor by any means. The territory itself ranked fairly wealthy. But armies were bottomless money pits, producing nothing while devouring gold. To fend off monster incursions required a mighty force, and that meant expense. So why not seize this festival pretext to extract a windfall?
"W-well, whatever amount Your Grace names……."
"Strange. Didn't you just ask what I desire?"
"……."
"This place is a warzone, metaphorically speaking. And I'm the general on the front. If an event demands I abandon my post, it warrants commensurate compensation, wouldn't you agree?"
Estiang smiled faintly. This was a transaction. The Emperor wanted Estiang at the festival for political ends. Fair trade demanded payment for attendance.
"Your Grace seeks funds?"
"I recently built an institution to train staff officers. It's proving quite costly. The goal is to educate talented individuals in military science to assist commanders, and it doesn't come cheap. Building new facilities, too."
"……."
Staff officers? Military academies? What in the world?
Unfamiliar concepts to the court count.
"Can't very well demand coin like some provincial merchant."
Estiang wasn't heartless. Fleecing this kindly elder pricked his conscience slightly. Hence the offramp: Direct cash felt crass. But a "donation"?
The Emperor graciously funding a fine new building to honor the North's valiant monster defenses?
The court count nodded reluctantly.
"I don't fully grasp what it is, but gathering and training people must cost a fortune. Shall we build that staff officer institution for you?"
"We needed a training yard anyway—perfect timing. Convey my boundless gratitude to His Majesty."
"……Understood. Here is the personal letter from His Majesty. Read and burn it later."
The court count produced a wax-sealed missive from his breast pocket. Estiang took it, his lips curving into a grin.
"I've ordered the best room prepared. Rest well—you've had a hard journey."
The court count, robbed blind by a bandit, nodded. What could he do? Not just any bandit, but one who became a Sword Master at the sight of a blade. He consoled himself as best he could.