The Reclusive Marquis
Antonio Parma had inherited his marquisate about three years ago. His father, the previous Marquis Parma, had been a remarkable man. One of the empire's finest knights, he had fought alongside Duke Carpoem to repel the beasts. True to his position as a margrave, he had purged monsters from the northern frontier and kept neighboring countries in check—a capable leader. And yet, he managed his territory so meticulously that he earned the unwavering trust of his people.
Antonio had grown up watching that father of his. He was always busy. His only late-born son was forever pushed to the back burner. The safety and survival of his territory's people came before his frail mother's illnesses from the harsh northern climate or his young son's childish whims.
As a child, Antonio couldn't understand his father. As he grew older, he came to accept his actions, but that didn't erase the wounds etched into his young heart. He was constantly compared to his great father. Even when he unexpectedly inherited the marquisate early due to his father's sudden death, the weight of the previous marquis bore down on him relentlessly.
Antonio was only fifteen when he took over. Though he was surrounded by his father's capable retainers, he couldn't take their help for granted. The thought that his foolish choices might bring suffering to dozens or hundreds paralyzed him, making every decision agonizing. As a result, the marquis's duties naturally fell to those close aides who had served his father.
They accepted the work thinking they had to support their still-young lord. But even after a year, then two, the boyish marquis showed no change. Only then did the retainers grasp the gravity of the situation.
On the eve of the marquis's coming-of-age ceremony, the man they had dismissed as merely young locked himself in his room and refused to come out. No matter how they called, he wouldn't budge. Like a man stripped of all will to live, Marquis Antonio Parma spent his days in listless ruin.
Marquis Antonio Parma, age eighteen. He had become a splendid hikikomori.
"What a hassle..."
Antonio's vacant rust-colored eyes drifted toward the window where sunlight streamed in. No matter how carefully he drew the blinds, the fierce sun invaded the room unyieldingly. Seeing it, he realized dawn had broken once more.
If only night could last forever. The quiet, cozy hours when everyone slept—those were Antonio's favorite times.
"Marquis! Marquis Parma!"
Bang bang!
"...Haa."
Antonio let out a deep sigh at the knocking. The voice was familiar, but he had no desire to respond. His sigh was his only reply, and for a moment, the frantic pounding stopped.
Did he leave? Peeking out cautiously, he glanced at the door—only for the booming voice to return.
"It's Viscount Volta! Marquis, please open the door!"
"Haa..."
Viscount Volta. A hazy face surfaced in Antonio's mind: his father's adjutant, a bandit-looking man with a kind heart. The one who had tried hardest to help Antonio but eventually left when the boy lost all motivation and barricaded himself away.
Why had he come back? Curiosity stirred, but Antonio didn't budge. He simply wrapped himself tighter in his blankets.
"Marquis, you must come out! The Little Duchess will arrive soon!"
"...Little Duchess?"
Antonio's ears perked at the unfamiliar title. The Little Duchess—surely that lady? The beautiful one with the terrifying personality everyone avoided? But wasn't she engaged to the crown prince? Could she really become Little Duchess?
His sluggish mind churned with rare thoughts. Yet his body refused to move.
So what? That was all that came to him now.
"Marquis, please..."
Viscount Volta sighed outside the door. He had rushed ahead of the Little Duchess to warn the marquis, but this was pointless. He had to drag the man out before she arrived. If the Little Duchess saw the margrave in such a pathetic state...
His face drained to corpse-white in an instant.
* * *
I knew exactly what kind of man this margrave really was, having read the original story. When the beast surge hit, he was the first to abandon his territory and flee. Because he failed in his role as margrave, the damage spread, and the northernmost front fell in a flash. Countless northerners died because of him. And then he lost control to the imperial family. Pathetic, he clung to the crown prince's coattails, begging for his life like the worthless scum he was.
Six years later, he was trash that tarnished his father's name without a shred of shame.
So what was this current margrave like? I pondered as the Parma marquisate drew nearer.
Probably the same. Just a spineless kid-trash.
Still, there was one reason I was seeking him out: to secure permission for the outpost no matter what. Since I was already here, blackmailing the margrave for the permit before convincing my father might prove effective. He was a coward at heart—if I scared him a little, he'd do exactly as told.
But then I heard the butler's words at the marquisate and was floored.
"He's ill?"
"...Yes."
The Parma marquisate lay not far from Volta. I'd stopped by to meet the margrave before wrapping up in Rimen Village and heading back to the ducal seat. And it wasn't a casual visit—I'd sent a letter myself, and Viscount Volta had set out ahead.
"Is it serious?"
"W-Well..."
For some reason, the butler was sweating bullets, at a loss. He couldn't meet my eyes, staring only at the floor.
Something was off. Was he really sick?
I recalled the original story's pathetic margrave. Even six years ago, that spinelessness wouldn't have vanished. But I hadn't expected him to be completely invisible.
"First, let my entourage rest. As you see, they're all exhausted."
I glanced at Yurina and the cowed children. Hosting guests was the lord's duty, after all. Swallowing a sigh, I eyed the old butler.
"O-Of course. We'll serve you with utmost care."
The bowing butler issued orders to the servants. I turned to Yurina behind me.
"Yurina, you must be tired. Rest with the children."
"Ah, yes. What about you, Lady Abigail?"
At her question, I shot a glance at the butler.
"If my vassal's ill, I should pay a sick visit."
The butler's body trembled visibly.
"Lead the way."
"B-But, that is..."
"Now."
He clamped his mouth shut under my fierce glare. Yurina, tilting her head, led the whimpering children away under the servants' guidance, with the holy knights following.
I took Ian and Pel toward the marquis's room. An unexpected figure fidgeted there.
"Marquis, please..."
"......"
Viscount Volta? I halted, seeing him pounding desperately on the door.
Why was he out here?
"V-Viscount."
"Hm? Oh, butler, why are y—Gasp!"
The viscount turned at the butler's quiet call, then choked on his breath upon seeing me.
I approached him slowly.
"Looks like you owe me an explanation, Viscount Volta."
"L-Little Duchess, it's..."
The viscount, who had been dithering before the firmly shut door, bowed in resignation. Stammering, he lifted his head.
"Marquis Parma... isn't ill."
"Then?"
"...He hasn't left his room in ages."
"How long?"
"Well, a few months now..."
"Haha."
I mentally corrected my nickname for the margrave—from spineless to shut-in recluse. Six years ago, he was already a hopeless hikikomori.
My incredulous chuckle made Viscount Volta and the butler bow like criminals.
"So you've been begging him to come out?"
"Y-Yes."
"Think that'll work?"
As if he'd budge just because they called. I didn't know why he was like this, but it was a public nuisance regardless. No, I didn't need to know why. His aimless life would turn him into that pathetic adult, ruining the north later. Countless would suffer because of it.
Since I was here, I'd straighten out this damned fool's head.
"Ian."
"Yes."
I nodded toward the door.
"Smash it."
"P-Pardon?"
Ignoring the viscount and butler's shock, Ian drew his sword at once. I stepped back slightly.
Then Ian's aura mercilessly pulverized the door.
* * *
Antonio had dozed off unwittingly. The viscount's pleas had lulled him back to sleep, it seemed. Lying on the bed, he yawned softly.
The surroundings had gone quiet at some point.
"...Did the viscount leave?"
Blinking, Antonio sat up. His eyes scanned the empty room.
Deep down, he knew it too. He couldn't live like this forever. He vowed it every day: Tomorrow, I'll go out. Tomorrow, I'll leave this room. But meaningless time flew by.
Now, no one needed someone like him. Not compared to his father—he was expendable.
As Antonio hung his head, it happened.
Crash!
The door exploded inward with a thunderous boom. Antonio stared in shock.
One door panel shattered and flew, slamming into the table. The once-quiet room turned to chaos in an instant.
"Wh-Who?"
Someone strode boldly into Antonio's room. The girl, stepping over splintered debris, looked down at him imperiously.
"First time meeting, Marquis Parma."
"No way..."
Seeing her uniform, Antonio's eyes widened. Curly black hair cascading down, blood-red eyes. Even he wasn't fool enough not to recognize her.
"G-Greetings, my lady."
Flailing to his feet, Antonio offered an awkward bow. She grimaced at his disheveled state.
"Skip the pleasantries."
"Uh, that is..."
"You said you were sick, but you look healthy enough."
Antonio bowed his head at her sharp words. Before this poised, radiant girl—so unlike him—he couldn't lift his gaze.
Undeterred, she parted her red lips.
"Antonio Parma, Marquis."
"...Yes?"
"To the training grounds. Now. That's an order."
Antonio gaped dumbly at her command.