Chapter 127

Chapter 127
## Chapter 127

Marius could only stare, his eyes wide and unblinking at Lucian’s declaration.

His face was a mask of pure shock, the expression of a man who had never once considered the possibility of hearing those specific words directed at him.

“A game? You honestly believe I am playing at being a mastermind?”

“If this isn’t some sort of recreation, then what would you call it?”

Lucian fixed Marius with a look of profound pity before pressing on.

“If you search every corner of the globe, I am certain you will eventually stumble upon someone truly deserving of that title. But I can tell you with certainty: it isn’t you.”

To a man like Lucian, who had survived every manner of political and literal tempest throughout his years, Marius’s entire approach felt laughably amateur.

There was a clear reason why a leader like Ivar had dismissed Marius’s overtures out of hand.

It was because Marius had revealed his entire strategy from the very first move, offering only scenarios that he found personally ideal. He hadn’t bothered to investigate the opposition’s true cravings or how to twist those desires to his own ends.

“Even the scheme that brought me to this place is a mess of desperate, last-minute patches. You are betting everything on the stars without even attempting to understand the nature of the man you’re dealing with. What are you even trying to achieve?”

“That is because, in contrast to you, I—”

“Even if you put your faith in astrology, any real plan necessitates a baseline of intelligence gathering. Instead, you simply gamble on the hope that external factors will always align in your favor.”

True manipulation involved engineering a reality where the opponent had no choice but to comply, while already having the next three steps prepared.

Marius, conversely, had left his opponent’s path wide open, merely crossing his fingers that they would walk the specific line he had imagined.

At this stage, he wasn’t just failing as a mastermind—he was falling short of the basic requirements of a low-level clerk.

“The fact that your designs have held together this long is nothing more than a series of lucky accidents. It’s quite pathetic that you’ve confused good fortune for actual genius and decided to act the part of the victor.”

“I have never behaved as if I were triumphant. I only shared the full truth because I didn’t want the burden of blame falling on me when the reality inevitably surfaced.”

Marius cut Lucian off, his features tightening into a mask of irritation.

“I only spoke because you were the one who insisted on hearing the story. Do not make the mistake of misinterpreting my intentions.”

“Well, thanks to that little history lesson, I think I have a solid grasp of your obsession, old man. I also understand exactly why you dragged me out here.”

“Then I shall present the deal one last time. Restore the Magic Tower for me. In return, I will grant you a grand legion, the Dragon’s Heart, and the authority to command the entire continent.”

The power to rule the continent.

It was a staggering boast, yet it wasn’t necessarily a lie.

The unnatural, biting frost of the North was almost certainly generated by the power of that relic. A tool capable of dictating the climate of an entire territory at will.

‘If one could control it with precision, I really wouldn’t need a political excuse or anything else.’

Despite that, Lucian felt no pull toward the bargain.

From the second he had stepped into this land, there had been no strategic reason to accept anything Marius offered. The fact that Marius couldn’t see this only reinforced how hopelessly incompetent he was at the game of power.

“For the time being…”

“For the time being?”

Lucian trailed off, watching Marius, whose eyes were shining with a desperate sort of hope.

“Let’s resume this conversation once I’ve rested. The trek here was grueling, and I am quite drained.”

“….”

—

“It’s a decent enough place.”

Having put off his final answer, Lucian and his retinue made their way toward Gunstein’s residence.

Given his status as the son of the Chieftain, the house was substantial compared to the surrounding structures, even if it paled in comparison to the grand home of Marius, the Guide.

“It might be a tight fit for all of us, but it will serve. We shall remain here for the foreseeable future.”

“…My thanks.”

Gunstein lowered his head, his expression clouded with a lingering melancholy.

Observing his somber mood, Lucian let out a dry, short chuckle.

“Are you actually letting the Guide’s ramblings get to you?”

“That is…”

“Gunstein.”

Lucian’s face became intensely grave as he looked at the warrior.

Caught off guard by a look of such piercing weight—one he had never seen the Prince use—Gunstein dropped to one knee by sheer reflex.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“The power I used to bring you down—was that some sort of illusion? Did I only win because the deck was stacked in my favor?”

“No, sir.”

“Then, was your decision to challenge me merely a puppet’s dance? Did you possess no will of your own in that moment?”

“N-no, that isn’t true either.”

“And what about the choice to serve me? Do you believe the feeling that I am more worthy of your loyalty than your own kin was just a lie fed to you?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Then what exactly is the issue?”

“….”

Gunstein went silent, tilting his head as he processed the questions.

When he actually thought it through, there wasn’t a problem at all.

If Lucian hadn’t arrived, he would have eventually been forced to bend the knee to one of his lackluster siblings. If his fate was to serve a Chieftain rather than being one, his current position was objectively the best possible version of that destiny.

“Don’t let yourself be swayed by the clever wordplay of a fortune teller. Anyone can claim a result was their intention after it has already happened. Especially when the outcome is in your favor, there is no reason to lose sleep over it.”

“I… I apologize.”

Gunstein bowed low, moved by Lucian’s directness.

It was a simple enough observation, but it felt as though a crushing weight had been lifted from his chest.

Shifting his focus away from Gunstein, Lucian turned to Colin and Helen.

“Colin was in the dark, so I won’t hold him accountable… Helen.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“How much of your Master’s grand design were you actually aware of?”

“As I stated previously, I only knew of the army and the Dragon’s Heart. I had never been told of an artifact, and certainly nothing regarding the Magic Tower.”

Helen spoke quickly, her face drained of color.

She appeared caught between the terror of losing Lucian’s confidence and the sheer shock that her Master had pushed things to such an extreme.

In contrast, Colin, who had now absorbed the full gravity of the situation, seemed oddly composed.

“Colin. Give me your perspective. Now that the curtain has been pulled back, you must have an opinion.”

“There is nothing complex to analyze. My Master is simply reaching for things beyond his grasp.”

“If his plan succeeds, I would hold absolute sovereignty, and mages would be restored to their peak status overnight. Isn’t that the goal?”

“There was no requirement for such a dangerous gamble. We were already making progress in proving the worth of magic through steady action. But my Master is…”

Colin bit his tongue, unable to find a way to finish the thought without being outright disrespectful to his mentor.

Lucian finished it for him.

“He is in a rush because he wants to witness the results before his time runs out. He isn’t giving a single thought to what happens to the generation that follows him.”

Marius was the perfect antithesis to Eisen.

While Eisen focused on finding a successor to carry his flame because he had already achieved his greatness, Marius was trying to force a legacy into existence, even if it meant trampling over the very students he had trained.

It was likely the bitter fruit of years of resentment built up during the Imperial purges of magic users.

As Lucian fell into a pensive silence, Raymond, who had been an observant shadow until then, spoke.

“What is your plan, Your Highness?”

“Regarding what?”

“The wizard’s offer. Do you intend to take it?”

“Oh, that?”

Lucian gave a light laugh, as if the matter were an afterthought.

“Just ignore it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Offer or no offer, the game was decided the moment I set foot here. It seems the old man is the only one who hasn’t grasped that reality yet.”

“…?”

“Instead of worrying about him, let’s focus on how to secure an army in this place. Now that we’ve made our move, the other players are going to start reacting….”

“Brother! Brotheeer!”

The door burst open.

One of Gunstein’s followers scrambled inside, his face pale and his voice cracking with urgency.

Gunstein scowled at the interruption.

“You idiot, do you forget where you are? Our Lord is right here!”

“M-my apologies! But this couldn’t wait…!”

“Well? Speak up.”

“The Chieftain has called for a grand feast tonight. He has commanded that every single warrior with a claim to the succession must be there without exception!”

“…!”

The room went still as all eyes shifted toward Lucian.

By tradition, the right to the Chieftain’s throne belonged to Gunstein, but those rights had been formally transferred to Lucian upon his victory.

Despite the sudden tension, Lucian only offered a relaxed, confident grin.

“That works out perfectly. I’ve been curious to see what this Chieftain actually looks like.”

—

In the Empire, the word ‘banquet’ conjured images of gold-trimmed halls and sprawling manors.

In these frozen wastes, however, a banquet was held within massive, thick-skinned tents erected on the permafrost.

Lacking the stone and timber for permanent monuments, the locals favored these temporary, reinforced halls for their celebrations.

“I was half-expecting we’d be sitting in the snow.”

“Is this really what passes for a party here?”

Hugo let out a skeptical laugh as they stepped inside.

Even accounting for the harshness of the north, the setup was incredibly sparse for a formal event.

“Meat… it’s just meat. Everywhere.”

The rest of the group nodded in silent agreement.

The long wooden tables were groaning under the weight of nothing but animal protein.

There was no culinary artistry to be found; it was a monotonous spread of whole-roasted beasts or slabs of grilled flesh laid out in endless rows.

Even a peasant wedding in the furthest reaches of the Empire would have offered more variety.

Bristling at their lack of appreciation, Gunstein shot Hugo a sharp look.

“There is plenty of ale. What else does a warrior need for a feast besides meat and drink?”

“Fair point, but what kind of ale are we talking about?”

“What do you mean? It’s ale. It’s for drinking.”

Hugo simply sighed.

If Gunstein didn’t even grasp the concept of different qualities or vintages, it meant there was only one brew available.

From the lowest scout to the Chieftain himself, everyone drank the same harsh liquid, rendering specific names unnecessary.

“Lord, are we really going to eat like this the whole time? Do they not have a single vegetable?”

“Your health is fine, so why are you whining about greens? If you’re feeling ill, talk to a healer.”

“It’s enough to make a man lose his mind. I’ve had nothing but grease and gristle since we crossed the border, and I’m reaching my limit.”

“That’s enough. Take your seats. It looks like the guests of honor are arriving.”

The tent flap swung open.

A group of men filed in, bringing with them the sharp scent of old blood and the visible history of countless battles written in the scars on their skin. These were the tribe’s veteran elites.

Among them, Lucian’s eyes locked onto the man leading the pack.

‘A sibling.’

The resemblance was undeniable. From the shape of their eyes to the thick, brown texture of their beards, it was clear they shared the same blood.

The only real differences were a jagged scar bisecting the man’s right eye and a frame that towered over the already large warriors behind him.

The warrior surveyed the room, his gaze landing heavily on Lucian.

“Oho.”

The man let out a booming exclamation that echoed through the tent.

“I had heard my brother was toppled by a legendary fighter, and it seems the gossip held some truth. I can see the spirit of a true warrior just by looking at your face. It is no wonder my little brother couldn’t hold his own.”

“Brunda…!”

Gunstein’s teeth ground together at the sound of his older brother’s voice.

To any objective observer, Lucian’s physique was the opposite of a northern warrior’s.

He was lean, clean-shaven, and lacked the bulging muscle common to the tribe.

To look at him and claim he saw a ‘warrior’s bravery’ in his face?

It wasn’t praise; it was a sharp, public insult.

Lucian, however, didn’t so much as flinch. He looked Brunda up and down before responding coolly.

“And looking at you, you seem rather fragile. Your muscles look like they’re filled with air; you really ought to focus on your stability. I have a feeling you’d crumble if I just gave you a light tap.”

Brunda’s smug grin vanished instantly, his face freezing as Lucian’s words hit home.