Chapter 150

Chapter 150
## Chapter 150

After deep reflection, the craftsmen concluded they would pass their trade secrets down to the newcomers.

Consent to instruct, however, did not equate to a gentle apprenticeship. These masters remembered the relentless hardships and mistreatment they had endured under their own mentors to earn their status. Now that the roles were reversed, they felt a lingering desire to inflict the same absurd rigors upon their own students.

“That is simply the path to mastery.”

“Indeed. If they wish to reside within the Empire, they must submit to its traditions.”

“And if they find it unbearable, they are free to leave. We have no use for weak-willed pupils.”

This wasn’t merely a matter of being protective of their territory; it was the fundamental nature of a craft apprenticeship. A student was expected to learn by observing a master who held absolute authority, all while performing the menial tasks of a servant. If these foreigners truly sought to learn a profession, they were expected to play by these established rules.

Yet, the resolve of the artisans crumbled the moment they actually stood before the immigrants.

“Honored Master! It is a privilege to stand before you!”

“We are deeply moved that you would share your wisdom with us. Our thanks are eternal!”

“Please, command us as you see fit! We are eager to prove our dedication to the craft!”

The newcomers bowed low and repeatedly, their voices thick with genuine appreciation. They were far from the rowdy rabble the masters had expected; instead, they were the picture of perfect, humble students.

The issue, however, was not their behavior—it was their physical presence.

‘Up close, they are gargantuan. A single strike from a hand that size would likely snap my neck.’

‘Those aren’t the marks of a plowman. Those calluses come from a lifetime of gripping a hilt.’

‘Why is every one of them riddled with such jagged scars? What kind of nightmares were they battling in those frozen wastes?’

The harsh world of a workshop paled in comparison to the carnage of a front-line war. Yet, these men radiated the heavy, metallic scent of slaughter typical of career soldiers. The craftsmen, who had anticipated bullying simple-minded woodsmen, found themselves drenched in a sudden, cold sweat.

“Is this a wise idea? They look like men who have sent many to their graves.”

“Surely you’re mistaken. I’ve heard the northern snowfields are so desolate that people rarely encounter one another, let alone fight.”

“If that’s the case, where did those wounds come from?”

“Word is the predators there are so fierce that even the youths hunt leopards before their first meal.”

“Good heavens, you might have mentioned that earlier!”

Those accustomed to the sight of blood have a volatile way of resolving disputes. If pushed too far, their instincts revert to violence. Were the masters truly expected to berate and belittle such individuals in the name of “tradition”?

“Ahem! Greetings to you all. We are all compatriots here; let us maintain a friendly atmosphere.”

“The link between a teacher and a student is sacred, much like a father and son. I shall guide you with a parent’s care.”

“Quite right. We are neighbors now, so there is no need for such formality.”

The artisans performed a swift about-face, greeting their new pupils with strained but wide smiles. They rationalized the shift to themselves, deciding that ancient customs were outdated and that a more modern, compassionate approach was long overdue.

—

“They are thriving even without my intervention. It seems my concerns about their integration were misplaced.”

Inside the walls of the White Castle, Lucian reviewed the reports of the immigrants’ progress with a thin smile. They were throwing themselves into their training to prove their worth and repay his mercy—a trait he found highly commendable. Their diligence only meant his investment would bear fruit much sooner.

“And what of those stationed in the outlying provinces? Are they settling in?”

“Yes, My Lord. There was a flicker of hesitation initially, but they are now quite content.”

“It stands to reason. Their quality of existence—food, warmth, and safety—has improved beyond measure. It is hard to nurse a grudge when your belly is full.”

“However, those in the other regions seem to prefer their old lives as trackers and hunters rather than adopting new professions.”

“That was to be expected. They have spent their lives knowing only the hunt as a means of survival.”

The group in Asagrim was unique because of their drive to learn new trades. Generally, people cling to the familiar. Had Asagrim not been so densely populated, these people likely would have remained hunters as well.

“Since the numbers in the other territories are manageable, we shall draft the majority into the standing militia and issue hunting licenses to the rest.”

“Is that prudent, Your Grace? That would require granting them access to nearly all of your private preserves.”

“It is of no consequence. Land that sits idle is wasted. I would rather it provide a living for the common folk.”

The hunting grounds in question were properties he had stripped from the House of Calix. He had acquired them through circumstance, but since he lacked a passion for the sport, he saw no reason to wall them off. It was far more practical to open them up so the new hunters could contribute to the tax revenue.

“Moving on, has there been any improvement in Sir Eisen’s health?”

“The healers say there is little to be done. It is the natural decline of age, not a malady that can be cured.”

“Felicia will be devastated. For now, ensure he receives the finest tonics to sustain his strength…”

“Your Grace.”

Lucian paused as a voice cut through the room. The aide who had spoken was ashen-faced and trembling.

“Just now… an individual identifying as an Imperial Inspector has arrived at the gates.”

“…!”

—

Lucian had anticipated a period of turmoil following the Emperor’s collapse. Given the incompetence of the First Prince, the sharp intellect of the Second Prince, and the hidden agendas at play, a peaceful transition of power was a fantasy.

Nevertheless, even the greatest storms eventually subside. The Inspector standing before Lucian was the harbinger of that resolution.

“Casval of the White Flame Knights and Imperial Inspector, sends greetings to the Lord of Asagrim and the successor of Grimaldi.”

Lucian studied Casval carefully. Though the knight was young, he lacked the fiery impulsiveness of his peers. His face was a mask of cold, calculating logic more suited to a high-ranking courtier than a warrior.

‘He seems more comfortable with a pen and politics than a blade. They sent a specialist.’

Having sized him up, Lucian offered a polite nod.

“You are welcome, Sir Casval. Please overlook the lack of a formal reception. Had I been informed of your arrival, I would have ensured your stay was properly honored.”

“Think nothing of it. I am here on state business; luxuries are unnecessary. Your hospitality is noted regardless.”

“I see. How gracious of you.”

Lucian was internally struck by the man’s nerve. It was standard protocol to send word of a visit; Lucian’s comment was a pointed reminder of that breach, yet Casval ignored the slight entirely. He clearly intended to bypass the formalities of his sudden appearance.

‘He’s pushing for dominance immediately. Does he have the leverage to back it up?’

Such boldness usually suggested a person believed they held a winning hand. Since Lucian wasn’t yet aware of what “weakness” the man might be targeting, he decided to draw him out.

“To what do I owe this visit? I cannot recall any actions of mine that would require an Inspector’s scrutiny.”

“His Majesty the Emperor has passed into the care of the Eight Gods.”

“…That is heavy news indeed. I owed a great debt to His Majesty. May he find peace in the afterlife.”

Lucian had long expected this, so he offered a respectful, measured bow. After a silent moment of mourning, Casval moved to his true purpose.

“The First Prince shall soon ascend the throne as the new ruler of the Empire. However, reports have reached the capital of troubling developments within your borders.”

“Troubling developments?”

“You have granted entry to foreigners who exist outside Imperial law. Savages who lack an understanding of our ways and feel no allegiance to the throne.”

Lucian’s eyes sharpened. Integrating the tribes from the frozen north was a sensitive political maneuver. Depending on the narrative, it could be framed as a humanitarian act or a security threat. It appeared Casval’s backers had chosen the latter.

“And your point is?”

“The point, Your Grace, is that your actions could be interpreted as an act of high treason.”

“Watch your tongue…!”

At the word “treason,” Felicia’s hand flew to her sword. Lucian stopped her with a sharp look before she could unsheathe it. He then turned to Casval with a cold, mocking smile.

“Tell me, Sir Casval. Allow me to offer you a bit of wisdom.”

“I am listening.”

“A man should be very careful when he speaks of treason. Do you know why?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. Please, enlighten me.”

“Because even those with no such desires might be tempted to actually revolt when faced with such an accusation, you insolent fool.”

“…!”

The stoic Casval faltered, stepping back as his composure broke. There was a massive difference between being accused of treason and having the accused person openly discuss the prospect of rebellion. Lucian, however, didn’t stop there.

“Do you understand the weight of that charge? It means the total erasure of a bloodline. It means the execution of every soul—the aged, the infants, the mothers—and the burning of their remains until only ash is left. That is the fate of a traitor.”

“T-That is the law, yes. But…!”

“Be silent. If you speak again before I am finished, I will remove your tongue.”

*Vroooooom!*

“Gah!”

Casval was thrown backward as a massive wave of mana surged from Lucian’s frame. It was a raw display of power that hit him with the force of a physical blow. He tried to brace himself with his own energy, but the sheer weight of the pressure threatened to crush his bones.

‘Is this… can one human truly command this much power?!’

The scale of Lucian’s mana was beyond comprehension. Casval felt as though he were standing before a primordial dragon. Even as the knight struggled to stay conscious, Lucian’s voice cut through the air.

“Only idiots use treason as a casual threat. They believe fear will ensure obedience. They fail to see how many loyal men have been turned into monsters by their own arrogance.”

“Urgh…!”

“Mark my words. When you corner someone, always leave them a path to retreat. A fool who pushes a man to the edge of a precipice and calls it victory is likely to be the first one dragged into the abyss along with him.”

*Whoosh.*

“Haa… haa…!”

The suffocating mana vanished instantly. Freed from the weight, Casval fell to his knees, gasping for air. Once the knight had somewhat recovered, Lucian spoke again, his tone completely transformed.

“You are welcome, Sir Casval. Please overlook the lack of a formal reception.”

“…?”

“Had I been informed of your arrival, I would have ensured your stay was properly honored.”

Lucian repeated his opening greeting verbatim, his expression pleasant and calm as if the previous minutes had never happened. Casval was stunned by the shift, but the message was unmistakable.

‘He’s forcing me to restart the negotiation now that he’s established who is in control.’

It was a warning: act out of turn again, and there would be no second chances. Humiliation burned in Casval’s chest, but he was trapped. If Lucian decided to escalate, Casval would not survive the day. Furthermore, his superiors in the capital would disavow him immediately to save themselves.

Left with no other choice, Casval gave the only acceptable response.

“It is no fault of yours, Your Grace. The error is entirely mine for failing to provide proper notice. I humbly ask for your forgiveness for my lack of decorum.”

“Haha, I appreciate you saying so.”

With the power balance firmly established, Lucian gave a satisfied smile.

“Now, what brings the Inspector to my lands?”

The real conversation could finally begin.