Chapter 165

Chapter 165
## Chapter 165

Once he had sent word to Lucian regarding his arrival, Tristan wasted no time in marching toward the northern territories at the head of a five-hundred-man battalion.

The various nobles whose lands lined his route were less than pleased to see a small army skirting their borders, and they sent a flurry of formal grievances his way. Tristan, however, dismissed their irritation without a second thought.

“I am merely traveling through. Since I haven’t even brushed against the hamlets under your jurisdiction, why this dramatic display? If you claim to be loyal to the Empire, perhaps you should exhibit the grace expected of your rank.”

This insolent retort left the lords seething, but none of them actually moved to intercept him. They had no solid legal ground to summon their own banners over a mere feeling of discomfort, particularly since Tristan had caused no physical harm to their property.

Beyond that, the high circles of society were well aware of Tristan’s plight; having been cast out of his lineage by Jordi, he was fueled by pure resentment. They were hesitant to see what desperate measures a man with his back against the wall might take if pushed even further.

Because of these apprehensions, Tristan managed to navigate his forces northward without facing any physical blockades.

“It’s almost comical. Had we been in an era of stability, these men would have struck me down immediately. Yet, now that the world is fractured and threats are everywhere, they are paralyzed. Is this the paradox of our times?”

“It certainly works in our favor… but my lord, is it wise to be this provocative?”

The question came from a man looking at the smirking Tristan with clear concern. This was Diego, a knight who had served as Tristan’s right hand for years and had been his companion since childhood.

“We are unmolested for the moment, but this will undoubtedly lead the surrounding nobility to nurse a grudge against you. Such conduct could result in a heavy price later.”

“I am fully aware. However, we are left with no alternatives.”

“I understand we lack a permanent base for the troops, necessitating their travel with us. But if you could perhaps show a measure of diplomacy…”

“You misunderstand my point. I am saying that despite the rudeness and lack of shame, being this defiant is our only path forward.”

“I don’t follow, sir?”

“Give me your honest assessment. How do I appear to the world right now?”

Diego remained quiet at Tristan’s inquiry. To answer truthfully would be an affront. Yet, that very silence served as the most candid reflection of Tristan’s current status.

“I am a man in ruins. All I possess is a microscopic glimmer of a comeback. I am like a vermin in the gutters, scurrying about and waving that tiny spark in people’s faces while begging for a benefactor.”

“My Lord!”

“This isn’t a funeral for my pride, nor have I surrendered my spirit. I am simply viewing myself through the lens of others. Looking at me today, who would truly see the rightful successor of Valdek?”

He possessed no land to rule, and his entire martial strength was comprised of five hundred elite soldiers provided by his mother’s kin. Even then, he had no steady revenue and was staying afloat only by liquidating his personal treasures. His standing was so precarious that a single breath from a rival could topple his entire operation.

“That is precisely why I must be defiant. To maintain a bold front in the heart of ruin is a mark of prestige and certainty—it signals to others that there is still a future for such a man.”

“…!”

“Answer me, Diego. Does a man who crawls with a broken spirit seem like someone destined for greatness? Or does a man who remains impossibly arrogant seem like someone destined for greatness?”

Diego’s cheeks burned with a flush of regret. He had assumed Tristan’s behavior was just the lingering vanity of the former first young master of Valdek. In reality, it was a calculated display to prove to the world that he had not succumbed to gloom and still held significant potential.

“Please pardon my ignorance, my lord. I failed to see the depth of your strategy!”

“Don’t worry about it. In truth, the majority will just see a boorish thug. Only a select few will have the vision to see the extraordinary hidden beneath.”

But if fortune favored him, a patron might step forward from that small group. That “eventual” benefactor was exactly what Tristan was hunting for. Winning the hearts of the masses meant nothing compared to securing the backing of one influential pillar.

*The third son might have already calculated all of this, though… hmph.*

Tristan felt a sudden pang of inadequacy and bit his lip. He hadn’t even stood before him yet; he couldn’t lose the psychological war before it truly started. Now was the time to bluff, even if he had to manufacture confidence out of thin air.

*There is no reason to put all my hopes on the third son alone. Surely there are other driven men in the North. If the stars align, I might find an alternate sponsor.*

Regardless, this represented a once-in-a-lifetime window for Tristan. If he failed here, he likely wouldn’t find a pretext to visit the North again for a generation. Tristan’s gaze burned with the resolve to secure an ally at any cost—to win back his legacy and purge the usurper currently staining his family name.

—

“I was somewhat apprehensive because the tales say Northerners are a hard people, but they seem remarkably tolerant. Not a single noble has raised a hand against an army marching through their borders.”

Fifteen days had passed since Tristan entered the North. Diego spoke to his lord with a relaxed expression, the first in quite some time. The trek had been so quiet that his internal alarms had finally gone silent.

“Furthermore, the climate is milder than I anticipated. At this pace, we won’t even need to drain our funds on heavy winter supplies.”

“…This is a bad sign.”

Unlike Diego, Tristan whispered with a dark expression, clearly unsettled by the lack of friction. Diego, unable to grasp his master’s dread, tilted his head in confusion.

“A bad sign? It feels far superior to the other territories that were constantly vibrating with hostility.”

“Unless they are total idiots, no ruler would fail to feel a threat from an army crossing their land. The absence of any response means someone has silenced the lords.”

“By someone, you mean…”

“There is only one individual with the authority to exert that kind of pressure over every noble in the North.”

Lucian Grimaldi Valdek.

It was an impossibility for anyone else but the man known as the Conqueror of the North. Tristan felt a wave of despair as he grasped the staggering distance between their positions.

*I don’t know if they obey him out of terror or if they are genuinely inspired by him… but this is the worst possible outcome for me.*

He had imagined that if Lucian turned him away, he might still find an ambitious northern lord to serve as a patron. But the entire North was held in check by a single command from Lucian. At this rate, even if someone spotted potential in Tristan, they would surely stifle any urge to help him out of fear of Lucian’s wrath.

*Fine, so be it. Direct support from Lucian is the better prize anyway.*

If no other path existed, he would simply have to charge through the one in front of him with everything he had. Tristan steadied his shaking resolve and pressed onward.

However, several days later, the second he reached Asagrim, his hard-won composure shattered instantly.

“The—The White Walls?”

A gasp of pure astonishment broke from Tristan’s lips as he gazed upon the defenses, which were carbon copies of those in Tivron. He had believed such flawless fortifications were exclusive to the Imperial Capital; how could they possibly exist in this remote northern corner?

As Tristan stood there paralyzed, his brain stalling from the shock, a voice suddenly cut through the air beside him.

“It has been quite a while, First Young Master.”

“…!”

Jolted by the sudden address, Tristan and his soldiers spun around. Recognizing the familiar silhouette standing atop a snowy ridge, Tristan asked almost instinctively, “Sir Felicia, when did you arrive?”

“I was observing from the ramparts, and the moment I recognized you, I came running.”

“Came running? The span between those walls and this spot is…”

“I suppose you never witnessed my father running in his prime, First Young Master.”

Tristan’s eyes flickered at the weight of those words. She was implying that such a distance was a trifle for a Sword Saint, while simultaneously hinting that she had ascended to that very same rank. Even Eisen had only attained the mantle of Sword Saint in his middle years, yet she was speaking of a realm equivalent to a Sword Saint at such a tender age.

The group stared at Felicia in silence, unsure if her words were born of conceit or earned confidence. Regardless of their bewilderment, Felicia continued without blinking.

“His Grace is expecting you. Please, follow me.”

—

From the moment he stepped into Asagrim, Tristan was bombarded by one shock after another.

The streets were so packed with people that finding a vacant dwelling seemed impossible. The common folk possessed frames significantly larger than the average grown man. Even the trade districts and the craftsmen’s quarters were as teeming with life as any capital city. Compared to Kelheim, the ancestral seat of the Valdek family, nothing here appeared inferior.

*Is this really the settlement that sat derelict for nearly a millennium? It has only been a few years since the Emperor gifted this place to Lucian, so how…!*

Tristan swallowed hard at the impossible speed of Asagrim’s growth. He knew Lucian was gifted, but this was beyond comprehension. Even with the full weight of the Imperial Family behind him, the cultivation of a territory was supposed to be a slow, multi-generational process.

“We have reached the audience hall. Step inside.”

Snapped out of his trance, Tristan returned to the present at the sound of Felicia’s voice. He looked up as the colossal doors swung open without a sound. Lucian, appearing within the threshold, offered a smile and spoke.

“It has been a long time, Brother. Have you been faring well?”

Tristan took a deep breath before answering. “Yes, I have been well. You have grown much more formidable than before, Lucian. Our father would be struck with pride if he could see you today.”

“…!”

The advisors’ gazes sharpened at Tristan’s casual use of informal language. Unlike Tristan, who held no official title, Lucian was a recognized Duke and a Margrave. Unless they were brothers of the same mother, such a familiar tone from a half-brother was a massive breach of protocol.

However, Lucian didn’t appear the least bit insulted. He gave a hearty laugh and descended from the Jade Throne.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Brother. Come, let us share an embrace as brothers should after such a separation.”

*After such a separation? When have Lucian and I ever shared an embrace?*

Tristan felt a flash of cynicism but stepped forward without a word. Since Lucian was putting on a performance, Tristan had to follow the script.

However, Tristan was forced to halt after only a few strides.

*…What is this?*

Tristan blinked, confused by a strange sensation. All at once, he felt a crushing weight as if something were pressing down on his entire physical form. Even as he attempted to lift his boots from the stone, it was a struggle, as if heavy boulders had been chained to them.

“Hmph!”

*Thud.*

Tristan channeled every ounce of his strength to lift his leg and break the mysterious grip. However, the foot he managed to raise slammed back into the floor before he could complete a single step.

“What in the world… Urgh!”

Before he could even process the shock, the gravity intensified, making Tristan wobble. At first, it was just a struggle to move, but now his very skeleton felt like it was grinding under the strain just from standing in place.

Sensing the looming peril, Tristan belatedly flooded his body with mana to resist, but the effort was useless as the pressure surged to match it.

*Damn it, if this keeps climbing, my insides are going to give way…!*

Tristan, no longer able to find the breath to speak, was barely holding his ground while frozen in place. It was then that a voice, laced with a hint of playfulness, reached his ears.

“Brother, why have you stopped so abruptly? Come quickly and greet your younger brother.”

The voice addressed Tristan, who was now shivering and soaked in a cold sweat.