Chapter 72

Chapter 72
## Chapter 72

“Shouldn’t those gashes be tended to first? You’ve clearly endured a significant amount of punishment.”

Lucian’s eyes moved toward the various cuts and abrasions decorating Harald’s chest and arms.

While the wounds didn’t look deep enough to be fatal, they were numerous enough that ignoring them felt like a reckless mistake.

“I’d tell you a bit of grit is all I need, but I’m not in a state to play the hero. I’d best put some salve on these before I end up being a drag on the rest of you.”

“Use this instead of grit. You’ll find the results much more satisfying.”

As Lucian produced a vial of crimson fluid, Harald let out a sudden bark of surprise.

“What? A potion? You’d use something that costly on this?”

Lucian found himself momentarily speechless at the sheer intensity of the man’s shock. While potions commanded a high price, it seemed odd that a Viscount would view one as such an unattainable luxury.

“Ha! Are potions really such a miracle to you? They aren’t exactly legendary relics.”

While Harald stared at the vial as if it were a holy icon, Torik cut in. His tone carried the sharp derision a sophisticated city dweller might hold for a backwoods provincial.

“They aren’t cheap, obviously, but even a minor noble can get their hands on one. And yet, Father, you’re acting like—Gah!”

Crack!

“Hold your tongue! You’re a captive now; what gave you the idea you could lecture anyone as if you still held a title?!”

A pained hiss left Torik’s mouth as the strike landed across his cheek. The impact was so violent that the sound of skin tearing was audible to everyone present.

“What does it matter if they are common in other lands? A single drop of water is a treasure in the wastes, and a scrap of moldy bread is a banquet to a man who hasn’t eaten in days…!”

Harald cut his own sermon short and sighed. A look of deep fatigue crossed his face, as if he had finally accepted that his son was beyond the reach of his wisdom. It was a wasted effort, especially given that Torik seemed entirely unmoved by the lesson.

“My apologies. You shouldn’t have had to witness such a pathetic display.”

“It’s no matter. Please, look after your injuries.”

“Then I shall accept your kindness.”

Unplugging the glass stopper with great care, Harald began to rub the liquid into every scratch on his skin. Lucian nearly chuckled at the sight of this mountain of a man being so incredibly precise, clearly terrified of letting even a speck of the medicine go to waste.

I pictured him splashing it on like a drunkard, but he’s being as delicate as a nervous bride. I suppose resources truly are scarce in these parts.

“Ahem, my thanks. I won’t forget this favor.”

Harald tipped the bottle up several times to ensure it was bone dry before handing it back. After reclaiming the empty vessel and seeing the man’s flesh begin to knit back together, Lucian spoke up.

“What is our next move?”

“My lands aren’t a long journey from here. Let us go there. Things are currently in shambles, so don’t expect a royal feast, but I can provide a roof and a meal.”

“Is that wise? There could be other traitors waiting to finish what started here.”

“Even if there are, the matter will be settled by the time we arrive at the gates.”

Lucian tilted his head at the cryptic statement but chose not to interrogate him. If a lord who had held his seat for decades felt this certain, he surely had a foundation for that belief.

—

After a march of roughly half a day, the borders of Harald’s domain appeared. Despite the modest size of the estate, the defensive walls were nearly as massive as those found in Kelheim.

“Those are formidable defenses. One would think this place was built to endure a World War.”

“Save the honeyed words. I’m well aware that this fortress is far more grand than my status warrants.”

“….”

Lucian went quiet, unable to offer a polite disagreement. To be fair, the fortifications seemed vastly over-engineered for such a small parcel of land. Unless a lord was a high-ranking peer with endless coffers or a warden of a border march facing daily raids, building such a wall for a small viscounty was an exercise in excess.

“Well, there’s a history behind it. I’ll explain the details once we’ve crossed the threshold.”

“I understand.”

As the party drew closer to the main entrance, they spotted several spherical objects dangling from the battlements. It took only a moment for Torik to realize those objects were severed heads, and his face went pale with terror.

“H-How can this be…!”

“I expected nothing less. Fools, every last one of them.”

Harald made a clicking sound with his tongue, paying no mind to Torik’s panicked gasps. Looking at the scene, it was obvious the heads belonged to Torik’s fellow conspirators.

“What did you think would happen? Did you honestly believe they would hold the keep and come to your aid? Did you think the folk of the North were so easily broken?”

“….”

Torik offered no rebuttal, his chin hitting his chest as the last flicker of hope died in his eyes. It was clear those executed men had been his final gamble.

Just as they reached the heavy doors—

“Stand down! Identify yourse—Lord Viscount?!”

“Indeed, it’s me. I’ve returned with the turncoats in tow, so let us in.”

“A-At once, sir! Move it, you lot! Swing the gates open now!”

Grind.

The sentries didn’t breathe a word of suspicion toward Lucian’s companions. As Harald strode inside, the people who recognized him began to cry out in astonishment.

“The Lord! The Lord has come back!”

“The Master is alive!”

A swarm of commoners rushed toward Harald in a chaotic wave. Lucian’s group tensed at the sight of the blood-stained pitchforks and tools in their hands, but no one moved to attack. Instead, Harald gestured for Lucian and his allies—who had already gripped their hilts—to relax and allow the crowd to gather.

“My Lord, are you hurt?!”

“Look at me! I, Harald, am far too stubborn to be taken down by the likes of them!”

“Please, enter the keep! We have to get those wounds cleaned!”

“I’ve already used some high-grade tonic on every inch of myself, so keep your hair on. It was the good stuff, too.”

Harald laughed with genuine warmth as he spoke to the villagers one by one. Lucian watched the surreal interaction in silence. It didn’t look like a noble returning to his seat of power; it looked like a beloved patriarch returning to his family.

Under the common laws of the Empire, a peasant approaching a nobleman without an invitation could be executed on the spot.

“Are you confused? You’ll see this quite a bit in Northern lands.”

Raymond leaned in with a smirk to explain to the baffled group. Felicia, finally finding her voice, whispered in shock.

“What… what am I seeing? Even so, for peasants to… they aren’t even soldiers, and to address a titled lord like that….”

“It’s a product of this environment. Between the lethal frost, the constant internal strife, and the beasts that crawl down from the Snowy Mountains, the North is unforgiving. You don’t survive here unless everyone stands together, so every villager is forced to become a fighter.”

“I see. So the entire population is effectively a militia.”

“Precisely. Only they do it for free.”

One of the cornerstones of a lord’s power is the monopoly on protection. Conversely, if the people are shedding their own blood to defend the land, the lord’s word cannot be absolute law. If a lord acted like a coward or shirked his duty, the people would have replaced him long ago.

However, these lords only leaned on their people because their own means were spread thin; they still did everything in their power to lead. This dynamic meant the peasants understood the crushing weight the lord carried, while the lord understood the daily struggles of the peasants.

And this was the outcome.

It was a strange irony. In the lush, comfortable heart of the continent, commoners were kept under a boot of iron, yet here in the freezing North, social barriers had almost vanished.

After spending time reassuring the worried townsfolk, Viscount Harald turned back to the group with a grim set to his jaw.

“The coup has been crushed. It was a narrow escape, but thanks to these travelers, we made it. I’d love to take our saviors to the manor for a proper reception, but…”

“Um… about that, sir….”

The commoners swapped nervous glances. Seeing the shift in the air, Harald’s expression darkened.

“Did something happen to my house?”

“Well, those rats barricaded themselves inside the manor, so things got… a bit messy while we were digging them out.”

“We’ve dragged most of the corpses out, but the floor boards are soaked through, and the stench is… well….”

“For pity’s sake.”

Harald rubbed his temples as if a migraine were taking root. It was one thing for the furniture to be broken, but it would be a grave insult to host guests in a hall that still smelled of death.

“It can’t be helped. Would you take offense if I hosted you elsewhere?”

“Somewhere other than your own keep?”

At Lucian’s query, Harald broke into a wide, toothy grin.

“A place where the beer actually tastes like something.”

—

“Ha! That hits the spot!”

Bam.

Harald dropped his heavy wooden tankard onto the table and wiped foam from his mustache. His conduct was beyond merely casual; it was as if he had stripped off his nobility along with his armor. Noting the silence of Lucian’s party, Harald gave a rough chuckle.

“What’s the matter? Am I acting too common for your taste?”

“If I am being honest, yes.”

“Hmm.”

Harald went quiet at Lucian’s sharp reply. Though he remained stoic, he looked a bit deflated. After a short silence, Lucian offered a small smile.

“But that is exactly why I find it refreshing. Status should be maintained when the setting demands it. Trying to act like a king in a common taproom only makes the other patrons miserable.”

“Well, look at you. You have a silver tongue, don’t you?”

Harald looked impressed by Lucian’s perspective. As it stood, Lucian and Harald had taken over the entire upper floor of a local tavern. To most high-borns, it would have felt small and grimy, but to Lucian, it felt like home. Realizing Lucian wasn’t just being polite but was genuinely comfortable, Harald’s grin returned.

“Very well, Lord Lucian. You mentioned you’re here to restore the Grimaldi legacy and strike down the House of Calix. Do you actually have a strategy?”

“Not yet. I am unfamiliar with the current political climate of the North, so I felt it best to witness it firsthand before making a move.”

“That’s bold. But it’s also the only right way. No plan survives contact with the North if you don’t understand the people.”

“To start, I want to know about my grandfather on my mother’s side. He passed when I was just a boy, and I never had the chance to meet him.”

“What sort of man was His Grace Duke Klaus, you ask?”

Harald looked toward the ceiling as if searching for a ghost from his youth.

“He was the very soul of the North.”

“Was he a formidable combatant like yourself, then?”

“A combatant? Not a chance. The man was a physical disaster.”

“…I beg your pardon?”

Lucian blinked, completely blindsided by the description. He had assumed that for a man of Harald’s temperament to offer such respect, the Duke must have been a legendary warrior.

“He was nothing but skin and bones; he didn’t have a single muscle on his frame. He’d pass out during basic drills, and he was constantly catching some fever or another. And as for drink? One pint of ale and he was under the table!”

Harald roared with laughter at Lucian’s stunned expression. After a few moments, he composed himself and closed his eyes.

“But he never turned his back on his people. Even with that frail frame, he kept pushing himself to train, claiming he had to have a strength he wasn’t ashamed of. Even when he was bedridden, he spent his time worrying about the harvest. Whenever there was a crisis, the first thing he did was reach for his breastplate.”

“….”

“He couldn’t knock a man down to save his life, but everyone in this land would have died for him. If some arrogant pup tried to mock His Grace just because they were a better swordsman, the entire province would rise up and beat them into the dirt.”

Lucian was silenced by the deep longing in Harald’s voice. In such a cutthroat environment, a culture of strength usually defines survival. People naturally disregard the weak as a liability. Yet, Harald described his grandfather as physically pathetic while clearly holding him in the highest esteem.

“If he had ever decided to march and unite the North, half of the lords would have knelt before he even drew a sword. The Duke held that much sway over our hearts.”

“If I were to follow in my grandfather’s footsteps….”

“You can’t.”

Harald shut the idea down immediately, leaving no room for hope.

“He wasn’t a fighter, but he was a Northerner to his marrow. He was born here, bled here, and he lived out our values better than anyone. You are an outsider. If you try to play the part of a Northerner now, you’ll just look like an actor in a bad play.”

“Is there no other path, then? I intend to bring the House of Calix to justice, but I have no friends in these lands. If I try to stand alone without a base of support, my words will carry no weight.”

“I didn’t say there was no way at all.”

Harald’s eyes twinkled at Lucian’s frustration.

“We don’t just hate outsiders on principle. If a stranger proves they have real value, we don’t just give them a nod—we’re liable to follow them to the ends of the earth.”

“I’m not looking for followers yet, but I’d like to know how one proves that value.”

“It’s quite simple.”

Harald stood, his heavy muscles tensing beneath his recent wounds.

“Defeat me.”