Chapter 79

Chapter 79
## Chapter 79

Lucian snapped forward, seizing the knight’s forearm at the precise moment the man intended to lop it off with his own weapon.

This wasn’t some hollow threat; the razor-sharp edge had already sliced the surface, drawing a crimson line. If Lucian’s reflexes had been a fraction slower, the knight’s magically enhanced strength would have cleaved the steel clean through the marrow.

*Is he truly mad? To what lengths does his hatred for the Calix family extend?*

To a knight, a sword was his soul. The second a warrior’s body was mangled to the point of being unable to grip a hilt, their existence as a soldier was effectively extinguished. And yet, this man was prepared to discard his limb just to ensure the downfall of the Calix household.

“Regain your composure and speak. What did the Calix family do to push you to such a desperate edge?”

“Their villainy is endless! They had the audacity to masquerade under the Grimaldi name and planted seeds of betrayal among the lords of the North! Such atrocities are—”

“Spare me the lecture on the ‘greater good.’ I may be young, but I am far from gullible.”

At the sound of Lucian’s icy, steady tone, the knight—who had been lost in his fervor—stiffened. It was glaringly obvious that he was using the concept of a “noble cause” as a mask to shroud his private vengeance.

After a tense silence, the knight let out a ragged breath.

“It is a matter of a blood feud.”

“I am unfamiliar with the specifics of this malice. Is it a personal grievance of yours? Or does it belong to the master you serve?”

“It is both. Those Calix dogs… they went after my lord’s… ugh.”

The knight faltered, the words seemingly catching in his throat as he stole glances at Lucian. However, he understood that remaining tight-lipped now would only sow the seeds of doubt rather than alliance. Finally, with a look of exhausted surrender, the knight confessed.

“They sparked an insurrection within our borders. We managed to crush the uprising, but the cost in lives and blood was staggering.”

“An insurrection? Are you claiming someone without a right to the seat tried to usurp power? That is high treason against the Crown.”

“No. It was my master’s second-born… or rather, the man who used to be the second son, who spearheaded the revolt.”

“I understand.”

Lucian gave a small nod as the knight’s voice faded into a pained murmur. Even if the fire had been lit by outsiders, the rebellion had been led by one of the lord’s own flesh and blood. It was a humiliating internal disaster—the kind of stain one would never wish to expose to the world. The fact that a relative’s mutiny had caused such devastation was a stinging critique of the lord’s failure as both a parent and a sovereign.

*So, their reach extended beyond Viscount Harald. It appears they have been probing every domain held by the hardline opposition lords, searching for any fracture to wedge open.*

This was a capital offense that far exceeded being a mere rival in the North; it was a crime of such magnitude that the Imperial Family could issue a formal mandate for extermination. They hadn’t just stepped over the boundary; they had sprinted miles past it.

The knight, who had been staring at the floor during Lucian’s internal silence, suddenly snapped his gaze upward, his features burning with a fresh wave of rage.

“Their sins have reached the heavens! Even the Eight Gods will turn their backs now! Only retribution remains! We will grant you any resource you require, so I beg of you, in the name of righteousness, bring the Calix family to ruin!”

*I see.*

Lucian felt a private smirk touch his mind at the knight’s frantic, borderline obsessive entreaty. The reason these people were gravitating toward him with such desperation was finally clear.

*They want to hide behind me to justify their revenge.*

Regardless of the Calix family’s role in inciting mutiny, launching a massive military campaign against them without ironclad proof was impossible. The Throne might turn a blind eye to a small border tiff, but they would never ignore a full-scale civil war involving multiple high-ranking houses. Conversely, if they engaged in a traditional one-on-one feud, the Calix family’s superior martial power would likely grind them into the dirt.

*They intend to install me as a figurehead to rally a coalition and erase the Calix family. Truly, there isn’t a more ideal symbol than me.*

He was the third son of the Grand Ducal House of Valdek—a figure even the Calix house would find incredibly risky to assassinate. He was the legitimate rival whose claim to the Grimaldi lineage far outweighed theirs. Furthermore, he possessed the social standing to explain the internal strife to an Imperial Court that might otherwise fear a Northern secession.

For these nobles, tethering themselves to Lucian was the sole path to seeing their vengeance realized.

“I empathize with your plight, Sir Knight. The Calix family has committed too many horrors to be spared. The hour has come for them to settle their debts.”

“Does that mean…!”

“But not quite yet. I have yet to officially reclaim the Grimaldi title. Only when I cast judgment as the true successor of Grimaldi can it be said that the scales are balanced, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Precisely! If you need any backing, you have but to speak!”

The knight frantically pledged his loyalty, terrified that Lucian might reconsider. He didn’t stop at a verbal oath; he produced a high-security missive from his lord. It declared that they would mobilize their battalions to support him the instant the Imperial Family signaled their approval.

As Lucian stowed the letter away, he suppressed a chuckle.

*That secures the blades.*

He had made his promise, but he had no desire to sprint into a head-on collision with the Calix County just yet. Though he had secured firm allies, the enemy’s military core remained robust. Charging in with an unpolished force, even with a royal blessing, was a recipe for catastrophe.

*The vital part is that I now have people who view my life as indispensable—people ready to draw steel at my command.*

Lucian had the power to defend himself. He had faith in the prowess of Felicia, Raymond, and Hugo. Yet even the most elite duelist struggles to fend off ten attackers with only two arms. He had been searching for “additional hands,” whether elite or common, and now they were competing to serve him.

*Given their desperation, they will shield me at any cost, if only to ensure their enemy burns.*

For the Calix family, who might have viewed kidnapping or a forced return as a final card to play, this was a massive complication. Now, their only path was to confront Lucian directly in an open arena.

And if it came to a straight fight, Lucian was certain he wouldn’t fall to anyone.

—

A few days later, the Calix household sent a fresh messenger.

“I offer my greetings to the honorable Lucian. I am Marcel Herscher, a retainer of the House of Calix.”

The knight, possessing lean, corded muscle and a grim expression, was the total antithesis of the arrogant Palmyr. The moment he finished his self-introduction, Marcel cut to the chase.

“I shall speak plainly. His Lordship the Count desires to enter a formal trial against you for the rights to the Grimaldi name.”

“A formal trial, you say?”

Lucian cocked his head, a mocking half-smile on his lips.

“How droll. A trial is a contest between those with equivalent claims. Does it not strike you as farcical to propose a contest with me, the direct grandson of the previous Duke?”

“But you are not of the North, Lord Lucian. No matter how frequently you assert your claim, we will maintain this stance. You grasp the reality of the situation, do you not?”

At those insolent words, Lucian’s circle, including Harald, glared in unison. It was a blatant admission that since they refused to relinquish the Grimaldi title, they would grasp at any justification, legal or otherwise. Despite the venomous stares directed at him from all corners, Marcel remained stoic, his expression a cold iron plate.

“As you are well aware, much has transpired in the North. Some have flourished, while others have faltered. If you were to undo everything overnight, no one would simply bow and retreat, regardless of the legality you present.”

“And yet, if I emerge victorious in this trial, you will submit? In a mere game that holds no official weight or judicial power? That sounds like madness.”

“This trial will occur before the eyes of the entire North. If we were to display the shame of breaking our word after suggesting the terms ourselves, who would ever follow the Calix family again?”

He was arguing that because the public would be the witness, they would be trapped by the outcome, whether they liked it or not. Since the reasoning wasn’t entirely flawed, Lucian signaled for him to continue.

“Furthermore, we propose this trial adhere to the ancient customs of the North. If the blood of the North truly flows within you, surely you will not decline.”

“Ancient customs of the North?”

“The Hundred-Day Hunt.”

*Thump!*

“You delirious wretch!”

Harald, his eyes wide with fury, slammed his palm onto the table. As splinters of wood scattered, Marcel calmly bowed his head.

“Steady yourself, My Lord. I am simply conveying the conditions of the trial.”

“Hold your tongue! You vipers are playing games in broad daylight! If you crave death so much, I’ll take your head this instant—!”

“Lord Harald.”

Harald, who looked ready to unsheathe his axe, went still at Lucian’s voice. His hands shaking, he finally moved away from his hilt and growled through clenched teeth.

“If you weren’t a guest of Lord Lucian, your skull would be bouncing on the tiles by now.”

“I shall remember your leniency, My Lord.”

Marcel’s voice lacked even a shred of genuine thanks, which nearly set Harald off again, but the lord forced himself to sit down, wary of Lucian’s presence. Once the tension simmered, Lucian looked at Marcel.

“What exactly entails this ‘Hundred-Day Hunt’?”

In answer to Lucian’s inquiry, Marcel let out a dark, thin smile.

“As I stated, it is a venerable tradition of the North.”

—

“Endure the Northern frost-peaks for fifteen days and return with the most prestigious kill to be named the victor. No more than five associates may join you, and carrying provisions is strictly forbidden.”

After dismissing Marcel to consider the offer, Lucian contemplated the specifics he had just been given. It seemed it was originally a hundred-day ordeal, as the title implied, but it had been trimmed to fifteen days due to the extreme mortality rate and time commitment.

“A curious custom. Challenging one’s raw, personal grit while stripping away all status. I am beginning to find the North even more appealing.”

“This is no time for jokes! Do you honestly believe they plan for a fair fight!?”

“Of course not.”

Lucian gave a careless shrug and focused on the map. The region Marcel had suggested for the trial was circled in red.

“The peaks they proposed sit near Calix land and are surrounded by their puppet lords. Even if my allies maintain a watch, it is their home turf. They have every chance to plant traps in the shadows.”

“Which is precisely why you have to say no.”

“I cannot.”

“And why not!”

“They invoked heritage. If I retreat now, the image I’ve cultivated in the public eye will crumble.”

Harald went silent, his argument defeated. As Lucian pointed out, if he turned down the offer now, it would appear as though he were cowering from a sacred Northern rite. Even those who had cheered for him as a hero of the royal bloodline would feel a twinge of letdown.

“In the worst-case scenario, every bit of work I’ve done to be accepted might evaporate. They will certainly spread rumors that a Southerner is just a weakling after all.”

“So you intend to walk into the trial even though you know it’s an ambush?”

“Yes, that is my plan.”

“What in the world…!”

Harald let out a bewildered laugh at the remark, which was so brimming with certainty it felt like hubris. Lucian spoke further to settle his nerves.

“I am not going in blind. They won’t dare to harm me directly and risk a war with the Valdeks. They will be restricted to indirect sabotage.”

“Just because you survive doesn’t mean you win. If you lose the trial, you’re just handing them a victory on a silver platter.”

“No, the moment I agree to the trial, the final score doesn’t actually matter. What I care about is the validation of the North, not the validation of those crooks.”

“…?”

Lucian smirked at Harald, who tilted his head in total confusion.

“What does it matter if they accept me or not? Under the laws of the Empire, the rights to the Grimaldi inheritance belong to me regardless. It would be a problem if the whole North rejected that fact, but right now, it’s just a handful of people throwing a tantrum, isn’t it?”

Harald stared blankly at the unexpected perspective.

*Can it really be viewed that way?*

Thinking on it, it wasn’t wrong. Although the North was far from the capital, it was still part of the Empire. Putting aside how individuals used tradition as an excuse, according to the Imperial code, the property and lands of the late Duke belonged to Lucian. If he took the inheritance while the majority of the North already backed him, the Calix family would only look ridiculous for continuing to shout about the Grimaldi name.

“…But they won’t just roll over and hand you the keys, will they? Even if they ‘accept’ it, they’ll conjure every excuse to keep what they have.”

“Then I’ll simply call upon the hand of the law.”

“The law?”

“My Lord.”

Just as Lucian was about to elaborate, Felicia’s voice echoed from the hallway.

“The Inspector has arrived, bearing a formal decree from His Majesty the Emperor.”