Chapter 7
Chapter 7: I Am Curious Too
Ferda sat within the guest quarters, deeply absorbed in his studies. Raising his head, he paused, questioning whether his ears had deceived him.
“Convene with the lords?”
“Correct,” Ruri confirmed with a nod. “Are you aware of why my master bears the title of Archduchess of Valdrova?”
“I am. She struck down Godwin, the Black Dragon, and the Arken Empire bestowed the rank upon her as an honor for that deed.”
Godwin, the Black Dragon.
He was the very Aspect of Darkness and the wellspring of all wickedness—a fiend of pure malevolence who sought discord across the entire land and played a pivotal hand in the rise of the Demon King. The one who had delivered the definitive, fatal strike against him was none other than Valdrova, the Red Dragon.
“Word has it that slaying him secured her the mantle of Archduchess, granting her rule over the domains along the Far East Front.”
“Precisely. You possess far more insight than your appearance suggests. Can you state the exact number of territories under Lady Valdrova’s dominion?”
“Are there not fifteen? Factoring in the peripheral hamlets, the total reaches one hundred and eight.”
“…And what of the entire populace?”
“According to the most recent census records, the number stands at 5,256,532, though I cannot account for recent tallies of births and deaths.”
Hearing his prompt response, Ruri’s features distinctly soured. “You display an extraordinary amount of knowledge for someone claiming to hold no ambition for authority.”
Her visible distaste carried the faint, chilling weight of Dragon Fear. Ferda offered merely a casual shrug.
“What could be more disgraceful than a prospective husband remaining completely ignorant of his lady’s domain?”
“You certainly possess a silver tongue.”
Ruri did not place an ounce of faith in his words. Her certainty that he was concealing ulterior motives only deepened. In truth, Ferda had not committed those details to memory for the reasons he offered.
It was purely to pass the time.
Following the creation of his Circle, he found himself with empty hours. Back when he had labored tirelessly just to attain that threshold, a whole day would vanish in the blink of an eye.
“Leaving that aside, what is your stance on meeting with them?”
“I have no desire for it. Unless it is utterly unavoidable, I would prefer not to go.”
“Even if you lack enthusiasm, you will soon assume the role of her consort. If my master oversees matters abroad, then you must look after the domestic sphere.”
“So I am to serve as the lady of the manor, in essence.”
“Indeed.”
A nobleman being referred to as the ‘mistress’ of a house. In aristocratic circles, such an appellation branded a man as utterly inept—a stain on one’s honor so severe that it was regarded as an absolute indignity.
Yet… there is truly no reason to view it as a disgrace.
He was set to become the partner of Valdrova, a sovereign widely feared as a tyrant. Given that her draconic heritage placed her on an entirely untouchable plane, the present Ferda could hardly expect to stand on equal footing alongside her. Even so, being entrusted with the domestic management of her vast estate was a monumental undertaking in its own right.
Overseeing the regional lords with my own hands, is it…
Ferda deliberated briefly before offering his decision. “Very well. I will speak with them.”
“In that case, I will issue the summons.”
Ruri offered a formal bow and withdrew. Ferda, whose perception remained razor-sharp, caught the strange gleam lingering within her gaze. He had deciphered her underlying intentions from the very start.
She continues to doubt me.
‘Desire is born from sight.’ Even a righteous individual might be swayed to reach for supremacy once the reins of dominion are laid directly before them. And once someone partakes in the taste of power, relinquishing it becomes nearly impossible. Such was the core of mortal nature.
However, I am curious as well.
Just as Ruri remained blind to his true self, Ferda himself was not entirely sure what lay ahead. Free from the consuming fire of vengeance, what paths would he choose now? He resolved to treat this gathering as an inquiry into his own character—a means to discover what course he would carve within the stage she had arranged.
“So be it. Let us witness what manner of men they are.”
There existed a well-known jest concerning the aristocracy across the Serdes Continent.
The farther a noble estate sat from the imperial capital, the more excess weight the master was forced to shed. While lords of the central provinces were typically stout, those stationed along the borders maintained lean, hardened frames. The relentless dread of monstrous incursions and the requirement of constant combat readiness meant that indulging in leisurely gluttony was simply out of the question.
Even so, the nobility of the Far East seemed to defy this rule entirely.
“Lord Bosh! It appears your belly has expanded even further!”
Within the Far East Front Alliance Hall, fifteen lords had assembled, their layered chins quivering with every spoken word. A considerable span of time had passed since they had all gathered under a single roof.
“Why have we received this sudden summons out of the blue? Taxes were delivered just a few days ago, so there should be no cause for her intervention…”
“You must pay closer attention to current events. Have you not heard that the Archduchess recently took a betrothed? We have been instructed to make his acquaintance.”
“A betrothed?”
One noble, learning of the development for the first time, let out an astonished gasp. “What sort of madman would ever enter into an engagement with the Archduchess?”
“Precisely my thought. Unless the fellow is an absolute simpleton, he must understand that an ‘engagement’ with her bears an entirely different meaning than the norm…”
“They have surely unearthed the most monumental fool in the realm.”
Naturally, an intense curiosity stirred regarding who had agreed to embrace such a perilous fate.
“Word has it that he is the third son born to the Rosnova family.”
“The Rosnova lineage? The very house that commands the Guardian Knights of the Arken Empire? I understood that every scion bearing that blood was nothing short of brilliant…”
“It seems the third offspring is the singular failure. Rumors say he is frail—not merely in contrast to his formidable kin, but even beneath the standard of a foot soldier. That is precisely why his own sire cast him aside.”
“Inferior even to a rank-and-file soldier? Then he is truly an irredeemable defective.”
“Tch! To imagine I must squander my precious time meeting with such utter garbage…”
“And to compound matters, the young upstart dares to keep us waiting…”
The elder lords wore deeply displeased scowls. The mere notion of a wet-behind-the-ears boy putting on airs made their tempers flare.
“So, what course of action shall we take, gentlemen?”
“Regarding what?”
“He represents the Archduchess’s consort… he will carry a formal title. How do we intend to handle him?”
The most senior lord among the assembly offered his decree: “He is destined to be ripped to shreds by Archduchess Valdrova before long regardless. Why should men of our standing lower our heads to such a wretch?”
“Well said.”
“Indeed, why should we?”
A shared sentiment of utter contempt filled the hall.
The nobles adjusted their fine garments, assuming severe, authoritative postures. They were rulers accustomed to commanding subjects upon the perilous front lines; their objective was to break this newcomer’s pride the very second he crossed the threshold.
The heavy double doors of the assembly hall parted.
Stepping through the entrance was a young man with silver-gray locks and piercing blue eyes, dressed in an imposing scarlet uniform embellished with the gold-bordered emblem of Valdrova.
His attire matched their expectations. What caught them completely unprepared, however, was the overwhelming presence that Ferda projected.
I thought he was supposed to be a defective failure…
He looks far more like an exceptionally striking, sharp-minded outcast.
Though he might have been deemed physically lacking by the harsh measures of a warrior dynasty, his stride carried an innate elegance, proving that noble decorum was etched into his very being. Yet above all else, it was the depth of his gaze that arrested them.
His eyes held none of the reckless defiance typical of youth. Instead, they mirrored the chilling stillness of an unfathomable lake. His sheer poise and maturity, vastly outstripping his calendar years, caused every man in the room to stiffen involuntarily.
Ferda broke the silence.
“Speak.”
His tone was that of a youth crossing the threshold into manhood, yet it carried the heavy, steady timbre of someone who had survived countless trials.
“I am the individual who will soon stand as consort to Archduchess Valdrova.”
Ferda clasped his hands behind his back, his cool blue gaze sweeping across each lord with measured deliberation. Though the posture bordered on open disrespect, not a single nobleman dared to utter a word of protest.
No—they simply found themselves unable to do so.
How can an inexperienced whelp carry such an intimidating gaze…?
Just what manner of monster is this youth?!
It felt as though they had stepped directly into the territory of an apex predator. Without exception, the entire council felt suffocated beneath his appraisal, powerless to push back. Only when confronted directly with the reality of his demeanor did the truth dawn upon them.
The ‘fool’ who had pledged himself to Valdrova was no defective product at all.
Roughly half an hour earlier.
Ferda had arrived outside the Far East Front Alliance Hall. Because he was traveling on formal state business, he had arrived by carriage. Glancing down, he consulted his timepiece.
“We have fallen rather behind schedule.”
Ferda was inherently rigorous regarding punctuality. A single minute of tardiness troubled him; a delay of ten minutes was practically an intolerable breach.
“Is arriving late truly necessary?”
“It is a fundamental principle among dragonkind, and the single most vital step in establishing absolute hierarchy.”
“Even if I do not particularly relish the thought…”
“Pray keep in mind whose consort you are destined to become.”
The consort of Valdrova. Hearing the reminder prompted him to weigh his newfound station once more. Ruri walked a single pace behind his shoulder. As their boots pressed into the crimson carpet, a question surfaced in Ferda’s mind.
Once I become the Archduchess’s consort, where precisely do I stand in the chain of command?
The labyrinth of nobility was intricate. Among the capital elite, precedence strictly followed official titles and court appointments. Yet out upon the untamed frontiers, where the edge of a blade carried far more weight than written law, reverence was accorded to those who had held their ground the longest.
As her consort, my formal standing rivals that of a monarch, yet that alone will hardly suffice…
Ferda was merely eighteen years of age. In the eyes of the realm, he was nothing more than a green youth. Should an unproven fiancé suddenly step forward and demand the subservience due to a king, the local lords would inevitably raise their banners in defiance.
Wrapped in these calculations, Ferda reached the entrance of the grand hall. Inside sat fifteen seats arranged in a broad circle. The place of honor directly opposite the main doors stood vacant—that was the personal seat of Valdrova. In other words, it was the position designated for Ferda himself.
Rather than proceeding toward it, Ferda came to a halt in the very center of the chamber, his gaze lifting to examine each of the gathered nobles.
“Speak. I am the individual who will soon stand as consort to Archduchess Valdrova.”
The inquiry that followed was born of genuine curiosity.
“Under these circumstances, should I address you with honorifics, or should I speak down to you?”
Ferda met their eyes one by one, measuring where his authority truly stood. The assembled nobles stared down at him with taut, uneasy expressions, trading cautious glances as they hesitated to commit to a response.
Ferda tilted his head slightly. “Hm, was the phrasing of my question too complex?”
“A-Ah, by no means…”
“It is merely that…”
The cause of their hesitation was glaringly apparent. The moment they favored one form of address over the other, an unyielding boundary would be established. Who could have foreseen that the youth arriving as a mere consort would instantly corner them into taking a definitive stand?
At last, the most senior noble found his voice. “We are vassals residing beneath the benevolent radiance of Archduchess Valdrova. It is only fitting that we address her intended consort with the utmost deference.”
“Is that your stance?”
“However, the lords assembled here have spent their lives in steadfast loyalty to the realm and devotion to their lands. It is only appropriate that the consort extends suitable regard in return…”
The statement carried the veneer of a resolution, but in truth, he was tossing the dilemma back onto Ferda’s shoulders, suggesting that the tone of address depended entirely on Ferda’s own discretion.
“I am Ulvera Consilus.”
“Understood. Count Consilus? Is that how I am to address you?”
“Indeed.” The aged lord offered a faint, diplomatic smile.
“And therefore?”
“Excuse me?”
“Therefore, should my speech be formal or informal? You have yet to provide a direct answer to my inquiry.”
Ferda narrowed his eyes, fixing the man with an unwavering stare. Looking deeply uncomfortable, the elder noble ultimately yielded.
“It is proper for your lordship to speak down to us.”
“I understand. That settles the matter. Count Consilus, had I approached you with excessive deference from the outset, it would have caused you significant unease, would it not?”
“Y-Your current manner of speaking is more than satisfactory.”
Though Ferda was relatively unversed in political games, the shifting dynamic was unmistakably clear. He had seized total control of the engagement.
I had no real intention of forcing them into submission, however.
Recognizing the need to set the record straight, Ferda addressed the entire gathering. “Set your minds at ease. Little will change simply because I have assumed the position of the Archduchess’s consort. I harbor no great concern regarding your governance. Thus, carry on precisely as you have—whether you choose to bleed your subjects dry or treat them with benevolence.”
“Bleed them dry? How dare you make such an accusation!”
Unable to swallow the remark, a nobleman surged to his feet. Appearing to be in his mid-twenties, his features were sharp and aggressive. He was notably younger than his peers and bore the distinctive insignia of a mage upon his breast.
Ferda caught his own misstep. A slight slip of the tongue.
“I intended no offense. The phrasing simply slipped out.”
“It seems your engagement to the Archduchess has made you insufferably proud, but you would do well to mind your tongue, young fiancé! If we were to measure one another purely as mages, you would be groveling beneath my feet!”
“What madness is this!”
“H-How can you utter such reckless words!”
The stout, elderly lords broke into cold sweats, frantically attempting to pull the young mage back into line. The entire hall held its breath, as though watching a naked flame dance beside an open powder keg.
“Hmm…”
Ferda felt no particular irritation toward the man’s abrasive outburst. Instead, his thoughts drifted to the core of the mage’s declaration.
Can I overcome this man in battle?
“What is your name?”
“I am Thesalos of the Wolcher family!”
Ferda turned the name over in his mind, feeling a faint resonance as though he had encountered it before. Since it held no immediate importance, he moved past the thought.
“What Circle have you attained?”
“The 4th Circle. I am a spellcaster fully capable of wielding 4th-tier magic.”
“Hmm, passable.”
“…Passable?”
To Thesalos, an established mage of the 4th Circle, such a dismissal was nothing short of preposterous. A caster of the 4th Circle commanded immense respect wherever he walked.
Consort or not, should I strike him down where he stands?
Thesalos felt his temper boiling over. Had the youth not been the Archduchess’s betrothed, he would have hurled curses and obliterated him with destructive spells already.
“You have captured my curiosity. With that in mind, may I make a request?”
“You display such blatant insolence, and yet you dare to ask a favor of me?!”
The mage’s complexion flushed a furious crimson, and observing the reaction, Ferda gave an approving nod.
“This should be entirely to your liking. Face me in a duel.”
His basic conditioning was complete; the time had arrived to test himself in genuine combat.
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