Chapter 6

The Count's Wastrel (1)

The blizzard that had threatened to engulf the world subsided. In the northern mountains, life extinguished by the bitter cold had become a chilling deception, leaving nothing but mercilessness behind.

Against that snow-white landscape, the dark black hair stood out unmistakably. The soldiers watching from atop the walls knew at once who the man was. Black-haired people were rare on the continent, and no soldier at the count's castle could fail to recognize that delicately handsome face.

"W-what should we do, Captain?"

The captain answered firmly, "Do not let him in."

"What...? But Lord Adrian is—"

"I know."

Adrian, the eldest son of House Whitewolf. The master of this castle. Refusing its master entry meant disrupting the order of the county, but—

"The late count refused to acknowledge Lord Adrian to the very end."

Adrian, the count's wastrel son. His very existence disrupted the county's order. Considering all the atrocities and outrages he would commit upon his return, this decision was by no means wrong.

"Sir Kai also ordered us not to let Lord Adrian inside."

Kai, the head knight of House Whitewolf. At the young age of just twenty, he had risen to become the county's greatest fighting asset. A naturally gifted knight certain to reach the rank of Master one day, he was a genius among geniuses whom the royal guard was trying to recruit.

The late count had trusted Kai more than Adrian. As a result, Kai held overwhelming sway within the castle. For the soldiers in particular, with their strict chain of command, his orders were no different from those of their lord.

"Understood."

At the name Kai, the soldiers immediately nodded. Just then—

"Open it."

A sharp voice came from behind them. They turned to see a man approaching with steady strides.

"Head Steward!"

The soldiers saluted in unison. The head steward came to a stop before the captain.

"Open the gates."

"B-but..."

"Lord Adrian is House Whitewolf's eldest legitimate son. He is the young lord of this county."

"But the late count's will—"

"No royal decree has arrived yet. Until the Crown formally accepts the late count's will, Lord Adrian retains the authority of the eldest legitimate son."

"..."

"I told you to open the gates at once."

The captain bit his lower lip. In emergencies, the head steward was empowered to act as the lord's representative. Now that the previous count had passed away, he would serve in that capacity until the next lord was confirmed.

"... Understood."

Left with no choice, the captain opened the firmly shut gates.

* * *

RUMBLE!

The thick wooden gates opened with a thunderous roar. As they slowly swung open without resistance, I couldn't help tilting my head.

"Surprisingly little resistance, huh?"

Not little. None at all. Honestly, I'd expected them to refuse to open the gates outright.

Nobody in the household liked me, the count's wastrel son. With even my father's will naming Seraphia instead of me, I'd become utterly irrelevant. I was the count's eldest legitimate son by blood alone—nothing but a wastrel with no authority to speak of.

I'd even braced myself for a brawl with the soldiers.

"If I'd known this would happen, maybe I should have come straight here."

I'd put myself through hell leveling up in those blizzard-swept mountains for nothing.

After a little while, the gates opened all the way. Snow piled on them tumbled down, momentarily blocking my view. Once that artificial flurry passed, a man emerged through the gates.

He wore a neat black suit and looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties. His collar was arranged with immaculate precision, his reddish-brown hair carefully slicked back. His appearance offered a glimpse of a personality that tolerated not even the smallest mistake.

"Allow me to escort you inside."

His low, smooth voice carried almost no emotion. I remembered his face—one of House Whitewolf's household members. His name was probably...

"What's your name?"

... I couldn't quite remember. His eyebrow twitched at my question.

Well, from his perspective, only about a week had passed since I'd stormed out of the house. Frankly, he must have thought I had the memory of a goldfish. Maybe even worse.

Still, he quickly composed himself and answered, "Bernard."

"Bernard?"

"Yes, sir."

"Bernard... Bernard..."

Even hearing the name didn't bring much back. Hardly surprising, considering I'd cut ties with this family a full fifteen years ago. Worse, the war against the Emperor had so thoroughly stained and corrupted my memories that I remembered even less about my family.

Still, hearing his name did stir a few vague memories. If I remembered correctly...

"Bernard Neville?"

"Yes, sir." Bernard answered with a slight bow of his head. Even that simple gesture had a knight's razor-sharp discipline. The sight brought back a few more memories.

'He was the head steward, wasn't he?'

The head steward held a position of considerable responsibility, serving as the lord's representative. Naturally, the appointment depended not only on ability but also, to a considerable extent, on one's origins. In keeping with that, Bernard was a noble.

And nobles were a breed that prized rules and legitimacy. They were especially obsessed with bloodlines, which had caused no end of headaches when the allied army was first formed. Incompetent bastards, all of them, but they could bellow as loudly as ogres.

At any rate, Bernard belonged to that same sort of nobility: a stickler for principle who valued rules and legitimacy above anyone else. Except he was competent, too. That was why my father had trusted him and made him head steward despite his youth.

'He was also the only person in the household who ever took my side.'

Not because he thought well of me, but because it was a matter of principle.

For high nobles of count rank or above, passing the succession to anyone other than the eldest legitimate son or daughter required the royal family's permission under royal law. House Whitewolf belonged to the high nobility, holding the rank of count. In other words, until the Crown recognized my father's will, I retained my authority as the eldest legitimate son.

'Well, it's only a matter of time, anyway.'

My father's will was no forgery. He had left everything belonging to the family to Seraphia, not me. So there were no rights for me to reclaim. With the entire household already having turned its back on me, what could I hope to gain?

That was why I'd left the family in my previous life. Nothing was different now. I hadn't returned to reclaim some paltry rights as the eldest legitimate son.

'Until Ian comes back.'

I intended to stay with the family only until then. And only until then would I keep Seraphia alive. More precisely, I would decide what to do with her after hearing why Ian had regretted killing her.

What if his reason was utterly ridiculous? What if it was because he liked Seraphia?

Of course, Ian would never do that. As the continent's Hero and Supreme Commander of the allied army, he wouldn't regret killing Seraphia for such a trivial reason. I could stake my life on that. There had to be a rational reason he regretted killing her.

That didn't guarantee it would be a reason I could accept, though. And if I still couldn't accept it? I would kill Seraphia without mercy.

So I had neither need nor reason to cling to those hollow rights now. What mattered was building a force to oppose the imperial army—and gaining the strength to face the Emperor.

"Your room has been thoroughly cleaned. I will bring your meal there as usual. Please make yourself comfortable."

As Bernard turned to leave, I called him back. "No. Bring my meal somewhere else, not my room."

* * *

The captain stood ramrod straight, his face rigid. Kai's eyes flashed as he spoke.

"Did I not tell you that he was not to be admitted under any circumstances?"

The captain snapped even more rigidly to attention. His own expression set, Kai questioned him.

"Why did you let him in despite that?"

"Well... the head steward ordered it. I had no choice."

"The head steward?"

No sooner had Kai voiced the question than a reply came.

"I escorted Lord Adrian inside."

Bernard approached from the direction of the lord's residence within the castle. His gait was so perfectly disciplined that one could scarcely tell whether he was a steward or a knight.

"Welcome back, Lady Seraphia."

Bernard bowed his head respectfully to Seraphia. He addressed her as Lady Seraphia, not Countess or Lady of the Domain. He treated her as the count's eldest daughter, not the next ruler. Such were the rules.

Bernard's actions were therefore justified. Procedurally, too, there was nothing amiss. It was Kai's attempt to bar Adrian, rather, that constituted an unjustified overstepping of his authority.

While Kai lowered his gaze, Seraphia tilted her head and asked, "By the way, Head Steward Bernard, what is that you're holding?"

Bernard held a covered tray. He lifted the lid to reveal its contents: a turkey roasted to a golden brown.

"A meal I am taking to Lord Adrian."

An odd gleam flashed in Kai's eyes. Turkey was a precious foodstuff, the sort of dish served only at festivals or special occasions. Here in the north, it was so rare and valuable that even on such occasions it was hard to come by.

Kai clenched his fist until it creaked. It was bad enough that Adrian had insisted on returning to the family. To start wasting the domain's precious food the moment he arrived was more than Kai could bear.

"Where is he?" Kai asked Bernard for Adrian's whereabouts.

Ordinarily, Adrian should have been confined to his room. Every time he went out, he committed all manner of outrages. Unable to bear it any longer, the late count had locked him away.

But the count had died a few days ago. The one person who could curb Adrian's misconduct was gone.

Perhaps he had already extorted money from the domain by invoking his rights as the eldest legitimate son, or some such nonsense, and gone off to gamble. Or perhaps he was harassing women in the county, causing trouble at a tavern, beating residents simply because he disliked their faces, or threatening them for daring to look him in the eye.

Throwing innocent residents into prison for supposedly disrespecting him. Drunkenly attacking people at random in the streets and smashing market stalls. The list went on and on. All atrocities Adrian had committed before. The thought already made Kai shake with fury.

And sure enough—

"Lord Adrian is not in the lord's residence."

Adrian wasn't there. Kai was a step too late. He ground his teeth without realizing it.

Adrian had to die after all. In a sense, it would be a knight stabbing his own liege in the back. But it was necessary. No, it was something he absolutely had to do.

Just as a deep killing intent rose in Kai's blue eyes—

"Lord Adrian is currently at the Frost Trial Grounds."

"... Pardon?"

At Bernard's answer, Kai's face went utterly, foolishly blank.