The domain closest to central Rowoon was Whilsman territory, which also marked the start of the kingdom’s northeastern region. Eric Whilsman, the son of Count Whilsman, strode through the banquet hall with an awkward smile on his face. He could hear the northeastern region’s nobles chatting behind him.
“Even if they are the Henituses, can they really tell us when to come and go in this state of emergency?”
“I agree. Furthermore, it’s not the count who summoned us but Lord Cale. To think a child with no title is ordering us around… My word!”
Northeastern Rowoon lacked a duke or marquess to take charge, so there were several factions vying for power. One such group included the Whilsmans, the Uvars, and the Chetters—collectively prioritizing powers in the northeast, with a grasp on Rowoon’s northeastern shores. The rest of the factions opted to tie themselves to a duke or marquess in one of the other four regions of the kingdom.
“I also don’t know why the crown hasn’t said a word about it.”
“Good point. If they sail in, it’ll be through the northeastern region. It’s not like they can travel by air…”
The factions tied to the southeastern and central regions were the most outspoken. No baron or viscount would dare speak so poorly of a count during times of peace, but they were loose-lipped in this tense period, relying on the backing of their higher-ranking associates. Each wanted to seize control of the northeast for their own faction.
Eric had expected as much, so he paid them no mind. If anything, it was strange that the factions tied to the southwestern and northwestern regions were so subdued.
How odd.
House Sten in the northwest was now being run by the marquess’s eldest son, Taylor Sten, while Lord Antonio had taken over the Duchy of Guiller in the southwest. The nobles following those two families kept quiet, wearing serious expressions. In fact, they seemed a bit frightened.
What’s going on?
Strange though it might’ve been, Eric was merely the son of a titled noble and not part of the overall gathering. He hastily removed himself from the banquet hall.
As he closed the door behind him, he overheard one of the nobles grousing, “Since we all keep praising him as Lord Silverlight, he thinks he can run amok at a time like this.”
It was a complaint about Cale.
The door clicked shut, and Eric frowned. Really, what in the world is about to happen?
Count Deruth Henituse had arranged for this gathering of the northeastern region’s nobles, declaring, “Let’s choose a leader.”
The nobles had been all too keen to oblige. War provided an opportunity for a new power to step in. However, the very count who had summoned the nobility had sent Cale in his stead.
When Eric first heard about this, he couldn’t sleep. Although Cale didn’t seem like such a lout anymore, Eric still worried about him. He had sent Cale a message every day, but he’d never received a response.
At his wits’ end, Eric decided to ask the House Henituse representative standing at the entrance.
“Vice-Captain Hilsmann, when is Lord Cale coming?”
“I’m not sure, sir.”
The vice-captain’s calm response made Eric’s head throb. He remembered a discussion he’d had with Lady Amir, who was responsible for the naval base.
“Lord Eric, you needn’t worry about Lord Cale. To be honest with you, I’m excited to see what he does.”
Her gaze had been sharp, as if she was looking forward to the war.
Unable to hide his anxiety, Eric sighed and mussed up his hair. “Goodness… Cale, you little punk. Just what’re you—”
“What about me?”
Eric froze, hearing the tap-tapping of shoes striking the marble floor. He turned around to see Cale sauntering in from the entrance, calm and collected as ever. Those leisurely strides of his suited him better than anybody else, in Eric’s view.
Cale approached Eric, who’d sent him daily letters full of anxiety about the war, and walked right past him. “I’ll see you later.”
Watching him go, Eric thought, He seems different. Though he couldn’t tell how, he felt there’d been a shift in the Henituse lordling. The notion had him struggling to respond, and Cale was happy to avoid his fretful nagging.
When Cale reached the banquet hall’s large door, he grabbed the handle himself. The knight guarding the entrance scurried over, saying, “Allow me, my lord!”
“No need. I’ll do it myself.”
Cale pushed the door open with all his strength. Creak. Bang! As the impact resounded through the banquet hall, Cale strode inside.
Tap. Tap.
The eyes of every northeastern noble tracked Cale as he made his solitary way across the marble floor, looking down upon those seated at their tables.
Tap. Tap.
He came to a stop at a long, oval table, the head of which was reserved for Count Henituse. Rather than sitting down, he searched out Eric’s father, Count Whilsman. Cale greeted the count with his gaze; the two of them had discussed things ahead of time.
‹Human,› Raon piped up in Cale’s mind, having arrived there beforehand. ‹Those bastards said rude things about you! It’s amazing—don’t they value their lives?›
What a vicious six-year-old. Contrary to his thoughts, Cale’s expression was tranquil as he coolly surveyed the group. A few aristocrats coughed, uncomfortable with the mere son of a titled noble looking down at them.
The first to speak was a viscount known to have aligned himself with Marquess Ailan—the same marquess supposedly ruling the southeast from behind the scenes. This viscount had a reputation as a reasonably intelligent and respectful man. “The north’s Indomitable Alliance will come for Rowoon.” Rather than ignoring Cale, the viscount addressed him and Count Whilsman equally. “The northwest has banded together around Lord Sten, and the southwest is said to be expending a lot of money and manpower, with the newly risen Duke Antonio Guiller at the center.”
His viscount’s gaze slid to the head of House Uvar. Everyone knew about the naval base in Uvar territory and that the crown prince’s influence had expanded to their shores. However, neither the viscount nor any other noble realized that the Henituses had a strong interest in the base as well.
“Ahem. While we of the northeast have the naval base in Uvar territory, it’s not ready yet. The southeast, meanwhile, moves around Lord Ailan.”
The nobles in the capital’s faction glared at the viscount, who made no secret of his loyalties.
“It is well-known that Lord Ailan’s territory has the largest and strongest knight brigade in the kingdom.”
At the present time, no other family in Rowoon exceeded House Ailan’s knightly heritage.
A smile curled the viscount’s lips. “Our region needs an anchor. With one of our foes being a land of knights, wouldn’t it make the most sense for us to follow a knight-centric region?” He looked at Cale, who had yet to sit. “Lord Cale, doesn’t Count Henituse share our sentiments?”
The viscount had heard about Henituse territory fortifying its walls, but no further intel from the territory had reached him. There was no justification for the other nobles to rally around the Henituses.
“We have to think ahead,” the eldest viscount in the hall cut in. This man, who had turned eighty this year, belonged to the capital’s faction. “We must align ourselves with the strongest region. If I may be frank, this situation is too difficult for us to handle on our own. I agree that the northeast needs someone to lean on.”
The old man’s stubborn gaze landed on Cale.
“While Lord Silverlight may be reliable, reality isn’t so simple,” he went on, appealing to the crowd’s pragmatism. “To ensure things go smoothly, we need to join forces with Duke Orsena in the central region.”
In the end, he was suggesting that they cooperate with central Rowoon. The barons and viscounts wanted to be heroes, but while wartime was a birthplace for heroism and a catalyst for new powers, it was also a time of crisis one had to survive through.
“Most importantly,” he added, “aligning with the region closest to the crown gives us a better chance of survival.”
“Yet the southeast has the strongest knights and infantry.”
“Ahem. I’ve walked this world a long time. You must trust in the wisdom my years have earned me, Viscount.”
Of course, these barons and viscounts all wanted to be heroes for their own factions—not for the kingdom.
‹Are they stupid, human? If Rowoon gets destroyed, won’t all the nobles disappear too?›
That’s right. Cale agreed with Raon. He scanned the room to see which nobles accurately interpreted the current situation, even if they aligned themselves with the southeast or the central region. He had no other reason to deal with this useless nonsense.
It was then that Cale made eye contact with someone: Countess Uvar, the head of House Uvar and Lady Amir’s mother. Her gaze was fixed on Cale.
The other nobles began raising their voices.
“What would a greenhorn viscount like you know? You’re barely thirty! War favors experience. I’d rather listen to someone with more expertise!”
“Do the crown or the central region have any real strength? Logically speaking, we’ll only survive if we stick with the strongest group!”
“He’s right. It’d be best to work with the southeastern region, since we’re both on the eastern side of Rowoon.”
Countess Uvar spoke over the chaos at the table. “Lord Cale.”
Everyone looked at her in tandem. This woman possessed the strongest force in the northeast, thanks to the naval base in her territory. With it, she ruled over both land and sea. Furthermore, the northern alliance was expected to invade by ship, which made Uvar territory all the more important. The leaders of the southeast and central regions had told their respective factions to win over House Uvar at all costs, hence their rapt attention.