Chapter 93

Chapter 93
Chapter 93

The northern territories were in a state of high agitation as the great migration of its influential rulers began.

While the gathering was officially billed as a feast, everyone understood it was actually a high-stakes summit that would redefine the power dynamics of the land. Because of this, expectation for the actual hospitality remained low.

‘His position is still precarious; the event will likely be a modest, stripped-down affair.’

‘The party is just a cover for negotiations; it’s probably going to be quite bleak.’

Organizing a grand gala is not a solitary task. It demands a massive workforce, from basic laborers to specialized artisans, along with a seemingly bottomless well of food and luxury goods. Logically, many felt such arrangements were impossible in Asagrim, a stronghold that had only just been liberated.

However, the sheer grandeur of Asagrim itself was enough to dispel any initial skepticism.

“Good heavens… is this truly the bastion our forefathers constructed?”

“One could settle here this very moment. It’s incredible that it remains so robust after ten centuries…”

“To think I would step inside the White Palace during my lifetime! Grandfather, are you witnessing this?”

Regardless of their status, the aristocrats were stunned as they surveyed the wonders of Asagrim. Some were moved to the point of weeping, dropping to their knees to press their lips against the ancient stone. A few skeptics muttered that it was merely a remnant of bygone days, but even they could not hide the excitement thumping in their chests.

The moment the nobility reached the entrance of the White Palace, the atmosphere shifted.

“You hail from the House of Birne, I believe. Please, allow our staff to manage your transport and livestock for the duration of your visit.”

“…!?”

Uniformed attendants appeared as if from thin air, escorting the elites with flawless grace. These were clearly seasoned professionals with decades of service under their belts, not clumsy peasants rushed through a week of training. Even the footmen darting through the halls operated with a synchronized, silent efficiency.

‘Where in the world did he source such talent? There were never any reports of him hiring domestic staff, let alone high-tier stewards.’

‘There are far too many for them to be borrowed from a neighboring estate. And their competence… every single one moves with the skill of a primary retainer.’

It wasn’t merely the household staff that raised eyebrows. The sentries standing with unwavering focus were clearly battle-hardened elites, and the scattered knights moved with the distinct, heavy presence of master-level combatants. To add to the spectacle, the platters being paraded out were staggeringly opulent.

“The Duke’s resources are staggering. To organize a reception of this caliber so shortly after taking Asagrim is a feat.”

“Do you honestly believe he did this alone? He obviously tapped into an outside source. What ‘resource’ are you praising, exactly?”

“The ability to secure such a loan is a resource in its own right. Would any sane person hand over this much capital to a nobody?”

“….”

Those desperate to downplay Lucian were silenced by that logic. Lenders are pragmatic; they scrutinize a person’s collateral before releasing such vast assets. If a benefactor had provided this level of support, it signaled they viewed the recipient as having the power or the prestige to make the investment worthwhile.

With that epiphany, the lords’ theories began to pivot.

‘Is there a soul in the North with this level of liquid gold? Even Calix couldn’t bankroll this.’

‘The move was too stealthy for him to have gathered it from multiple allies. That leaves only two paths.’

‘Either a shadow power is fueling him, or he surreptitiously moved these assets from his own family’s coffers.’

For men who could not fathom the existence of high magic—specifically, long-distance teleportation—it was the only rational deduction. Whenever the lords huddled with their peers, the primary topic was Lucian’s mysterious capabilities.

As the clock ticked on and the bulk of the invited gentry had assembled…

“I welcome you all to Asagrim.”

Lucian stepped into the very eye of the political cyclone.

‘A mere child.’

The instant the Northern lords laid eyes on Lucian, the same dismissive thought resonated through the hall. This sentiment was shared not just by those aligned with Calix, but even by the lords who favored Lucian. Regardless of his achievements, his youth was etched clearly upon his features.

‘The whispers that he’s only sixteen were accurate. He’s clearly a boy in the midst of a growth spurt.’

‘The New Year arrives in two weeks, so he’ll hit seventeen soon? To rule Asagrim at such an age…’

‘He took down Harald Osgor, the Wolf Slayer, with those slender limbs? How is that even possible?’

Doubt, astonishment, wariness, and letdown. Amidst this kaleidoscope of reactions, Lucian offered a faint, knowing grin.

“It is remarkably quiet in here. I haven’t even begun my address, yet there isn’t a sound. Have you all forgotten your manners?”

“…!”

“In case it has slipped your minds, I am Duke Grimaldi and the Warden of Asagrim. Is there something you’ve overlooked?”

“G-Greetings to Your Grace, the Duke!”

“We offer our respects to Your Grace!”

Jolted back to their senses by Lucian’s sharp reminder, the lords scrambled to bow. As a tide of formal greetings washed over him, Lucian let out a sharp peal of laughter.

“Yes, that’s better! Welcome to the White Palace! Please, indulge yourselves completely! Tell me, is the catering to your satisfaction?”

“It is truly superb. I have never encountered such exquisite flavors in my life.”

One lord shouted out in genuine wonder. It wasn’t simple brown-nosing; in the harsh North, where resources were thin, such gourmet dishes were a miracle.

“How did you manage to procure such ingredients? If it’s not a secret, I would love to introduce such quality to my own lands.”

A pointed inquiry was masked as a compliment. Depending on the reply, they might unmask the patron supporting Lucian. While the room held its collective breath, Lucian answered with a casual smile.

“There is no reason for secrecy. This is all possible thanks to the benevolence of His Majesty the Emperor.”

“I beg your pardon? The Emperor’s benevolence? Transporting this much cargo this far North would take months…”

“It was achieved through spatial relocation via a Dimensional Gate. It’s a specialized form of sorcery; perhaps it’s a bit beyond your local experience?”

At the mention of spatial relocation, the room went cold. Did he just imply he had shifted an entire logistical train across the continent in a heartbeat?

‘To bridge such a massive gap instantly? Can magic truly do that?’

‘If he’s telling the truth, it means a full invasion force could appear in my courtyard at any moment.’

‘This is madness. I suspected he had a hidden hand, but I never dreamed it was this powerful.’

Observing the contemplative faces of the lords, Lucian projected his voice once more.

“Because of that support, I can host this gathering without shame! Since this bounty is a gift from the Imperial Throne, I plan to repay His Majesty the Emperor and His Highness the Crown Prince, his designated heir, with my total devotion!”

“…!”

Another shockwave rippled through the ballroom. Normally, any discussion regarding the line of succession was treated as dangerous ground. Yet, Lucian had named the next sovereign without a hint of doubt. Even the Imperial knights stationed nearby didn’t flinch.

This was a clear signal: the Emperor had officially tapped the First Prince as his successor, and Lucian was publicly tying his colors to that mast. While everyone’s thoughts raced regarding the throne…

“Your Grace, you make some rather peculiar claims.”

A figure stepped out from the crowd, the rhythmic tap of a walking stick echoing on the floor. Lucian turned his gaze toward an elderly man approaching him. Though they had never met, he knew the face from the descriptions he’d memorized.

‘Norbeck Calix.’

The reigning patriarch of House Calix. The scavenger who had attempted to steal the Grimaldi legacy. The very target that had brought Lucian to the North was now standing a few paces away.

“….”

“….”

A suffocating tension took hold with Norbeck’s arrival. Nobody in the room was blind to the blood feud between the two families. If a single spark flew, a civil war could ignite on the spot.

Lucian, who had been observing Norbeck with a relaxed, almost mocking posture, was the first to speak.

“If you intend to provide an unsolicited opinion, shouldn’t you introduce yourself first?”

“My humble apologies. I am Norbeck, the patriarch of House Calix. Might I share a few thoughts?”

“No, you may not, so feel free to keep them to yourself.”

“…What?”

Norbeck blinked, caught off guard by the blunt rejection. Asking for the floor was a mere social nicety; it wasn’t expected that the host would actually refuse a man of his standing. Yet, Lucian had dismissed him as if he were a lowly servant.

Lucian smirked at the sight of the stunned Norbeck.

“I know precisely what you were going to argue. You were going to suggest that naming a successor is a breach of protocol and advise everyone to remain neutral to avoid trouble, weren’t you?”

“…!”

Norbeck twitched, his entire strategy exposed. Exactly as Lucian guessed, he had planned to use high-minded logic to position himself as the voice of the wary lords who didn’t want to be dragged into the capital’s dirty politics. However, Lucian shook his head, signaling that the old rules were dead.

“I stand here today through the Emperor’s favor, and it is only natural that I honor that bond. Therefore, the important choice isn’t mine—it’s yours.”

To stand with Lucian was to be a loyalist to the Crown. To defy Lucian was to be a rebel against the Empire. Lucian made it clear that the burden of choice was now on them.

“I will state it once more! I shall faithfully serve His Majesty the Emperor and his firstborn, His Highness the Crown Prince! It might seem like a bold claim for a ‘green boy,’ but isn’t ambition the hallmark of youth?”

Lucian laughed heartily as he scanned the room. However, the lords were far from amused; they looked at one another with drained faces. The one who looked most ill was Norbeck.

‘The lunatic! He’s forcing everyone into new camps with a single word: choice!’

Calix had always maintained that while they weren’t seeking a break from the Empire, they needed a clear boundary. This allowed them to keep the neutral families as allies alongside the radicals. The neutralists hated nothing more than the Throne demanding their blood and treasure for distant wars.

But with Lucian’s proclamation, that strategy was shredded.

‘He hasn’t just played nice. He’s declared himself a fanatic for the Throne. By default, I—as his rival—have been cast as an enemy of the Emperor.’

Now that the narrative of being an Imperial adversary was set, it was certain that the neutral parties—Calix’s vital support base—would flee. If they hated sacrifice, they hated the prospect of being crushed by the Imperial Army even more. They might not love Lucian, but they would never risk their lives for Calix now.

‘Curse him, I assumed he would keep his leanings vague to avoid alienating his own camp.’

He never anticipated the display of Imperial might shown here would be so daunting. The ability to warp armies and food across the world… it meant the Throne could wipe out any house, anywhere, at a moment’s notice.

This revelation was enough to make even the disgruntled lords reconsider, suddenly viewing Lucian’s loyalty as a brilliant, survivalist move.

“Why so somber? This is a celebration, yet the room is devoid of joy.”

Ignoring Norbeck’s murderous stare, Lucian maintained an air of nonchalance. A few nobles tried to summon a polite smile, but it was forced. How could they celebrate when a single slip of the tongue could lead their entire lineage into a succession war?

As the awkward silence lingered, Lucian nodded with a grave expression.

“I see, the entertainment is lacking. I focused too much on the kitchen and forgot the theater. However, I have one diversion planned for you all!”

The lords flinched instinctively. They were genuinely afraid of what might come out of his mouth next. Savoring their anxiety, Lucian grinned widely and made a proclamation.

“It is the Hundred-Day Hunt!”

“…?”

The lords looked puzzled. Could he possibly be referring to *that* specific event?

“Your Grace, surely you don’t mean the old custom of surviving the frozen peaks for fifteen days without rations…?”

“Precisely. Surprisingly, the idea didn’t originate with me—it was Calix’s suggestion.”

Suddenly, every eye in the hall locked onto Norbeck. Norbeck clenched his teeth under the crushing weight of their collective gaze. At this point, even if they managed to assassinate Lucian, Calix would be the only logical suspect.

“Originally, House Calix was to be the host, but since I have reclaimed Asagrim, I have decided to hold it here. These games are pointless without a challenger, so I am thrilled that Calix will be participating.”

Gazing at Lucian’s radiant face, Norbeck gripped his cane until his knuckles turned white. It was an unmistakable warning: any attempt on Lucian’s life would point directly back to him, so he had better be on his best behavior.

‘But you’ve miscalculated, boy.’

Public suspicion be damned; if he did nothing, House Calix would rot from the inside out. In that scenario, he would have to strike, even if it required the most desperate of measures. Norbeck forced his lips into a tight, artificial smile.

“It is a privilege to resurrect an ancient custom with Your Grace. I sincerely hope it provides an opportunity for us to test our limits in a spirited fashion.”