Arc-2 Ch-13

What was most terrifying during the war against the Duchy of Fanoss wasn’t the enemy’s tactics, the shortage of supplies, or even the incompetence of our allies.

When the battle lines between the Kingdom's forces and those of the Duchy reached a prolonged stalemate—each side evenly matched—the Duchy turned to their final trump card.

It’s said that the Ducal family possessed an ancient magical device, passed down through generations, capable of summoning and commanding monsters. They used it to launch a dramatic counteroffensive.

The result was catastrophic. The Kingdom’s army was suddenly thrust into a desperate situation.

No matter how many monsters we defeated, the device would summon replacements without end. The creatures came in waves, attacking relentlessly.

It was a crude strategy—one based purely on overwhelming numbers—but it proved devastating. Countless knights and soldiers lost their lives to the onslaught.

My unit was no exception. We were forced to retreat time and again.

Even when we managed to kill the monsters, it had little strategic value. The best course of action was often a swift withdrawal to avoid needless casualties.

In the end, it was the Saintess and her companions who turned the tide. Boarding a royal ship, they confronted the horde head-on.

They repelled the advancing monsters, sacrificed the vessel to defeat a colossal beast, and captured the Duchess herself.

With the Duchy’s morale crumbling and their command in disarray, the Kingdom’s army seized the advantage. Thus, the long and bitter war was finally brought to an end.

The Saintess was hailed as a hero across the Kingdom, and her companions were honored as exceptional warriors.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The royal capital is clearly divided between the districts of nobles and commoners.

There are no physical borders, but as one approaches the royal palace, noble estates begin to dominate the scenery; further out, modest homes of commoners take their place.

It’s a stark contrast to the Bartfort domain, where the lord’s mansion lies on the town’s outskirts, and attractions like the airport and hot springs draw in all manner of people.

Peering through the carriage window at night, with so few lamps lit, it’s difficult to tell whether we’re still in the commoner district or have already crossed into the noble zone.

The carriage assigned to us was painted black, with minimal exterior decoration—yet inside, it was lavish beyond expectation.

Even the seat cushions were so soft it felt as though one could sink right into them.

Angelica once remarked that high-ranking nobles value the finest quality, even if it’s not outwardly ostentatious. Now I finally understand her words.

The seat was more comfortable than the bed I sleep in at home.

As I settled in, the blue-haired and purple-haired men sat on either side of me, while the red-haired man took the seat across.

With my flanks and front surrounded, escape was clearly no longer an option.

A cold thought crossed my mind—this felt eerily similar to being a condemned man escorted to his execution.

Despite the absurd comfort, the ride lasted only a few hundred seconds. I couldn’t determine our exact location, but judging by the smoothness of the ride and its short duration, we hadn’t traveled far.

When we disembarked, a modest building came into view.

It wasn’t extravagant like a noble’s estate, but compared to a commoner’s home, it was sizable and tastefully constructed.

Compared to our own mansion, it seemed a bit old and slightly worn—but that only lent it a strange, calming atmosphere.

As the three of us approached the entrance, two large men stepped forward.

They were clearly guards: cropped hair, muscular builds, and tattooed skin—far from the appearance of ordinary civilians.

Then again, with the large scar across my face, I probably didn’t look too law-abiding either.

They performed a body check, and one of them found the knife I had hidden in my coat. He gave me a stern glare and promptly confiscated it.

“This,” he said, handing me a mask, “is required. All our guests are of high status. To prevent rumors from spreading, everyone must wear a mask while inside.”

A strict policy indeed.

These nobles clearly despise gossip—but that doesn’t stop them from indulging themselves behind closed doors.

Once masked, I was led down a staircase into the basement.

Down there, it was an entirely different world.

Even someone like me, with no exposure to high society, could tell at a glance that the men and women were dressed in obscenely expensive clothing. Some were engrossed in card games, others fixated on roulette.

Now that I think about it, Angelica and the Duke once mentioned that there are illegal gambling dens hidden within the capital.

This must be one of them.

“You brought me here to gamble?”

“No. We chose this place to ensure secrecy.”

“Trying to dig into someone’s background in a place like this is against the unspoken rules. That makes it perfect for keeping things under wraps.”

The whole scene reeked of shady dealings, and I couldn’t help but let out a dry chuckle.

We moved discreetly to avoid drawing attention and were eventually led to a private room in the back.

Inside, a man was already seated, waiting for us. As soon as he saw me, he stood and gave a courteous bow.

“Lord Baltfort, allow me to first thank you for accepting our invitation. It’s an honor to meet a renowned hero such as yourself.”

He had long greenish hair and a strikingly handsome face.

Most people would probably call him a beauty without hesitation.

As for me, I found him suspicious as hell.

Polite in speech and demeanor, yes—but the smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes.

His sharp gaze appraised me, searching for an opening. It reminded me of the sly look of a seasoned swindler.

I’d seen it before: the parents of marriage candidates who saw me as a upstart and wanted my wealth, the noble ladies at soirées trying to seduce me, the soilders who cozied up just to make their lives easier.

Honestly, even the Duke—who blatantly wants to use me for his own gain—is better than these types.

I briefly considered turning around and leaving, but the red-haired giant was standing firmly in front of the door, and the other two had positioned themselves to my left and right.

They didn’t seem ready to get violent, but escape was practically impossible.

“Let me introduce myself again,” the green-haired man said. “I am Jilk Fia Marmoria.”

“I’m Greg Fou Seberg. A pleasure.”

“I’m Brad Fau Field. I hope we become well acquainted.”

“I am Chris Fia Arclight.”

I linked their names to the memories I had of them.

The prince’s foster brother. A famed adventurer. A marquess’ son. The son of Sword Saint.

Whether for good or ill, these four were well-known figures.

To me, they were adversaries in some sense—and benefactors in another.

“…I’m Leon Fau Baltfort.”

“We’ve heard much about you,” Jilk replied.

“Not sure if it’s the flattering kind or not, though,” I muttered.

Truth be told, I was infamous in my own right.

Once your name gets out, rumors grow tails and spiral into wild exaggerations.

There was a time I’d considered asking the Duke to put a stop to it—until I found out he was the one spreading the rumors to begin with. That idea didn’t last long.

“Please, have a seat,” Gilk said, motioning to the table. “Let us first give thanks to the gods for the good fortune of meeting you.”

With that, he began pouring wine into five glasses that had been prepared in advance.

When the bottle was emptied, he set it down carelessly on the table.

“Now then—cheers.”

The four of them raised their glasses and drank.

The wine didn’t seem poisoned, so I took a sip as well.

It was definitely high-grade wine, but considering how much I’d drunk today, it didn’t taste like much.

Just the thought of the hangover I’d be nursing tomorrow—vomiting and half-asleep aboard the airship—made my mood sink.

“So,” I asked, “what exactly do you want from me?”

My tone was curt, but I’d had enough nonsense for one day. First, the Duke’s mansion and all that talk about titles and concubines. Then, wandering through the city only to get into a brawl. And now, dragged into some secret meeting like this? Seriously, can I lose my temper already?

And to top it off, everyone here outranked me or could wipe the floor with me in a fight. Why the hell were people like them bothering with someone like me?

“I must apologize for the intrusion,” Jilk said calmly. “It was no easy task arranging a meeting with you under the Duke’s watchful eye.”

“So this is the kind of business that’d be bad if the Duke found out,” I concluded.

Jilk gave a nod—looked like he was the mastermind behind this scheme. Well, considering how terrifying the Duke is, I couldn’t blame him. If he weren’t Angie’s father, I’d avoid him like the plague.

He’s the kind of person whose standards are so absurdly high that anyone short of a genius would be crushed under the pressure.

The only reason I wasn’t crushed was because I was his daughter’s husband. That gave me a bit of protection—nothing more.

“I’ll be direct,” Jilk continued. “We want to bring you into the Royalist faction. And if that’s not possible, we at least hope to convince you to stay neutral.”

“That’s quite the overestimation of me.”

An invitation directly from the faction opposing the Duke, no less. Even more absurd—they sent a group of national heroes to recruit me.

“The Duke’s influence continues to expand by the day,” Jilk said gravely. “Meanwhile, the royal family’s power is clearly in decline. At this rate, it’s hard to tell who truly rules the kingdom.”

“I get that. But dragging me into the Royalists won’t fix your problems. Frankly, it’d be better if you lot just took action yourselves.”

And that was the truth. To be blunt, my battlefield accomplishments are flimsy at best. Sure, my unit managed to take out an enemy commander in the last war—but it wasn’t like I personally claimed his head.

I led a surprise attack in a daze, blacked out halfway through, and woke up in a hospital bed.

Most of my unit died in that battle. The survivors were barely clinging to life. The kingdom paid them generously and did its best to fulfill their wishes.

As for me? I got saddled with a title and a territory I never wanted! This latest war wasn’t much better—mostly defensive or retreating battles. The casualty rate was low, but we didn’t take out any enemy generals or wipe out monster armies.

Compared to that, these four devastated enemy forces, defeated a massive monster, and captured a duchess. They’re far better figureheads than I could ever be.

“How much do you actually know?” Jilk asked suddenly.

“What do you mean ‘how much’?”

I had no idea where he was going with this.

Why did the capital folks always assume I was some calculating mastermind, moving with full knowledge of every piece on the board?

If I really had that kind of cunning, I wouldn’t have accepted a title—I’d be living a peaceful life in the countryside right now.

“What about your title elevation?” Jilk asked.

“They’re bumping me up to Count,” I replied. “I also heard I’ll be getting a fifth-rank court title of some sort.”

At that, the four exchanged glances and muttered among themselves. What the hell? It’s not like lying would help me. Besides, I never received a proper noble education. Don’t expect me to know every subtle implication of court politics.

“You’re aware that Counts are usually expected to engage in central politics, correct?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that much.”

The kingdom’s noble ranks are divided into five tiers. Dukes are the highest, usually from royal bloodlines. Marquesses come next. Then Counts, who wield significant political influence.

Viscounts hold moderate territory, and Barons make up the lowest tier. Whether you’re a court noble or a landed one, being a Count is pretty much the threshold for participating in central politics.

That’s why I resisted the promotion for so long—but the Duke pushed it through. I’m already struggling to manage my territory, and now I have to get involved in politics too? Spare me.

“The Duke intends to place you in a fitting position. At the very least, it’s nearly certain he’ll secure you a seat at major political councils.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that too. But that’s still a long way off.”

Politics in the kingdom function through councils of nobles, followed by royal approval. The queen takes an active role, but generally, it’s a power struggle between influential noble factions.

Lesser nobles align themselves with greater ones, and the powerful seek to expand their influence by gaining loyal supporters.

That’s why the Duke wants me to rise. If I get a political role, it guarantees him one more vote at the council. And if someone from an opposing faction claims that seat instead, it could do more harm than good.

“There isn’t a single noble in the kingdom climbing the ranks faster than Lord Bartfort. Every ambitious young aristocrat sees you as a role model. If this keeps up, the Duke’s faction will grow even stronger.”

“And that’s why you’re trying to put a stop to it, huh?”

Jilk and Greg stared at me like they were assessing my worth. Honestly, getting scrutinized by a group of guys isn’t exactly a thrill.

“Then why don’t you set the example? Word is, the heroes who fought beside the Saintess are due for promotions.”

At that, all four of them grimaced at once. Clearly, there’s a reason they can’t—no matter how much they might want to.

“They call it a promotion,” Greg said bitterly, “but it’s nothing more than a ploy to divide us. The so-called promotions are just cover for reassignments—either to the middle of nowhere or to meaningless desk jobs.”

“We’d be separated from His Highness and the Saintess too,” added Chris. “Even if we share the same ideals, we can’t do anything if we’re scattered. Strip us of our claws and fangs, and we won’t even get to go down swinging.”

“Sounds just like something the Duke would orchestrate,” I muttered. “Eliminate the opposition so thoroughly that they can’t even dream of striking back.”

Chris and Brad’s expressions turned grim. Realistically, only the royal family can challenge the Duke directly. Despite their own strength and connections, the Duke has more than enough power to keep them cornered and their influence locked down.

After hearing all this, I couldn’t shake the growing sense of unease. Just what the hell do they plan to drag me into?

“I get the picture. So then, why call me—the Duke’s son-in-law? Let me be clear: I’m not exactly a prized piece on his board.”

Among the nobility, people often paint me in the most bizarre colors. Defeated a principality commander? That was pure desperation, not brilliance. A ruthless strategist who crushed his enemies? I’ve lost more sleep to nightmares than I’d ever admit. My meteoric rise through the ranks? That’s because I married the Duke’s daughter, not because of merit. As for being a caring officer? I only played the part to prevent mutiny and avoid unnecessary conflict.

So why the hell are these so-called heroes trying to negotiate with someone like me? Are your eyes just there for decoration?

“We want you to do nothing.”

“…Come again?”

Jilk’s words came out of nowhere. Do nothing? Then why drag me out here in the first place?

“To be more precise,” he said, “we want you to refrain from acting in support of the Duke’s faction. We know you don’t have the military force or financial clout to oppose House Redgrave outright. That’s fine. If you simply stay quiet in your own territory and avoid taking sides, that alone would be a great help to us.”

With that, he pulled out a leather pouch from his bag—one that looked far heavier than its size suggested. Coins? Jewels?

“The reward is one hundred platinum coins. If you agree to cooperate, we’ll pay half upfront.”

He untied the string and let the pouch spill open on the table. The gleam of platinum nearly froze my brain. I’m proud I didn’t scream when my senses finally returned.

Because—seriously—it was one hundred platinum coins.

That’s equivalent to Baltfort territory’s annual income. Did they round the number for convenience, or actually study our finances?

Either way, that kind of money could wipe out our debt to the Duke’s house and fund years of development for our domain. It could ease the burden on my people, maybe even attract armorers and specialists from foreign lands.

My mind started racing. Do nothing—and walk away with a mountain of cash?

I grasped at excuses—any excuse—to say yes. After all, it’s not like I’d be actively betraying the Duke. Nobility is a game of mutual interests, nothing more.

How long did I sit there thinking?

Could’ve been seconds. Could’ve been hundreds. Either way, I hadn’t strained my brain this hard in years.

“Have you come to a decision?” Jilk asked, amusement in his tone.

“I have.”

I took a slow breath.

In war, you rarely have time or all the facts. Overthinking can kill you faster than a sword. So I decided to trust my instincts.

“I’m turning it down.”

The atmosphere in the room went frigid. They clearly hadn’t expected that answer. All four of them stared, stunned. The terms were straightforward. The reward was massive. Most people would’ve leapt at the chance. But I’m not most people.

I’m not looking for grandeur.

Just a simple meal: bread, vegetables, meat, and soup. Enough farmland so no one in my territory goes hungry or works themselves to death. A kind wife. A few cute kids. A home where we can all live in peace.

That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

And I already have it. If chasing power means giving that up, I’d rather forfeit my title and land.

“…May we ask why?”

“My wife and parents always warned me: if something seems too good to be true, it probably is.”

And they weren’t wrong.

When my grandfather earned us a barony through sheer effort, opportunists came crawling—offering shady investments, eager to exploit us.

Dad still talks about it with a bitter expression. Same thing happened when I became a viscount. Even the noble ladies I met—along with their families—looked down on me while eyeing my assets.

Besides, decisions about the Baltfort domain require both mine and Angie’s approval. That’s part of our marriage agreement.

I don’t have the mind for nobility. Angie’s the one who balances me out. It’s worked well so far. Any deal made without her is worthless.

“I’m a simple man. Without my brilliant wife beside me, I can’t make good decisions.”

I said it playfully, hinting at our dynamic. But I meant every word. From the start, something about this offer felt off.

Sure, I was tempted by the money—who wouldn’t be?

But if someone else had made the offer, maybe I’d have considered it.

Just not from these four.

“So you’re saying you can’t decide because your wife isn’t here?”

“That—and because the whole thing stinks. You think you’re smarter than me, don’t you? But if your attitude gives it away, you’re second-rate as a swindler.”

Greg, Chris, and Brad struggled to suppress laughter. Jilk shot them a glare before sighing and turning back to me.

“Lord Bartfort, this is a crisis for the kingdom. If things continue as they are, the Duke could replace the royal family entirely. Can you really stand by and do nothing?”

“…What has the kingdom ever done for me? Gave me land and a title I never wanted? If they want it back, they can have it. Don’t expect loyalty from someone who never asked for any of this.”

They wouldn’t understand. I was raised in one of the lowest noble houses—a barony.

My father had to farm our land himself just to survive. My mother, a commoner, was treated as a concubine. The legal wife—Zola—was a vile woman who pushed her own illegitimate son, Rutart, to inherit the family name.

I was nearly sold off to some lovesick older noblewoman, and only escaped by enlisting in the military.

My education? Barely the basics, taught by my parents. I had to learn everything else on my own after joining the Royal Army.

Why should I care about the royal family—who taxes us to the bone and demands our service without giving us anything in return?

“You nobles with your cushy connections to the crown wouldn’t understand. And the Duke? He only sees me as his daughter’s husband. There are dozens of nobles more suited to politics. If you sideline me, someone else will just take my place.”

The only reason the Duke supports me is because I married Angelica. The Bartfort name means nothing—we’re practically peasants.

He just wants to avoid the embarrassment of having a jobless son-in-law. If he asked for a divorce, I doubt I could refuse.

“Personally, I don’t want to oppose the royal family—or obey the Duke either. I just want to focus on my territory and stay out of the capital’s power games.”

“You don’t seriously believe you can remain neutral forever, do you?”

“I owe the Duke money. You all saved me on the battlefield. No matter who I side with, I’ll end up offending the other. Staying out of it is the only choice I have.”

He’s doing what he can—clumsily, maybe, but honestly.

Let the capital sort out its own mess. I just want to live in peace in the countryside.

“I won’t report this meeting to the Duke. If word gets out we met in secret, it could backfire on me, too. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’d like to go home.”

Just as I rose to leave, Jilk shot me a glare.

“What now? I just want to go home.”

“So you’re abandoning your duty and loyalty as a noble? Will you betray the royal family like the other traitors?”

“I already told you—I never wanted any of this. I didn’t fight the principality for the royal family. I fought for myself, and for those I care about.”

“Your wife and children, huh? How pathetic—to become a lapdog just because your wife is a duke’s daughter. Where’s your pride as a lord?”

“What choice do I have? The Duke has done a lot for me. Let the royals and dukes settle their war. Just don’t drag me into it.”

“To think you’d be reduced to the Duke’s obedient mutt, bewitched by a woman. And they call you a hero? Laughable.”

The moment he insulted Angelica, my instincts kicked in.

I slammed my foot into the edge of the table—right toward Jilk.

He didn’t react fast enough. The force toppled both him and his chair, sending bottles, glasses, and the pouch of platinum crashing to the floor.

I was already in motion, combat instincts surging. I snatched a wine bottle from the ground and raised it to strike—

“Enough, Bartfort!”

“Jilk misspoke! We apologize!”

“Calm down—take a breath!”

Greg grabbed my torso. Chris seized my right arm. Brad held down my left. Despite sitting farther away, they reacted faster than I did—and stopped me cold.

Yeah… they’re way stronger than me. If we fought seriously, I wouldn’t stand a chance.

I exhaled slowly, letting the tension bleed out of my limbs. The bottle slipped from my hand and hit the floor with a dull clink. Greg held firm while Chris and Brad helped Jilk to his feet.

“…Mad dog,” Jilk muttered.

Jilk muttered the insult under his breath. I responded with a snort. Good — he’s still got some fire in him. Beating down a man who’s already broken would’ve been dull. I was just getting ready for round two when the other three stepped in to restrain me again.

“You know what they say — mad dogs bite because they don’t know loyalty.”

I snapped my teeth at them in mock bites. All four of them frowned. I didn’t care.

“Listen carefully, you pampered sons of nobles. Get this through your over-educated skulls. I’m just a dumb upstart. A man who bows to his wife and her family? Guilty. Laugh all you want — it’s all true.”

Some people get sharper when they’re angry. I’m one of them. The more frightened, furious, or close to death I am, the calmer I get. Of course, once it’s over, the weight hits harder. I end up stewing in it instead of snapping.

“But there’s one thing I won’t ever forgive — not from anyone. Insult or threaten my wife, my children, or my family, and I don’t care if you’re a hero, a saint, a duke, or a prince — I’ll come for you.”

Strength, money, rank, pedigree? None of it matters. None of it justifies hurting the people I hold dear.

“I’ll chase you to the ends of the world. No mercy. I’ll mark you so deeply — body and soul — that you’ll never dare try again.”

“……”

They all took a step back. That’s right — lose your nerve, and you’ve already lost the fight.

The tension in my shoulders faded as the fire drained out of me. I was done. Exhausted. This day had been too damn long.

“…I’m leaving.”

I turned toward the door.

The negotiations had collapsed. There was nothing left to say.

“Wait, Bartfort.”

I paused, glancing back. Greg was looking at me intently.

“When you attacked, why didn’t you use a knife? You had time. You could’ve gone for something vital.”

If I had, this entire mess might’ve ended right there. But killing someone wasn’t exactly a fair solution either.

“Bad judgment, I guess. Figured one hit would be enough — any street thug would've gone down.”

“So, if you’d known it was us from the start, would you have brought a weapon?”

“Why would I? If I knew, I’d have run. Fighting is a pain. I hate shedding blood — anyone’s, not just my own.”

I answered Chris truthfully. Conflict drains me. Peace is just easier. So of course, the universe made me good at the thing I hate. Even then, I’m not even the best at it. Just another half-baked noble.

“You’re a strange man.”

“Right back at you.”

I echoed Brad’s words with a faint grin. They were a strange bunch too.

“Anyway, I’m out. Sorry for the mess.”

I left without looking back.

Only after I was halfway out did I realize I’d forgotten my mask. Hopefully, I’d make it to the entrance without running into anyone.

At the front, the guard gave me a long, exhausted look. Fair. I looked like hell.

I didn’t even know where the damn place was — some underground casino, apparently — but they arranged a carriage for me without asking.

Classy. Guess that’s what you get from a noble-only establishment: high-end service with zero fuss.

Once I gave them the airship port as my destination, the carriage set off.

The soft rocking of the ride, the alcohol still in my system, and pure mental fatigue dragged me under fast. My eyes shut before I realized it.

I was tired. Really tired.

I never want to come back to the capital. Let me just rot away peacefully in Bartfort territory.

I wanted to run far away — but with the duke involved, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

Still cursing my situation, I drifted off before the carriage even reached the airfield.

That was the only good thing to come out of today.

┳⁠━━━━⁠━⁠⁠━⁠━⁠━━━⁠┳

Authors Note

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Original- Link

Among the "Five Idiots," who can be treated harshly without guilt?

Answer: Jilk. (Ouch.)

Since Jilk specializes in long-range combat and tactics, I thought if Leon dragged him into close-quarters and disrupted the conversation flow, he might just win — so Jilk got to be the scapegoat. He’ll have a redemption arc in a later part, so it's fine to rough him up now. (Devilish.)

Next chapter is the final Leon-focused chapter. The romance scenes are scheduled for the one after that.

Postscript: The illustration for this chapter was drawn by Jitsushizuka. Thank you!

Jitsushizuka: Link 

Additional illustrations from the client were drawn by:

Meisamu: Link 

 (R-18 warning)

Yocchan: Link 

Lcron: Link 

Gyouza: Link 

Shiratama: Link 

(Kou): Link