Nostalgia

 Chapter 24

I want to go home.

I want to take a long bath, hold my wife in my arms, and sleep soundly in my own bed. That thought consumes my mind.

…No, I know it's irresponsible to feel this way.

I've been doing my best as a lord. I understand all too well how crucial socializing and attending evening parties are for someone of noble standing. But no matter how much time passes, I can’t get used to this life.

In truth, my position is an anomaly. I was born as the second son of a baron, destined for a quiet, unremarkable life far removed from inheritance or politics. Yet, here I am, suddenly thrust into the title of viscount.

I never wanted a title. A simple, stable life with steady income would’ve made me a hundred times happier. Honestly, I’d pay someone to take this title off my hands if I could.

But then I went and married a duchess.

Now, with our third child on the way, my life has taken a turn I never anticipated. My wife is incredible—too incredible, honestly. She’s beautiful, intelligent, and far more capable than I’ll ever be. Our children, still young and lively, have inherited her beauty and charm. They’re adorable, even if they don’t seem particularly attached to me.

It’s only after becoming a father that I’ve come to appreciate the greatness of my own father. He bore so much responsibility with such grace. I think about him as I prepare to bring home some treats from the capital for my family—something to make them smile.

And yet, I know the truth. My choices, my position, have placed my wife, my children, my family, and even my vassals in danger. So I endure. I press on.

But this wasn’t the life I dreamed of.

I envisioned something simpler: a modest but happy family life. I wanted to marry for love, a kind, warm-hearted woman with a gentle smile and an ample figure. I pictured us raising our children together, surrounded by laughter and peace.

Instead, I ended up in a political marriage. My wife is everything a nobleman could ask for—beautiful, strong, competent—but our life is one of constant struggle. Estate management, military service, and endless separations from my children define my days. None of this was part of the deal.

Don’t misunderstand—I have no complaints about my wife or my children. They’re the bright spots in all of this. But when will it end?

When will I finally be able to retire? To tend a small farm, soak in a hot spring when I’m tired, and live out my days in quiet leisure?

Being a noble isn’t worth it.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The wine is exquisite, the snacks are gourmet delicacies, and the tableware is of the finest quality.

By all accounts, everything should taste divine. Yet, it all feels bland because my mind is in turmoil.

The company is the problem.

Sitting across from me are Vince Rapha Redgrave, the head of the ducal house, and his heir, Gilbert Rapha Redgrave.

These are not men one would typically find sharing drinks with the second son of a baron. Even now, as a viscount, it feels strangely out of place to be sitting with them so casually.

The atmosphere is suffocating, heavy as lead.

An informal setting might have eased the tension, but protocol dictates that I cannot speak unless spoken to. So, I sit in silence, unable to break the ice.

I really should have brought Angie.

Angie—my wife, their daughter, and sister—would have made this encounter more natural. She could have bridged the gap between me and her family.

My relationship with the duke feels more like that of a subordinate to his superior than that of a son-in-law to his father-in-law. And yet, according to Angie, his demeanor toward me is considered soft.

If this is his version of "friendly," I shudder to imagine how intimidating he must be in his usual state.

Since my arrival in the capital, the ducal house has been involved in nearly every aspect of my visit.

What should have been a simple matter—submitting my war report and requesting funds—has turned into an endless series of obligations. Nobles from across the kingdom are flocking to the capital to report on the war, throwing the city into chaos.

What should have taken a day now stretches into an agonizing schedule of evening parties, formal meetings, and endless introductions to the heads of various noble houses.

The duke, of course, attends every one of these events, and as his son-in-law, I am expected to accompany him.

I spend more time making polite small talk and maintaining a stiff expression than doing any actual work.

Fortunately, thanks to the duke’s influence, I’ll be able to return to the Bartfort territory within ten days. Most nobles in the capital will be stuck here for a month or more, waiting for their petitions to be processed.

Still, I want to go home.

I want to soak in a hot bath, hold my wife, and sleep in my own bed.

Anything would be better than this stifling silence. Three men drinking together without a word is heavier than a family funeral.

The awkwardness drags on until the duke finally breaks the silence.

“Bartfort-dono.”

His voice is calm, but the weight behind it is no less intimidating.

“This is a private gathering, and also a celebration of your promotion. Drink up.”

If I could drink comfortably, I’d already be doing so, Your Grace.

Though he calls it a private gathering, I am the only one here who isn’t officially part of the ducal faction. Reluctantly, I sip the wine he offered, careful not to overindulge.

I’m not a strong drinker, and the last thing I want is to get drunk and embarrass myself.

“With this award, your promotion to the rank of count is all but guaranteed,” the duke continues. “You’ll likely be granted one of the fourth ranks.”

“Your Grace, I must respectfully insist that such a position is far too great for someone of my age and experience…”

“Given your accomplishments, you more than deserve it,” the duke interrupts firmly. “Frankly, you could have been made a count after the previous war.”

Gilbert, my brother-in-law, joins the conversation, leaving me no room to interject.

“When the commander fled, you took charge of the troops, rallied them, and eliminated the enemy commander. Your actions ensured that the kingdom didn’t lose its territory. If anything, it was the royal court that underestimated you by awarding you a lower rank.”

The duke nods in agreement, swirling the wine in his glass as he speaks.

“The court has been much more efficient since then. The rot that once plagued it has begun to clear, and they’re finally starting to think strategically. For once, they seem capable of distinguishing between what is necessary and what is not.”

He raises his glass, his eyes distant, as though gazing into a painful memory.

The deep red wine catches the light, resembling blood trickling from a fresh wound.

“This time as well, you demonstrated your skill. You minimized your unit’s losses and held the front line for months. It seems you are not only adept in offense but also a master of defense.”

The duke’s words are praise, but they feel more like an ominous assessment, heavy with unspoken expectations.

I sip my wine again, wishing for nothing more than to escape this room and return home.

"It's simply because I'm a coward. I lacked the strength to drive back the Principality's forces, so I prioritized avoiding losses. I didn’t even manage to take down a single enemy commander in this war."

The duke’s sharp gaze fixed on me, his response calm yet cutting. "That almost sounds like you’re saying you could have driven back the Principality’s forces if you had the strength."

Why? How can he interpret my words like that?

In the first place, who thought it was a good idea to put a twenty-year-old in charge of a military unit?

To make matters worse, the nobles and knights assigned to my command were either scions of prestigious families or seasoned veterans with far more experience than me.

I was desperate to avoid making enemies, so I focused on minimizing casualties above all else.

I consolidated our meager forces, avoided reckless pursuits, and concentrated on maintaining a stable defensive line.

Even so, the strain was unbearable. My brother, who acted as a mediator between the subordinates, collapsed from overwork more than once. Meanwhile, I became reliant on stomach medication and sleeping pills just to function.

If I'm ever called to serve again, I'll gladly pay any price to avoid it.

"Your unit suffered the fewest casualties," the duke continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "Many noble families are still reeling from the loss of their heads or heirs in the last war. In such times, reducing deaths is a commendable feat."

Gilbert, ever his father’s echo, added, "As a result, many of those families feel indebted to you. They’ve strongly recommended your promotion. If we fail to reward you appropriately, it could devalue the recognition given to others. So, accept it quietly."

Quietly? Easier said than done. I’m not happy about any of this.

Who are these families recommending me? I’d much rather receive money or food than this kind of "gratitude."

Gilbert smirked as he continued, "Among those who’ve supported your promotion, there are even families offering their daughters or sisters in marriage. You have a wide selection—everything from local lords’ daughters to court nobility."

His grin widened mischievously. "You’re certainly passionate. It’s good to see your closeness, but you should practice moderation."

"…"

A subtle but unmistakable warning.

Yes, I know how it looks. Three children in three years of marriage might raise eyebrows, suggesting we were already... active during the engagement.

But Angie, despite her strong-willed demeanor, is surprisingly timid when it comes to these matters.

If I hold back even slightly, she becomes despondent, wondering if I’ve grown tired of her. And when she tries to make me happy, she’s so adorably earnest that no man could possibly resist.

She transforms from the composed, perfect beauty everyone sees into a devoted, affectionate wife who will try anything to please me.

Frankly, I think Angie is the one who’s more enthusiastic.

How could I refuse her advances? It’s not my fault. It’s all because Angie is just too cute and completely enamored with me.

When I return to Bartfort territory, I’ll hold her close and sleep peacefully until morning.

The duke, unfazed by my silence, shifted the conversation. "The war has changed the landscape of noble marriages. With fewer men than women among the nobility, daughters of even the most haughty houses are now offering dowries and pleading for matches."

He leaned back slightly, his tone growing more serious. "It’s becoming common for capable men to take multiple wives. With only one, there are limits to the connections you can form."

My unease deepened. I could sense this discussion heading in a direction I didn’t like.

"Many families are eager to align themselves with the rising Bartfort household. Like our Redgrave family, the Roseblade and Atley families, share this sentiment."

The duke’s gaze grew heavier. "If you’re willing, they would gladly offer their daughters. Angie, as you know, was trained to marry into the royal family. For her husband to have concubines is—"

"That’s unnecessary."

The words escaped my mouth before I could stop them.

For a moment, the room fell into stunned silence. Then, as the weight of what I’d just said hit me, I cursed myself inwardly.

Marry someone other than Angie? Impossible.

No matter how difficult life gets, having Angie by my side more than compensates.

I’ve been called scarred and unattractive all my life, and until Angie came along, those scars served as an excellent deterrent for unwanted advances. Now, I see them as blessings—they led me to her.

So, let’s put an end to this ridiculous topic right now.

The air grew heavier, no doubt because of the anger seeping into my voice. I couldn’t help it. When it comes to my family, I can’t stay calm.

"…Taking a concubine only three years into my marriage feels inappropriate," I said, desperately grasping for a logical argument. "My brother isn’t even engaged yet. It wouldn’t look right for me to take multiple wives while he remains single."

It was a weak excuse, but it was the best I could muster.

The truth is, Angie would be heartbroken.

She wouldn’t blame me; instead, she’d think she wasn’t good enough. She’s already self-conscious when she struggles with housework or can’t take care of me as well as she’d like.

In the worst-case scenario, she might convince herself that she’s unfit to be my wife and return to the Redgrave household.

Without Angie, I can’t go on.

It’s not about beauty or talent. No one else could ever replace her. She’s essential to my happiness.

The duke seemed to consider my words. After a pause, he nodded slowly.

"Hmm, your brother’s situation is indeed notable. It’s certainly not ideal for a capable man to remain unmarried."

Gilbert added, "In these unstable times, engagements and marriages have become difficult. But now that the Principality has been defeated, opportunities for good matches will increase."

The conversation shifted away from me, but I remained tense, bracing for the next attempt to thrust some noble daughter into my life. All I wanted now was to escape this suffocating room and return to the warmth of my wife’s embrace.

It seems my words have unintentionally shifted the target of attention. Now, it looks like my brother might be in the crosshairs.

Though, in fairness, it is problematic that I have a wife and children while he remains unmarried.

I’ll silently apologize to him in my heart.

As for my sisters, Finley and the others—well, they could stand to refine themselves a bit. If they don’t improve, their chances at marriage might vanish entirely. They really should work harder.

The duke’s sharp and commanding voice cut through my thoughts.

"Carry out your duties properly. If you act recklessly, the entire Bartfort family will become a target for slander and criticism."

"I will bear that in mind."

I shouldn’t have interrupted him earlier. I knew better.

Why do high-ranking nobles always talk at you rather than with you? They say whatever they like, but they never seem inclined to listen.

To these people—royalty and other high nobles—their equals are few. Someone like me, who wasn’t even supposed to inherit a family estate, is little more than a bug scuttling beneath their boots.

Honestly, why did they marry Angie, the woman groomed to be the next queen, to someone like me? I can’t comprehend the reasoning behind such decisions.

The duke spoke again, his tone slightly softer but still laden with authority.

"Angie must find life in the outskirts difficult, so I’ve prepared a gift for you to take back with you."

"Thank you for your kindness, Your Excellency."

At his gesture, Gilbert clapped his hands, summoning a maid into the room.

"Cordelia, prepare the carriage and see that the gift for Bartfort-dono is loaded."

"Understood."

I stood as the maid exited the room, ready to follow her instructions.

The duke’s final words echoed heavily in the room.

"I look forward to your future accomplishments. Do not do anything that would make my daughter regret her choice."

That’s the last thing I want.

Angie has seen me at my worst—my flaws, my weaknesses, my insecurities. Despite all of that, she’s chosen to stay by my side. I never want to give her a reason to leave.

"Gilbert, escort him to the entrance."

"Understood."

With Gilbert-san seeing me off, I knew better than to relax until I was well outside the duke’s mansion. I couldn't let my guard down for even a moment.

Sighing was also out of the question unless I wanted to risk a scolding.

Do high-ranking nobles live in this perpetual state of tension? Their lives truly exist on an entirely different plane from mine.

"Apologies for earlier," Gilbert-san said as we walked down a long corridor adorned with lavish carpets. "My father may have been a bit too harsh."

That was putting it lightly.

"Despite how he seems, my father holds high expectations for you," he continued. "He’s also trying, in his own way, to be considerate of Angie."

"Ha…"

What a burden to bear.

I’m just an ordinary person. A common man who managed to scrape through the battlefield by sheer luck. A half-dead man who somehow stumbled into marriage with the duke’s daughter.

At this point, I’m like oversteeped tea leaves—drained of all usefulness.

Please, someone let me retire already.

"Next time you come to the capital, bring your children," Gilbert added with a small smile. "Father would be delighted to be surrounded by his grandchildren."

I highly doubt that.

I can’t imagine the stern-faced duke fawning over children. No, he strikes me as the type who would coldly evaluate them, weighing their potential as political pawns.

Ever since I heard about Angie’s annulled engagement to the crown prince, I’ve been staunchly opposed to arranged marriages.

Of course, my marriage to Angie was arranged too, but we just happened to be lucky.

At the very least, I want my children to marry someone they truly get along with.

"Well then, I’ll take my leave."

When we arrived at the entrance, I was greeted by the sight of an opulent, overly ornate carriage.

Its sheer extravagance left me momentarily stunned. How many of our carriages price could be covered with just this one?

I will never get used to the capital’s suffocating atmosphere or the duke’s unyielding solemnity.

But today marks the end of this ordeal.

Tomorrow, I can finally return to Bartfort territory.

As soon as I climbed into the carriage, the tension in my body dissolved. I sank into the plush seat and stretched out, letting the relief wash over me.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

"Has he departed?"

"Yes, without incident."

The weighty voice of the mansion’s master reverberated through the now-emptier room, where one less person sat nursing their drink.

His tone was unchanged from when he had addressed the young man who had just left, calm and measured yet layered with an unshakable authority.

Leon’s intuition, though based on limited interaction, had not been far off the mark.

Presently, nearly a third of the kingdom's nobility had aligned themselves under the banner of the Redgrave dukedom.

Should matters continue on this trajectory, the ducal house might well gather more influence than the royal family itself.

This would mark the twilight of one dynasty and the dawn of another.

Life and death are not opposites, after all.

The passing of the old nourishes the rise of the new—decomposition enriching the earth, giving birth to fresh vitality.

The cycle perpetuates itself, and in its essence, the end of one era is but the creation of another.

"He’s a peculiar man," the duke mused. "For all his talent, he lacks ambition. One might even call him timid. It's hard to reconcile such traits with the title of 'hero.'"

"Even so, his military accomplishments are indisputable," came the measured response. "The Bartfort family has never been known for producing notable adventurers. Their noble standing has been preserved through steadfast land management and battlefield contributions."

The young man who had sat among them earlier, sipping his drink with an evident nervousness, hardly seemed like someone capable of commanding units in war.

Yet, those who had fought alongside him on the battlefield spoke with one voice.

"Barfalt-dono is a hero."

Were it only the low-born or easily awed who proclaimed as much, their accounts might have been dismissed.

But the sentiment was shared by both the scions of venerable noble houses and grizzled veterans who had risen from the slums. That consensus could not be ignored.

What lingered in the duke's mind most was the man's reaction when the subject of taking a concubine had been raised. The air had grown stiff, the atmosphere taut with unspoken tension.

"Perhaps," the duke mused, "that man truly possesses the makings of a hero."

Whether he himself was unaware of it or deliberately sought to conceal it remained an open question.

"Father," the younger man ventured hesitantly, "may I ask? Is his presence truly so significant?"

"It is," the duke confirmed. "Whether he understands it or not, the Bartfort name carries immense weight."

The Redgrave lineage itself traced its roots back to the Holfort royal family, a fact that bestowed upon the dukedom an implicit authority to govern in the event of the monarchy’s decline.

Moreover, fragments of the royal family's most guarded secrets had been passed down through the generations of Redgrave patriarchs.

This unbroken chain of knowledge extended back to the very foundation of the Holfort Kingdom—details surrounding the royal family's Lost Items, the founding of the academy, and the murky truths of the first king’s reign.

"The founder of the Bartfort family was instrumental in the establishment of the Holfort Kingdom, standing alongside the founding monarchs. Some records even suggest his contributions eclipsed those of the first king himself."

"And yet," the younger man interjected, "the Bartfort family was relegated to the fringes, treated little better than commoners."

"Likely, the first king feared their power and took measures to suppress it," the duke explained, his tone adopting the cadence of a seasoned lecturer. "A monarch’s first act after founding a nation is often a purge of his most loyal retainers. Or perhaps, it was the retainers who turned against their lord first."

The duke’s explanation, despite its potentially seditious implications, was delivered with an almost cheerful detachment, as though recounting an academic case study rather than questioning the legitimacy of the current dynasty.

"Whatever the truth," he continued, "the first Bartfort lord’s achievements were deliberately overshadowed, leaving the throne to the founder of the Holfort royal line. From that point onward, the royal family enjoyed unchecked power, never once repaying the Bartfort house for their sacrifices. That alone is a potent card with which to challenge their claim to rule."

"Is that why you arranged Angie's marriage to him?"

"Do you imagine a ducal family would offer their daughter to a young viscount purely on the basis of his battlefield exploits? No, while his abilities are undeniably extraordinary, he is not irreplaceable."

Angie, overhearing such a conversation, would likely be incensed—not at being treated as a political tool but at the affront to her beloved husband's dignity.

"That said, it is not a lie that her happiness was a factor in our considerations. At the time, she needed stability and solace. I did not anticipate she would fall so deeply in love."

"To think," the son remarked wryly, "her best match would turn out to be a self-made upstart rather than a royal scion."

"Even I cannot fully understand it," the duke admitted, shaking his head. "Perhaps Bartfalt possesses some quality that resonates profoundly with Angie."

Father and son exchanged perplexed looks, both aware that they would never find a satisfying answer.

From the dawn of civilization, the mysteries of love have eluded reason, spawning countless tales, poems, and songs. It is neither frail nor readily explained, often consuming individuals entirely.

"At first, I viewed him simply as a tool—a name to leverage. Yet his adept governance of his territory and the renown he earned in the recent war were pleasant surprises."

"He seemed bewildered by the fame," the younger man noted. "Did you intervene, Father?"

"Expanding on what already exists is simple; creating something from nothing is not. In a time of national crisis, a descendant of a once-banished hero rises to prominence. Fate delights in irony."

"Does the royal family suspect anything?"

"When we announced the engagement, they made no protest. If they noticed and chose to remain silent, they are unfit to rule. If they failed to notice at all, they are hopelessly inept."

The duke's muttered words brimmed with scorn and thinly veiled hatred.

"The king lacks vision, and though I once hoped that marrying a competent foreign woman might yield a suitable prince, that possibility has long since crumbled. His Majesty is abysmal, but the Prince is even worse. Frustratingly, his skill in combat only complicates matters further."

"Is that why you wish for me to wed the Saintess?"

"Indeed. If the nation's savior herself abandons the Holfort royal family, and their sordid past is laid bare, their claim to the throne will be irrevocably tarnished. Seizing power by force breeds dissent, but a compelling narrative can unify a nation."

The son, sensing his father's reproach, hesitated before responding. Yet the duke's gaze did not waver, steady and resolute. In every era, the battle for the throne has been a grim affair, steeped in blood and shadow.

"Suggesting a concubine to Bartfort was a mistake—a misguided attempt to soothe guilt. I regret the remark, Gilbert."

"No, it’s..."

"I cannot abide a future in which our descendants bow to the progeny of fools born into privilege. Even if history brands me a usurper, I will fight to shape a kingdom worthy of its people."

"I understand your resolve, Father. But perhaps it is also a son's duty to prevent his parent from treading a path soaked in blood."

"I will bear every sin to my grave," the duke replied solemnly. "You must serve as the cornerstone of a purified, renewed kingdom."

"Do you mean to kill the entire royal family?"

"If they surrender peacefully, I will spare their lives."

"And if they refuse?"

"Ten lives to save hundreds of thousands—I choose the greater number."

The duke drained his glass in a single motion, his eyes now soft as they met his son’s. Out of love for his country, he raised the banner of rebellion; to protect his child, he was prepared to take the lives of others. Whether they recognized this contradiction or not, the human heart is a vessel of complexity—an ever-shifting interplay of good and evil. The world, too, is merciless and unforgiving, yet boundlessly tender and forgiving in equal measure.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

I can’t sleep.

Hours seemed to stretch endlessly as I lay in bed, yet the clock betrayed me—it had been less than an hour. I knew the reason: my earlier encounter with the duke.

I had absolutely screwed up.

A strained relationship between father-in-law and son-in-law might be typical, but our dynamic was complicated further by politics. Compared to the luxuries of the ducal estate, I could barely provide Angie with new dresses or jewelry. From his perspective, I must seem like a pitiful excuse for a husband.

With a sigh, I climbed out of bed.

Tomorrow, I would be returning to my territory. Tonight marked my final night in the capital—surely, I could indulge a little. Leaving my room, I found myself wandering the dimly lit corridors of the airship.

Whenever I visited the capital, I made it a habit to stay aboard my own airship. Noble accommodations in the city were prohibitively expensive, and while some advised me to purchase a mansion, my domain could hardly afford such extravagance.

The airship offered simplicity and comfort—much more my style. Luxurious living has never suited me.

The halls were silent, the crew and knights stationed aboard rotating their shifts. For now, I could move unnoticed.

My brother, who had accompanied me to the capital, was attending a social gathering, ostensibly searching for a marriage partner. Would he be annoyed if I mentioned the match proposed by the duke? Still, thinking about him was part of being a good sibling.

With that, I decided to head into the city for a drink—nothing fancy, just the rough, salty comfort of a cheap bar. Fine cuisine, after all, can dull the soul. I slipped on workman’s clothes, concealed a knife in my pocket for safety, and stepped into the cool embrace of the night.

┳⁠━━━━⁠━⁠⁠━⁠━⁠━━━⁠┳

Authors Note

┻━⁠━━━━⁠━━⁠━━━⁠┻

The new chapter of Leon's capital adventure begins.

Though it starts with his last night before returning home.

For readers of the original, you might guess who the duke is proposing as Leon's concubine.

Without Luxion and being a non-reincarnate, Leon is inevitably at the mercy of his wife's family.

He shares with the original the tendency to get angry when his family is insulted.

I had to cut some of Leon's bragging to avoid making him seem obsessed with his wife.

Tomorrow, Volume 12 of the original and Volume 2 of the Marie Route are to be released.

I'm ready 

to read them thoroughly.

P.S. By my patreon generosity, Tsukudani-sama provided an illustration. Thank you.

Tsukudani-sama: [Skeb Work]

Your feedback is always appreciated and will motivate me future works.