I returned from the Northeast.
The vacation had been brief, but I'd gained something from it nonetheless.
The moment I returned to Winter Castle, I understood why my ministers and nobles had sent me away on holiday in the first place.
It seemed they had been rushing the wedding preparations behind my back.
The moment Daniela and I passed through the gates of Winter Castle.
The reaction of the people there was—
somehow rather grim.
"Is something the matter?"
"It does seem so."
"And they've gone to such lengths to decorate the place."
"It seems everyone was hoping for our wedding."
"Well, that much we already knew."
We entered the Hall of Winter.
The ministers and nobles received us with bowed heads.
I made my way up to the seat of highest honor.
Daniela took her seat in the chair placed just behind mine.
But the atmosphere was strange. Even Alfredo, who was usually raising a ruckus with his axe, was keeping perfectly still.
We're getting married, for goodness' sake.
There's no need to set such a solemn mood.
"Thanks to your efforts, I was able to rest in the Northeast. Truly, I cannot do without your loyalty."
"Grand Duke, Your Highness!"
"That said, I imagine there's a backlog of business — so why does everyone look so miserable?"
Ahem—
Someone cleared their throat. Every eye in the room was avoiding mine.
Hexon was the same. Berdo was the same.
House de Wintergard in particular looked as though they were terrified of something.
I surveyed the room, trying to read the mood.
Had the nomads invaded? If something like that had happened, a report would have come in from the Northeast.
What on earth is going on.
"Y-Your Highness! A letter has arrived from House Darapont in the South."
"Ah. That marquis house, is it. Bring it here."
"H-however, it is too dreadful to present before Your Highness—"
What kind of letter could it be.
Hexon received the letter and passed it to me.
The stiffness of his expression was deeply unsettling.
I examined the letter in silence.
A letter bearing the seal of House Darapont.
I read through the correspondence slowly. The stationery was fine and expensive; the contents were anything but.
"Y-Your Highness, about that..."
"Your Highness, please do not take it too much to—"
The more I read of House Darapont's letter, the more I felt something crystallize within me.
What manner of insolence is this. No — is it even insolence?
Are they looking down on the North? Or is it something else entirely—
And who in the world is Andrea Wintergard?
As far as I knew, all other Wintergards had been confined to the most remote corners of the North.
Neither a descendant of Valter Wintergard, nor a descendant of my father — how could anyone claim the name Wintergard?
"...Hah."
"Your Highness, please do not let yourself be too agitated. These are merely the words of some ignorant commoner who—"
"Hexon. Is this truly what Darapont said?"
"According to the envoys—"
"Bring them here!"
The words rang out through the Hall of Winter.
A servant rushed out of the hall at once.
A fury that felt as though it might stop my breath.
I had always placed great importance on justification — had always striven to understand what truly mattered.
Fighting the nomads.
And giving the people of the North a share of happiness.
"Your Highness, for now, please attend to the joyous occasion before us."
"I will defer to your judgment on that."
"Your Highness, please do not let the fools of the South—"
"Is this something that can simply be overlooked? Bring them here at once!"
The Darapont envoys began filing into the Hall of Winter.
There were quite a few of them, but the man at the center stood with his back perfectly straight.
His expression was full of confidence.
It was utterly revolting.
"Are you the envoy of House Darapont?"
"I am."
"You little bastard."
The words came out before I could stop them.
I was half-perched on the edge of my chair, leaning my body forward.
What kind of insolence is this.
The intent behind this letter was difficult to parse.
It was clear enough that someone was pulling strings from behind the scenes, but—
to show such disrespect to the North, which had now secured its sovereignty.
"I don't know what gutter you crawled out of, but your life ends here."
"That is only natural."
"Oh, is that so. It seems whatever nobody sent you here to die. Very well — I'll oblige."
"I suppose killing envoys is the custom in the North. Do as you will."
Brazen.
And yet, even so, there was nothing stopping me from having him killed.
The intent was plain enough.
They call it a sacrificial pawn, don't they. A war ignited by the death of an envoy.
That was what they wanted.
"Ha ha ha! A sacrificial pawn who plays his part so well. Very well. I won't kill you."
"Do as you see fit."
"Instead, your homeland will burn to ash. Your family will be torn apart before your eyes — will that be acceptable?"
"...Do as you will."
"It seems you don't quite understand what you're dealing with."
I drew a slow breath.
I had been in good spirits, feeling as though something wonderful was just around the corner.
Paying respects to the souls of the Wintergards in the Northeast had been a meaningful thing.
I had thought that now, with Daniela by my side, I could plan for the future and attend to my duties as Grand Duke of the North.
And then what?
Andrea Wintergard? Who the hell is that?
"Leor! James! All nobles and ministers, hear me!"
"Your command, Your Highness! Grand Duke!"
Tension gripped the Hall of Winter.
The ministers and nobles had already steeled themselves for war.
But none of them had imagined just how vast the scope of it would be.
The one who stepped forward at that moment was Leor von Riward.
"Y-Your Highness! P-please, entrust the army to this Leor!"
"Your Highness! Your servant James de Wintergard begs to be given command of the troops! I will annihilate every last one of them!"
"Your Highness! Please, entrust the army to this Targo!"
It was not just one or two.
From battle-hardened veterans to newly commissioned young generals, they were all surging forward.
Ever since the nomadic forces had been pacified, the army had been waiting for the order to march.
And there were many among them who had long wished to test themselves against the armies of the South.
"If House Darapont's intentions are as they appear, then there are measures I must take. You all understand that, I trust?"
"We had feared as much."
"It seems you are not afraid to die."
"From the moment we came to the North, we had already made our peace with it."
"Even in wartime, one does not kill envoys."
My mind was already made up.
I never moved armies before a joyous occasion.
And as it happened, every minister and noble had already gathered for the wedding — the timing was almost too convenient.
Perhaps this, too, was fate.
"However, it is only when you die that we gain the justification to come to blows with your masters. That is why they sent you. Am I wrong?"
"I have nothing more to say."
"Understood. This will be handled the North way."
The guard rushed forward to seize the envoys.
It did not take long to bind them all.
I would have preferred not to be barbaric about it, but there was no helping it. They wanted a fight.
"I commend your courage. Kill them all."
"It shall be done!"
"I don't want to look at them any longer — deal with them in the dungeons. No graves, no markers. Scatter them across the steppe."
"It shall be done!"
The war had already begun.
The Darapont envoys were gone from the Hall of Winter.
They would die.
No heads would be sent back. No graves would be dug.
And House Darapont would meet the same end.
"Mobilize the army."
"How many shall we call up?"
"Every army in the North."
"Your Highness?"
Every army in the North.
The ministers and nobles who grasped the meaning of those words began to murmur among themselves.
Some might say it was using a butcher's cleaver to kill a chicken.
Others were worried about how long it would take.
The wedding was supposed to come first, and yet House Darapont had chosen this moment to make their move.
"Your Highness, mobilizing every army in the North will take considerable time. Perhaps instead—"
"It will."
"Please, allow me to handle this matter."
"...Dorgon. You?"
Dorgon was hopeless at commanding armies.
He would likely need someone capable of actual military command at his side.
That was the intent behind his stepping forward.
For now, the wedding came first.
Dorgon would handle House Darapont on his own terms. Hmm...
"In your estimation, how many men would be sufficient?"
"Please allow me to move the troops ready to deploy immediately, along with the soldiers stationed with House Barth."
"Mm, those soldiers?"
"We will attack from two directions and end this swiftly."
The ministers and nobles nodded.
Of course, there was no telling yet what House Darapont's full plan might be, and time was needed to gather intelligence.
But if it could be driven as a war of speed, it could be finished without dragging on.
"There will be supply issues, water issues, and a host of other complications, won't there?"
"So long as we draw supplies from House Barth and avoid the madness of crossing the mountain range, it will be well within our means."
He was right.
Victory in war is not decided by the clash of blades.
To wage war, one must determine the outcome before the fighting begins.
Which was precisely why the moment might not yet be right.
"This matter shall be entrusted to Dorgon and James de Wintergard."
"It shall be done!"
"I have a feeling this will take some time."
"Please do not trouble yourself, Your Highness."
"War is a matter of deciding victory before the swords are drawn."
"Victory is already assured. Think nothing of it."
"I trust you. I will give you the Grand Duke's Banner. Dispose of the traitors."
And with that, the talk of war was concluded.
The wedding.
A joyous occasion was at hand, and yet the faces around me were still drawn tight.
"When was it decided to hold the wedding?"
"We had been working to have everything ready for the moment you returned from the Northeast..."
"Then proceed."
"Are you certain, Your Highness?"
"Let's do it quickly. Sooner rather than later—"
Within the month!