The North — where winter's cold kills.
There was even a joke that no matter how fierce a cold snap struck the South, it still couldn't hold a candle to the North's early winter.
Northerners in particular had it worse than anyone in the South — supposedly, they could sleep bare-chested in the dead of winter without catching so much as a sniffle.
That's a bit of an exaggeration. I get cold.
"Didn't they say Northerners are so resistant to the cold they never catch colds?"
The moment I woke up that morning, my nose started running.
The temperature outside was nearly eleven below zero.
For the dead of a Northern winter, that was actually rather mild.
On bad days, it could plunge to twenty below in no time.
Alfredo had set a warm cup of black tea on my bedside table. Last night, we'd been up celebrating until dawn.
A banquet in the noble fashion — champagne, wine, refined pleasures — that sort of thing didn't suit the North at all.
Instead, a massive wild boar caught in the mountain range had been brought into Winter Castle, accompanied by spirits strong enough to strip paint.
The fragments of last night began to scatter, then slowly reassemble in my mind.
It had been an unprecedented celebration in the history of Winter Castle.
Warmth radiated from every corner of the castle, inside and out.
Glory to the Grand Duke of the North, who has seen the city improvement projects and the road works through to triumphant completion!
Words to that effect had echoed through the halls all night long.
The nobles of the North had all gathered to revel together.
By Imperial standards, it would no doubt have been called barbaric.
"Now then — today is a most joyous occasion. You are all aware of this, yes?"
Hooooah—!
From the nobles down to the common soldiers, everyone had roared with jubilation at the hope of surviving the cold.
How many people had died because of this cold? How many had suffered?
I could have used modern language — improvement of the North's heating efficiency system — but I'd settled for an answer that was thoroughly fitting for another world: we had won the war against the cold.
"Today was made to celebrate the day when no one, no matter how drunk, need fear freezing to death. Now then — fill your cups, everyone!"
Cheers—!
They were nobles in name, but every face was scarred, every man broad and rough-hewn. They laughed and roared together.
Even the music was saturated with testosterone — drums and instruments that pounded and bellowed.
We were sharing wild boar and singing of the North's future when it happened.
"By the way, Your Grace!"
A thoroughly drunk noble.
Lord de Wintergard — who had served my father and grandfather in this very North — lurched to his feet.
His face was crimson, and there was an energy about him that seemed entirely at odds with his white hair and beard.
His voice cut clearly through the noise of laughter and revelry.
"Those of us old men, and the young nobles gathered here — we could die tomorrow without regret! To conquer the cold! Truly..."
He seemed overcome with emotion.
I watched as tears slowly gathered in those rugged, manly eyes.
Several nobles nodded along, their expressions touched by something deep.
"And yet those of us who are old still carry many worries!"
"Oh?"
"Namely — that our great Grand Duke has no heir! This is a most grave matter!"
Seated at the head of the table, I found it impossible to let Lord de Wintergard's words simply wash over me.
He was performing a full ritual lament.
The bloodline of the Grand Duke's house may be severed! — petitions of that nature had been arriving without fail.
And fair enough — in this other world, my age wasn't just somewhat advanced. It was genuinely old.
"The Grand Duke has already reached thirty, and yet not a single concubine to his name! This old man fears for the North's future...!"
The taste of the drink vanished instantly.
I set down my cup and exhaled first.
The singing that had been gradually fading away explained the sudden chill that had settled over the room.
The nobles who had been laughing and carousing had, without my noticing, shifted to expressions heavy with worry.
I hadn't realized it, but the North was genuinely frightened of the Grand Duke's house dying out.
Especially now that I was getting on in years — by this world's reckoning, at least — that fear was very much alive.
If the line ends, the North ends with it.
Words like that were stoking anxiety among the nobility.
"Without so much as a political marriage, without so much as a woman kept close — those of us among the nobility fear for the future!"
"Ah, please, calm yourselves. My lord, that matter is something I will—"
"Other houses already have sons rising to carry on their lines! How much longer must we—"
Ha. This isn't going to end quickly.
After Lord de Wintergard, another noble rose to his feet.
He was of similar age — another old man.
One whose son I had once appointed as a general to lead campaigns against the nomads.
I remembered how moved I'd been at that investiture ceremony.
"You feel the same, Lord Riward?"
"Indeed, Your Grace. The North serves only the name of Wintergard. Should another man come, another bloodline — we are the sort who would sooner choose death."
"That's a bit extreme. There are other Wintergards besides me—"
A sharp look.
The nobles knew it too.
That the other Wintergards were not worth the trouble.
And emboldened by that forthright display, other nobles were rising to their feet as well.
The North serves only Wintergard — more precisely, only a proper Wintergard was a true Wintergard.
That seemed to be what they wanted to say.
"I — very well. I understand."
"Your Grace, it is but a humble opinion from House Riward, but perhaps this occasion calls for choosing a proper woman and securing an heir—!"
"And where in this day and age does one find a proper woman?"
That single remark ignited a war.
Every noble in the North erupted at once.
Each insisting that his daughter was the finest woman alive.
This, too, was politics in its own way.
It wasn't as though opportunities for marriage had never presented themselves.
For a noble, marriage was always the foremost instrument of power — a means of drawing in a house's strength, reinforcing one's position.
But I had inherited the seat of Grand Duke of the North far too young, and with no time to think of such things. The North had rallied under the banner of Wintergard, and that had been enough.
So political marriage had never entered my mind.
And above all else, I had been too busy. Not with questions of political power, but with solving economic problems. Far too busy for any of that.
"Please, calm yourselves, my lords. I have heard your concerns clearly enough. I will make a decision to find a suitable woman in due course."
"Your Grace. If you do not marry this time... the succession...!"
"Calm yourselves. As you know, a wolf chooses one woman and loves her for life. I am simply trying to recover a lost tradition of our house — there is no need for concern."
"Is it not already too late, that is what we are thinking!"
"Ha ha ha..."
I laughed awkwardly, but there was no calming them.
Still, when Berdo's announcement of the road construction's final completion was made, things settled down to a manageable degree.
But that night, I drank a little...
No — even back in the modern world, I'd never properly been with a woman, so how was I supposed to just get married and all the rest of it.
I had every right to feel aggrieved.
Honestly, what could I do when no one had caught my eye yet?
"Alfredo, is there anything on the schedule today? Anything urgent?"
"Nothing in particular. Ah — I did hear that the loyalty oath documents from the Empire are arriving today."
"Nothing urgent, then. The Empire really does take its time sending paperwork."
"Ha — that they do."
I finished the warm black tea in bed.
With the major project finally complete, a strangely quiet calm had settled over Winter Castle.
But sitting in my room staring blankly at nothing felt like a waste, so I went outside.
I stepped out of my office-cum-bedroom and wandered through Winter Castle.
A blanket was draped over my shoulders like a cloak.
"Your Grace, what about your meal?"
"Never mind that today. See to the others first. My stomach's off."
"Shall I prepare some medicine?"
"What medicine? Ah — if there's any fruit, just bring a little of that."
"I'll have it ready at once."
I made my way to the castle's main hall.
Its proper name: the Hall of Winter.
Compared to the grand Imperial palace or the residences of other dukes, it was remarkably modest.
But it was spacious, and its layout was precisely designated — for the Hall of Winter was where official ceremonies and general government meetings were held.
The seat of highest honor sat atop roughly ten steps.
I climbed them, settled into the iron chair, and pressed my hands to my head.
It was the Empire's oath documents I was dreading.
"Hey, Alfredo — how much longer on that fruit!"
I called out loudly, but there was no answer.
Normally the castle was full enough that a quiet word would send someone running, but after last night's grand celebration, the halls were hushed.
An unusual state of affairs. Perhaps because I'd told everyone to rest and take it easy after drinking themselves senseless.
"Your Grace — Your Grace!"
Someone came rushing toward me, voice breathless and urgent. I called back that I was in the Hall of Winter.
From far off, the sound of the Hall of Winter's main doors rattling open reached me. It was someone in the livery of the Grand Duke's personal guard.
His name — the drink had taken it from me.
"A visitor has arrived, my lord."
"Who?"
"That — that is—"
"If it's documents from the Empire, tell them I'll receive them myself. Just show them in — no need to make a fuss."
"It is not that, my lord, it is—"
A woman bearing a letter from House Barth, my lord.
At those words, I stared blankly at the guard's face.
Alfredo arrived with the fruit and set the bowl beside the chair. Ripe winter fruit, full and firm.
Into the odd silence between the two of them, Alfredo cleared his throat.
"Why would House Barth be sending me a letter?"
"I couldn't say, my lord."
"Something feels off about this. Don't you think?"
"Shall I send her away?"
Hmm.
"Show her in. I need to know what this is about."