The limit had not yet arrived. These problems would not appear all at once.
But they would continue to erode the North, little by little. The nomads no longer even entertained the thought of war with us.
If anything, most of them simply wanted to live under our support.
But if the internal cycle was approaching its breaking point, the choice was clear.
"There are several options, but let's start with what we can burn through the fastest."
"What would that be, my lord?"
"How much can we expand the northern army right now?"
"At present, we maintain frontline units to hold against the nomads."
"Then if we were to expand beyond that — how much could we grow? Elite forces, I mean."
The first area to expand was the military. The northern army pledged loyalty solely to the Grand Duke, but since the Wintergard Rebellion, he had kept it under strict control.
A deliberate weakening, one might call it. But nearly twenty years had passed — his judgment was that it no longer mattered.
"It would not take long."
"Northern men put out roughly ten times the strength of southerners, after all."
"…What exactly do you mean by that?"
It was a statement that presupposed the North might march south in conquest.
Not a choice he could make lightly — but he wanted to keep it as one option among many. It would also serve as a contingency for maintaining internal unity.
"Nothing so dramatic. I simply want to keep my options open."
"We will prepare and proceed."
"Triple the current size. That should make it a viable option, wouldn't you say?"
"There are also matters of facility maintenance and other considerations to account for, my lord. I will investigate further and report back."
Diversification.
He had failed at that.
Even accepting the deficits, he had never imagined the money being spent would turn around and strike back like this.
"Zamuchin."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Is there truly no answer in the South? What if we offered them a loan? Or something else entirely?"
He needed to find a market. One could hardly argue it wasn't ambition — but now that the limits of running purely on an internal cycle had become clear, he needed to create options.
If military expansion and population growth could absorb a certain portion of the budget, the next step was building a structure to draw out private wealth.
"I have proposed deals to several nobles, but the response was not particularly favorable."
"Then let's say we allow private merchants to trade freely."
"I beg your pardon?"
The truth was, the North lacked many things. There were no merchant guilds — only ventures led by the Grand Duke himself, or a structure that left money with nowhere useful to go.
In such circumstances, he needed to build a channel for money to flow outward.
"Tell the outside merchants as well. That they are free to trade in the North."
"There will be drawbacks to this, Your Grace. And it departs considerably from the existing structure."
"Then look into it, analyze the pros and cons, and report back."
The meeting was disorderly, but it was nearing its end. He felt the energy drain out of him. A mistake. A very large mistake.
"It is my judgment that we have not yet reached a point of catastrophic crisis. But I have a feeling things are not as favorable as they should be. I thought I could control everything — it seems I was wrong."
"Not at all, Your Grace. Without you, we would never have come this far."
"We have done what we can. Now let us hand the turn over to the people of the North."
He rose from his seat. It was the signal that the meeting had concluded. A sudden announcement followed, and people began to move in haste.
In truth, it was not quite a crisis of that magnitude — but his words alone would have rattled the nobles and ministers. Given the North's characteristic of excessive loyalty, they might well believe that their lord's mistake was a reflection of their own insufficient devotion.
After the meeting ended, he sat in his study and wrote letters — to nearly every noble and minister.
The gist of them was this:
*I know your loyalty well. My mistake is mine alone; you bear no fault in this. Do your utmost within whatever capacity you have to assist me.*
That should be enough to keep them from doing anything rash in the name of proving their devotion.
"Y-Your Grace?"
His handwriting was growing increasingly erratic. He set down his pen for a moment. Ink had smeared across his hand. He exhaled slowly.
It was not bewilderment. Not anger, not fear. Something else — what to call it. Something close to irritation. Yes, that was it. Irritation.
"Daniela."
He had simply called her name. Yet there was a faint flinch in response. The light in Daniela's eyes had gone flat.
Had his tone been too cold? He rose from the chair in his study. Come to think of it — Daniela had said she came from the South.
"What was the South like, from where you stood?"
"The South…"
Daniela furrowed her brow. He wanted an honest answer.
He settled onto the edge of the bed and prepared to listen. Daniela stood at a slight distance, turning the question over in her mind.
"Was it radiant?"
"No."
"Glamorous?"
"…To some extent?"
He wouldn't know if she asked him in return. The night had deepened. He had thought the meeting ended quickly, but the window outside had grown quite dark.
Perhaps it was because he had spent so long writing letters afterward. Daniela had probably already decided he was a madman.
"I'd like to go, someday."
Daniela glanced at him suddenly. Beyond the walls of Winter Castle, people would be coming and going. Or perhaps those who still had work left had finally finished it. Maybe it was possible to step away from the North, just once.
"Have you ever… gone outside, Your Grace? Not once?"
"We went out together, didn't we?"
"No, not like that. I mean somewhere else. Somewhere other than the North."
Somewhere other than the North. Not once. He had realized he was somewhere inside a novel, and not long after, he had become Grand Duke of the North.
And the wars had been merciless — he had spent most of his time fleeing, unable to do anything at all. Perhaps that was why.
"I've done my share of fleeing as a refugee—"
"Not that kind of thing. Your Grace. I mean travel. Like a journey."
"Not once."
He crossed his legs and rested his chin in his hand, watching Daniela quietly. The distance between them was too great.
He gestured lightly — her face was too far to see clearly. At his gesture, Daniela stepped one pace closer.
"And you?"
"Pardon?"
"Were you free, Daniela? In this world?"
He had worried the words might sound stiff, but Daniela hesitated only briefly before saying what she had to say. He had been noticing it lately — she was the sort of person who would say even the things she shouldn't. For instance:
"Not particularly. I had things I wanted to protect."
"Then weren't you the same as me? Not knowing what it means to be free."
Perhaps this was exactly the distance that existed between them. He sat on the bed; Daniela stood at least three paces away.
She was standing. He was sitting. That, too, was perhaps a wall.
"What was it you wanted so badly to protect?"
Daniela fell into thought again. He had come to notice it recently — she had a habit. When she was deep in thought, her lips would push forward in a slight pout. Then, when the thought resolved itself, they would pull back in.
"Now that I think about it, it doesn't seem like it was all that important."
"It wasn't important?"
"Something like honor."
Daniela took one step closer. Honor — yes, for a noble lady, the honor bestowed upon her would be something akin to the Grand Duke's own authority in the North.
But it was absent from Daniela's expression. Why — there was no hollow space there. It was different from before.
Had he only kept the thought to himself, it might have been fine. But this was the first time he had looked at Daniela quite like this.
"It seems you're all right now."
"I think so."
It was not the answer he had expected. She was no longer the defeated heroine shivering in the cold when she first arrived. Now she seemed, at last, like a proper noble lady.
"Thank you, Your Grace."
Daniela gave a small bow of her head. Hands folded together, she offered him her greeting.
He simply smiled.
Right. Better to be alive than to be dying. Better to be full than to be empty.
"Why are you thanking me? You're the one who pulled through."
"Well, that's true enough. I do have rather a resilient spirit, after all."
"How long have you been in the North, and already you seem like a northerner through and through."
A bright, bubbling laugh. He rose from his seat as well, called for Alfredo, and told him to send all the letters.
The brief silence when Alfredo stepped in. He glanced sideways at Daniela.
"Is Alfredo still difficult for you?"
"A little, yes."
"There's no one with a softer heart than Alfredo. Did the two of you have a falling out?"
"Honestly…"
Daniela spoke quietly. He couldn't quite catch it, so he leaned closer — and she whispered softly near his ear.
"He looks frightening."
Ha ha ha!
He did look frightening, it was true. Where else would a northerner's face go, after all? To southern eyes, Alfredo was quite an imposing sight indeed.
No matter how well he dressed. A gentleman he was not.
"Fair enough. Fair enough. Alfredo does have a particularly fearsome look about him."
Enough to bring tears to his eyes. It had been a long time since he'd enjoyed a laugh like that.
"And what about me, then?"
"You, Your Grace?"
"Yes, me. I've been told that, for a northerner, I have rather a gentle look about me. What do you think?"
Daniela studied him for a moment. For a northerner — compared to every northern man she had seen until now —
"You look gentle. Warm."
A very fine compliment indeed.