NOVPUBMarquis Branford sat silently, lost in thought. Memories of Duke Delphine’s younger days, a man he had not seen in many years, flooded his mind.
The Duke had always carried a gentle smile, juxtaposed with an aloof and inscrutable gaze. No one could guess what he was truly thinking. Despite this enigmatic nature, Duke Delphine was widely regarded as kind and non-authoritarian—a noble beloved by all.
But that was before the incident.
Whatever had happened, it transformed him into a man of cruelty and mercilessness. Rumors of madness spread, and the Duke disappeared from public view. For years, he had remained a recluse, while Viscount Josef took over the administration of the duchy.
"Viscount Josef... suppressing the civil war? Not the Duke?"
Marquis Branford had always assumed that the current state of relative stability was part of the Duke’s plan—a means to preserve his domain. While Josef wielded the actual power, Branford believed the Viscount followed the Duke’s overarching vision, albeit grudgingly.
But to hear that Josef had been the one convincing the Duke to avoid war? That was something Branford could scarcely believe.
"I could hardly believe the rumors that Delphine sought to claim the throne... but this?"
Branford and Delphine had attended the same academy in their youth. Back then, the Duke had been more of a dreamer than a politician, often lost in thought.
When Branford would passionately discuss politics and power, Delphine would merely smile and respond with whimsical musings.
— "Do you think politics and power in this mortal world hold much meaning? In time, everything fades to dust."
— "What nonsense. That’s precisely why what we do in the present matters. Our actions determine the lives of countless others."
— "I... wish to see something beyond."
Unlike the fervent Branford, Delphine spoke of ideals that seemed far removed from the responsibilities of his noble station. Yet, there was always an unplaceable hunger in his eyes, a desire for something more.
Because of this, Branford could never truly understand him—not then, and not even now.
Even when their factions clashed, Delphine remained an enigma. His motivations were impossible to discern, and any attempts to bridge that understanding only deepened the mystery.
"Perhaps I misjudged him all along. Time changes people, after all."
Years had passed. Decades, even. A span of time more than sufficient for a man to transform completely. But Delphine was no longer just a strange friend from the past; he had become the kingdom’s enemy.
Understanding his motives no longer mattered.
Branford’s voice hardened as he addressed Count Powd.
"The Duke’s ambition to seize the throne is no secret to anyone anymore. Everyone simply pretends otherwise. Civil war is inevitable."
Count Powd offered a bitter smile. "But the number of lives lost in that war is not set in stone."
"I will not abandon honor out of fear of death," Branford replied coldly.
"Even if it costs countless lives?"
Branford’s gaze turned icy as he stared at the Count.
"Even if the entire kingdom perishes, the Duke will never become king."
"And what of the lives of the people? Are their lives worth less than the royal family’s survival?"
Branford’s expression didn’t falter.
"That is my duty."
Powd clenched his teeth and snapped, "My lord, is there anything in this kingdom that happens without your approval? You’re already more of a king than the actual monarch!"
"..."
"The King is bedridden, and the royal family has been reduced to a mere puppet! If the throne were to change hands, we could avoid much of the bloodshed."
"Silence!"
Bang!
Branford struck the armrest of his chair, his furious gaze boring into Powd.
"Wolves surround the kingdom, waiting to devour it. I defend the throne because no one else can."
"..."
"Convey this message to the Duke: If he relinquishes his ambitions and steps down, so shall I. But if he dares to oppose the Crown, I will fight him to the bitter end. Do you understand?"
"...Understood."
Count Powd bowed his head and left the room.
Branford’s Reflection
As Powd departed, Branford let out a long sigh.
He knew how the world viewed him: the kingdom’s most powerful noble, a man whose approval was required for anyone to ascend the throne.
While it was not a role he had sought, it was one he had been forced to assume to protect the royal family. Yet, he was acutely aware that history might one day brand him as a disloyal traitor.
"I’m getting old."
The toll of years spent in politics weighed heavily on him. It was time to groom a successor. But Branford’s own son, a military commander in the East, lacked the qualities he sought in a leader.
Instead, his thoughts turned to an unexpected candidate: Ghislain Ferdium.
"That boy... I didn’t back him with this in mind, but there’s no one else quite like him."
Ghislain was far from perfect—unpredictable, volatile, and often impossible to rein in. But his capabilities were undeniable.
"If only he were loyal to the Crown..."
Branford chuckled bitterly at the thought.
"As if that would ever happen."
Ghislain was the kind of man who would overthrow the throne if it suited him.
"Sigh... There are problems with everyone."
Branford resolved that once the dukes were dealt with, he would retire. It was his only wish—to see the kingdom’s stability restored before he stepped away from the stage.
The Eclipse Citadel
The origins of House Delphine were shrouded in mystery.
Some claimed its founder was the brother of Rutania’s first king. Others believed the family descended from the royal court’s trusted retainers or even legendary dragon guardians.
The truth remained obscured, as records of their lineage had long since been lost to time.
For centuries, House Delphine had been one of the kingdom’s most prestigious families, wielding authority that rivaled that of the royal family. Despite their immense power, no Delphine Duke had ever openly sought the throne.
On the contrary, they had always avoided the spotlight, retreating into the shadows to the point where wild rumors about their reclusiveness became commonplace.
But that changed with the current Duke.
At the heart of the Delphine duchy stood the Eclipse Citadel, a grand and imposing fortress of white stone. It symbolized the duchy’s power and wealth, its fertile lands supplying a bounty unmatched by any other region.
Within the citadel’s Hall of Glory, the ceilings soared higher than those of any royal banquet hall, humbling all who entered.
At the center of the hall stood a single ornate chair, a throne that only the Duke of Delphine could occupy.
A voice echoed within the grand chamber.
"So... Harold has been defeated?"
From atop the ornate chair in the Hall of Glory, a man rested his chin on one hand, his eyes closed as he spoke. His soft, mellifluous voice reverberated through the grand chamber.
His alabaster skin and flowing black hair framed an ethereal face, one that any onlooker would call angelic. This was Ernhardt Delphine, Duke of the Delphine family.
Surprisingly, his appearance had not aged a day from his youth. He was still the strikingly handsome man who had once been deemed the most beautiful noble in the kingdom. Were Marquis Branford to see him now, he would be astounded—for the last time they met, the Duke had appeared well into middle age.
The Duke, known to have neither mastered swordsmanship nor magic, defied natural law by regaining his youth. Yet, the retainers of House Delphine seemed unperturbed by this miraculous transformation. They had grown accustomed to seeing him grow progressively younger over time.
Upon hearing Ernhardt's question, Raul, the brilliant tactician of House Delphine, bowed slightly.
“Yes, Your Grace. Harold was defeated by the Count of Fenris.”
“Fenris... That name has come up quite often recently. They say he’s quite capable?”
“My apologies, Your Grace. I failed to properly assess his potential.”
Raul’s tone carried deep regret. In response, Ernhardt nodded several times, his lips curled into a faint smile. His eyes remained closed, radiating an oppressive aura that weighed heavily on the room.
After a long, tense silence, the Duke spoke again.
“Kaiyen, I’ve heard you met this Ghislain in person. What was your impression of him?”
Beside the Duke stood a towering, lion-eyed man, radiating an imposing presence. This was Count Kaiyen Balzac, known as the strongest swordsman in the kingdom—a Swordmaster.
Kaiyen had encountered Ghislain during a masked ball hosted by the Marquis of Branford.
“Yes, Your Grace. Among his peers, he appears unparalleled. Judging by his achievements, it would not be an exaggeration to call him a prodigy. Given time, he will become an insurmountable force.”
“I see.”
Ernhardt’s reaction was brief, betraying only a passing curiosity. The room fell into a heavy silence once more, no one daring to even breathe audibly.
Eventually, Ernhardt broke the stillness.
“Raul.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“I am a man who takes pleasure in anticipation. That is why I entrusted everything to you and waited patiently. However... I am growing rather parched.”
“My deepest apologies, Your Grace.”
Raul bowed deeply, sweat beading on his forehead. The blame rested squarely on his shoulders, for he had been the one orchestrating every move.
And for one reason alone.
“Ghislain Ferdium... I should have killed him when I had the chance.”
Raul’s carefully laid plans had been unraveling, all because of that one man.
Harold’s defeat had resulted in the loss of the largest power in the North. The only silver lining was that Harold’s support had helped Amelia secure Rayfold. However, Fenris had now risen to surpass even Rayfold.
Retaking the North would now require significantly more time and resources.
At last, Ernhardt opened his eyes. His pupils, elongated and reptilian, gleamed ominously in the dim light, evoking the predatory gaze of a serpent.
“Raul, do you still hesitate?”
“Conquering the kingdom is no more difficult than flipping one’s palm. But maintaining control afterward requires immense resources. We cannot afford to deplete our current forces and talent.”
Raul’s desperate reasoning was met with a slight chuckle from the Duke.
“We’ve already lost Harold and the North.”
“Some of Harold’s supporters remain. His rebellion in Rayfold was successful, and—”
“Still clinging to trivial matters, I see.”
Ernhardt cut him off with a dismissive wave. To him, conquering the kingdom was nothing more than a “trivial matter.”
Raul, however, could not argue. He knew well that the Duke found most affairs of the world tedious and meaningless.
To Ernhardt, life itself was an endless cycle of monotony.
“How much longer must I wait?”
“...A little more time, and I will ensure everything is in place.”
“Very well. If that is what you wish, I shall wait. There is plenty of time.”
The Duke’s face betrayed no urgency, only his usual serene smile. Everything remained in Raul’s hands, as always.
“If there is nothing else to report, you may leave.”
“...There is one thing, Your Grace. We have received a message from ‘them.’”
“And?”
“They will send someone capable, knights of considerable skill. Their identities will remain hidden as they operate under our banner.”
Ernhardt nodded slightly, his expression still one of complete indifference.
“Do as you see fit.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“You may all withdraw.”
The retainers bowed and departed, leaving only Count Kaiyen Balzac in the hall. He was the one person who could remain by the Duke’s side.
However, even Kaiyen was dismissed with a simple wave.
“Leave me as well, Kaiyen.”
“Your Grace—”
“I wish to be alone.”
At the Duke’s command, Kaiyen reluctantly bowed and exited the hall.
Shhkk.
Curtains fell, and every light in the chamber was extinguished. Silence engulfed the Hall of Glory, leaving no trace of life within.
In the suffocating darkness, Ernhardt finally broke the silence with a soft murmur.
“...How I long for ‘that day’ to come.”
From the pitch-black void, only the Duke’s eyes remained visible, glowing with a menacing light.
