1.

There are always those few, clandestine, exceptional meetings.
Especially after the war, when peace was just beginning.

* * *

Leo Fric Helton, the beautiful sword of the king, a hero.
The foremost contributor to the defeat of the corrupt Ledetian Empire.

Countless tales of his valor sprouted like mushrooms throughout the kingdom during the rainy season.

They said he once cut down a hundred men with a single stroke, rescued a supply unit left stranded and awaiting death by intervening alone with his knights of the “Black Wolf.”

People knew of his heroic feats: capturing members of the fleeing imperial family of Ledetia as prisoners thanks to his unmatched martial prowess, bringing about a swift surrender.

The people of the Kingdom of Thornfeld had come to revere Leo Fric with a near-religious devotion.

It naturally became a pastime to guess what grand reward might be granted to him.

“He’ll be granted one or two, maybe even three estates without hesitation!”

“Indeed! And those won’t just be ordinary estates, oh no—a grand territory, surely!”

“Are there any vacant grand estates?”

“If not, they should take one by force to give to him!”

“Shouldn’t he at least receive the rank of Grand Duke?”

“That’s going too far. Not just anyone can become a Grand Duke.”

“Anyone, you say! And besides, he belonged to a ducal family before his title was stripped. Now would be the perfect time to elevate him to the rank of Grand Duke, wouldn’t it?”

It was a story everyone knew—that House Helton had its ducal title revoked in the time of the former duke. The pitiful tale of a beautiful young boy who lost his parents, his title, and his honor had faded away under careless sympathy until it was eventually forgotten.

Then that very boy, once vanished into a desolate northern estate, returned to sudden prominence through the war.

A splendid return has a way of stirring people’s excitement, and their fervor felt as though it teetered on the edge of fanaticism.

“Why don’t we just hand him the throne and the kingdom while we’re at it?”

“What a reckless thing to say. Have you forgotten that King Wintran is the one who brought spring back to the continent?”

“And could he have done that without Sir Leo Fric?”

“You’re drunk, completely out of your senses. Stop drinking already.”

With the warmth of the drink, some clueless folk snickered, tossing out whatever comments came to mind.

“Well, it’s not impossible, really. If Sir Leo were to marry the princess!”

“Drink responsibly, please.”

This was a common scene throughout the Kingdom of Thornfeld.

“…”

“Heh.”

In a particularly dim corner of the tavern, a man watching the lively crowd let out a small chuckle. He had his hood pulled low, his mouth just barely visible in the dim light.

“Let’s be on our way now.”

“Why? This is amusing. Let’s listen a bit more.”

“It’s late, my lord.”

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it? They don’t know the first thing about titles, yet they want to offer him all the best ones. It’s as if they’re making an offering to a temple.”

The man chuckled softly, veins protruding on the hand that held his cheap liquor.

Just as another began to speak, a loud voice filled with frustration cut through the room.

“Now that I think of it, why haven’t they held a victory parade yet? I’ve been delaying my trip home just to see it.”

“Told your wife it was work keeping you busy, I’ll bet?”

“Of course. If I told her it was for the victory parade… Oh, no.”

“You’re hopelessly obsessed.”

“But really, isn’t it taking quite a long time? They say every shop is complaining about the loss of profits.”

“A victory parade would mean festivals and feasts, wouldn’t it? Taverns stocked up on drink, and they’re worried the ale will go sour waiting. The tailor shops are the same—they’re waiting to collect fees for parade costumes.”

“Oh dear.”

“They wouldn’t be skipping it, would they…?”

“No way. If they did that, all the young ladies who’ve been waiting to catch a glimpse of that face would rise up. It’d be a revolt, a real insurrection.”

Laughter rippled through the tavern at the jest.

“…”

The man holding his glass chuckled low, draining his drink in one go. The harsh liquor ran down his throat like a brush painting him from the inside out. Despite his hazy mind, his resolve grew clear.

While his subordinate went to settle the bill and fetch the horses, he stood by the tavern door, stretching out his body.

Information gathered from spies always had its limitations. In the end, he could only rely on his own judgment. He was glad he had come to see it for himself.

“‘The people adore their wise king and brave knight,’ they say. But isn’t it obvious? It’s all fanatical, lopsided devotion.”

The stars shone brightly, filling the sky like grains of sparkling sand across a dark shore.

“It’s so peaceful.”

He murmured to himself.

“Peaceful.”

After all, in a place like this, no one would recognize him. He nudged back the hood that was uncomfortably obscuring his view. His pale blond hair glimmered faintly in the starlight against the deep night.

“In an era of peace, there is no need for heroes.”

* * *

The secret meeting was arranged at the baron’s estate—a small, nameless fief near the capital.

The baron, suddenly tasked with hosting such important guests, was at a complete loss.

‘How did this even happen?’

For a man of such humble status, he considered it a once-in-a-lifetime honor.

When the royal palace had contacted him a few weeks prior, asking if they might borrow his manor for a confidential meeting, he had been overjoyed.

To think that the king, who had brought spring back to the continent, and the legendary knight who had felled countless enemies as the king’s sword, would hold a meeting in his very home.

Before they’d even held a victory parade in the capital!

The delay in the victory parade had indeed puzzled many. Everyone in the Kingdom of Thornfeld had been eagerly awaiting Sir Leo Fric Helton’s grand return, especially the common folk, for whom it was a rare chance to see him.

The baron had driven his household to the brink in preparation, ensuring everything was ready to welcome these distinguished guests.

The first to arrive was the royal palace’s delegation. They arrived well before the appointed time, leaving the baron with a peculiar sense of unease.

“Count Zellered, envoy of His Majesty, King Wintran.”

Behind the count, who had appeared in the king’s stead, was a line of knights exuding a tense atmosphere. Among them were several bearing the royal emblem.

It was an overwhelming display of authority.

The count barely acknowledged the baron with a curt greeting before deploying his knights to strategic points throughout the manor, only settling into the drawing room once he was satisfied. Several knights remained stationed behind him, standing like a silent wall.

The atmosphere was anything but cordial.

The rare tea and refreshments the baron had painstakingly procured sat untouched, growing cold.

They had described it as a “quiet meeting,” yet this felt more like… a covert operation, as though they were lying in wait to apprehend someone.

“Master…! He has arrived…!”

“Yes, yes!”

As the baron sprang up in excitement at his servant’s trembling announcement, Count Zellered intercepted him.

“My knights will handle Sir Leo Fric’s welcome. Please, do remain seated. I trust you won’t find it a discourtesy.”

This level of reversal of roles was enough to make history. The baron, at a loss, glanced over at the count and his knights and quietly nodded, swallowing hard.

Power and rank could render even impolite actions acceptable.

There was a commotion outside.

The air in the manor buzzed with tension, a subtle, uneasy rustling that felt unlike the usual.

At times, raised voices could be heard. The baron and his servants shrank back, hands clammy with sweat. Yet the count and his knights remained utterly unfazed.

“Sir Leo Fric approaches.”

The heavy doors opened wide, as if splitting apart.

A dazzling figure strode in, like a silver storm. The faint scent of frost lingered in the air.

It took a moment to realize that this presence was a person.

His gaze swept the drawing room with cold indifference, growing icier as he noted King Wintran’s absence.

As his eyes landed on Count Zellered, his brows knitted slightly—a man he had clashed with countless times throughout the war, standing there instead of the king.

When he brushed back his luminous silver hair with a rough hand, it revealed a smooth forehead and striking blue-grey eyes, as cold and breathtaking as the northern winter itself.

It was a violent beauty. Despite the oppressive presence that seemed to bind them all, no one in the room could look away. They stared at him, mesmerized, almost dazed.

“Where is His Majesty?”

Leo Fric spoke, effortlessly disregarding the captivated stares.

“He remains in the capital.”

“What an unamusing jest.”

A mocking sigh slipped through his red, twisted lips.