The Royal Wedding
"Count Wilhelm has arrived."
At the servant's knock and announcement, Roberta set down her quill and rose from her seat. Leaving the room, she followed the servant to the rear courtyard of Count Meyer's estate.
The courtyard was dim. Thick clouds covered the night sky, hiding even the moon, and only after her eyes adjusted to the darkness did she make out the three figures—Wilhelm, Fritz, and Ulrich.
Count Wilhelm bowed his head silently in greeting. She returned the gesture.
Though this estate belonged to him, he had been staying at the royal palace with the Hilderson clan. Realizing the gravity of the situation, he had remained inside the palace until being summoned, slipping out quietly to visit the estate.
Roberta shifted her gaze to Ulrich.
He sat in a chair at the center of the courtyard, his eyes closed. He looked no older than twenty, his appearance neat without disguise—but she could not help recalling the old man reclining in an armchair.
"Has the archbishop not come?"
Ulrich, who had been breathing softly as if asleep, spoke.
"I delivered the message… but it seems he is delayed."
"Then we'll have to wait a little longer."
He opened his eyes and looked at Wilhelm.
"Wilhelm, how is Richard?"
"He is well. Was he not personally raised by you, Sir Ulrich? He seems to have gone through quite a bit, but he's not one to collapse so easily. The real issue is the political situation."
"It seems matters have reached quite an extreme."
"Yes. There are very few left on our side. Even those factions tied to us by marriage have turned their backs. Unless they've been part of the clan since old times, you can assume they've all leaned toward the Pantheon."
The nobles who remained loyal to the royal faction were limited to the family betrothed to the crown princess and a handful of vassals.
In reality, aside from the Hilderson clan, nearly every noble stood in opposition to the king.
And it was no mere disagreement.
It was a confrontation that would escalate into civil war if neither side yielded. Tens of thousands of troops were already stationed outside the city.
That was why, despite the upcoming royal wedding, the city remained eerily quiet.
The citizens sensed it—a civil war was coming.
Until the morning, they had believed otherwise. They thought the foolish king would bow to the nobles' pressure. Whether he broke his will or abdicated, they expected the country to regain stability one way or another.
That was why they had scattered flower petals and sung praises.
But when the Hilderson clan, led by Wilhelm, chose to support the king, it became not the end—but the beginning.
"If you think about it, it's only natural. Their alliances were built on necessity—once that necessity is gone, they fall apart. Still… things are moving rather quickly."
"I believe it's that group you mentioned who are driving this forward."
"Most likely."
Ulrich nodded.
"What will you do now?"
At the count's question, Roberta fixed her gaze on Ulrich.
If he were to say a single word—seize them—civil war would begin immediately.
He had said it before, when leaving Meyer territory: prepare for the worst. Accordingly, the Hilderson clan had made full preparations.
But the opposing side had done the same. Observing the strained relationship between Wilhelm and Richard, they had merely hoped the clan might not support the king. Still, they had gathered their armies, ready for war.
Just as the clan stood guard at the palace, the nobles remained wary through the night, many of them sleeping not in the city but in encampments outside.
"The ceremony is in three days, correct?"
"That's right. If we're going to make the first move, it must be now."
Wilhelm spoke firmly.
"We are in a position where we must carry out the ceremony, so the longer we wait, the more complications arise. Wouldn't it be better to act first rather than hand over the initiative?"
"You, who have experienced civil war, would start one again? Did thirty years of conflict not weary you?"
"No. I'm suggesting we act to prevent even greater chaos. They won't stop until they depose Richard and send him to the Pantheon. And the Pantheon will never forgive him."
Ulrich looked up at Wilhelm.
Dark eyes met red ones—one calm, the other burning.
"Please, give the order."
"The civil war ended barely five years ago. There isn't a single person in this country who wasn't wounded by it. No one wants another war. They are only willing to endure it because they believe they have no choice."
He shook his head.
"But what lies before us is an illusion. This civil war is a fabrication, orchestrated by the Pantheon and those they call heretics. If we can reveal that truth, we can avoid an unnecessary conflict."
"Is there a way to avoid it? How?"
How?
It was a question laden with meaning.
Only a handful of people had even vaguely grasped the truth behind the incident. And even if it were revealed now, few would believe it. Every piece of the hidden story was difficult to accept.
Roberta and the Hilderson clan believed Ulrich because they knew and trusted him.
But others? Those who saw him merely as a lord who had lived for centuries in Dithmarschen would surely dismiss his words as nonsense.
How do you persuade such people—those who neither know nor trust you?
That was Wilhelm's question.
"Time leaves nothing without value."
Ulrich interlocked his fingers and leaned back slightly in his chair.
"Wilhelm, as I name certain individuals, tell me if you recognize any of them. There may be a clue among them."
Marquis Axel of Sdegrun lifted his upper body.
He had just gone to bed and been forcibly woken, which irritated him—but he was equally bewildered. Recalling the servant's report, he asked:
"Count Meyer came to see me?"
"Yes, my lord. He is waiting, saying he wishes to meet you."
"That's sudden. Why now, of all times? Did he give any other reason?"
The servant replied that he had not.
"His escort? How many guards did he bring?"
"None. However, he has one companion."
"…No guards? Who is this companion?"
"He did not give a name."
The marquis let out a disbelieving scoff.
"He did say to tell you that he very much wishes to introduce this person to you."
The servant then described the companion's appearance. The marquis frowned, stroking his chin. No one came to mind—or rather, even if someone did, it made no sense.
Why would he come in the middle of the night without guards? Count Wilhelm could not possibly be unaware of the current situation. It was like walking unarmed into a tiger's den.
"Suspicious."
"Shall I turn him away?"
He raised a hand to stop the servant.
"Have you checked for weapons?"
"Yes. He is unarmed, and there are no signs of anyone else hiding nearby. It truly seems to be just the two of them."
"I don't understand. What is he after?" he muttered to himself. "Still… the bait is too tempting to ignore. Let them in. Check them again for weapons and escort them to the reception room. And prepare thoroughly, just in case. Understood?"
"Yes, my lord."
A short while later, the marquis entered the reception room with his guards.
Count Wilhelm was seated at the table with a young man who appeared to be his companion. Neither of them wore any weapons—only simple short-sleeved garments, without even a single ornament.
As the marquis took the seat of honor, his guards positioned themselves at his sides. Six guards had entered the room; four of them stood behind the two visitors.
"Hardly a situation where I can say it's a pleasure to see you, Count."
"I suppose so," Wilhelm replied with a nod.
"We did see each other earlier today, but I didn't expect to meet again like this."
"You didn't expect it? Aren't you here because you have some purpose in seeking me out?"
"No. I am not the one who came looking for you."
Count Meyer turned his gaze to the young man seated across from him.
"I am the one who came to see you, Axel."
Marquis Axel frowned.
A young man—far too young, and not even giving his name—was speaking to him so casually. One of the guards placed a hand on the hilt of his sword in warning, but the young man continued without concern.
"There are many people I need to meet to resolve the current situation, but among them, only a few are immediately accessible—including you. So I asked Wilhelm for help."
The marquis swallowed his anger at the man's lack of honorifics—even toward a count.
"…Who are you?"
"Someone who knows you, in my own way."
"You know me? What is it you want to say?"
The young man calmly looked him over.
"If we trace things back, it would be about four hundred years. You may not know it, but that is the time contained within the surname you carry."
Four hundred years?
The marquis repeated the number in his mind.
The history of his house, as he knew it, was not long. For a rising noble family that had settled after the civil war, it was relatively old—but the records did not even cover half the time the young man spoke of.
As for earlier generations, they were nothing more than vague oral tales—claims like we are a distant branch of some noble family. Naturally, there was no proof, so the marquis had never believed them.
And yet this young man claimed to know.
He began unraveling a lineage even the head of the house did not know—one whose truth could not even be verified.
"It began with nomads. When famine struck their homeland, they wandered in search of survival. Then, when a great war broke out in a certain country, they joined as soldiers along with their fellow villagers—and survived the fierce battles."
"Luck, you could say," the young man added.
"The survivor later joined a group of people in similar circumstances, together with his fellow villagers. They traveled the world, and eventually came to Osnover. When the leader of their mercenary band disbanded the group and departed for the Ice Peninsula, he chose to settle here."
"..."
"As I recall, he led about twenty men at the time. Not long after, when unrest broke out, he seized the opportunity and captured a castle. He had ambition—but also exceptional talent. In his later years, he even obtained a noble title."
The young man explained that the surname Sdegrun had been created when that man gained his title, and that his descendants expanded their power until they attained the rank of marquis.
"And Axel—you were once a man who served the former Marquis of Sdegrun. Though now you hold his position and name."
At the word former, one of the marquis's eyebrows twitched.
"Your ancestor was a fellow countryman who settled here alongside him. When he was granted his title, your ancestor was granted knighthood."
More precisely, when the founder obtained his title, he made his long-time followers into his vassals.
"After that, your family served the marquisate for generations. A few generations later, as your lord's territory expanded, you became castle lords. Though not a hereditary position, your family remained in service through loyalty, and it continued down to your father."
It was the same during the civil war. Axel and his father had served the former marquis. But their lord was defeated, and his entire house was wiped out.
A bond that had begun with famine in their homeland, passed down through generations—was severed in that moment.
"..."
Today, the vast majority of Osnover's nobility were newly risen houses. The long civil war had wiped out not only the royal family but also many noble lineages, and their places were taken by vassals or outsiders.
Marquis Axel was no exception.
He had been a vassal of a marquis, and his family had served as castle lords for generations. When his lord's line was extinguished in the civil war, he claimed the title and lands for himself.
The only thing that set him apart from other new nobles was that he had retained his former lord's surname.
"…How do you know all this?"
"If you witnessed the process, how could you not?"
Witnessed it?
"I lived in that era. I saw them with my own eyes."
Suddenly, Marquis Axel sprang to his feet.
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