Ch#39
***
As Carlz predicted, an expeditionary force was formed as soon as the harvest season ended. However, its size was smaller than expected. Since it was centered around the armies of the southern provinces, the Emperor did not summon many knights from other regions.
Only a few veteran senior knights from Morte enlisted.
Those selected received Mortheon’s blessings and a send-off ceremony. Victor hoped they would return soon.
However, the war unexpectedly dragged on. Once the front lines were established, neither side wanted to suffer heavy casualties, resulting in a stalemate without major battles.
The Empire could advance easily on land with its vast numbers, but the Southern Kingdom was an island nation. Breaking through their navy was no easy task, and no commander was willing to attempt it.
The situation stagnated. As it became clear the Grand Duke would not return anytime soon, the atmosphere in Morte grew tense. Vassals who sensed the opportunity began vying for power.
From territorial disputes to mining rights to demands to annul engagements for alliances.
Mortheon was exhausted from mediating endless requests.
Even Victor found himself caught in the intrigue.
“Oh, Little Duke! It’s been a while.”
A group of vassals approached Victor in the hallway. One was openly laden with jewels.
“Did you slay those orcs on the mountain again? As expected, you’re incredible!”
“You must be the only knight capable of hunting such a fearsome monster alone.”
Victor narrowed his eyes.
He couldn’t fathom why strangers were showering him with flattery. He asked bluntly.
“What do you want?”
The vassal flinched at his sharper-than-expected tone but rubbed his hands together and pressed on.
“What? We just want to get closer to the Little Duke.”
“The vassals serve my brother. I don’t understand why you’re interested in me.”
“How can you say that? We serve the entire Morte family. Naturally, we serve the Little Duke as well.”
They smiled and added slyly.
“Besides, Lord Mortheon isn’t Grand Duke yet. Given your talents, perhaps…”
“It is my brother who will become Grand Duke.”
Victor cut him off sharply.
He was deeply offended but held back. For the future of the Knights of Morte, he knew better than to make enemies of the vassals.
Victor spoke as calmly as he could.
“I am a knight, not interested in politics. That’s my brother’s domain.”
“Oh my, Little Duke.”
The white-haired vassal shook his head.
Victor knew his name—Gillian? Gillard? Something like that.
With an inscrutable smile, he explained as if to a child.
“For those with power, it follows even if unwanted. That’s the nature of power.”
With that, he bowed deeply and departed.
Victor watched their retreating backs with disgust.
***
Soon, Victor pieced it together. The whispers came from vassals resentful of Mortheon’s ‘interference,’ who had suffered losses.
With no successor officially named and the second son so talented, their scheme was: sow discord between the brothers before the Grand Duke’s return, and secure their own gains in the chaos.
Victor couldn’t comprehend it.
He had always been loyal to Mortheon—why assume he’d usurp his brother?
But Leonard said it had nothing to do with Victor.
“Vassals side with whoever benefits them. With two sons, divided loyalties are inevitable.”
Leonard spoke gravely. It was hard for him, from the long-serving Odo family of Morte vassals.
Victor had no time for deep reflection. He bit his lip, agonizing.
Mortheon had been overwhelmed. Over a decade since taking on their father’s duties, Victor had never seen him so burdened. The thought that his mere existence might pain his brother twisted his gut.
“What a useless thing…”
His friends stopped him from rash action.
“Victor, aggression isn’t the answer.”
“Yeah. It’ll blow over after the war.”
Complaints about the stalled war were rising, especially from the Capital nobles footing higher taxes to sustain the force.
Mortheon hadn’t commented officially but made clear his displeasure with their father on the front lines. Everyone anticipated a ceasefire soon.
Victor felt some relief.
Things would normalize: father’s return, Mortheon as heir, Victor preparing as knight commander.
Back to fretting over winter rations or crop yields, as always.
“Little Duke! You must come at once!”
A breathless servant burst in, interrupting his thoughts. The three knights stared in alarm. The servant, pale from exertion, urged them on.
They followed without question.
***
Victor stared blankly at the scene.
The auditorium echoed with wails. Vassals dabbed tears with fine handkerchiefs; knights slumped, sobbing.
The imperial messenger continued.
“…The remains will arrive in Morte soon. The new Grand Duke orders the full knight force to deploy immediately after the funerals.”
“Understood.”
Then Victor spotted Mortheon, face twisted in grief. He steadied himself and rose.
“Our father, the Grand Duke, has fallen.”
‘Ah.’
Victor’s fists clenched. He’d known upon entering, but hearing it from his brother hit differently.
“A cowardly ambush claimed not just our father, but all Morte knights. I am…”
He choked up.
“…devastated. They died honorably as knights, yet left so many behind. A needless tragedy.”
“…”
“I share the grief of our family, servants, and all Morte. We weep unavoidably—not the way of knights, nor those bearing the Black Lion crest.”
Mortheon descended the altar, accepting the Emperor’s letter reverently. He declared.
“By His Majesty’s command, all Knights of Morte deploy post-funeral.”
Wails swelled.
Victor fixated on Mortheon, ignoring his friends. His brother stared at the letter, eyes hollow.
As if declaring their childhood ended.
***
Funerals followed weeks after the remains arrived. War prevented full recovery; many coffins stood empty.
Victor processed mechanically. His father’s grave stirred nothing, but comrades’ graves brought tears. Leonard and Carlz already wept openly before their friends’ coffins.
Yet Victor held back.
Mortheon shed none. Kinder than all, he was now Grand Duke of Morte. The Grand Duke couldn’t crumble before his people.
“Victor.”
Mortheon called softly. As Victor neared, he embraced him fiercely.
Quietly:
“…Much will change.”
“Yes.”
Victor nodded. Mother, father, brother-knights gone—only them now, bearing the family’s weight.
War loomed.
Mortheon asked:
“Remember our childhood promise?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll make you my knight commander. In this war, my captain.”
He lifted his gaze.
“Stand by me, Victor.”
Victor squeezed his eyes shut, nodding.
Since that promise, he’d trained relentlessly. Monsters or war—it mattered not.
This was his purpose.
He’d do anything for his brother and Morte.
***
