The North was thrown into an uproar by the great migration of powerful lords.
The stated purpose was a banquet, but in truth it was a council that would determine who would lead the future balance of power.
For that reason, no one had any expectations for the banquet itself.
"Since the foundation hasn't even been properly established yet, it'll probably be modest."
"They're just putting up a banquet as a pretext. It'll be bleak."
A banquet is not something one can host alone.
From simple laborers to experts of various professions are required, and every kind of supply—starting with ingredients for the food—must be provided in abundance.
By common sense, it was impossible to make such preparations in Asagrim, which had only just been reclaimed.
However, the shock delivered by the city of Asagrim was more than enough to sweep away any such misgivings.
"My god… is this truly the fortress our ancestors built?"
"You could move in and live here immediately. Even after a thousand years, this sturdiness is just—"
"To think I would set foot in the White Palace within my lifetime! Grandfather, are you watching?"
Regardless of rank, the lords wandered around Asagrim in a daze.
Some even shed tears, pressing their lips to the floor and walls.
A few grumbled that it was nothing more than past glory, but even they could not suppress the churning in their chests.
And then, at last, the moment came when the lords reached the White Palace.
"Ah, you must be from the Birne family. We will take charge of your carriage and horses, so please entrust them to us for the time being."
The attendants who appeared out of nowhere guided the nobles with absolutely flawless etiquette.
They were clearly not people who had been trained for a day or two, but professionals who had served for well over a decade.
Even the servants bustling about inside moved without a single wasted motion.
'No, seriously—where did they find people like this? I never even heard a whisper about recruiting attendants, let alone servants.'
'There are far too many to say they were borrowed from another house. And their skills are exceptional. Every single one of them is competent enough to be personal staff.'
It wasn't only the servants and attendants that were astonishing.
The soldiers maintaining an ironclad perimeter were unquestionably elite.
Even at a glance, the few knights present were clearly formidable just by the way they walked.
On top of that, the dishes being carried out were extravagantly lavish.
"His Grace the Duke's capabilities are impressive. It hasn't even been that long since Asagrim was reclaimed—how could he possibly make preparations on this scale?"
"Do you really think he prepared all this entirely on his own? He must have borrowed support from someone. Capabilities, you say?"
"The very act of borrowing all of this is capability. Tell me—would you readily hand over resources of this magnitude to just anyone?"
Those who had been trying their hardest not to acknowledge Lucian found themselves at a loss for words when that point was raised.
A creditor is no fool; before putting up such enormous costs, they would first confirm whether the other party could repay them.
If someone was willing to provide such expenses without hesitation, it meant they believed the recipient either had the means to repay—or was worth that much.
Once people reached that conclusion, their thoughts naturally turned elsewhere.
'Is there anyone in the North with this level of wealth? Even Calyx couldn't provide this much.'
'If it were borrowed from multiple places, it wouldn't have been this quiet. That leaves two possibilities.'
'Either there's a powerful figure nearby who's hiding their strength… or he secretly brought them in from his own family.'
For those who could not even conceive of magic—let alone spatial teleportation—it was a perfectly natural conclusion.
Whenever the lords gathered with those they were acquainted with, they incessantly talked about Lucian's capabilities.
And as time passed, when most of the invited lords had assembled—
"Welcome to Asagrim."
Lucian appeared at the very center of the storm.
****
'A green, wet-behind-the-ears brat.'
The moment they laid eyes on Lucian, every northern lord arrived at the exact same thought.
This was true not only for those allied with Calyx, but even for lords who were favorably inclined toward Lucian.
And it was only natural—setting aside his abilities, his age was plainly written all over his face.
'So the talk about him being sixteen was true. Just looking at him, he's clearly still a growing kid.'
'The New Year's in half a month—so he'll be seventeen soon? And at that age, he's the master of Asagrim?'
'With those slender arms, he defeated Harald the Wolf-Slayer? Does that even make sense?'
Shock, disbelief, suspicion, disappointment.
Amid the swirl of countless emotions, Lucian broke into a grin.
"So quiet. I haven't even given a speech yet, and it's already this quiet. What happened to the greetings?"
"Just in case you've forgotten, I am Duke Grimaldi and the Border Marquis of Asagrim. Am I missing anything?"
"W-We greet His Grace the Duke!"
"We greet His Grace the Duke!"
Startled back to their senses by Lucian's prompting, the lords hurriedly bowed their heads.
As their greetings came one after another, Lucian burst into laughter.
"Good, good—pleased to meet you! Welcome to the White Palace! Please, enjoy yourselves to your heart's content! Ah, by the way, does the food suit your tastes?"
"It's truly delicious. I've never tasted such exquisite food before."
At Lucian's words, someone voiced their admiration without pretense.
It wasn't empty flattery—this was a level of cuisine rarely experienced in the North, where food was scarce.
"How on earth did you procure dishes like these? If possible, I would like to try recreating them in my own territory."
Amid the praise, a sharp question lay hidden.
Depending on the answer, they could uncover who was backing Lucian.
As everyone swallowed nervously, Lucian replied with a smile.
"Why hide it? It's all thanks to His Majesty the Emperor's grace."
"Pardon? His Majesty the Emperor's grace? But to transport supplies of this scale all the way here would take an enormous amount of time—"
"Spatial teleportation via dimensional gates. A form of magic. Are you unfamiliar with it?"
At the words spatial teleportation, everyone froze in place.
Did that mean he had transported this vast amount of troops and supplies across space itself?
'Crossing that distance in a single leap? Is such a thing truly possible?'
'If it's real, that means a massive army could be summoned into my front yard without warning.'
'Madness… I suspected hidden power, but I never imagined it would be to this extent.'
Watching the lords sink deep into thought, Lucian raised his voice once more.
"Thanks to that, I was able to host you all without disgrace! This is all the benevolence of the Imperial House, and I intend to repay it with unwavering loyalty to His Majesty the Emperor—and to His Highness the First Imperial Prince, who will succeed him!"
Once again, a tremendous shock rippled through the banquet hall.
Any mention of the succession struggle was normally treated as taboo.
Yet Lucian had spoken of the next successor without the slightest hesitation.
Even the Imperial knights moving about nearby showed no particular reaction.
This was proof not only that the Emperor had chosen the First Imperial Prince as his successor, but also that Lucian stood in support of him.
Caught off guard by the unexpected mention of the succession, everyone's thoughts grew tangled.
"Your Highness, those are truly strange words you speak."
Someone stepped forward with a sharp tap against the floor.
Lucian turned his head to look at the old man advancing with the support of a cane.
He was a stranger to Lucian's eyes, but from the man's appearance, his identity was easy enough to guess.
'Norbek Calyx.'
The current head of the Calyx Count's House.
And the bandit who had brazenly usurped the name of Grimaldi.
The very reason Lucian had come to the North now stood before him.
****
At Norbek's appearance, a heavy silence descended.
There was no one present who did not know the relationship between the two men.
If things went even slightly awry, war might break out on this very spot.
The first to break the silence was Lucian, who had been watching Norbek with a slanted, unimpressed posture.
"If you intend to voice an opinion, wouldn't it be proper to state your name first?"
"My apologies. I am Norbek, head of the Calyx Count's House. May I offer a word?"
"No, it is not all right—so do not offer it."
"…Pardon?"
Norbek blinked at the completely unexpected reply.
Asking for permission had been a matter of etiquette—never an admission that the other party truly held the authority to grant or deny one's speech.
Yet Lucian had cut him off on the spot, treating him as though he were a subordinate.
Watching Norbek stand there, dumbfounded and at a loss for words, Lucian let out a small chuckle.
"I can tell exactly what you were going to say. You were planning to claim that even mentioning the succession is discourteous, and to suggest we all take a step back, weren't you?"
Struck at the heart of the matter, Norbek flinched.
That was precisely his intention: to trot out the orthodox argument and pose as the spokesman for those who wished to avoid being dragged into imperial strife.
But Lucian shook his head, as if to say that such reasoning no longer held any weight.
"I stand here thanks to His Majesty's grace, and it is only right that I repay that favor. What matters, then, is not my choice—but yours."
To side with Lucian was to swear loyalty to the Imperial House.
To oppose Lucian was to oppose the Imperial House itself.
Lucian declared once more that whichever path they chose was up to them.
"Let me say it again! I intend to serve His Majesty the Emperor and His rightful heir, His Highness the First Imperial Prince, with unwavering loyalty! It may sound like the overambition of a green youth—but isn't that the privilege of the young?"
Lucian burst into hearty laughter as he swept his gaze across the assembled lords.
But the lords could not laugh. With faces drained of all color, they merely looked at one another.
Among them, the one whose complexion had turned the palest was Norbek.
'Have I ever seen such a madman? To reshuffle factions with nothing more than the word choice!'
Calyx had argued that, even if not full independence, it was necessary to draw a clear line from the Imperial House.
Because of that, not only hardliners but even those who preferred neutrality could be counted as potential supporters.
What the neutral faction hated most was being forced by the Imperial House to fulfill the duties of vassals and sacrifice themselves.
Yet Lucian's words had completely overturned that balance.
'This has gone far beyond something that can be brushed off as polite rhetoric. He's openly declared unwavering support for the Imperial House. And by extension, my opposition to him now makes me an enemy of the Empire as well.'
Once the frame of "enemy of the Imperial House" was established, it was obvious that the neutral faction—formerly Calyx's potential supporters—would fall away entirely.
What they despised almost as much as enforced sacrifice was waging war against the Empire itself.
They might not stand with Lucian, but they would certainly refuse to stand with Calyx.
'Damn it… I thought he'd disappoint his own supporters too and stick to an ambiguous stance!'
Norbek had never imagined that the imperial might Lucian revealed here would be so terrifying.
The idea of transporting troops and supplies across space itself was utterly absurd.
If the Empire wished it, no matter the distance, erasing an entire house would be a trivial matter.
Information like that was enough to make even lords who might once have been disappointed by a declaration of imperial loyalty now call it a wise decision.
"Why so glum? It's a joyous banquet, yet none of you are smiling."
Even under Norbek's murderous glare, Lucian merely affected an air of nonchalance as he glanced around.
Some lords tried to force smiles, but it was simply impossible.
One wrong word and their entire house could be dragged into the struggle for succession—how could they smile under such circumstances?
As the silence dragged on, Lucian nodded with a grave expression.
"Clearly, the problem is a lack of entertainment. I focused too much on the food and neglected that aspect. But I've prepared one form of amusement for you all!"
The lords flinched almost instinctively.
This time, they feared what might come out of his mouth.
As if savoring their reaction, Lucian flashed a grin and shouted,
"The Hundred-Day Hunt!"
The lords looked at one another in confusion.
Surely he didn't mean the Hundred-Day Hunt they knew?
"Your Highness, do you mean that Hundred-Day Hunt—the tradition of spending half a month rolling around in snowy mountains without provisions…?"
"Precisely. And interestingly enough, the proposal didn't come from me, but from Calyx."
In an instant, every lord's gaze turned toward Norbek.
Norbek clenched his teeth under the barrage of stares.
At this rate, even if an assassination succeeded, Calyx would be the first to be suspected.
"Originally, Calyx was supposed to host it, but since Asagrim has been reclaimed, I decided to hold it myself in the surrounding area. These things aren't any fun without a rival, after all—so it's fortunate that Calyx is willing to participate."
At Lucian's beaming smile, Norbek gripped his cane hard enough to crush it.
It was a clear warning: if an assassination were attempted, Calyx would be the sole suspect—so think carefully.
'But, you little whelp, you've made a mistake.'
Suspicion or not, if he took no action at all, the Calyx Count's House would collapse.
If so, then even a drastic measure was worth attempting.
Forcing the corners of his mouth upward, Norbek spoke with a strained smile.
"To have the honor of reviving an ancient tradition alongside Your Highness is truly gratifying. I sincerely hope it will be an occasion where we can compete fairly and test one another's capabilities."
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