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Translator: penny
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: I Am Indeed the Northern Duke (1)
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When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was an unfamiliar ceiling.
Once I came to my senses and took stock of the situation, I realized I had become a newborn baby, and the world was blanketed entirely in white snow.
Memories of my past life? Of course I have them.
But what did that matter?
Whether I'd been hit by a truck, died from overwork, or suffered a heart attack in my sleep.
Such trivial details held no meaning before this vast snowy expanse.
I simply had to enjoy this new life I'd been reborn into.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Three years into my new life.
Around the time I could finally move my body freely, I realized one key fact.
The place I'd reincarnated into was a fantasy world.
One with real magic and auras, where dragons soared through the skies, and an empire and a kingdom alliance divided the continent—a classic fantasy setup.
At first, I shouted for a status window thinking it might be a game world, or rummaged through bookshelves hoping to glean info from some novel I'd been reading.
But no blue system window appeared before my eyes, and the history books didn't match the plot of any novel I knew.
The conclusion was simple.
I'd just been extraordinarily lucky to get a new life... and one born with a silver spoon, no less.
Who would've thought I'd reincarnate as the sole heir to the Kaltstein family, the empire's mightiest ducal house and rulers of the north... Guess you really do reap what you sow by living a good life.
In my previous life, I'd slaved away without a glimpse of a future... but here, one was laid out for me even if I did nothing.
Of course, not everything was to my liking.
The north in a fantasy world was set to have winters harsher than Korea's, and the ducal estate was freezing cold.
"It's cold..."
Today, too, I peered out the window and muttered, my breath fogging white.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Twenty years since I realized I'd reincarnated.
My life had been utter tranquility.
No prophecies of a demon king reviving to end the world, no rebel forces plotting to topple the empire.
Just swinging a sword alongside others when they trained, learning to sense mana and casting basic spells.
And apparently, I had quite the talent for swordsmanship—enough not to disgrace the name of Kailus von Kaltstein, my father, the Sword Master and lord of the Kaltsteins, the empire's Sword Master.
No, I'd even surpassed my father, attaining exceptional skill.
Thus, as I cut an imposing figure as the north's heir, my twentieth birthday—and my coming-of-age ceremony—had arrived before I knew it.
If this peaceful, uneventful life had continued unchanged, my existence would've been perfect.
Like every Kaltstein before me, around twenty-seven I'd inherit the ducal title, rule the territory at leisure, and occasionally jet off to foreign lands for some grand duke fun.
Add a dutiful wife, and... yeah, pure bliss.
That was the future I'd planned—and the one this world had granted me.
...Or so I'd believed, right up until this morning.
Knock knock.
"Hoo... Come in."
The heavy door to my study swung open, and in strode a middle-aged man draped in a thick fur coat.
My father, and until now, the lord of this vast Kaltstein duchy.
No, now he was the former lord.
Kailus von Kaltstein.
"I've packed everything."
Father spoke with an air of utter relief.
His face brimmed with vitality, like a man cured of decade-old constipation.
Beside him stood my mother, Beatrice von Kaltstein, the lady of the house, holding a parasol with the happiest expression imaginable, her arm linked in his.
I glanced back and forth between my parents' faces, my voice trembling as I asked,
"You're... really leaving?"
"Of course. My lifelong dream's been to retire young as possible, escape this godforsaken north, and sip cocktails on a warm southern isle. I've been counting the days till you came of age."
Father clapped my shoulder.
The force behind his hand was so immense that without aura, my shoulder might've dislocated.
"The head of the Kaltsteins must be strong. And you are. Because you're my son."
"Still, at least hand over the reins properly..."
"The desk in the study is buried in paperwork. Seria knows it all—ask her if you're unsure."
Father pulled the family seal, emblazoned with our crest, from his pocket and placed it in my hand.
The cold touch of metal.
But its weight was anything but light.
"We're heading to the villa on Emerald Beach. Letters... well, unless it's urgent... no, even if it is, don't send any. I trust you'll handle everything."
"...Mother?"
I desperately shot Mother a pleading look, ignoring Father's nonchalance, but she went even further.
"Son, Mom just wants some rest now. The north's winters are awful for the skin, you know? I wanted to stay by your side longer, but hitting my forties, the cold's been too much. You're a good boy—you understand, right?"
They didn't even look back.
Like fugitives escaping, they boarded the waiting carriage.
Father's voice urging the coachman to whip the horses drifted through the window.
"Hurry and depart! We need to reach the south before the blizzard hits!! A storm'll pin us down for two months at least!!"
And so, the great tree of the Kaltsteins up and left.
Leaving just their twenty-year-old son behind.
I stared blankly at the receding carriage.
The family seal in my hand felt piercingly cold.
"...Ha."
A sigh escaped me naturally.
Was this for real?
In novels or comics, parents usually passed on titles dramatically upon death or some dire circumstance.
Mine just peaced out to have fun.
Definitely proved this wasn't some cliché-ridden novel world, but the real deal.
I watched my parents' silhouettes shrink to dots in the distance one last time, then turned on my heel.
Whatever—I was the next duke now, and the inheritance celebration was about to begin.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The grand ballroom.
Chandeliers hung from the soaring ceiling, thousands of candles casting golden light.
A buzz of voices.
The north's prominent nobles and vassals had all gathered in the Kaltstein hall.
Even some heavyweights from the capital's central nobility and the imperial court's inner circle were present.
I stood before the mirror in the waiting room.
Black uniform topped with a red cloak, Winter Fang—the family heirloom sword—at my waist.
The man in the mirror looked quite the part.
Cold features, black hair, red eyes.
If this were a romance fantasy world, anyone would've pegged me as the northern duke at first glance.
But unlike those novel northern dukes, I was currently burning up with anxiety from the inside out?
'This is insane. What do I even say? Keep it short like Father? Or something about the empire's glory?'
Cold sweat beaded my palms.
Twenty years as a noble, but the moment of claiming "duke" felt worlds heavier.
This wasn't just upgrading from silver to... titanium spoon status.
It meant shouldering this harsh northern land and the lives of hundreds of thousands of subjects.
From now on, my responsibilities would multiply dozens, hundreds-fold.
That was when it happened.
A soft touch suddenly brushed my neck.
"Your uniform collar's a bit crooked, Your Grace."
A calm, low voice.
Through the mirror, I saw the woman standing behind me.
Silver-gray hair neatly combed back.
My exclusive maid, secretary, and— with the duchess gone—the castle's de facto steward.
Seria.
She straightened my attire with practiced hands.
Her cool fingertips grazed my nape, yet oddly, it felt reassuring rather than chilling.
"Ascending to duke at twenty. Truly impressive, Your Grace."
Seria met my eyes in the mirror as she spoke.
Her gaze was clear and deep, like the north's eternal snow.
It held unmistakable respect and pure trust.
I gave a wry smile.
"Impressive? Father just dumped it and ran."
"The previous duke left because he trusted you."
"Trust, huh..."
I looked down at her hands adjusting my tie.
Calluses etched into every joint.
Back when we found her dying in a blizzard as a child and took her in, those hands were so small and delicate.
Now they polished my sword, wielded the pen, and sometimes drew blood to support me.
Sudden anxiety washed over me.
Could I really do this?
Could I lead this vast north without disappointing the people who believed in me?
"Seria."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Honestly... I'm not confident."
The weak words slipped out unbidden.
Something I'd never say before other nobles.
But before her?
This woman closer than a twenty-year friend, my very shadow—I could be honest.
"I'm still lacking in so many ways. Stronger than Father, but not the man he is. Not as wise as Mother. Just lucky to be born this way... Do I really deserve to be the north's lord?"
"..."
Her hands stilled.
Silence fell.
She must be disappointed.
Her new lord whining from the start.
But Seria reacted entirely differently than I'd expected.
She slowly bowed her head.
Then stepped closer, brushing dust from my shoulder, and whispered softly,
"You don't know, Your Grace."
"...?"
"From the day you saved me, you have been my entire world—my one and only lord."
She lifted her head.
A faint, somehow warm smile touched her formerly impassive face.
"Qualifications don't matter. Where you stand is the north, and your will is the law."
She tugged my cloak's collar taut.
"So hold your head high. Show those waiting beyond that door how noble and steadfast the Kaltsteins' new lord is."
"..."
Speechless, I stared blankly at her face.
Her trusting eyes made the churning anxiety in my chest vanish like a lie.
Right... who am I?
The legitimate heir of the Kaltsteins, survivor of twenty years in this world.
Backing down here would be pathetic.
I took a deep breath.
Cold northern air filled my lungs, clearing my mind.
"Thanks, Seria."
"No need."
She stepped back and bowed.
I glanced in the mirror once more.
No trace of the anxious youth remained.
Only the northern duke, chin raised arrogantly, ready to survey the world.
Creeeak—
The grand ballroom doors swung open.
A torrent of cheers.
Hundreds of gazes.
I strode in with unwavering confidence.
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