BSGE 74
by Cherry“Shouldn’t the prince return to the capital?”
“Absolutely not.”
Ather responded with a cheerful expression, completely unfazed by the rather direct dismissal.
“How could I possibly convey our gratitude to the war hero by merely staying for a few days?”
“The message has been delivered. Now go.”
“No, the gratitude for a national hero cannot be fully expressed in just a few months.”
“…….”
His audacious persistence, doubling down with a cheeky retort even when being told to leave, was truly remarkable.
Ather even winked at the displeased glare of the duke, adding a playful flourish to his defiance.
“This is the extent of my respect for the duke,” he declared with an almost comical bravado.
‘If it weren’t for the report.’
Ordinarily, the Aslan Duke would have paid no mind to royalty, not even giving them a second glance.
But precisely because this prince had been helpful to his precious child…
The duke’s fist tensed, veins pulsing. He was forced to endure this troublemaker whom he would have normally tossed out without a second thought.
*
In the duke’s study.
A memory of an unwelcome presence beside his child suddenly surfaced, causing the teacup in the duke’s tightening grip to shatter. The butler’s whining about the expensive tea set went in one ear and out the other as the duke listened to his subordinate’s new report.
“A letter from the royal court?”
“Yes. They hope there are no misunderstandings regarding the previous… unfortunate incident.”
The ‘unfortunate incident’ the royal court delicately avoided mentioning was the assassination attempt on the Aslan princess, which involved the royal family’s deadly poison.
“Here is the handwritten letter.”
“What does it say?”
“Initially, they express extreme surprise and regret that such a grotesque plot involved the royal family’s poison… and so on,” the subordinate summarized, the letter riddled with elaborate excuses and attempts to evade responsibility.
The duke casually tossed aside the allegedly precious royal handwritten letter without even reading it properly and turned his attention to another subordinate.
“The previous instructions?”
“Yes, my lord. All have been completed.”
The subordinate reported proudly, thumping his chest.
“I’ve conveyed the lord’s intentions to the key merchant guilds of Lukre and Rasin kingdoms.
“The routes?”
“Of course, from beyond the mountain range to the side path entrances, all trade routes that merchants might use are under the control of our knights.”
The duke nodded, satisfied with the report.
Historically, the Aslan ducal suffered from barren lands and limited food supplies, but it was richer in goods than any other territory in the kingdom. The reason was quite simple: it was all thanks to the power of the Duke.
Numerous kingdoms existed on the continent, and inter-guild trade was correspondingly vibrant. Trade routes for exchanging goods from other countries were crucial, especially the massive central mountain range—called the Northern Mountains in the Astrum Kingdom—which was an essential passage for continental traders.
And this mountain route was firmly controlled by the Aslan ducal house.
Native warriors capable of maneuvering through every mountain corner.
Mobility that allowed rapid deployment to any region.
Most importantly, the military power to easily defeat magical beasts inhabiting the mountains and bandits targeting trade goods.
These were all areas where the Aslan house excelled.
Consequently, most merchant guilds paid protection fees to safely use the trade routes under the Aslan duke’s protection.
When the golden lion banner-bearing warriors raided other kingdoms, one might wonder how such savage individuals could exist. But when actually traveling under their protection, no escort felt more reassuring.
Except during special circumstances like the recent war, the duchy could be considered the primary vein of continental trade.
Naturally, all trade goods entering the Astrum Kingdom would necessarily pass through the duchy.
This meant the ducal house could control the trade goods heading to the royal capital.
“The royal court’s lavish imports will now be nothing more than a distant memory,” the duke’s adjutant said confidently, pushing up his glasses.
“Especially with the victory celebration they’re planning. It’ll probably be the most pathetic triumph celebration in history.”
The finest Lukre Kingdom silk, nearly mandatory for capital nobility’s ceremonial attire.
The exquisite metalwork from Rasin Kingdom, showcased at every royal court event.
“Neither Lukre silk nor Rasin metalwork will reach the capital,” the duke confirmed.
“Indeed.”
Satisfied with his subordinates’ meticulous work, the duke nodded.
The royal court, already whispering about the duke’s minimal contribution to the great war, would face unprecedented humiliation if their post-war celebration failed to match previous standards.
The duke had never intended to let anyone even remotely suspected of involvement in his child’s affairs off lightly.
“I want to see their faces when they’re forced to reuse decorations they once boasted of discarding after a single use,” he muttered.
His subordinates gleefully anticipated the royal court’s impending disgrace.
One subordinate, traditionally close to Count Jellot, spoke up hesitantly.
“My lord, might I suggest a more cautious approach?”
Other subordinates bristled before the duke could respond.
But he persisted, maintaining an air of objectivity.
“Isn’t it possible that the royal court’s involvement in the princess’s affair isn’t entirely confirmed? Especially given the personal letter from His Majesty?”
“…”
“Isn’t this response perhaps… excessive?”
His seemingly rational argument trailed off when he met the duke’s golden gaze.
“Not confirmed yet,” the duke stated coldly.
Rising from his seat, his hand covered the discarded royal letter.
“This is the extent of our response.”
His power surged like seawAther overflowing a breakwAther.
“If it were confirmed…”
The 300-year-old ebony desk—renowned for its durability—cracked dramatically where the duke’s hand pressed, the royal letter disintegrating into unrecognizable fragments.
‘If they had dared to lay a hand on my child…’
A dangerous energy radiated from his golden eyes, suggesting he wouldn’t hesitate to overthrow the royal court if his suspicions were confirmed.
Even subordinates who had served him for decades now avoided his gaze, instinctively bowing their heads.
‘My baby.’
Staring at the desk now marked with deep fissures, the duke recalled memories from the past.
*
The first time he’d seen a child so tiny.
The infant was incredibly small.
“A squirrel…?”
Newborn beast-people initially appear in an animal-like form.
He remembered the weight of holding this child, doubting whether it would ever fully transform into a human.
His hand could barely contain the infant—smaller even than a single finger.
A fragile, precious vulnerability that inspired an entirely new kind of fear. How could he possibly handle something so delicate?
Sometime after the child’s birth, when the infant had grown capable of crawling with its tiny limbs, his wife brought the child to his study.
She left them together, hoping he might become more comfortable with the baby.
“…….”
The duke stood stiffly, holding the cradle.
Quickly setting it on his desk while reviewing an urgent document, he signed papers and returned his Griffin-feather pen to its holder.
That’s when he felt a small warmth touching his hand.
“Jyuu?”
The infant, now capable of making proper sounds, had somehow emerged from the cradle.
‘When did you get out?’
Surprised that the child could already leave the cradle independently, he realized how quickly the infant was growing.
Sniff sniff.
Fascinated by a feather much larger than its own body, the baby’s tiny nose twitched adorably.
“Jyuu-Jyuu!”
Boldly climbing onto the duke’s massive hand—comically disproportionate to its tiny form.
“!”
The duke froze.
Tiny ink-like footprints of warmth dotted his hand, marking a path of innocent exploration.