Chapter 117:  The House of Baron Roger (6)

"I’ve actually been keeping tabs on that boy all along."

The Grand Duke of the North accepted the glass of liquor the chief secretary had poured with practiced ease.

As he slowly swirled the drink, he spoke.

"I thought he was just some street fox, but turns out he had multiple tails. Talented one."

The Grand Duke took a sip, a hint of regret on his face.

"I didn’t expect Your Grace to continue watching over him," said Debier, puzzled as he stared at the name Julius Roger, sitting plainly amid piles of state affairs.

He had known the boy was a capable talent—but never imagined that the mighty Grand Duke of the North would harbor lingering thoughts about him.

"The reason is simple."

The Grand Duke, who governed Nord—the Empire’s largest province—spoke.

"Tell me, among those born in Nord, is there anyone with ties to the Imperial family?"

The chief secretary narrowed his eyes at the question.

And yet, even with a mind that knew everything there was to know about Nord and the noble houses, no such person came to mind.

"There is no one."

"Exactly. The talented people from the northern region of the Empire all tend to be loyal to us."

No matter how lofty the Emperor might be, he was a distant, faraway figure.

Naturally, people bowed their heads to the superior directly above them.

"And so, quite naturally, we kept our distance from the Imperial family—and in turn, they began to reject talents from the North."

Outside the capital, the majority of Imperial officials hailed from the West.

That was because the Yekaterina family, which ruled the western territories under Duke Heriot, were distant relatives of the Imperial family.

Thanks to their deep ties and powerful presence, they had the right to borrow the name of the royal house.

"At some point, our North became isolated. A bias formed that Northerners are boring yes-men who swear loyalty only to me."

Still, it was an extraordinary feat.

No one in the world had ever achieved such renown while keeping the Imperial family at arm’s length.

That was just how formidable the real power behind the Northern Grand Duchy was.

"And now, for the first time, someone born and raised in the North has forged a connection with the Imperial family!"

With the drink now in him, Duke Luton’s voice grew firm, as if giving a speech.

"On top of that, his foundation now receives a steady stream of talent from the Imperial Academy."

"If such talents from the capital are willing to come to the North…"

The sharp-witted chief secretary immediately began deducing the kinds of people who would soon flock to Roger.

Seeing this, the Grand Duke added with excitement, directed toward the one aide he could speak candidly with.

"Yes—humble, capable individuals like Roger. Those kinds of people are cut from a different cloth."

Even as the head of a prestigious noble family, he clearly preferred commoners over aristocrats.

Truly, it was like the Grand Duke of the North—utterly strict in separating the personal from the official.

"The boy is planning to go beyond just being some nouveau riche—he’s already laying out plans that exceed the role of a secretary."

In truth, the Grand Duke of the North was quietly proud of him.

When someone you had once admired rose rapidly through the ranks, it meant your judgment hadn’t been wrong.

"I did feel Roger was extraordinary. Hard to believe he had just turned twenty."

"Exactly, he was too clever. That’s why I was suspicious."

But upon investigation, it turned out he truly had no ties to any noble family.

Of course, there were a few occasions when he’d been seen meeting with the Silver Truth Church and the eldest daughter of the Western Grand Duke’s family, Helena.

But the reports only noted that they had shared meals or enjoyed festivals together—nothing more.

"In fact, that ‘secretary candidate’ title had been a leash. Once it was off, he ran free."

The Grand Duke wore a pleased expression, like a father watching over his son.

Seeing that, the chief secretary couldn’t help but feel slightly puzzled.

Roger had clearly severed ties with the Northern Grand Duchy, so why was the Grand Duke still so proud of his growth?

"You were wondering why I kept watching that boy, and why I have no regrets about letting him go, weren’t you?"

The Grand Duke had picked up on his aide’s unspoken thoughts and asked.

"Yes. Forgive me, but it’s hard to grasp the deeper reasoning."

When the chief secretary replied honestly, the Grand Duke set his glass down.

Then, as he gazed at the organizational chart of the many talents under his command, he spoke.

"Roger—that boy. I hear he’s likely headed West by now."

"The West… Do you mean the Yekaterina family?"

In front of Duke Luton, no one referred to the Western Grand Duke’s family as a royal house.

After all, there was no noble house ranked above the Northern Grand Duchy.

"Yes. Do you know why he went there?"

"…"

The chief secretary pressed his lips shut for a moment.

Then, with eyes darkened by a lifetime of accumulated experience and wisdom, he sank into thought.

Suddenly, his lips parted, startled by the answer that had just come to him.

Roger had earned the Imperial family’s trust, become the teacher of Sonia, daughter of the Fern family.

He’d forged ties with the Saint, and was now headed to the Western Grand Duke’s household.

These four groups—all powerful enough to nominate nobles.

"Don’t tell me… he plans to be elevated to the nobility!"

"Exactly. Just as I thought, that boy wasn’t meant to settle for being a secretary."

The Grand Duke nodded at the veteran aide’s insight.

And with a firm clack, he set down his now-empty wine glass.

"If he manages to demonstrate his talents even in the Western Grand Duke’s family and earns a certificate of elevation—where do you think he’ll go last?"

"He’ll return to the Luton family…!!"

The Grand Duke rose from his leather sofa.

With a solemn gaze, he looked out across the western horizon.

"That’s right. From a brilliant secretary, we gain an exceptional barony."

Duke Luton had long been known as a cold, calculating man.

He would decisively sever ties with useless subordinates, and crush any group that showed hostility toward him with overwhelming force.

But—

As cold as he was, he rewarded outstanding talent with great generosity.

And that firm, clear-headed decisiveness was precisely what inspired such loyalty from his subordinates.

"Tomorrow, report to me which of my estates still has vacant land."

"I’ll prepare a report focused on the best-quality plots."

To grant land on the icy northern continent—

The chief secretary knew exactly what that meant, and received the order with solemn reverence.

"Have his father take the land first and start cultivating it. That way, the boy will naturally settle back in Nord."

Bestow favor and make it impossible to escape.

It was a method that worked especially well on fox-like types—those who feigned humility while hiding their ambition.

"Anyone who’s ever owned property before is bound to lose their head when given land again. And if he builds anything on it, he won’t be able to return it."

If you dig the burrow in advance and lay out the bait, a cunning beast will set up its own nest without needing to be told.

"In the end, he’ll settle in Nord once more."

Debier was quietly awed by how meticulously the Grand Duke was maneuvering Roger.

At the same time, he couldn’t help but wonder.

Why go this far just to bring him back?

"Your Grace, may I ask… why are you granting Julius Roger a fief?"

He hadn’t even been ennobled yet.

Even if he were, surely some persuasion would’ve sufficed.

Why go so far as to hand over land from the Grand Duke’s own estate?

"……"

As if responding to that question, the Grand Duke let out a deep sigh.

Then, like the head of a lion, he exhaled sharply through his nose and muttered with a chilling expression.

"Tell me—have you ever seen Echina defy me in all her life?"

"……?"

Debier was left speechless by the unexpected question.

The Grand Duke repeated himself with even more gravity in his gaze.

"That girl, who always looked up at me with those bright, eager eyes… She blamed me for the first time."

Duke Luton poured himself another glass.

"Even when her mother died, she endured it without a word…! So how could I possibly leave that boy alone?"

"Your words are most just."

The chief secretary played along with his master’s emotions.

Because even in his own eyes, the second-in-command of the continent...

"If he settles back in Nord this time, I’ll work him to the bone."

…was wearing the expression of a very disappointed father.

"――――――."

In stark contrast to the chilling North—

The capital, after the festival, still bustled with warmth and light.

"Thank you, Saint. I can’t believe you even took care of the alterations yourself."

I had come to a tailor’s shop near the Imperial Academy with the Saint.

I’d torn the hem of my dress pants during a squat at the event, so I needed new clothes.

"Don’t mention it. After everything you did for me, this is the least I could do."

The Saint shook her head gently, her expression relaxed.

Still dressed in her event-worn clothes, she casually spread out the fabric that clung to her, soaked in sweat.

“Wait here for a moment. I know the owner here, so I’ll speak to him.”

Istina walked over with the torn outfit in hand, approaching the middle-aged tailor at ease.

A man with brown hair and glasses—he had the intellectual aura of a master in his craft.

“Saint, we meet again.”

“Yes, Alberstein. I came today with a special request.”

A special request.

At those words, the tailor’s interest visibly piqued.

A new type of alteration always stirred his spirit of challenge.

“What sort of request? Please, don’t hesitate to tell me.”

“Well…”

The Saint glanced sideways at me, gauging my reaction.

Then, turning her head back toward the tailor—

“Please put this outfit in a separate paper bag for now.”

She smiled with bewitching eyes—like a devil wearing an angel’s mask.

“You’re not getting it altered…? Judging by the smell of sweat, I’d say it needs cleaning too.”

“Yes, I’ll take it and ‘properly’ take care of it myself.”

At the cryptic remark from the 24-year-old Saint, the middle-aged man tilted his head curiously.

Still, he placed the torn suit into a paper bag as instructed.

“Is that all you needed today?”

“No. I’d also like to order a custom suit for that gentleman over there.”

From beneath her hood, the Saint pulled out a pouch of gold coins.

And she placed an order at her regular tailor’s shop—worth roughly 700,000 gold.

“You’re being far too generous again… Every time you visit the capital, you leave us with such overwhelming grace.”

“I have a special request this time as well.”

Istina slowly stepped closer to him.

Then, fluttering her radiant silver eyelids, she whispered,

“Once you take his measurements, please write them down and give them to me.”

“…?”

The tailor blinked in confusion at the string of unusual requests.

In response, the Saint answered in a gentle, gracious voice—utterly composed.

“We’re both from Nord, you see. It’ll be more convenient if we ever need another fitting once we’re back there.”

“Ah, I see. That’s what it was. What a thoughtful soul you are.”

The middle-aged man nodded, as if saying as expected from the Saint.

Then he promptly took a measuring tape and approached me.

“Pardon me. May I take your measurements?”

“Uh… I only came here to get some alterations today.”

I looked at the man holding the tape with a puzzled expression.

Then, the Saint quickly slipped in beside me and whispered,

“The suit was too torn. He said it’d be better to just throw it out and get a new one.”

“I see… But isn’t a place like this far too expensive to get a new one made?”

Istina placed her hand over her abundant curves and said, as if such concerns were beneath her,

“What are you worried about? You have me.”

The Saint spoke to me with the purest expression in the world.

“This is my way of thanking you for bringing me joy today, so please accept it without hesitation.”

“Alright then. Next time, let me return the favor.”

Refusing further would have been impolite, so I accepted her kindness with a grateful heart.

Afterward, I changed into the newly tailored suit and stood in front of the full-length mirror.

“As expected of a handsome gentleman—suits you perfectly.”

The tailor looked at my navy-blue suit with deep satisfaction.

I also expressed my thanks to him.

“You truly live up to your reputation as a tailor in the heart of the capital.”

In the pleasant atmosphere, I chatted with the tailor for a while.

But—

The Saint didn’t join in that conversation or laugh along.

She merely stood off to the side, quietly…

Gazing intently at a small note the tailor had handed her.

“…?”

I found her unusually odd today.

Serious one moment, then suddenly startled—perhaps at some peculiar phrase she read.

She kept her lips tightly sealed, eyes fixed intently on the paper, her face flushing red.

But the moment our eyes met, she smiled as if nothing had happened.

Indeed, women are truly difficult to read.

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