[V14C5] An Outdated Man

On the night after the guests from the Empire and the Kingdom of Ridill arrived at Valmbelk Castle, a welcome banquet was held in the grand hall on the first floor.

Henrik was dressed in the most decent suit he owned, looking over the guests and secretly letting out a sigh of relief.

(Thank goodness… There’s fewer of them than we expected…!)

He had anticipated a delegation of several hundred since Ridill was sending a member of their royal family. However, the actual number was just under seventy, including guards and attendants.

Apparently, Ridill could not spare additional personnel due to the recent dragon disaster and the following turmoil.

On the other hand, the Empire’s delegation was larger, about two hundred people. The majority of them were the subordinates of General Strauss, who was in charge of security.

It would be shameful for the host to admit this, but the truth was that Valmbelk Castle suffered from chronic manpower shortages. Being able to leave the security to someone else was a welcome relief.

“Blanquet-dono.”

As Henrik sipped on his beer, he heard a voice calling his name from behind.

He turned around to see a man of about fifty with sharp features. His black hair was streaked with white, and his mustache was neatly trimmed.

The man wore a military uniform rather than a suit, and he carried a sword at his waist. In other words, he was none other than General Strauss, the head of security.

General Strauss was known for being a calm and intelligent leader, capable of making rational decisions even in dire situations. Above all, he was respected by his subordinates, and his unit had exceptionally high morale.

“Oh, General Strauss. Thank you very much for assisting with security… Or maybe I should be apologizing. We’re just so short on personnel.”

Henrik bowed his head repeatedly, but Strauss replied in a composed tone.

“Please, raise your head. The soldiers of Valmbelk are busy on the southern front, fighting for the sake of the Empire. It is only natural for you to have fewer troops at the castle.”

General Strauss was a distinguished soldier nearly twice Henrik’s age. And yet, he always treated Henrik with courtesy rather than arrogance.

“Blanquet-dono,” Strauss continued. “You may not remember anymore, but you actually saved my unit once on the southern front. Do you recall the battle at the Ebelgen Valley?”

Henrik reflected on his past campaigns.

(Ah… Yeah, I guess that did happen.)

There was indeed a time when Henrik led his men to rescue an isolated unit in Ebelgen Valley.

However, Henrik had done so out of desperation, since they had slim chances of victory unless they joined up with General Strauss’s forces.

“You routed thousands of enemy troops with only three hundred men.”

Strauss spoke with a tone of reverence, and Henrik replied with a sheepish smile.

“The terrain and weather just happened to work in our favor, that’s all.”

At the time, rain showers had left Ebelgen Valley as a muddy mess, making movement extremely difficult. Which was why the enemy failed to predict the ambush from Valmbelk’s forces.

This was a daring move only made possible by the prowess of Valmbelk’s cavalry.

The enemy general was famed as a formidable warrior with a highly trained army. Without that surprise attack, Valmbelk’s forces would stand no chance in a head-on clash.

“General Login was an extremely tough opponent,” Henrik continued. “I have to admit that my victory against him was sheer luck.”

Hearing that, General Strauss pressed a hand to his mouth, stifling a laugh.

Henrik tilted his head, wondering if he had said something odd, but Strauss explained while still covering his mouth.

“Sorry about that. It’s just, your grandfather and father were the same as you. They wouldn’t remember those they saved, but never forgot the enemy commanders they cut down.”

Putting it that way, Henrik could see the truth in that. He gave a wry smile.

A knight earned honor by killing others, which was why they must never forget the weight of death—the teachings of his grandfather.

Henrik’s family had originally been a line of knights. Perhaps because of that, they still prioritized the way of the sword even after being granted the land and title of margrave.

——Never forget your loyalty to His Majesty. Your sword is for protecting the weak.

(In other words, I’m not really suited to be a lord…)

Despite that, Strauss praised him with genuine respect.

“Men like you are rare in the current era, Blanquet-dono.”

“A lot of people call me ‘outdated’ instead.”

Henrik gave an awkward smile, as Strauss turned his gaze toward the family heirloom sword displayed on the wall.

Backed by pure white silk was the sword once wielded on the battlefield by Henrik’s grandfather—the War Wolf of Valmbelk.

Strauss stared at the sword with unmistakable admiration in his eyes.

“All the boys of my generation admired the War Wolf of Valmbelk. In fact, I even named my son after him.”

At the mention of his grandfather, Henrik panicked slightly. Was he steering the conversation towards a request to meet the War Wolf of Valmbelk?

(Grandfather has been acting especially odd today, so I asked Frieda to keep an eye on him…)

Unaware of Henrik’s internal turmoil, General Strauss continued in a calm but passionate tone.

“The War Wolf of Valmbelk is a national hero. Everyone in the Empire holds deep respect for him.”

If Strauss asked to meet him, Henrik resolved to push back with, “My grandfather isn’t feeling well today.” His plan was to repeat that line until it worked.

“My grandfather… the War Wolf of Valmbelk was praised because he was born in an era of war.”

Henrik spoke with a wry smile, as if to say, That was then. Now is an era of peace.

But Strauss met his gaze directly. The eyes of a veteran who had survived countless battlefields allowed no room for deception.

“Blanquet-dono. Are you not troubled by the current plight of Valmbelk?”

“Well, yes, I suppose…”

“Then have you never considered… independence?”

The sharp question delivered with piercing eyes caused Henrik to freeze for a moment.

Was this Strauss’s idea of a joke? Or was he testing Henrik’s loyalty to the Empire?

Either way, there was only one answer he could give.

“General Strauss, that is a matter far too great for the likes of me.”

“Then you have no intention of pursuing independence?”

“None whatsoever.”

Henrik answered without hesitation.

Neither he, his father, nor his grandfather had any real skill in governance. They were warriors, not statesmen. None were suited to be the ruler of a nation.

Strauss softened his sharp gaze and said, “I see,” with the gentle smile from before. That seemed to signal the end of the conversation.

At that moment, a loud voice rang out from a table a short distance away.

“That is not the job of a secretary!”

This youthful voice belonged to Albert, the Third Prince of the Kingdom of Ridill.

Henrik glanced over to see Albert shielding his beautiful diplomatic secretary, Bridget Greyham, from Birendahl. Albert seemed visibly furious, as Birendahl looked down on him with a composed, smug smile.

Though Birendahl was over seventy, his stylish appearance made him look at least ten years younger. His beard was neatly groomed, and his long white hair was tied with a ribbon at the end. His clothes were adorned with elegant patterns, likely including all the current fashion trends.

Birendahl closed one eye and laughed as he twirled his mustache.

“No need to make such a fuss. I merely asked the lovely young lady to pour me a drink.”

“Well to me, it looked like you were getting far too handsy with my secretary.”

Apparently, Birendahl had ordered the beautiful secretary to pour him a drink, then made a movement that could be seen as an attempt to fondle her.

In contrast to the obviously furious Albert, Birendahl’s tone was calm and patronizing. It’s as though he was scolding a child.

“Is that not the reason you brought a female secretary in the first place?” Birendahl asked.

Albert blinked a few times as if completely bewildered by what he had just heard. But then, as the understanding dawned, his pale face flushed red, and his fists started trembling in outrage.

Birendahl was implying that Albert brought a female secretary for the sake of entertaining and pleasing foreign dignitaries.

“Lord Birendahl, please, um, we don’t need any unnecessary conflict…”

The hesitant voice addressing Birendahl came from Konitz, an Imperial noble in his mid-thirties with tied red hair.

However, Birendahl fixed his gaze on Albert, ignoring Konitz entirely.

The young prince opened his mouth to shout something in anger—but before he could utter a word, Bridget stepped forward and offered Birendahl a smile.

“Your Excellency, are you fond of Delgo-Bleu wine?”

Bridget had spoken in the Imperial tongue. However, her choice of words and phrasing leaned more toward the northern dialect than the standard version commonly used in the capital.

The Empire was originally formed by the unification of several nations. Nowadays, almost everywhere used the common Imperial language, but regional phrasing still lingered in many areas.

Bridget deliberately chose the northern dialect because she understood that Birendahl was from the north.

The wine being served at the venue was, in fact, exactly the brand she had mentioned.

In other words, with that single short sentence, Bridget had demonstrated her knowledge of Birendahl as well as her fluency in the northern dialect.

Though not on the same level, she had also proved her familiarity with the wine being served at the event.

(That was… seriously impressive, I think? And she did it so casually!)

Henrik wasn’t the only one surprised. A few members of the Imperial delegation seemed visibly shocked.

Strauss and Konitz stared at Bridget in astonishment, while Birendahl let out an impressed laugh as he twirled his mustache.

“You’re quite the attentive secretary. Indeed, I’m partial to Delgo-Bleu wine. Might I trouble you for a glass?”

“As you wish, Your Excellency.”

Bridget replied with a pleasant smile that said she wasn’t bothered in the slightly, and reached for a wine bottle from a nearby table.

All the while, Albert stood there in frustrated silence, his fists still trembling. He had just barked that pouring drinks was not the job of a secretary, yet now his secretary was serving wine of her own accord. The bitterness must be eating him alive.

Bridget took the bottle and stepped next to Birendahl.

But then, Henrik quietly approached from behind and gently swiped the wine bottle from her hands.

“The lack of waiters is my failing as the host,” Henrik said. “Please allow me to pour your drink as an apology. Here you are, Lord Birendahl.”

As Henrik poured the wine into the glass, Birendahl returned a disdainful glare.

Without even taking a sip, he flicked his wrist to send the contents of the glass flying at Henrik.

Dodging would be a simple matter for Henrik, but that would mean letting the wine splash on Bridget instead.

(I’m going to get scolded by Frieda again…)

The crimson liquid arced through the air and left a large stain across Henrik’s chest and shoulder.

As the guests looked on with bated breath, Birendahl bared his yellowed teeth into a grin.

“Oh dear, how clumsy of me. My hand slipped. I suppose I should offer you my jacket, since it seems Valmbelk would have trouble tailoring a new one.”

“Please do not concern yourself with me,” Henrik replied. “A stain like this is easy to clean.”

Compared to the time he got caught up in a coup during a banquet hosted by the Black Lion Emperor, this was trivial. A wine stain would have been the least of his concerns back then.

Wearing the same sheepish smile, Henrik turned to Bridget, then exclaimed in a theatrical voice.

“Oh no, there is a stain on your clothes too! I’ll have my sister prepare a change of clothes for you. This way, please.”

With that, he positioned himself between Bridget and the crowd, ushering her toward the hallway.

Her clothes had not been stained in the slightest, so Bridget looked up at Henrik with a hint of protest. But ultimately, she said nothing and quietly followed after him.

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