“Ah... I see.”
There was nothing else he could think of to add.
Whether he noticed the line of men staring at him in utter bewilderment or not, the man calmly mounted his warhorse and gave a casual nod.
“Sorry for delaying the journey.”
Then, as though nothing whatsoever had happened, he urged his horse forward.
Tyron felt all the strength drain out of him and slowly slid the sword in his hand back into its scabbard.
Daren opened his mouth, trying to ease the awkward atmosphere.
“You've heard that Her Grace the Grand Duchess is expecting a child, haven't you? Since it's her first pregnancy, His Grace has been rather concerned. Her Grace has always had a small appetite and is terribly particular about what she eats. That's why he's been paying extraordinary attention to her meals.”
'He doesn't seem all that different from before...'
Glancing at his lord's retreating back, Tyron swallowed the sarcastic remark that had risen to his throat.
This was the man who had impaled a giant nearly three meters tall with a spear simply because he had dared lay a hand on his wife.
And when the Grand Duchess had collapsed?
As if bringing every rare ingredient from the Central Region hadn't been enough, he had even personally attended to her meals like a servant.
Now that she was carrying his child, it was painfully obvious how much worse he would become.
“I've also heard the joyful news that Your Grace will soon have an heir. My sincerest congratulations, Your Grace.”
The merchant, who had been quietly following a short distance behind them, suddenly inserted himself into the conversation. He seemed fully aware that his fate rested in the hands of the young Grand Duke.
The same man who had worn a constant expression of dissatisfaction throughout the journey from the North now plastered an oily smile across his face and eagerly began currying favor.
“Our guild has also prepared a modest congratulatory gift. We heard that Her Grace the Grand Duchess enjoys fresh fruit, so we mobilized our entire trade network to bring freshly harvested fruit from across the continent... though I cannot be certain whether it will suit Her Grace's tastes.”
The Grand Duke, who had just emerged from the forest and begun climbing the hill, glanced back over his shoulder at the merchant.
For the first time, a trace of interest appeared in those eyes that usually regarded others no differently than inanimate objects.
“I heard you reside in the North. Yet you seem remarkably well informed about affairs here.”
“The ears and tongues of merchants move faster than the wind, Your Grace. The rumor that Your Grace has been searching everywhere for rare fruits for the Grand Duchess has spread throughout every merchant guild.”
“...Let's hope that information network of yours isn't used where it shouldn't be.”
At those quietly threatening words, a faint tension crept across the merchant's polished face.
Only now did he seem to realize that this was not a man who could be won over with petty bribes or shallow flattery.
He swallowed nervously, forced an awkward smile, and lowered his eyes.
Watching him with a chilly expression, Varkas urged his horse forward once more.
Tyron hurried after him, increasing his pace.
Before long, the massive walls surrounding Kalmor rose into view beyond the hill.
Riding ahead, Daren raised his voice in a thunderous command.
“Zram warriors have been sighted in Argand Forest! Dispatch search parties immediately and reinforce every route across the northwestern frontier!”
The booming order echoed across the walls, and the soldiers standing in formation atop the battlements immediately scattered, evidently rushing to relay the news to the garrison.
Leaving that commotion behind, Varkas passed through the city gates and rode across the heart of the city.
At last, the towering walls surrounding Laedgo Castle filled their entire field of vision.
Entering through the gates, Tyron slowly looked around the castle he had not seen in nearly a month.
Surrounded once again by familiar sights, exhaustion he had not even realized he was carrying suddenly washed over him.
Climbing down from his horse, he rubbed his aching shoulders.
When he had departed for the North under Varkas's orders, the atmosphere had been teetering on the brink of war.
Now those tensions had subsided beneath the surface.
The Season of Repose had begun, restricting part of the supply routes leading into the North.
Varkas had also pressured the conservative nobles politically, forcing them into a corner.
Some of the northern aristocrats had begun sensing that the situation was taking an unfavorable turn and had started exercising caution.
If they could seize control of the North's trade network during this opportunity, then {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} even House Heimdal would no longer dare provoke a war so recklessly.
'Now it all depends on how we win that man over.'
Tyron glanced toward the guild master, who was quietly whispering with his subordinates in one corner of the courtyard, before shifting his gaze back to Varkas.
The Grand Duke was handing the game tied to his saddle over to the servants.
Seeing how utterly unconcerned he looked, Tyron felt his shoulders sag once again.
Apparently, whether a rebellion would break out or not concerned his lord far less than what dishes would appear on his wife's dining table.
Removing his dirtied gloves, the man calmly issued careful instructions to the servants.
“Roast the one with the most tender meat. Clean the rest properly and make stew. Don't overdo the spices.”