Chapter 1: Chapter 1

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The House of Walterheim. A northern grand duke’s house straight out of a fantasy story—and the family of Viktor Walterheim, its third son.

Right now, I was...

"...Haa."

As I read the list of the dead lying on the desk in House Walterheim’s office, I let out a deep sigh and rubbed my dry face.

My father, the head of the house, was on the list. So were the eldest and second sons of House Walterheim—my older brothers. The Northern Grand Duke and his heirs had died.

What was more, my second brother, the replacement [SPARE] Father had prepared in case my eldest brother died, was dead as well. As a result, I, the defective product who had been driven out to a collateral branch of the family, had been summoned back.

"...What is the situation?"

I raised my head and asked Jester, the loyal butler who had served House Walterheim since my grandfather’s day.

"Barbarians have established camp around Blackheart Castle."

"Those bastards. The moment the Snow Ghosts withdrew, they started battering at the castle."

Jester shrugged at my words, answering with the calm indifference of someone for whom this was nothing unusual.

"That is their usual tactic, is it not? They have an especially keen nose for the smell of blood."

"Tch."

I rose from my seat. This was no time to waste on paperwork.

"But, young mas—no, Your Grace."

"What?"

"Do you truly not need it?"

Frowning at Jester’s words, I looked at the sword a servant was holding out.

"I don’t need it."

To a defective like me, who did not possess even a shred of talent with a sword, it was a burden worse than an ornament.

"This fucking romance-fantasy setup."

"Pardon?"

"Nothing. Let’s go."

**

Atop Blackheart Castle’s walls, the knights of the Northern Grand Duke’s house were suppressing their rage as they watched the barbarians below taunt them.

They wanted to rush down at once and slaughter the bastards.

"Hold yourselves back."

But Viktor, the new Northern Grand Duke who had arrived at the wall, did not permit it.

"But, Your Grace!"

"Those bastards are insulting the late Grand Duke and the young lords!"

They were protests from wolves who had lost their master, consumed by fury.

"Hold yourselves back."

Viktor’s answer was resolute.

"Anyone who leaves without orders will be severely punished under military law."

Wait for orders. That was the sole command Viktor gave the Northern Army.

"Damn it."

The barbarians below the wall were equally anxious as they watched the Northern Army ignore their insults without any reaction.

"Chief. The tribal alliance is voicing complaints. What is going on?"

"Did those Snow Ghost bastards deceive us?"

"No. We have already confirmed that the damned grand duke and his heirs are dead. Then why...?"

Why were the wolves who had lost their master atop that towering wall so calm? They had intended to swallow up those damned imperial bastards when they opened the gates in anger and charged out, overwhelming them with the tribal alliance’s superior numbers.

Damn it.

At this rate, his tribe would end up taking all the blame. The tribal chief moved closer to the wall.

"I am Hamit, chief of the Getra Tribe!"

At the barbarian’s roar from beneath the wall, every soldier of the Northern Army atop it turned their attention toward him.

"Commander leading the Empire’s lackeys! If you have courage, come down and fight me at once! Or die a coward!"

"Were you calling for me?"

When Hamit saw the black-haired, red-eyed young man looking down at him from the wall, a savage smile curved across his lips.

A brat who had likely only just turned twenty. Wasn’t he just like those two fools who had charged at him, filled with competitive spirit and rage?

"That’s right! Come down and fight me!"

"Why should I come down?"

"What?"

"This is more convenient."

Twang!

"That crazy—"

Thud!

Hamit stared in horror at the arrow that had sliced through the wind and lodged in his throat.

"Y-you! You sully an honorable duel... Urk..."

"What the hell are you saying?"

Whoosh!

Once again, an arrow tore through the air. It blew apart the head of Hamit’s horse.

"Aaargh!!"

Crushed beneath the collapsed horse’s body, Hamit struggled desperately to escape.

Whoosh!

Another arrow flew in with a sharp rush through the air, this time piercing Hamit’s skull.

"Y-you... You have no honor..."

**

The dying words of the barbarian chief who had introduced himself as Hamit did not reach my ears. Instead—

"Y-Your Grace??!!!!"

"What is this?!"

The knights around me could not hide their shock, as if they had witnessed something unbelievable.

"If you kill someone who challenged you to a duel like that, Your Grace’s prestige will—!"

"Will my prestige keep the wall standing firm?"

The knights looked dumbfounded at my words. I was the one who should have been dumbfounded, you idiots.

Did looking cool matter? Practicality mattered. Damned knights obsessed with sword supremacy and honor.

"Do not misunderstand. What you who stand on this wall must protect is not your precious honor. It is the northern people living behind you—your families and your brothers."

"B-but..."

"Tch."

So this was how Blackheart Castle fell in the original story—these fools took the bait and fell for their provocation.

"How irritating."

"The enemy is advancing!"

"Ghk. Everyone, prepare for battle!! Your Grace, please fall back behind—"

"There is no need."

Twang!

I drew the bowstring again. Then I planted arrows in the faces of the barbarian commanders leading the charge across the white snowfields, practically waving flags to announce, Here I am.

"Agh!!"

"C-chief?!"

"Damn it, the war chiefs?!"

With their chain of command shattered, the barbarians floundered like lost children. I raised my hand.

"Fire."

At my signal, the stones loaded into the catapults behind the wall began to rain down upon the barbarian camp.

"Aaargh!!"

"S-save me!"

"What is this?!"

The chiefs of the tribal alliance, watching utter chaos unfold across the snowfield, ordered their respective tribes to retreat.

The commander atop that wall was something different from the two men Hamit had killed. What would be the point of shedding blood here?

"D-damn it!! You bastard!!! Draw your sword and fight fair!!"

Thud!

One arrow buried in the skull of the final flagged target shouting something or other.

"Do not speak to me of a warrior’s honor in war. Anyone who spouts that kind of bullshit in the North I lead will be dealt with under military law."

With those words, the war with the barbarians came to an end.

**

"Your Grace."

"I would like to be alone for a while."

"Yes."

Jester nodded at my words and quietly left the office. Sitting in my chair, I could no longer contain the rage surging up from deep within my core and screamed.

"This fucking romance-fantasy setup!!!"

This world was the novel my older sister had written, [The Flower That Bloomed Above Rain and Wind]. When I was born nineteen years ago with memories of my previous life, I despaired. Even after being reborn, I had landed in a novel written by my damn sister—and a romance-fantasy world at that.

"Swords above all! Honor! Duels! What a fucking collection of glorious settings!!!"

Fine, whatever. I knew they were devices meant to make the male leads around the heroine shine, but why the hell did they have to apply them to the North too, where life was real combat!!! Remembering the faces of those knights who had looked at me until just moments ago as though I were trash made my insides twist.

"Fuck! Why! Does! A defending! Commander! Go out! To fight a one-on-one duel! And fucking die!!!"

[That wasn’t honorable of you. Reflect on your actions.]

Fuck off!!!! Does honor put food on the table?! Who the hell came up with this setting?! My fucking crazy bitch of a sister!!!!!

"Damn it."

The only reason the North had not been breached despite this insane situation was because my father, Proud Walterheim, was called the strongest on the continent, and because superhumans had existed among our ancestors for generations.

But once the superhuman had fallen, his remaining children lacked the ability to defend the North as he had.

Restoring the fallen North was supposed to be the heroine’s and male leads’ job. The fall of Blackheart Castle. I had thoroughly overturned that very first step. I repaired the catapults that had been left rotting in storage and put arrows through the barbarian chiefs’ heads. Why didn’t I follow the original story?

Because instead of being thrown into a cold prison, held responsible for everything, and waiting for the day I died, my second life had only just begun.

Plausibility? The story falling apart? What did any of that matter? This was my story.

"Jester!"

I called for Jester, who was waiting outside the door. The old butler entered as the door opened, bowed his head to me, and—

"You called?"

Waited for my orders.

"Bring me the roster of knights dispatched by the imperial family."

"Yes."

Not long after I gave the order, Jester placed a list on the desk.

"Haa."

I sighed the moment I saw it. There were no knights from the North; most were knights sent from the imperial family—in other words, the central region.

"Jester, why do you think things ended up like this?"

"Because the late young lords drove out the knights from the North, calling them men who understood honor even less than barbarians."

"Father really granted my brothers’ request that easily?"

"The late Grand Duke must have considered this part of their education as well."

"That is why those lunatics obsessed with one-on-one duels were put in command and turned everything into a complete mess."

Having identified the cause, I wrote orders recalling the knights my brothers had driven out and handed them to Jester.

"Will that be all right?"

"What will?"

"If the knights currently on the wall object..."

"Tell them to try it."

I would only have to put arrows through their heads. And why were you speaking as though this were someone else’s business?

"Butler, don’t you honestly think this is the right thing to do too?"

"I merely obey Your Grace’s commands."

"Let’s be honest. You served my grandfather and father, so you know, don’t you? It must irritate you that flowers raised only in a greenhouse came here and turned the North and House Walterheim into a complete disaster."

"..."

"They say silence means agreement, you know?"

"Your Grace."

"Return to active duty, Jester von Helm. What I need is not a capable butler, but a soldier."

**

Crunch.

The day after the battle against the barbarians, the imperial knights summoned by the Northern Grand Duke regarded the people he had brought before them with displeased expressions. Those people were glaring at them. Shortly afterward—

"Thank you for waiting."

Velos, the representative and adjutant of the imperial knights, called out to Viktor, the Northern Grand Duke, as he entered through the door.

"Your Grace! Why are those men, who know even less honor than barbarians, here?"

"I ordered their return."

"We are here at the front! Then why—!"

"Because I do not want the imperial family’s rats at my side."

"...What?"

Thud!

Velos swallowed dryly as he saw dozens of letters fall before him. Identical letters rained down before the knights behind him as well.

"Did you think I would not know? That most of you have connections to the imperial princes and princesses?"

"H-ha ha... Your Grace, this is a misunderstanding... So—"

Velos and the knights behind him moved their hands toward the swords at their waists.

"I will clear up this misunderstan—!"

"Stop."

In that instant, cold sweat began to run down Velos’s face when he saw the owner of the sword aimed at his throat. It was Jester von Helm, once the second-in-command of the Northern Grand Duke’s house—the grand duke’s old hound, who had now retired from active service.

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