"Oh... I see."
He couldn't find anything else to add.
Whether or not he knew that the people in the line were looking at him with blank eyes, the man who calmly sat on the war horse nodded.
"I'm sorry to delay you."
Then he started driving away as if nothing had happened.
Tyrone felt his pulse loosen and plunged the sword in his hand into the sheath of the road.
Darren opened his mouth as if to recover from the awkward atmosphere.
"You must have heard that His Highness the Grand Duchess has a child, right? Apparently, this is her first pregnancy, so the Grand Duke seems to be a little worried. Isn't the Grand Duchess a person whose original mouth is short and has a lot to cover? That's why he's paying special attention to her meals."
'I don't think much has changed between the past and now...'
He glanced at the monarch's back, swallowing the sarcasm that rose to his throat.
He was a man who pierced a large, distracted man with a spear just because he touched his wife carelessly.
What was it like when the Grand Duchess fell? It was not enough to bring all kinds of ingredients from the central region, so he even served meals himself like a servant.
Now that she has a child, he can see how much trouble she has endured.
"I also heard the news that you had seen the heir. I sincerely congratulate you, Your Excellency."
The merchant, who had been quietly following him from a short distance, suddenly interrupted the conversation. He seemed well aware that his fate was in the hands of the young Grand Duke.
The man, who had not hidden his dissatisfaction throughout the process, as if he had been brought from the north, diligently comforted him with a smile on his lips.
"It's a small thing, but our guild has also prepared a celebratory gift. Her Highness the Grand Duchess loves fresh fruits, so we have mobilized all the distribution networks at our top to deliver freshly harvested fruits... I don't know if it suits Hwr Highness's taste."
The Grand Duke, who had just left the forest and was climbing the hill, looked over his shoulder at the merchant. He thought of the merchant for the first time in his gaze as if he were looking at an inanimate object.
"I heard that you live in the north, but you are familiar with the situation here."
"The ears and mouths of merchants are faster than the wind. Rumors spread among merchants that Your Excellency is seeking precious fruits for Her Highness the Grand Duchess."
"...I hope that information won't be used in the wrong place."
There was a faint tension on the merchant's face, which seemed to be oiled with a subtle threat. It seemed that he realized that the Grand Duke was not a person who could be roasted with unworthy bribes or flattery.
The man who swallowed his dry saliva let out an awkward smile and lowered his eyes. Barcas, who had been looking at this with a cold expression, spurred his horse again.
Tyrone chased after him and increased his speed. Soon after, the massive walls surrounding Calmore appeared over the hill.
Darren, who was approaching him, gave a loud order.
"The Grams have appeared in the Argand Forest! Immediately send a search party and strengthen the vigilance of all roads in the northwestern area!"
At the same time as a rumbling voice rang out, and the soldiers lined up on the city wall quickly dispersed. It seemed that they were going to convey the news to the guards immediately.
Leaving behind the noisy scene, Barcas passed through the city gates and crossed the city center.
Finally, the magnificent walls surrounding Raedgo Castle filled the view.
Tyrone stepped inside and took a great look at the view of the castle, which had returned after nearly a month. Surrounded by a familiar environment, a sense of fatigue that he was not aware of has come over.
He got off his horse and kneaded his stiff shoulder.
When he left for the north under the orders of Barcas, the spirit of war, which had reached a close level, had sunk below the surface. This was due to the limited supply route to the north for the season of rest.
In addition, Barcas's encouragement of conservative aristocrats to exert political pressure also played a major role. Noticing that the situation was taking a turn for the worse, some of the nobles in the north began to take care of themselves.
If they succeed in taking control of the distribution network in the north during this gap, no matter how much the Heimdall family is, they will not be able to start a war in a hurry.
'Now it's up to you how you grill and boil that man.'
Tyrone looked at the guild leader, muttering something to his men on one side of the castle's courtyard, then turned his gaze back to Barcas.
He was handing the game he had hung in his saddle to his servants. The tensionless appearance once again relieved the strength from his shoulders.
Apparently, his lord was more concerned about the food to be served on his wife's table than about the question of whether or not there would be a rebellion.
The man who threw off his messy gloves gave careful instructions to the servants.
"Choose the one with the lightest flesh and grill it, trim the rest and make it into a stew, and use the spices in moderation."
"I'll keep that in mind."
After receiving the five pheasants, they immediately ran towards the kitchen. Judging from the fact that they moved in a flurry without showing any signs of panic, it seemed that this was not the first time he had personally airlifted prey.
He doesn't think the main purpose of this reconnaissance was hunting.
He stared at Barcas with suspicion, but the man who was turning towards the main palace suddenly stopped in his tracks.
Tyrone, who inadvertently turned his head after him, swallowed his breath without realizing it.
Near the entrance to the main palace, in front of a small fountain, sat a blonde woman wearing silver fur.
The moment he saw her face surrounded by pale winter light, his mind seemed to turn white.
When he first met her, she had a spooky atmosphere. The woman, who had an unstable atmosphere that seemed to be shattered at any moment, was dyed with languid vitality and exuded a pearl-like brilliance.
He was mesmerized by the unreal sight, but the Eastern Lord approached her for a month.
"Why are you here?"
The woman's big eyes, which were looking up at the sky as if dreaming with her eyes open, turned to her husband.
A faint smile spread over her face, which had always been frozen.
"I came out to see the snow fall."
"It's not time for snow yet."
"No. It just scattered a little. If you wait, you might get off more."
"You can see it from inside the room, right?"
"It's frustrating if you stay in the bedroom all the time. And it would have been better if Marisen moved it little by little."
The woman's ears were slightly wrinkled, as if she didn't want to hear the nagging.
"If you're going to be so excited every time I go out, why did you give me this fur as a gift?"
"I didn't ask you to roam the castle in such a defenseless manner."
"What do you think of me?"
The corners of the woman's eyes rose as if she were getting more and more annoyed. She looked somehow naughty because of her red-hot eyes, as if she had a mild fever.
As if he felt a similar impression, a strange tension passed over the man's face, which looked like it had been carved out of plaster.
As if she hadn't noticed it, the woman kept asking.
"Tell me, is there any wrong corner of my appearance?"
The man, who was tensing his mouth, let out a long breath, took off the coat he was wearing, and handed it to the servant standing behind him. Then he carefully hugged his wife.
"Even if it smells bad, please bear with it for a while."
Then, before she could protest, he strode to the entrance of the main palace. Those gathered in the courtyard gazed at it with expressions of mesmerization.
It was worth it. With brilliant golden hair, blue eyes, and porcelain-white skin, they looked like they were in the real world.
"...They are a really good match."
The northern merchant spat out in admiration.
That sounded strange, and Tyrone frowned.
Certainly, they got along well like a pair of famous horses. It was surprising that the two had been close friends for many years.
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