Barkas glared at him with ice-like eyes.
The Crown Prince, who would have been intimidated by his gaze as usual, could not control his anger this time, and mercilessly trampled on the clothes scattered on the floor.
"You made me a scapegoat because of that filthy illegitimate child! You betrayed me twice because of that!"
The bottle of wine thrown by the Crown Prince shattered at his feet, scattering a dark red liquid.
A tired sigh came out of Barcas's mouth as he looked down at the stains that were smearing like blood on the carpet.
"How long are you going to be like an immature child?"
The Crown. Prince's face was distorted with a sense of contempt. He said vigorously one by one as if he were driving a nail into his face.
"You are the Crown Prince of this empire. It is an unavoidable duty to welcome the mother of a family elected by the parliament. If you can appease the public sentiment in Balto and increase the cohesion of the empire, you must respond with a happy..."
"The daughter of a family elected by the parliament?"
A blatant sneer erupted from Gareth's mouth. He strode over the broken piece of glass.
"Ha! She must be a woman from a family that rebelled against the Imperial Family. It wouldn't be enough to just put every single traitor in the North on the guillotine, and you want me to make that filthy bloodline the Crown Princess? Don't make me laugh!"
Gareth slapped Barcas on the shoulder and pushed him away. A pair of green eyes in front of his nose flashed like fire.
"And do you think you have the right to talk about duties? You sit a woman with no chance of bearing an heir in the position of Grand Duchess and dote on her, so how dare you lecture me?"
Barcas's face became expressionless, as if he were wearing a mask.
Gareth, who didn't notice that his anger had reached a critical point, continued to chatter.
"If you want to tell me this or that, you can get rid of that first. If you abandon Thalia Roem Guirta and welcome Ayla as a Grand Duchess now, I will do whatever you want, whether it's marriage or whatever."
At that moment, Barcas felt that the string of patience he had barely held on to was completely broken.
A hand reached out before he could even realize it and grabbed the Crown Prince's collar. Gareth's body stiffened as if his mind had stopped at the unprovoked touch he had never experienced before.
Barcas roughly pulled the body closer and spat out a cold, low voice right in his face.
"I'm starting to get tired of listening to you whine."
The Crown Prince's face turned extremely pale.
Looking straight down at those huge eyes, Barcas added ominously.
"If you truly do not wish to marry, do as you please. I am also very curious to see how His Imperial Majesty, who is struggling to prevent the division of the Empire, will react. And how the North will respond after suffering the humiliation of a broken engagement. Will the other feudal lords really step forward to support the Crown Prince, who is utterly irresponsible, as the next Emperor to the very end? And what scheme will the Empress, who is hell-bent on placing his young son on the throne, hatch this time...?"
"..."
"It looks like it will be quite fun to watch."
As the Crown Prince stood there full of bravado, a fleeting look of fear crossed his face.
Barcas, who had been staring with an indifferent gaze at the man clenching his teeth as if to hide it, soon released his grip. Just as he turned to leave the tent, a choked voice came from behind him.
"Are you saying you're going to abandon me now?"
Barcas looked back at him with a look of disillusionment.
Over the Crown Prince's face, contorted with a sense of betrayal, the lingering image of a young boy screaming after losing his mother overlapped. A man, whose body had grown while he remained preserved exactly as he was in that era, shouted in rage.
"My mother saved you! She took you in and cared for you even though your own father abandoned you...! She tried so hard to make you even remotely human when you were completely broken, so how can you turn your back on Ayla and me because of the daughter of that wretched whore who drove my mother to her death?"
Barcas closed his eyes tightly. Then, with a voice that did not waver the slightest, he drew a line.
"I did my best to keep my promise to the late Empress. It is you who have repeatedly ruined all those efforts."
"Bullshit, you bastard! You're... Choose that illegitimate child more than us."
"Don't drag her into something that has nothing to do with it. Thalia hasn't done anything wrong to you."
The Crown Prince flinched and closed his mouth at his fierce kick.
Barcas continued speaking as if chewing on something.
"If you want revenge on Senevere, I will cooperate fully. I could even make her kneel before you myself. But not my wife. She is neither Tarren nor Guirta. She is Sheerkan."
As the situation became increasingly violent, the Crown Prince's eyes became bloodshot.
Barcas, turning his head away from that murderous look on his face, added coldly.
"If you want to keep me on your side until the end, you would be best to just accept that fact."
***
Whether his warning had worked or not, Gareth left Jotungar with the main force not long after.
Barcas, who had been watching the Crown Prince's banner drift away from the watchtower, soon ordered the soldiers to dismantle the camp.
The military tents were immediately taken down, and the stakes were pulled out. Since preparations to withdraw to the rear had already been completed several weeks prior, the withdrawal operation proceeded swiftly.
While the soldiers loaded stacks of crates onto hundreds of carts, he scoured the barracks to inspect the remaining supplies.
There was enough military supplies stockpiled to easily last for several months, but it could not all be carried away because a significant amount had to be handed over to the Northern Alliance forces taking over the defenses of Jorungar.
He called the supply officer and instructed him to transfer one-third of the total reserves to the Alliance, then walked to the common barracks where the commanders of each unit were waiting.
Just then, the sight of Darren crossing the sickness caught his eye.
Barcas stopped abruptly after checking the telegram in his hand. He had asked him to look into the situation in the East. Had some bad news arrived?
Barcas immediately approached him.
“What happened again?
"Ah, a regular report came up from the East, so I am just here to pass it on."
The man held out a letter bearing the family seal and reported in a calm tone.
"I took a quick look, and there don't seem to be any major issues. It appears there was some turmoil for a while due to the news of the Grand Duke's injury, but I hear everything has been resolved now. However, I hear there is a flood of suggestions among the retainers urging that the marriage between Young Master Lucas and Miss Raina be expedited."
Fine wrinkles formed around Barcas's eyes as he received and unfolded the parchment document.
As Darren said, most of the contents of the letter were about Lucas and Raina's marriage.
"Young Master Lucas's marriage negotiations seem to be stalling, but Miss Raina appears to have chosen a partner. I heard she wishes to hold an engagement ceremony with the second son of the Skart family."
The Skarts were one of the prestigious families of the East that had been loyal to the Grand Duke's family for a long time.
He quickly flipped through the letter and nodded.
"You've picked the right match. Tell them I approve."
The retainers want the Grand Duke to personally preside over the ceremony.
Barcas, who had been scattering the letters, looked up at him intently. Darren leaned against the fence and continued walking in a persuasive tone.
"This is already the second time the Grand Duke has nearly died. Wouldn't it be beneficial in many ways to take this opportunity to show that you are still in good health?"
He looked down at the last page of the letter with a pensive gaze.
The news about Thalia consisted of only a few lines. He, scattering the insincere sentences stating that she was living quietly without causing any trouble, soon crumpled the parchment and clutched it.
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