Chap 11

In the southern part of the empire, the largest granary area.

In front of the Lahrhert main residence, a sprawling, fertile plain as far as the eye can see, began to buzz with people eager to witness the victory parade of the Northern Duke.

Despite it being early in the morning, an estimated crowd of about 500 people had gathered.

It was a busy time for preparing next year's crops, but it seemed that curiosity about the Northern Duke, who saved the southernmost people from the brutal barbarians, had drawn them here.

"People who would normally not come near are here."

I muttered to myself.

Most of them were tenant farmers living off the land leased by the Lahrhert Duke's family or their retainers. Their presence near the grand estate of the Duke was a significant act of courage.

Naturally, they were curious about the Northern folks who reportedly decimated tens of thousands of barbarians.

It's a human instinct to want to verify rumors, regardless of status.

However, contrary to their inner desires, the crowd was eerily silent.

In my previous life, I learned much later that this silence during the 'Silent Victory Parade' was due to threats from the Lahrhert retainers.

Worried that their people might displease the Grand Duke, they had preemptively warned them. Of course, the South Duke's influence was heavily implicated in this warning.

I hid atop the highest tower in the main residence, where the gunpowder and flower sacks were stored.

'It's been five years since I've seen this.'

In my original life, he died on the same day I did. But in this life where I returned, our meeting took place five years ago. It was the day a fourteen-year-old me dueled the seventeen-year-old Duke.

A tingling tension crept up from my fingertips, and then it happened.

"Sion Belpast, Duke of the North, and the Northern Knights have arrived!"

The well-dressed stewards of the Duke's family, standing at various points across the plains and hills, announced loudly.

From a distance, the knights, cold as the wind, appeared. The crowd swallowed their unspoken cheers.

The group, though less than a hundred in number, comprised the empire's finest knights.

Their posture betrayed no signs of fatigue despite the long and brutal battle they must have endured.

Suppressed silence welcomed them. Some waved at the knights, but out of fear of repercussions, quickly withdrew their hands.

I couldn't take my eyes off the person leading the procession from atop the tower. His black hair, a hallmark of the Belpast bloodline, fluttered in the wind. The man sitting on a black horse had eyes colder than blue sapphires.

I closed my eyes, recalling his appearance from my previous life at this moment.

Elegant eyes stretching sideways, a beautiful forehead that barely furrowed even in anger.

A jawline sharp enough to cut, reminiscent of the gods Delphast and Belpast from the founding myths, a physique akin to a divine statue.

Opening my eyes, I looked down at him on the black horse. Leading the procession, they halted in front of hundreds of people.

The citizens lined up along both sides of the main road in front of the residence, making way for the parade. Yet, no one shouted in jubilation or prostrated in praise.

The same stifling silence as my previous life ensued. The silence was broken by the clicking of heels.

From atop the tower, with concentrated effort, I could hear the sound. A sensory acuity honed in my previous life as a Sword Master.

Medeia Lahrhert, clad in a dress as red as roses, walked towards the Northern Duke. It was she, not her father Cranell, who, despite having no title, represented the South in welcoming the Duke. Her solo appearance alone indicated Lahrhert's grave disrespect towards Belpast.

"Please turn back, Your Grace!"

Someone from the knight's order shouted towards the impolite crowd and the Lahrherts. However, Sion Belpast neither turned his horse nor approached Medeia.

He seemed to just gaze at Medeia as she approached him.

From atop the tower, I couldn't see Medeia's expression, but her red dress wrapped around her pale skin stood out even from afar. It would undoubtedly be more prominent against the trampled silverbell flowers.

Medeia, standing in front of the black horse, slightly lifted her dress's hem and bowed towards the Northern Duke.

You must be smiling inside, Medeia. After all, the upcoming silverbell fireworks are your creation.

I heard the sound of the rope catching fire. Servants were seen lighting the long rope connected to the gunpowder at the tower's base and leaving.

The fire rapidly climbed to the top. Finally, it ignited the gunpowder.

A deafening explosion ripped through the air, and the gunpowder and flower sacks soared into the sky. Countless sacks burst open, showering red jasmine from the sky like rain.

"Wow!"

It was then that the people shouted in awe.

Jasmine, the flower symbolizing the Lahrherts, known to even a three-year-old. Lahrhert, seemingly welcoming the Northern Knights by scattering the flowers representing them.

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