“What has gotten into you this time?”
“...Pardon?”
When Glen answered the summons and entered the study, the Duke greeted him with an abrupt question.
Glen blinked as he looked at his father.
His father’s gaze, however, remained fixed on the document he was writing.
Come to think of it, it had been a very long time since Glen had entered this study.
He had only ever been summoned here to be reprimanded, so he remembered it as a rigid, oppressive place.
Looking at it now, he realized that the room appeared stern and austere even at a glance.
At least the potted plants, presumably placed there by his mother, complemented the room surprisingly well.
And finally, there was his father, seated beyond the desk with his brow perpetually furrowed.
Yes.
Just as he was now.
“You are letting your thoughts wander again. Answer my question at once. What are you scheming this time?”
“Forgive me, but I do not understand the intent behind your question.”
“Haa...”
The Duke released a sigh, set down his pen, and looked directly at Glen.
His eyes contained irritation, contempt, and perhaps a trace of concern.
“I am asking why you have suddenly begun doing things you never did before. I heard that you have been swinging a sword since dawn as of yesterday.”
Those words drove one fact home.
Until only a month ago, he had been an immature, good-for-nothing son.
...How am I supposed to answer this?
“Well, I have decided to turn over a new leaf and properly—”
“How many times do you think I have heard that before?”
The Duke’s eyes turned cold.
They were filled with deep-rooted distrust.
“...”
Even if Glen had ten mouths, he would have had nothing to say.
Every bit of that distrust had been earned through the mistakes of his past self.
Therefore, Glen obediently lowered his head.
“I apologize for disappointing you all this time.”
“I have heard that at least twice as well. Have you already forgotten the time you beat two servants?”
This is driving me mad.
Should I simply tell him the truth—that I returned from twenty years in the future?
No.
Not yet.
“...”
Back then, Glen had feared his father, while the Duke had found nothing but fault in his eldest son.
When Glen saw the expectations once placed upon him shifting toward his younger brother, he began straying even further.
Before long, he had gone too far to turn back.
And yet, despite everything, his father had willingly sacrificed his life for Glen and the rest of their family.
Would he have done that if he had truly hated and despised him?
No.
Glen was now certain of that.
Ironically, he had come to understand his father far better during the years when he had lived as Riklang rather than Glen.
It was sometimes said that men came to understand their fathers as they grew older.
Only after struggling among all manner of twisted people had Glen finally realized the truth.
His father could never have treated him so harshly without caring for him in his own way.
Without affection, there would have been only indifference.
His father, however, had never been indifferent.
Glen slowly rose, then knelt on the floor of the study.
“I would not dare claim that I understand how deeply I have disappointed you, Father. I was angry with myself because I could not live up to your expectations. When I saw those expectations shifting toward my younger brother, I became jealous. It frightened me more than I could bear because I felt as though I were becoming worthless.”
“...That is a new one.”
The sarcasm remained, although his tone had softened slightly.
Distrust did not melt away so easily.
Just as trust was difficult to build, distrust was difficult to tear down.
Glen understood that well, so he could not fault his father for reacting this way.
Unfortunately, Riklang had never learned how to regain the trust of someone who doubted him.
He had simply killed anyone he could not trust.
Therefore, Glen did not know how to change his father’s mind.
He merely decided to be a little more honest.
His remorse toward his father was genuine.
“I will not ask you to believe me because of a few shameless words. A man of the North proves himself through actions, not words. Therefore, I will say no more. Please watch me. I will show you that I, too, am a man of the North.”
“...”
A long breath escaped through the Duke’s nose, followed by the sound of his fingers tapping the armrest.
Silence lingered for a moment.
“Raise your head.”
The Duke stared into the green eyes before him.
They were entirely different from the eyes that had once trembled whenever they met his gaze.
There was no desperate yearning to be believed, nor did they seem filled with rash enthusiasm.
“...”
They were simply calm.
It was almost as though Glen did not particularly care whether his father believed him.
Ha.
What an impudent brat.
Should I allow myself to be deceived again?
“Very well. As you said, you will have to prove yourself through your actions.”
“That is precisely what I desire.”
“Sir Dimit! Come in.”
At the Duke’s call, an enormous knight entered the room.
“You summoned me?”
Glen’s gaze naturally turned toward the knight.
Dimit Ailheim.
He was the commander of the Lion Knights of the Repent domain and was renowned as the only Sword Master in the duchy.
He was also an old friend of Glen’s father, having known him since their days as apprentice knights.
“Can you assign a knight to that boy?”
“Do you mean...?”
“Train him as a member of the Lion Knights again.”
The Duke intended to reinstate Glen as an apprentice knight of the Lion Knights.
The immature Young Master had once been stripped of his place in the order because he had neglected his training.
Although the Duke had made that decision in a fit of anger, reversing it now was still highly unusual.
“However, tell them not to go easy on him under any circumstances.”
“You need not worry about that.”
The training of the Lion Knights was reputed to be as harsh as the northern climate.
It did not matter whether the trainee was a duke or the heir of a great house.
Those who could not endure would break.
Those who survived would be honed into sharper blades.
There were only those two outcomes.
“If he gives up this time, never accept him into the order again.”
“...”
Sir Dimit’s eyebrow twitched briefly.
Was that not too severe, even for Glen?
Military service and experience as a knight were extremely important to the nobles of this era.
After all, the people they were expected to command were knights.
It might have been different for someone with sufficient wealth, status, or political influence, but House Repent possessed no such luxury.
House Repent was traditionally a house of knights, and no one who was not a knight had ever become its head.
One who was not a lion could never lead a pride of lions.
In other words, the Duke was declaring that if Glen gave up again, he would be stripped of his right to succeed the house.
He would effectively be cast out of the family.
“You understand what this means, do you not? What will you do? Will you withdraw while you still can?”
Glen gave a faint smile beneath his father’s still-cold gaze.
“Thank you for giving me the opportunity to prove myself.”
A man of the North never backed down from a challenge.
***
“What an audacious brat.”
After Glen left, the Duke muttered the words without realizing it.
Few people in the manor could stand so confidently before him.
His own son Glen had certainly never been one of them.
Glen would avoid his gaze, bite his lip, and flush red.
That had always been his reaction.
Until today.
“Hmm...”
To be honest, he was dissatisfied with both of his sons.
More precisely, neither of them lived up to his standards.
The people of the North were more stubborn than iron sinew, and Repen was a land of knights who were little different from wild beasts.
The one who led that pride of lions was the head of House Repent.
Naturally, an ordinary man could never fill that role.
Ian, for one, was too gentle, and his talent was unremarkable.
He was humble and diligent, but that was all.
He might have possessed the makings of a benevolent ruler, but he lacked the charisma necessary to lead wild beasts.
Glen, on the other hand, possessed respectable talent, but he was narrow-minded and arrogant.
He readily envied others, became consumed by jealousy, and neglected his efforts.
He did not possess the qualities of a ruler at all.
That was what the Duke had believed for a long time.
Yet what he had witnessed today caused that belief to waver slightly.
The Glen he had just seen was unquestionably different from before.
Could mere acting produce such a change?
No.
More importantly, had Glen ever possessed the courage to speak so boldly before him?
For some reason, the Duke felt as though he were being deceived again.
The thought naturally made his expression twist.
How much longer was he supposed to tolerate his eldest son’s self-indulgence?
The Duke unconsciously tightened his grip on the armrest.
“How did the two of them seem? Was one of them still growling at the other?”
At the Duke’s question, the Head Butler, who had stood as silently as a shadow, lowered his head.
“Surprisingly... they appear to have grown rather close.”
“...What? What do you mean?”
“I do not understand it myself, but that is certainly how it appeared. Young Master Ian was smiling and conversing with him. Young Master Glen also showed none of his former hostility.”
So Glen had changed not only toward him, but toward his younger brother as well.
What was he plotting?
Why was he behaving like an entirely different person overnight?
“...I cannot understand what is going on in his head. Has that boy accumulated gambling debts, perhaps?”
Could Glen have committed some grave offense and now be behaving this way to conceal it?
Suspicion slowly crept into the Duke’s mind.
His gaze naturally turned toward Sir Dimit.
“That is unlikely.”
Sir Dimit’s expression remained stoic.
The Duke gestured with his chin, telling him to continue.
“As you instructed, several knights always followed the Young Master whenever he left the estate. However, there were no reports of him entering any gambling establishments. He always went to a tavern and drank until he was thoroughly intoxicated. His behavior grew particularly severe in the days before he became bedridden. According to the tavern owner, the Young Master had always caused trouble, but recently, his conduct had become outright vicious.”
“...Pathetic fool.”
Hearing the details stated so plainly made even the Duke’s face feel hot with embarrassment.
The small consolation he had felt upon learning that Glen had not touched gambling or drugs vanished entirely.
“However, he has not left the estate since rising from his sickbed.”
“That is obvious. It has not even been a week since he recovered.”
“That is not what I mean. He shows no indication that he intends to resume such behavior at all. It may be more accurate to say that he has become a different person. Everything about him, from his eyes to his actions, seems completely changed.”
“Hmm. So you noticed it as well.”
“Why not observe him a little longer?”
Sir Dimit asked the question without changing his expression.
In truth, it bordered on impertinence, but he could say such things precisely because he was Dimit.
“How many times do you think I have already done that?”
“...”
“There is unquestionably something behind this. Whenever Glen begins to seem trustworthy, he betrays that trust. Increase the surveillance around him.”
“...As you command.”
It was a degree of distrust so severe that one might have doubted they were related by blood.
Yet that distrust had not arisen without reason.
Glen himself had created every bit of it.
“Haa... What a troublesome brat.”
In the end, the answer remained the same.
The Duke could do nothing but observe him once again.
A bitter sigh escaped his lips.
Then his eyes fell upon the letter he was unconsciously clutching.
His thoughts naturally returned to a matter far more troublesome than Glen.
“...Those damned southern bastards.”
This time, the curse slipped out without restraint.
Naturally, the Head Butler and the Knight Commander—both loyal retainers—pretended not to hear it.
Dimit quietly spoke.
There were few people capable of enraging his lord to such an extent.
“...Is that a letter from him?”
“Yes. We already lack enough soldiers to defend the border, yet he demands that we provide him with troops. That damned bastard has finally bared his fangs openly.”
The duchy was currently overflowing with problems.
Every one of them was enough to give the Duke a headache.
The worst of them all, however, was the sender of the letter now in his hand.
The Duke glared hatefully at the seal stamped at the bottom of the letter.
It bore the seal of the damned Emperor of the Empire.