From a Broken Engagement to the Northern Grand Duke's Son-in-Law

Lea’s voice was a strained whisper in the dim light of the command tent. “Is Louis still unconscious?”

“He is,” the Grand Duke confirmed, his expression grim.

A week. It had been a full week since Louis had collapsed. The Divine Archer insisted it was merely accumulated fatigue, but Lea’s heart refused to accept such a simple explanation.

Who sleeps for a week from simple exhaustion?

“Are you certain he’s going to be all right?”

“The Divine Archer gave his word. We have no choice but to trust him and wait.”

“What if something happens while we wait?” Her voice cracked, the carefully constructed dam of her composure finally breaking.

She pressed her lips into a thin line and bowed her head. “My apologies.”

The Grand Duke released a heavy sigh, his own weariness etched into the lines of his face.

“I understand your distress, Lea. But we cannot afford to linger. The main host of the Demonkin army is already closing in.”

He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, his touch both a comfort and a command. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on novel⸺fire.net

“Compose yourself and come outside. In his absence, it falls to you to lead.”

With those final words, he was gone, leaving Lea alone in the suffocating silence of the tent. She knelt by Louis’s cot, tears welling in her eyes.

“Why?” she whispered to his still form. “Why won’t you wake up?”

She had thought he was finally getting the rest he so desperately needed. Was he incapable of even that?

“You just dare wake up,” she murmured, her fingers tightening around his hand. “I swear I’ll give you such an earful.”

Lea gazed at his face for a long moment, then bit her lip and rose to her feet. As she stepped out into the crisp northern air, Lancelot and the other members of the Special Taskforce met her.

“Lady Lea! Is the Captain all right?” Lancelot demanded.

“He’s not in any real danger, is he?” Mihaila added, her usual stoicism frayed with concern.

Roxen stood beside them, his analytical gaze searching her face for the truth. Had Kai and Hans been present, they would have worn the same anxious expressions.

“Yes,” Lea answered, forcing a faint smile. “He’s fine.”

It was a lie, a fragile shield against their fear, but she knew their morale depended on it.

I have to protect them.

With Louis gone, she had to take his place. She could never fill the void he left, but she had to ensure that the world he returned to was one he would recognize.

That was her duty—as his second-in-command, as a lady of her house.

Lea lifted her chin, her gaze sweeping over the bustling camp. She saw knights sharpening their blades, their faces taut with anticipation, and squires whispering prayers for the coming battle.

These were the people she had to protect.

This is heavy.

For the first time, she truly understood the crushing weight of the burden Louis carried.

But she could not let it show. With a resolute expression, she drew her sword, its polished steel catching the morning light.

“All soldiers, hear me!” Her voice, amplified by a touch of Aura, rang through the camp, and every head turned in her direction.

“The demons who seized our Empire now cross into the North! They have slaughtered our people, plundered our homes, and now they stand at our very doorstep!”

She paused, letting the words sink in. “Why did you take up the sword? For glory? To lord your strength over the weak?”

“No!” a chorus of voices roared back.

“You took up the sword to protect the innocent, to uphold justice, and to defend the Imperial Family and the Empire itself! Now is the time to prove your valor! Now is the time to show your courage! Unleash the northern gale upon them!”

“Unleash the northern gale upon them!”

A thunderous roar answered her, shaking the very ground. As their cry echoed across the plains, the main host of the Demonkin army appeared on the horizon.

“All forces, chaaaaarge!”

At Lea’s command, the knights of the North surged forward like a tidal wave of steel.

The war for the fate of the North had begun.

* * *

The battlefield was a canvas of chaos, painted with scattered death and rivers of blood. The screams of the Demonkin army mingled with the defiant cries of human soldiers.

From a vantage point high above the fray, Leo Fortia watched the spectacle unfold, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Like pigs,” he mused. “Swarming. It makes one want to slaughter them all.” How could such disgusting creatures even be permitted to exist?

“Paul, Martin,” he called to the two figures behind him. “Go and analyze the enemy’s strength. If you find yourselves outmatched, summon Rohan.”

“Lord Rohan?” Paul, a northern native turned traitor, flinched. “Won’t he kill us if we summon him for something so trivial?”

“Ah, is that so?”

Leo considered this. Paul and Martin, a former servant of the Empire, had been instrumental in his swift arrival in the North. It would be a shame to lose them so soon.

“Very well. I’ll contact Rohan myself.” He waved a dismissive hand, and the two men scurried from his tent.

“Still,” Leo murmured to himself, “to think Myu is dead. How unexpected. I thought she could at least handle the North.”

Pathetic, really. She had been so proud of her Demonkin heritage, only to fall to a pack of humans. She likely died because she underestimated them.

“Then again, she has her ways of preserving her life. She’s probably alive somewhere.”

He dismissed Myu from his thoughts and turned his gaze back to the battlefield.

The humans swarmed like ants, and the sight of them filled him with an urge to personally snuff out their insignificant lives.

“Are they not utterly repulsive?”

Leo swept a single finger toward the churning mass of soldiers.

In that instant—Crrrack!

The very space in one section of the battlefield imploded, crushing northern soldiers and Demonkin alike into a paste of flesh and steel.

It was the raw, annihilating power of baleful Aura.

“Struggle, little humans,” Leo whispered, a cruel glint in his eyes. “The prince you cast aside has returned, and he has grown strong. Now, the Empire will pay for its sins.”

The destruction of the North, and then the Empire. It was his oldest, most fervent wish.

* * *

Lea bit her lip, her eyes scanning the brutal reality of the battle. They had six Grand Masters and Masters, and more than thirty Experts among their ranks. Even so, the situation was grim.

The Demonkin army was of a different caliber entirely.

The creatures she had fought in the northern mountains had been little more than Aura Adepts. These, however, included Aura Experts and even Masters. Worse, they wore the armor of the Imperial army, and beneath their helms… they were all, impossibly, still human.

This is nothing like Pepia’s forces.

The army of Pepia, the Count of Madness, had been composed of undead—twisted abominations crafted from human remains. The stench of death had clung to them, marking them as monsters.

But these… these were living men and women, with blood in their veins and color in their cheeks, fighting for the demons.

“Why are they on that side?” a young knight near her stammered.

The sight of human faces among the enemy was causing the northern knights to hesitate. They had been trained to kill if necessary, but most had never been forced to strike down a fellow human.

Lea clenched her jaw. Others might falter, but she could not. She was the commander now, filling the void Louis had left. She would not fall for the enemy’s stratagems.

“Stop thinking!” she roared. “They may look human, but they are traitors who murdered His Imperial Majesty and invaders who have stormed our lands! We must kill them to protect those we hold dear!”

Her words struck home. The northern knights bit their lips, their hesitation hardening into grim resolve.

“Dammit!”

“Fuck it, kill them all! We’re not murderers, we’re patriots!”

In an instant, their morale surged. The tide of battle began to turn. Just as Lea breathed a sigh of relief, a sickening sound echoed across the field.

CRUNCH!

The area where the knights’ morale had peaked was now a perfectly circular crater, as if a giant, invisible fist had slammed down from the heavens. The sight of the flattened corpses and pools of blood was enough to shatter the strongest will.

“Ah… ah… Aaaaaaaaaah!”

Terror ripped through the ranks. “R-run!”

The momentum they had gained swung back to the Demonkin in a heartbeat.

“Hold your positions!” Lea screamed until her throat was raw. “It was just one attack! They can’t fire another like it! Hold the line!”

But their courage had evaporated. In the distance, she could see her father and the Divine Archer shouting orders, but their men were breaking as well.

“Stand your ground and fight!” she cried, her voice an anguished plea. Lancelot, Roxen, and Mihaila joined her, but their voices were lost in the rising tide of panic.

“You cowardly bastards! Where do you think you’re going?!” Lancelot bellowed at the fleeing knights.

“Lancelot, something is wrong,” Roxen said, his eyes narrowed. “Even with a display of overwhelming power, for them all to break at once… does that feel right to you?”

“Of course it does, if they’re a bunch of cowards!”

Roxen shook his head, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the enemy lines. “We’ve seen this before. An Aura of fear so potent it shatters an army’s will.”

“What? That’s happened more than… wait.” Lancelot’s tirade died in his throat. He stared at the Demonkin army, a horrifying realization dawning.

A human form.

Demonic energy that radiated palpable fear.

The manifestation of a baleful Aura that sowed chaos and destruction.

It all pointed to one impossible conclusion.

“…The Marquis of Fear?” Lancelot whispered.

“Yes,” Roxen confirmed.

Maon, the Marquis of Fear, who had descended upon the world in an imperfect vessel and, even then, had driven Enoxia Brahms—humanity’s strongest—to the brink of death.

His Aspect of Fear was unfolding before them.

“No,” Lancelot argued, shaking his head. “That one used insects. This one hasn’t.”

“They said the Third Prince killed the Emperor,” Roxen pressed, his voice low and urgent.

“He killed the Knight of Reversal single-handedly. Think about it. Someone with that level of physical prowess, who can radiate an Aura of fear and wield such baleful power… is that even possible for one being?”

Lancelot wanted to scream that it was nonsense, but the words wouldn’t come. A single, terrifying hypothesis was taking shape in his mind.

“Don’t tell me…” he breathed, turning to Roxen in horror.

Roxen bit his lip, his expression confirming Lancelot’s unspoken dread.

The physical prowess of Slaughter. The Baleful Aura of Wrath. The undead of Madness and the demonic energy of Fear. And the Marquis of Envy, who was said to covet them all.

When they put the pieces together, there was only one answer.

Roxen voiced the hypothesis, his voice trembling with the weight of it. “The Marquis of Envy… I think his Aspect allows him to copy the powers of the other Nobles.”

“…What in the world?” Lancelot gave a hollow, broken laugh.

A being who could wield the powers of the Twelve Nobles. If that wasn’t a monster, what was?

“That’s… that’s impossible,” Lancelot muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

In that moment, the true, terrifying weight of the title Marquis settled upon them all.