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The head butler of the Rapellion Count family, Rendler, was an old retainer and a loyal servant who had been with the family through its rise and fall.
Having joined the household as a page at 22, becoming a butler at 26, and serving as the head butler assisting the head of the family at the young age of 36, Rendler’s role was so significant that the Rapellion Count family’s affairs could hardly proceed without him.
Naturally, it fell upon him to watch over the sole heir of the family, Elden Rapellion, as he grew up.
In the absence of the busy head of the family who often had to leave the estate, Rendler took charge of Elden’s noble education and cleaned up his messes whenever he got into trouble.
Given that the lady of the house was too frail to discipline or educate the wildly behaving Elden, it was inevitable.
With a father often absent and a mother bedridden,
Rendler did his utmost to fill their void for Elden, considering it his duty, responsibility, and natural part of his job to care for the family member.
Of course, guiding a child with such a stark difference in upbringing and bloodline was near impossible, but Rendler spared no effort.
However, as years passed, those efforts began to fade, and by the time Elden enrolled in the royal academy, they had all but evaporated.
Bad company nurtured the maliciousness Elden had been suppressing, allowing it to flourish.
He received academic warnings and was involved in major disputes with classmates that resulted in bloodshed.
Yet, Rendler never blamed him once, proudly regarding Elden, who graduated as valedictorian despite the incidents.
Elden’s burgeoning malice was an unstoppable natural course, a law of nature.
Rendler finally accepted that one’s fate inevitably follows its inherent path.
“Congratulations, young master, on your graduation as valedictorian.”
Three years later, Elden returned to the family estate indulged in pleasure and debauchery.
Alcohol and women.
Instead of the honor of a valedictorian, he brought back only the instincts of a male, presenting Rendler with empty liquor bottles instead of his accolades.
And so, Elden descended from the carriage, leading drunken women in tow instead of his glory.
“Ha-ha-ha! Such lascivious women. Do you enjoy the taste of money that much? I’ll throw a gold coin to the bitch barking like a dog; catch it with your mouth, and it’s yours. Ha-ha-ha!”
Instead of the valedictorian’s honor, the Rapellion Count’s garden was filled with the women’s shrieks and scattered coins.
During the three years at the academy,
Elden, who had awakened to his true nature shortly after returning to the city, began to collect various nefarious titles such as “the scoundrel,” “the drunken noble,” and “the black-haired beast.”
Despite being busy dealing with incidents, Rendler never reproached his lord.
What was bound to happen, happened.
Choosing to conform to the natural order rather than resist, he silently worked for the Rapellion family, facing a major crisis when Elden turned 22.
The head of the family died in an accident, and the lady of the house succumbed to her chronic illness.
The future looked bleak.
The responsibility was too great for the indifferent sole heir of the Count family, and Rendler’s worries deepened with each passing day.
Soon, those worries became reality.
Business partners began to sever ties with Elden, leading to the sale of businesses due to unpaid debts.
The family’s fortunes waned.
The glory of the Rapellion Count family faded, and Rendler warned the household staff to prepare for the worst.
With few businesses left to sell, and the estate and land next in line, the fall of the once-great house seemed inevitable.
But then,
“Rendler.”
One day, Elden, sober for once, called for Rendler and made an unexpected request.
“The engagement competition for the Third Northern Duchess is being held. Submit my application.”
“…Pardon?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Ah, yes, yes. Understood.”
It was baffling.
Elden, who preferred chaos over marriage and saw women as mere tools to satisfy male instincts, was participating in an engagement competition for a woman.
Even knowing how the name Elden Rapellion was viewed by society.
Making it past the preliminaries, let alone the main selection, would be a miracle.
Rendler submitted the application, thinking it more a preordained farce than a miracle when Elden was chosen as a final candidate.
For events unfold for reasons hidden from view.
That must be why,
“Forfeiting, huh. A wise decision, Master Elden.”
Hearing Elden declare his forfeiture brought out Rendler’s genuine relief.
As Elden himself said, clinging to a hopeless fight was pointless. It was wiser to return home now than endure uncomfortable days at the Northern Duke’s castle.
Frankly, Elden was too embarrassing to present to the Duchess.
No, too embarrassing to present anywhere.
Rendler thought it fortunate that the Third Duchess had chosen such a candidate as a finalist, but now it seemed for the best.
“I’ll prepare the carriage.”
“You won’t ask why?”
“Why would I question your decision, sir? There’s no need to cling to a hopeless fight, indeed. Ha-ha-ha.”
Rendler left with a bright smile, and Elden, feeling strangely about his reaction, took a sip from his glass.
The taste of the first drink since his possession was,
“…Bitter.”
Bitter.
Very much so.
**
Winterfell Northern Territory, located at the continent’s northern edge, was true to its name, blanketed in winter all year round.
The vast lands were covered in thick snow, blue conifer forests wore white scarves, and white foxes burrowed through the snow.
The land of harsh winters, the frozen territory, begins to see rainfall in May.
Icicles hanging from every roof turned to droplets, watering the frozen ground.
And when that season arrives, the lord of the Northern Territory, Duke Logan Winterfell, is buried under a mountain of paperwork.
Frozen things cause no trouble.
It’s the melting ones that do.
Moreover, May celebrates the blossoming of life with the family’s ancient tradition and the Northern Territory’s grand festival, the [Ducal Engagement Competition].
May is a month too busy even for short naps, with the family and the territory’s affairs to handle.
Especially this engagement competition, featuring the long-veiled Third Duchess as the protagonist, had stirred up the entire Northern Territory.
“…What? Forfeiting?”
The news of a “final candidate forfeiting” inevitably disrupted Duke Logan’s already tight schedule.
The blue eyes that once dominated battlefields with the ferocity of a dragon narrowed, causing Advisor Gelwood to instinctively bow.
“Yes, Your Grace. Candidate Elden Rapellion has declared his forfeiture.”
“What was the reason?”
“He said he was insufficient.”
“Insufficient? After passing all tests over a fortnight to reach the final stage, he speaks of insufficiency and forfeits now?”
“Yes.”
The inexplicable forfeiture puzzled Logan, who leaned back and crossed his arms, displaying the arms that once wielded a great halberd with glory.
“There must be another reason.”
“I tried to probe, but nothing concrete emerged.”
“Were there no signs?”
“…”
Signs were there, albeit vague.
But without concrete evidence, Advisor Gelwood hesitantly shared his observation.
“Well, it’s not exactly a sign, but…”
“Speak freely.”
“He seems different.”
That was the only way to describe it.
He seemed different.
But Gelwood’s remark piqued Logan’s interest, prompting him to stand and approach the window.
Advisor Gelwood’s keen observation had never been wrong.
He could see through people at a glance, anticipate moves ahead, and unearth gold from the dust.
If he says someone has changed, then they have changed.
Logan’s eyes took in the snowscape, still unthawed.
“For example?”
“The voice that was once a fierce snowstorm has quieted, the harsh gaze has softened, and the steadfast demeanor has melted away, much like the Northern Territory in May.”
“…Hmm, the reckless scoundrel turned into the May of the Northern Territory.”
Logan murmured, scanning the snowscape.
The comparison to the Northern Territory in May, presented to the Snow King of the North, was like throwing an intriguing topic at him.
Even if it was an exaggerated expression.
Advisor Gelwood’s insight was unparalleled.
Nations’ kings coveted him as an advisor for a reason.
Of course, one remark from him wouldn’t change Logan’s assessment of Elden, but the fact that someone struggling to reach the final stage now wanted to be the first in the history of the engagement competition to forfeit was enough to stir the retired veteran’s curiosity.
Logan turned back to look at Gelwood.
“Though it’s forbidden to meet the final candidates before the cohabitation starts, exceptional situations require exceptional rules. Arrange a meeting for me.”
“Understood. There’s a gathering between candidates this evening, I’ll arrange it for afterward.”
Gelwood left, and Logan, now alone, stared out the window.
He was well aware of Elden Rapellion.
In fact, he was well aware of all the finalists.
They shared one thing in common.
Logan stroked his white beard and whispered,
“Elden Rapellion… an odd fellow.”
Eager to climb up but just as eager to step down.
Whether it was due to external pressure or genuine enlightenment, it was clear he was as unpredictable as the public opinion suggested.
Logan chuckled bitterly and returned to his desk to sign the piled documents.
