The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic

The bleak winter of the North had loosened its grip. The biting cold, once all-consuming, was now softened by the gentle warmth of the morning sun, its rays stretching long shadows over the frozen landscape. Yet, the beauty was marred.

The snow was no longer white.

It was tainted red—stained by the carcasses of monsters that littered the battlefield. Blood soaked into the frost, forming dark trails that steamed faintly under the sun. The scene was silent, save for the labored breaths of a small group standing amidst the carnage.

Their breath formed plumes of mist, dancing upward and dispersing into the cold air.

"You've gotten stronger," Barret said, his eyes fixed on the young man beside him.

Chris stood tall, his sword embedded deep into the snowy ground. His chest rose and fell with quiet steadiness, not a single flicker of exhaustion in his gaze. He had grown—not just taller, but harder, leaner, with the posture of a seasoned knight.

"You're saying that as if you haven't bulked up yourself," Chris replied with a smirk.

Barret chuckled softly. Indeed, he had become a solid wall of muscle, his arms thick with strength, his movements faster, cleaner, sharper.

"Well, I've hit Rank B..." Barret murmured, his voice unusually subdued.

There was no pride in his tone. Only a hint of regret. He had pushed himself—eighteen hours a day, sparring, fighting, bleeding. Sleeping just six. But still... no breakthrough to Rank A.

"There's no shame in that," came a quiet voice.

They turned to see a man sitting atop the carcass of a horned beast, his posture relaxed yet exuding a killing intent that stung the skin. Gare. His presence was different now—sharpened, colder, like a blade forged under relentless pressure. His face bore a long scar, and his right eye was hidden beneath a worn black eyepatch.

Chris and Barrett couldn't help but glance at it.

That wound was their failure, not his. They had been caught off guard and were ambushed by monsters. Gare had leapt between them and death... and paid the price.

Now he was the Wolf of the North. A name whispered with fear by beasts and men alike.

He stood, sheathing his sword with a calm flick of the wrist.

"Let's head back."

"Right."

The two followed him in silence.

---

The Northern Fortress rose like a stone crown against the horizon, carved from frostbitten rock and shielded by towering walls of enchanted steel. Snow clung to its parapets, and sharp spires reached for the clouds like frozen claws.

At one end, carcasses and monsters were born while anything edible was extracted. Skin and torn carcasses consisting of fur were hung upside down to dry.

Above, fires burn in iron braziers, their smoke curling upward in tight columns.

Soldiers marched along the walls in disciplined lines, clad in fur-lined armor and bearing spears tipped with silver. Their faces were weathered, but their eyes burned with discipline.

This was the shield of the realm, the last bastion of man against the northern horrors.

And yet, inside the gate…

"You idiot! You logged the wrong kill count again!"

"Shut it, Vic! The ogre was mine, and you know it!"

Some things never change.

Vic and Albert, as always, were locked in yet another petty argument. Their voices echoed through the courtyard like a familiar rhythm of home.

Gare, Chris, and Barret climbed the stairs up the fortress walls and approached.

"How was the day?" Albert called out with a wide grin.

"Nothing unusual. Same as always," Gare replied flatly, his voice low.

"Tch. You say that after slaughtering a dozen monsters like it's picking berries in a field," Vic muttered, rolling his eyes.

"And who are you showing off to, huh?

"You!"

Barret nearly barked back, but a single glance from Gare made him swallow the retort.

Then—they felt it.

A pressure descended over the fortress like a storm cloud. Heavy. Powerful. Commanding.

They turned instinctively—and saw him.

Robert Frost, the Northern Overlord, approached with steady strides. His presence alone was enough to silence the fortress. Clad in black armor etched with the emblem of the North, his gaze was sharp and unforgiving. His long silver hair flowed behind him, and a frost aura followed his every step.

Instantly, everyone dropped to one knee. A wave of silence and reverence swept the walls.

"My Lord," they greeted in unison.

Robert paused before the trio, his eyes cool as ever.

"Pack up..Leave this place."

"Huh?!"

Shock rippled through the air. Even the wind seemed to hesitate.

Chris and Barret gasped—but Gare started, lips parting slightly.

"Is… is it because of His Highness?"

Robert gave a rare smile—cold, enigmatic.

"Yes."

"Your Lord has finally returned."

...….

A horse galloped across the cobbled path, its hooves striking like thunder, as knights in gleaming armor cleared the road ahead.

"Huh?!"

"Who is that?"

"He looks... valiant."

Gasps and whispers rippled through the gathered crowd.

A man rode at the front, posture tall and proud, the wind tugging at his dark cloak. In front of him sat a striking woman with crimson hair, holding a strange, glowing egg nestled in her arms. The procession of knights behind them gleamed under the morning sun, their lances upright, their presence undeniable.

The people could feel it—splendor and power radiating from this man.

Then the wind shifted.

Banners unfurled.

A wave of stunned silence rolled through the crowd as they saw the insignia that danced above the cavalry.

"T-That's…"

"The flag of Veydrin!"

Gasps echoed louder this time. Murmurs turned to cries of recognition as the rider's silver hair glinted, revealing sharp features and a cold, commanding aura.

A voice finally cried out, disbelief turning into awe—

"It's him… It's Lord Kael!"

Shock melted into a sea of emotion—gasps, cheers, and hushed whispers.

"The same Kael who was cast aside?"

"They used to call him the trash who can't awaken and fight…"

"What the fuck are you saying? Have you gone insane?"

"Haven't you heard that he has awakened many months ago and has even cleared unwanted troubles?"

"Didn't he vanish after the inheritance conflict?!"

"Inheritance conflict…What inheritance conflict?"The group man hit the man who was spitting nonsense and explained.

"I heard he pierced through the monster tide at North and for some reason disappeared."

"He even ruined the Serpent Cult's plan and forced them into hiding!"

"It's said he led the charge himself...!"

"I thought he was weak, but he looks… like the Grand Duke reborn."

"No... stronger."

Far ahead, Kael heard the words. He didn't react outwardly, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He kept his gaze forward. The knights escorting him—Imperial Knights under Martina's direct order—rode silently behind, their duty nearly complete.

Kael's eyes darkened with resolve. No more hiding. No more games. He had stepped onto the battlefield to cut down everything that stood in his way, and now, his only goal was to reclaim his place in the Duchy.

Once he crossed into Veydrin territory, his first act was to send word to the main estate.

And now, after an hour of riding...

He saw it.

The towering gates of the Veydrin estate, guarded by elite knights in polished armor. Watchtowers rose like fangs, and the stone mansion loomed behind—imposing, familiar, unyielding.

The Imperial Knights halted a short distance from the entrance.

Kael pulled his reins and turned to them.

"Come. I'd like to invite you inside the estate."

The lead knight, Adonis, smiled and raised a hand.

"No, no, Lord Kael. We must decline. Our orders end here, and we have matters to attend to."

Kael paused. His eyes briefly narrowed, then softened. He could sense it—the respectful distance. Gratitude, but caution.

"I understand." He extended a hand.

Adonis grasped it firmly. "It was an honor to fight beside you. Sol will miss you."

"We'll meet again."

With a crisp nod, Adonis turned his horse and the knights followed, galloping away into the horizon, their banners fading from view.

Beside him, Lyria leaned slightly, still holding the egg.

"Shouldn't you have insisted? They were quite good."

"No," Kael said calmly."It wouldn't help us to draw too close right now."

She blinked. "Why not?"

Kael's lips curled into a quiet, bitter smirk.

"Because the relationship between the Royal and us is complicated.Even though it doesn't look like the Emperor fears us."

"If we have the power to turn a losing prince into a ruler... what else might we not do?"

"We can become regents and use the Prince as a puppet to rule.

"Ooohh…" Lyria lips curved in amusement."That sounds rather fun."

Question mark appeared on Kael's face as he looked at Lyria to see if she was joking but seeing her stern look, he reprimanded her,"Stop that.

Kael rapped her lightly on the head, earning a playful glare.

He then turned his gaze toward the estate again, his grip tightening on the reins. His heart thudded.

'Finally… I'm home.'

And with that, Kael nudged his horse forward.

The gates of Veydrin waited.