Lucian wasn't the only one taken aback.
The rest of the party was likewise dumbstruck, their attention wholly captured by the walls.
Among them, the one most deeply shaken was Glen.
"Th-This is…!"
Glen trembled, unable to finish his sentence.
One of the reasons Tibrone is called the jewel of the Empire is its white ramparts—
an absolute defense that seemed capable of stopping every army in the world,
combined with a beauty and artistry that left all who beheld it spellbound.
Anyone who laid eyes on the white walls never spared their praise, calling them a peerless, supreme fortification.
'How can there be walls here that are completely identical to the White Ramparts?'
As everyone stood frozen in shock, Lucian was the first to regain his composure and speak.
"Raymond."
"Yes, my lord."
"I'm asking just in case—but in ancient times, was a style like the White Ramparts ever in vogue?"
"Probably not. If it had been, there would be countless other ruins with structures similar to the White Ramparts."
But to this day, the only fortresses ever built in a style similar to the White Ramparts were Tibrone and Asagrim.
In other words, constructing walls of that caliber had never been an easy task, even in ancient times.
And that naturally led to a single conclusion.
That one side had built the White Ramparts first—and someone else later copied them.
"When were Tibrone's walls constructed?"
"Right after the continental unification was completed."
"And Asagrim?"
"That would be after the founding of the Northern Dynasty, so chronologically speaking—"
"Ahem! Aheehem!"
Glen cut Raymond off with an overtly loud bout of coughing.
Reading the room, the rest of the party fell silent—but at this point, there was no one who couldn't guess what came next.
So it was the Grimaldi family who built the White Ramparts first.
The imperial White Ramparts were an imitation of the North's.
"Come now, let's move on! After such a long journey, the end is finally in sight!"
As if to prevent anyone's thoughts from straying further, Glen raised his voice.
It was so loud it was hard to believe he'd been so quiet until now.
The party nodded silently and headed toward Asagrim's gate—
only to be met by an uproar.
"What is the meaning of this!? The sun is still high in the sky, yet you're saying you won't accept any more pilgrims!?"
"Only ten people were let in earlier! This is outright tyranny!"
A sea of northerners crowded around the gate, shouting in fury.
When the clamor swelled to the point that ears rang, a thunderous roar burst forth from inside the gate.
"Silence! Tyranny, you say!? Asagrim is a direct holding of His Majesty the Emperor! You ought to be grateful that His Majesty permits pilgrimage to Asagrim at all—and you dare call it tyranny!? Where do you get the nerve to spout such nonsense!?"
"Ghk!"
The roar loud enough to make ears ring was imbued with a faint trace of mana.
Ordinary people, unable to reinforce their bodies, staggered under the force of the voice and dropped to their knees.
Only a handful of sword practitioners capable of strengthening themselves with mana remained standing.
Seeing such a novel technique for the first time, Lucian and the others watched with shining eyes.
"Can anyone here do that?"
"I can't. From the look of it, he didn't just strengthen his voice—he spread it outward in all directions like a wave…"
"That's not a technique you master in a year or two. The way he uses it so naturally, he must have honed it with desperate effort."
"I think I can do it. Like this?"
Felicia cleared her throat slightly, then let out a soft whistle.
Mana rode faintly on the sound, rippling through the surrounding air.
She had kept the scale small, but if she were to replace it with a shout, it would produce a technique much like the one from before.
"My goodness—did you really copy it after seeing it just once?"
"I learned a similar technique from my father. It used the sound of a blade scraping the ground rather than the voice, but with a bit of adaptation, it wasn't difficult."
"A voice and a sword blade are completely different things! This is why geniuses—!"
While Lucian's group bantered back and forth, Glen stood staring at Felicia, at a loss for words.
He had long known she was the adopted daughter and disciple of a Sword Saint, so he had expected considerable talent.
But to think she could replicate a secret art that only a tiny handful within the Nightingale Knight Order could perform—after seeing it just once!
She may be older than Lord Lucian, but she's still only a teenage girl—just what in the world…
He had thought of her as a young cub, fierce perhaps, but still immature.
Now it seemed she could hunt and devour most beasts in reverse.
And given her youth, there was still room for her to grow—meaning she would one day become a truly terrifying predator.
As Glen shuddered at the thought of the future, another roar erupted once more.
"Get lost! Anyone who raises another protest from this moment on will be deemed to be attempting to trespass upon His Majesty the Emperor's direct domain—and guilty of treason!"
This time, the shout carried no mana at all—it was a purely physical cry.
Yet remembering the shock from moments earlier, the crowd flinched all the same.
In the ensuing silence, the knight swept the crowd with an icy, warning gaze and then turned his back—
"...No. That I cannot accept!"
A single young man sprang to his feet from within the crowd and shouted.
He wore worn, threadbare clothes, but judging by his movements, he looked like the son of a noble house who had received proper sword training.
Seeing the youth openly defy the warning, the knight's face twisted in fury.
"Are you trying to commit treason right now?"
"Treason, my ass! I've never trespassed into the Imperial Palace, never tried to assassinate His Majesty the Emperor! I've never even set foot in the capital, Tibrone—so what kind of damned treason are you talking about!?"
"Will you not hold your tongue!? You insolent wretch—how dare you speak of His Majesty with that mouth—!"
"Asagrim is the holy land of the North! Northerners don't need permission to enter northern land! Isn't that right!?"
As the young man looked to the crowd as if seeking agreement, the people—who had been crouching low—glanced at one another.
Then, one by one, they began to rise and shout alongside him.
"That's right! Asagrim unquestionably belongs to the North!"
"What qualifications are needed for a northerner to visit the northern holy land!?"
"I'm sick of being slapped with the label of 'traitor' every time we speak up!"
The atmosphere, which had briefly subsided, erupted even more violently than before.
As Lucian's group and Glen alike stiffened at the ominous surge, the knight stepped forward.
"Archers, prepare for battle! The moment these traitors advance any closer—loose your arrows!"
Creek—
"…!"
As the bows aimed down from atop the walls all at once, the pilgrims swallowed hard.
The soldiers stared at them with eyes brimming with killing intent, as though they might loose their arrows at any moment.
The knight commanding the troops at the main gate likewise drew his sword without hesitation.
"I swear upon the name of His Majesty the Emperor—anyone who continues to insult the imperial family beyond this point will be executed on the spot."
"Get back. This is your final warning."
The clamor pouring in from all sides subsided, yet the pilgrims did not retreat.
If anything, a fiercer heat than before simmered quietly beneath the surface.
This was not silence born of fear, but silence steeped in anger at injustice.
It was a hair-trigger situation—one wrong step, and a massacre would erupt.
"That's enough."
Breaking the silence, the one who stepped forward before everyone was Lucian.
At the appearance of this outsider, the knight guarding the gate frowned deeply.
"Who are you?"
Lucian let out a faint chuckle at the knight's question.
He might look young, but judging by his attire, it should have been obvious he was no scion of an ordinary house—yet the knight addressed him so bluntly.
"Open the gate."
"What did you say?"
"Open the gate and let them in. I grant permission."
"You insane bastard…! Do you think His Majesty's direct domain is your personal land!?"
"It is my land. At least, starting today."
"You wretch!"
"Sir Lucian! Please, stop this!"
As the knight leveled his sword as if in a fit, Glen rushed out from behind.
He had intended to intervene from the start, but Lucian had stopped him—yet the situation was only getting worse by the moment.
Lucian, however, laughed even more heartily at Glen's appearance and dipped his head.
"Sir Glen, your timing is perfect. Let us receive the official letter of appointment here."
"What? This is the front of the gate!"
"Once one has arrived at their post, the location hardly matters, does it? I find this place quite fitting, so please do it here."
"Hooo… if you insist, then…"
"What nonsense are you babbling about? And who are you supposed to be?"
Irritated by their exchange, the knight pointed his sword at them again.
Seeing a blade aimed at him, Glen's eyes flashed.
"How dare you point a sword at me! I am Glen Rehinar, of the Black Scale Knight Order and an imperial inspector!"
"Wh—what…!?"
"State your name—how dare you intimidate the Emperor's representative! Are you Sir Lothier, captain of Asagrim's garrison!? Or one of his subordinate knights!?"
The knight—Lothier—went deathly pale and hastily lowered his sword.
Looking more closely, there was a dragon-head insignia on his left chest, the mark of an imperial inspector.
And on top of that, this man knew both his name and his position—there was no doubt he was genuine.
"My apologies, Sir Glen! Please forgive my rudeness!"
"Save the reprimands for later and step aside at once! Remove the archers above as well! Or are you planning to silence me right here?"
"H-How could that be!? Archers, all of you, stand down!"
At Lothier's barked command, the archers atop the wall hurriedly lowered their bows and disappeared back inside the ramparts.
Glen looked at Lothier for a moment, clicked his tongue shortly, and dismounted from his horse.
"Your Highness."
"I am already prepared."
"Then let us begin."
With everyone watching, Glen cleared his throat and drew the Emperor's handwritten decree from his breast.
"By the authority vested in me as an imperial inspector directly under the throne, I, Glen Rehinar, deliver this proclamation on behalf of His Majesty the Emperor!
Lucian Grimaldi Valdeck is hereby appointed as a Border Marquis, and Asagrim is granted to him as his domain!"
"…!"
"This decree is proclaimed in the name of Karl von Bey Astria, sovereign of the Empire. Any who seek to overturn it or refuse to acknowledge it shall be deemed traitors! Furthermore, he shall retain his ducal rank while being permitted to hold this concurrent title…!"
Glen continued reading the decree, but the people were already half out of their minds, unable to process the words that followed.
A Grimaldi being named a Border Marquis was strange enough—but granting Asagrim as his territory?
As everyone stood frozen in disbelief, Glen's recitation was already nearing its end.
"…and thus he is to take up residence in the White Palace! That concludes the proclamation!"
Lucian carefully accepted the folded decree from Glen and rose to his feet.
When he turned his head, the young man who had stood up first earlier entered his field of vision.
"You there."
"Y-Yes?"
"Do you want to enter Asagrim?"
"Uh… yes."
The young man nodded awkwardly.
He had no idea what was happening, but it would be absurd to deny it now.
Hearing his answer, Lucian turned his gaze back to Lothier and said calmly,
"Open the gate."
"Th-That is… this place is—"
"It's my land."
"His Majesty the Emperor granted it to me, so it is now my land. Am I wrong?"
"You are… not wrong."
"Exactly."
Lucian smiled faintly and walked toward Lothier.
Leaning in until their noses were almost touching, Lucian spoke curtly.
"Then open it."
Lothier squeezed his eyes shut.
It was humiliating—but there was no way to refuse.
No, refusing itself would be tantamount to treason.
"O-Open the gate…!"
His face burning red, Lothier spat the words out as if grinding them between his teeth.
A few seconds later, the massive gates rumbled open with a thunderous sound.
Rumble—
The pilgrims stared blankly, mouths agape, at the gates that had opened at a single word from Lucian.
It was so simple that the earlier chaos felt almost meaningless in retrospect.
"Well? What are you waiting for?" Lucian said.
"Are you not going in?"
Lucian's voice cut sharply into their ears.
As the pilgrims snapped back to their senses, Lucian flashed them a grin.
"The land's owner grants permission. Come on in, all of you—have a look."
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