Derrick could only scream silently in his heart, "I will become a Duke."

But he hoped that one day, he could shout it out loud without hesitation.

As Derrick and his knights began rehearsing various strategies and tactics, others were not idle either.

The silent winter did not belong to the common folk.

For the nobles, visits and gatherings became even more frequent, especially as the footsteps of war drew closer by the day.

Count Lovett hosted a banquet and invited Marquis Hussein to attend.

Even though the latter had just conspired with the northern nobles to take advantage of Count Lovett, it did not stop them from sitting down together to drink, feast, and watch beautiful dancers perform.

This was simply the nature of noble socializing.

However, when Count Lovett and Marquis Hussein took their seats in a corner, a few core nobles gathered around, forming a loose circle.

Those with a sense of propriety knew better than to intrude and risk embarrassing themselves.

As for those without such tact… they wouldn’t have been invited in the first place.

“Marquis, it’s a pleasure to witness your brilliance once again—truly a remarkable strategy.

But… you’ve made things difficult for us,” Count Lovett remarked with a mix of complaint and jest.

Of course, Marquis Hussein was utterly unfazed. The surrounding capital nobles even chuckled, for seizing the fruits of victory was no shameful matter; it was, in fact, a source of pride.

Marquis Hussein lightly dabbed his lips with a napkin and replied with composure, “Everything is for the King.”

“And would you be willing to do more for the King?” Count Lovett seized the opportunity to probe further.

In truth, Marquis Hussein had more or less anticipated the purpose of this banquet before arriving—nothing more than the usual schemes.

Still, he came. Or rather, he did not outright refuse. As long as there was profit to be made, anything was negotiable.

Yet being pressed like this, and in the presence of so many key nobles from the capital, he could not directly decline.

“Of course, for the King,” Marquis Hussein replied, his tone noticeably stiff.

Count Lovett, sensing that he had achieved his initial goal, rose gracefully, picked up a bottle of wine, and walked toward the window, inviting the marquis to join him.

The two moved away, putting more distance between themselves and the other nobles.

Now, the distant noise of the banquet remained a faint hum, while only the soft glow of a few lanterns in the garden illuminated their surroundings.

“Marquis, let me be frank. The outcome of this situation is unacceptable to us,” Count Lovett began.

The southern nobles had been biding their time for ten years. Naturally, they would not simply let go of this opportunity.

They had even been instrumental in the campaign to reclaim the lost territories from the barbarian kingdom, investing heavily in the process.

Currently, a portion of the grain supply to the Saint-Miele Province was coming from their coffers.

If he were in Marquis Hussein’s position, he too would find it hard to relinquish such an advantage.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

But… What does that have to do with me?

Marquis Hussein remained silent, his expression indifferent. Say whatever you like; unless you present some real benefits, don’t expect me to budge.

Cursing the old fox inwardly, Count Lovett finally laid his cards on the table:

“Marquis, as of now, more than half of the grain supply to Saint-Miele Province comes from the southern and central regions. If we were to withhold a portion, or even delay it by just a few days at a critical moment…”

“Absolutely not,” Marquis Hussein snapped, his expression darkening as he interrupted. “That would go against the interests of His Majesty.”

“But it would align with your interests. All we ask is that you seize the right opportunity—say, when the Saint Cross troops and Derrick have worn each other down.” Count Lovett spoke quickly, eager to persuade him. “If the opportunity is unsuitable, you can refuse. However, once Derrick loses his lands, we can combine our forces to secure Augusta for you.”

The offer was undeniably tempting. Marquis Hussein hesitated. While there was a risk of playing with fire, the thought lingered: The King’s interests are the King’s, not mine.

“What was said here tonight, I did not hear. However, the King’s will is paramount,” Marquis Hussein finally declared.

Count Lovett understood immediately, emphasizing, “Yes, the King’s will is paramount. Derrick is rebellious by nature and not a loyal servant to the crown.”

He knew he had succeeded.

No matter how capable Derrick was in battle, once the grain supply was disrupted, let’s see how long he could hold out.

As for the possibility of backfiring and losing Saint-Miele Province altogether, Count Lovett cared little. His position was far behind the frontlines, and he had few territories bordering the conflict zone. Escape was always an option.

The loss of Saint-Miele Province would hurt the King and the northern knights far more than it would hurt him.

Eating alone can choke you.

The banquet ended smoothly. Marquis Hussein easily brushed off any probing questions from curious nobles.

Meanwhile, Count Lovett returned home, only to receive unexpected news—his younger brother had returned.

In the study, Baron Tamir, already washed up and dressed in proper attire, was waiting.

Though the two shared the Lovett surname, Tamir was merely a court baron and found it difficult to gain opportunities in the south.

This time, he had arrived in the north even earlier than his brother.

However, after learning of the northern nobles’ and Marquis Hussein’s plan to carve up the spoils, Tamir had hurried to the Saint Cross Kingdom. Now, he had finally returned.

Seeing his younger brother, Count Lovett noted the new wrinkles on his face and the weariness that was hard to disguise, despite his fresh attire.

The whirlwind journey and maneuvering with certain figures in the Saint Cross Kingdom had clearly taken a toll on him.

But the results were worth it.

“Brother, I’ve already contacted the leading general for the upcoming spring campaign—Grand Duke Sebastian Bruno Fernandez of the Saint Cross Kingdom.”

“So that one truly favors his brother, granting such an opportunity to Duke Fernandez,” Count Lovett remarked, astonished.

Grand Duke Fernandez was merely a ceremonial title. Despite King Bruno’s many attempts to elevate his brother’s status, he still fell short of the stature befitting a true duke.

Not that the King of Rockland cared for such decorum; even his royal siblings lived rather frugally.

Regardless, did Duke Fernandez have the strength to match his title?

Count Lovett quickly laughed it off. Why should I care if he’s capable or not? As long as he agrees to my terms, that’s enough.

It would be ideal if he and Derrick, along with those northern savages, exhausted themselves. Count Lovett could then reap the rewards.

Tamir, meanwhile, could not help but envy Fernandez for having such a supportive elder brother.

“I’ve promised to provide the locations of the granaries. Grand Duke Fernandez has agreed to launch his attack from the northern knights’ territory—especially Derrick’s lands.”

This was crucial. Weakening the northern knights through the Saint Cross troops’ efforts was a price worth paying.

As for the granaries, Marquis Hussein controlled part of the grain supply, and it was easy enough to sacrifice a portion.

Would Marquis Hussein agree? He had clearly stated he would pretend this evening’s conversation never happened.

“There’s nothing that can’t be sold,” Count Lovett remarked smugly.