CH-051

Mid-August.

The capital of the Northern Territories, "Stein City," lay within the Levant parish.

"Levant" meant the place where the sun rises in the east. It was the easternmost region of the Northern Territories and the parish closest to the southern border.

Many southern merchants and foreign traders lived there, and its food and lifestyle shared common ground with the southern territories. So for southerners coming to live in the Northern Territories for the first time, the Levant parish could feel like the most welcome district for them.

Lady Adalheid, Kavan, and Seamus—who had just moved from the great city where the Holy Church stood—had been living in Stein City for a month and had already adapted quickly, gradually growing accustomed to Stein City's rhythms.

As the Duchess of the Northern Territories, the moment their family settled in Stein City, they received a succession of invitations from Stein City's major noble families and clergy households—

Tea parties, banquets, Sunday gatherings, concerts, charity sales, salons, and the like. There was never a moment without engagements, and the days were lively beyond compare.

Lady Adalheid ordered new gowns and jewelry every night before bed in preparation for the endless socializing ahead.

Of course, besides her innate love of attending and organizing events, her reason for warming to the nobles around her was the pre-event social groundwork for her eldest son Kavan's upcoming knighting ceremony. This was the starting point for his formal entry into noble social circles, and Lady Adalheid paid extraordinarily close attention to every detail, personally overseeing everything, leaving no room for any slip.

She had begun preparing a custom-forged ceremonial sword for Kavan starting the previous year: one magnificent decorative sword for use at grand occasions; one combat sword for his daily use when he went to the southern military academy for training; and one refined short dagger for everyday self-defense.

Her second son Seamus was only a year younger than Kavan.

And so when Lady Adalheid was preparing swords for Kavan, she also prepared the same three swords in identical quality for Seamus, distinguishing them only in style to indicate seniority and junior status—but in terms of metallurgy, craftsmanship, and the smiths employed, everything was equally matched, representing the full extent of Lady Adalheid's connections.

As for her eldest stepson, Leslie—

Adalheid's gaze fell on a solitary figure standing far from the center of the crowd, and her brow furrowed slightly.

Just the sight of him was irritating.

The thought surfaced in Adalheid's mind.

At this moment, a voice broke through Adalheid's reverie.

"Have you heard?" The countess spoke softly, as if making casual conversation, yet her tone carried an undeniable hint of meaning. "The newly appointed Bishop Hugo of the Carson Parish is organizing a grammar school. They say it's intended to recruit students from across the entire Northern Territories—accepting students ten years old and above, regardless of background, family, or faith. The schooling period is divided into four years, six years, and eight years, and it's set to open in spring of next year."

"What's the significance of dividing it into those terms?" someone grew curious.

The countess explained: "From what I hear, it was designed by Bishop Hugo after visiting people across all walks of life."

She spoke while glancing at the ladies around her who were listening attentively. "Students graduating from a four-year program will be at least sixteen, precisely the minimum age for most mid-to-high-level vocational positions. Those finishing the six-year program graduate at eighteen, just in time to compete for southern colleges and military academies. As for the eight-year program, it's probably designed specifically to cultivate high-ranking church positions—enabling competition with church scholars who graduate from southern church schools at age twenty-one."

Her tone was casual, as if merely passing along something she had heard. Yet every word revealed the deep insight of the plan's architect.

The noblewomen around them gradually grew quiet, and more people joined in the conversation.

Indeed, some among them had known about it in advance.

Hearing the discussion turn to the newly opened grammar school, they hurried to join in.

The countess who had opened the topic lowered her eyes and sipped her red tea, her peripheral vision drifting to Lady Adalheid beside her—beautiful as a flower of earthly splendor.

There was no small amount of probing intent in that glance.

The expressions of the ladies around them also carried a knowing quality.

The reason this school had stirred such waves was not only that southern educational methods were being introduced to the Northern Territories for the first time.

It was also because, according to rumor, the person who had funded it was none other than the Duke of the Northern Territories—Lord Claude himself.

And so the countess's remarks were laying groundwork.

She was waiting—waiting for Lady Adalheid to give some clearer indication of her stance, even a vague response.

About basic enrollment criteria, for instance.

Whatever was said, the countess could work the conversation toward the core information she sought.

Yet Lady Adalheid seemed entirely unconcerned, her expression serene and composed, showing no intention of speaking up.

Left with no choice, the countess sent a meaningful glance sideways. The viscountess next to her quickly followed up: "Rumor has it that there's still no confirmed location—who knows if any of this is true or just talk?"

Lady Adalheid still showed no excess emotion.

The countess had no choice but to continue steering the conversation herself, saying with a smile: "Though it's said to be led by Bishop Hugo, I've heard that the Duke of the Northern Territories, Claude, has also been involved. As you all know, beyond military and political matters, the Duke rarely involves himself in church affairs and doesn't step forward for such things. Yet if a message like this has actually leaked out, it's certainly not groundless."

"At this point, someone nearby spoke without thinking—" "As for the location, it will probably be in a district with relatively relaxed religious restrictions."

This remark immediately steered the topic off course.

The countess had been trying to get a sense of Duke Claude's true attitude toward the matter. But the people around her were all far too pragmatic, and their focus had entirely shifted to "where it would be built."

The discussion grew lively very quickly.

"Old established parishes like Levant have the church's power too entrenched—"

"Carson Parish wouldn't work either—though only Carson City has many believers, the church's influence there is deeply rooted; basically anyone wanting to live in Carson City ends up choosing the church."

"But Bishop Hugo certainly wouldn't—"

The crowd discussed with great animation, and the topic gradually centered on a couple of neutral parishes in the middle of the Northern Territories—places where church influence was moderate and where noble forces still had room to develop, both ideal locations.

Though no one said it aloud, the noblewomen's unspoken thought was: if the location were confirmed, they would purchase property there.

Some ladies who hadn't heard about this before, or had only just learned of it, couldn't help sighing softly.

The lady in the green dress said with a sigh: "This grammar school really is opening at the right time. I've always been reluctant to send my children to study alone in the south, away from the Northern Territories. But the schools here, honestly speaking, aren't much better—none of them have anything to show for themselves."

These words struck the hearts of many mothers at once.

Their family fortunes, ancestral estates, and social networks were all rooted in the Northern Territories, and children who inherited the family business would inevitably return. Meanwhile, children ambitious enough to venture outward weren't guaranteed to land important posts in the south—after all, the relationship between the empire's emperor and the duke had not been good since the palace coup many years ago.

How could the imperial emperor easily appoint children of Northern origin to key positions? No one said it aloud, but the thought resonated among them all.

Moreover, children from the north going south to study—even those who never intended to stay—inevitably faced all manner of trouble and difficulty along the way.

Even those who ultimately returned to the Northern Territories didn't come back unscathed.

There were many rumors of northern-born students being ostracized, bullied, and abused by noble students in southern schools—particularly by military academy students, who were sticklers for hierarchy and discipline.

What mother, hearing enough of this, wouldn't feel heartbroken? Children were treasures, raised and cherished—how could you send them off to study only to have them trampled on like that?

Of course, attending the empire's most prestigious military academy wasn't the only option.

Many northern noble families would also choose southern schools with relatively richer educational resources for commoners.

But schools competed with each other, and so did nobles.

The safest and most prestigious choice—one that had some sense of social standing and a reasonably tolerant environment for children—was still the southern church school that noble children also attended, rather than a military academy with rigid class barriers.

But church schools also had high thresholds, requiring families to have clear records of faith.

Especially for children from the Northern Territories, families had to provide documented proof of donations made to the church for every year from two years before the child's birth up to the time of enrollment.

And each social class had a corresponding minimum amount.

Some families had truly never planned to send their children to the south at all, and had never thought about schooling either—they simply hired southern tutors to teach at home.

But as children grew, and as interactions with the south became more frequent, private tutors were no longer the first choice for noble families—that wasn't how the wind blew among nobles. And it was only upon seeing the growing gap in education between their children and others of the same age that regret set in.

When children of equal intelligence and comparable birth were set apart solely by access to educational resources, the resentment and inability to accept it was among the hardest things to bear.

So many families began wavering around the time their children turned ten.

Some quietly sought to have the church patch up faith records and donation certificates retroactively. In Levant, this was certainly not allowed—but in Carson City it was effortless: as long as one had assets or business dealings there and paid the make-up donation to Carson City, all the paperwork could be swiftly processed.

It was said that Carson City collected donations that each year exceeded the regional average by a hundred and thirty times or more—consistently topping the entire Northern Territories.

Yet having a workaround didn't mean the mothers had made their peace with reality.

Most of them were in this predicament precisely because they still had some options left—but not many—and that pushed these mothers into a dilemma of their own making.

And now, a grammar school belonging to the Northern Territories itself was about to be established.

Rumor had it the principal was Bishop Hugo—formerly the vice principal of the south's foremost military academy—and upon that announcement alone, hearts were already stirred.

"How does Lady Adalheid plan for her children going forward?"

A voice drew Lady Adalheid from observer to the center of the conversation.

The moment those words fell, the room grew momentarily still, and many gazes involuntarily turned toward Lady Adalheid, expressions mixing inquiry with awe.

Everyone understood the situation in their hearts.

Lady Adalheid came from a family of primates, and her children were naturally entitled to attend the best church universities across the continent—and even the highly exclusive military academies. She had no need to worry about donation certificates, nor did she need to consider whether her children could adapt to the southern noble social sphere.

Because Kavan and Seamus already belonged to that world—and even Leslie, who was rarely seen in public, was equally a member of the empire's top nobility.

Many of the mothers present had been moved by the convenience and prospects of the new grammar school, but now—upon registering these facts—their emotions became subtly complicated.

Some sat with the Adalheid woman not because they had to, but because they chose to.

Some were sensitive and showed a brief flash of discomfort in their expressions; some lowered their heads over their tea; some let out a quiet sigh.

But Lady Adalheid showed no rush to answer, nor was she affected by the subtle atmosphere around her. She simply, with elegant composure, raised her teacup and took a small sip.

The noblewomen, by mutual unspoken agreement, waited for Lady Adalheid to finish her tea before offering her thoughts.

Over a month of acquaintance had already given them a good read on Lady Adalheid's character.

This woman loved being the center of attention, loved showing off, loved extravagance, and especially loved flattery. Yet even with a thousand kind words, it was hard to get all the information out of her in one go.

They had wondered why that was, and concluded it wasn't because Lady Adalheid spoke with careful restraint—but simply that she had a habit of only saying half of what she meant, and she sometimes seemed not to understand what others were saying.

What was truly exasperating was that Lady Adalheid always spoke in a leisurely, unhurried manner before the noblewomen. Unlike northerners, who were accustomed to plain-speaking, she needed to be asked the same thing four or five times before one could piece together the full picture.

For the ladies, this was a social catastrophe.

Were it not for the fact that they had matters to learn from her, they wouldn't have the patience to keep going around in circles with her—but they had finally arrived at the topic of the grammar school they had been waiting for.

The countess said: "Is Duke Claude planning to have Kavan and the others enroll in the new grammar school?"

Lady Adalheid answered as if it were obvious: "In our household, I have the final say. If I don't want it, Claude has no way to force me."

At these words, the noblewomen exchanged glances.

They had indeed been probing the relationship between Claude and Lady Adalheid. The news from the southern capital was that this marriage had been Lady Adalheid's choice after her divorce—to undercut her ex-husband, outmaneuver her old rival Audora, and claim victory through sheer persistence. Rumor had it she had pursued it tenaciously.

Yet looking at the reality of it, Claude didn't seem to genuinely dislike Lady Adalheid either.

Never mind that all household affairs—even the management of Audora's children—had been handed over to Lady Adalheid; the one "miraculous flowering tree" wedding in Carson City alone was enough to fuel a year's worth of gossip.

That sacred wedding had also become a legend passed down as a testament to love.

At that wedding, Lady Adalheid had personally rewarded every priest-level and above member of the clergy of the Carson Parish with one hundred gold coins apiece—totaling fifty thousand silver coins, equivalent to half a lifetime's earnings for a Carson City resident.

Such lavish generosity was not easy to forget.

Lady Adalheid's name had spread to every major parish in the Northern Territories in an instant.

And yet, those who harbored doubts about Lady Adalheid were still not few in number.

First, Duke Claude never showed closeness to Lady Adalheid—he hadn't even appeared for the ring exchange portion of the wedding ceremony. Second, Duke Claude's dislike of the church had left far too deep an impression on people.

People couldn't easily accept that the duke would care for someone with a church background like Lady Adalheid.

Now, hearing that even the famously cold-blooded Claude deferred to Lady Adalheid, not a single noblewoman dared underestimate her.

Lady Adalheid could feel the respect in their eyes and couldn't help feeling somewhat pleased—and only then did she slowly deign to say: "I heard him and Bishop Hugo were planning to set up the school in a manor within the Northern Territories."

"The Duke actually donated his own manor?" They were genuinely surprised. "Or rented it out?"

While it was common for boarding schools, church schools, and military academies to be converted from former noble manors, everyone held their land dear.

Because land was the foundation of power and wealth, and ceding land to church use brought no benefit whatsoever to a noble's social standing or income.

But Lady Adalheid lightly reclined against the goose-feather padded chair back and said with a detached air: "In any case, the family doesn't lack one manor."

Lady Adalheid came from an old noble lineage on her mother's side, with abundant family wealth and no financial worries.

It was said that Lady Adalheid alone held more than ten manors in her name, generating an annual income of tens of thousands of gold coins. So for her, a wedding costing five thousand gold coins was merely an opening salvo to demonstrate her status.

The envious gasps from around her satisfied Lady Adalheid deeply.

The truth, of course, was known only to her.

There was absolutely no emotional foundation between her and the Duke—only a transaction of mutual interests.

Claude needed money; Adalheid needed face and freedom. The two had thus reached the basis for a partnership.

After the wedding, Claude had not spent much time at home. Adalheid didn't mind, because she had obtained the power and respect she needed, becoming the "mistress of the house" in every sense of the word. The management of the Duke of the Northern Territories' estate still remained in the Duke's hands, normally delegated to the steward—and Adalheid had no right to interfere.

After the wedding, at most, Adalheid was responsible for looking after her stepson Leslie.

It was quite clear that, in Claude's eyes, Leslie was not someone deserving of attention.

The public narrative was that Claude loved Leslie's mother Audora so deeply that he couldn't bear the existence of Leslie, who resembled her so closely.

But Adalheid had been within Audora's family circle.

The rumors surrounding Audora and Claude in those days had been plentiful—truth and fiction blended indistinguishably.

One such rumor was that Audora had already been with child before marrying Claude.

In other words, there had once been speculation that this child might not have been Claude's.

This actually aligned with the general prevailing view in their social circles at the time.

After all, Claude himself had someone he admired during his time at the military academy.

Even though Adalheid and their social circle didn't overlap—she wasn't from the same year—and she didn't know who Claude's object of affection was, she was quite certain it wasn't Audora. Otherwise, the one who ascended to the emperor's throne back then wouldn't have been Claude's older brother.

Rumor had it the person was a commoner. Perhaps someone born too beautiful? Beautiful enough to have captivated Claude when he was still a student.

When she attended this wedding, Adalheid had noticed the silver ring on Claude's finger—corroborating those rumors. The silver ring was of the simplest material and plainest design, bearing no symbol of status or heraldry, of no collectible or hereditary value—just a thin loop of silver that, having been worn for so long, radiated a quiet, mellow luster.

But all of this was hearsay, and although Leslie's features closely resembled Audora—inheriting most of her looks—from certain angles, he did also slightly resemble Claude.

This couldn't rule out the relationship between Leslie and Claude.

In any case, all that could be said was that the palace coup of many years ago had truly altered the course of Duke Claude's entire life.

Lady Adalheid's gaze drifted again to the spot where Leslie had been standing just a moment ago.

Looking now, that spot was already empty.

"..." Where on earth had he gone?

Leslie was a child of strangely unpredictable character—one that couldn't simply be described as obedient or disobedient.

Anyone who had spent time with him would find the child seemingly unconcerned with other people's business, averse to socializing, and sometimes slow to react—yet with sharp edges in his temperament and moods that shifted unpredictably.

The noblewomen hadn't noticed Adalheid's expression change. Having confirmed that the Duke had indeed discussed the grammar school venture with Bishop Hugo, they couldn't help pressing further: "Has Lady Adalheid heard which parish's manor it might be located in?"

Adalheid didn't particularly want to respond to this.

Because she had overheard this part, and if Claude ever heard about it, she would certainly be in trouble.

But at this moment, the countess happened to say: "The Duke holds Lady Adalheid in such high regard—surely if there were any changes to the manor she oversees, he would inform her first? After all, turning one's manor into a school would require moving personal belongings out in advance."

A nearby noblewoman softly chimed in, her gaze carrying a touch of expectation and probing. The atmosphere gradually pressed in on Lady Adalheid until she found herself unable to deflect.

Her gaze fluttered slightly, and a reluctant yet somewhat self-satisfied smile surfaced. Her tone softened.

In truth, this was something she had overheard while in the Carson Parish.

At the time, Lady Adalheid had wanted to personally deliver congratulatory gifts and money to the then-vice bishop—now Bishop Hugo—on his promotion, and had gone to the bell tower.

She had heard that the Bishop would personally go to the storage room to retrieve items for ceremonies.

So Lady Adalheid had intended to intercept him there.

Bishop Hugo was far too clever—if she arranged a formal meeting in his office or elsewhere, he would know immediately that she had something to ask of him, and might hold that over her instead. Approaching him unexpectedly might leave a deeper impression and perhaps even prompt him to personally take an interest in teaching Kavan and Seamus.

With this in mind, she had set her plan in motion.

At the time, there was no one else in the storage room. While she waited with nothing to do, looking around, her eye happened to fall on a row of ceremonial gift boxes in a corner that had not yet been sorted.

Someone of her status would naturally have no interest in the simple gifts of these remote backwater parishes—unless there was an exceptional work of art involved.

Yet at that moment, the name on one particular box caught her eye unmistakably: "From Father Aliss of the Savoie Parish, respectfully presented."

This name she remembered all too clearly.

When investigating the murderer of the bishop and church officials at the time, a young, fresh-faced priest had spoken with cold precision and penetrating insight, his manner proper yet with an undeniable sharpness—sparking no small amount of Adalheid's interest.

And now his gift sat right here before her, like a curtain about to be lifted, wordlessly welcoming and teasing at the imagination.

And so, on the reasoning that "this gift was meant for me too," Lady Adalheid opened it.

Inside was a technical drawing—a newly designed horse collar for farming use.

In practice, horse-drawn plowing had sometimes been used as an alternative to ox-drawn labor. Because, as everyone knew, the advantage of horse plowing lay in speed—agricultural experts had noted that a horse could do two to three times as much work in a day as an ox. Yet the reason it had never developed widely was: first, the cost of keeping horses was high; second, horse plowing technology and equipment were inadequate.

In the drawing, Father Aliss had written in detail about the feasibility and advantages of developing horse plowing. He pointed out that the Northern Territories' farmland had already widely adopted a three-field system of crop rotation—this method of rotation could steadily supply sufficient fodder to support larger numbers of horses. At the same time, much of the woodland and wasteland was being continuously developed; relying on low-cost, low-efficiency ox plowing alone, in a sparsely populated region like the Northern Territories, could hardly sustain the current rate of land cultivation. Horse plowing, by contrast, could accelerate agricultural development.

Moreover, with the constraints of a peace agreement restricting the expansion of strategic resources, the Duke had pledged not to expand his military forces—meaning large numbers of warhorses were about to become idle. If these horses could be put into agriculture, they could be transformed into a powerful economic driving force.

And so, all factors were already in place—only the improvement of the horse collar remained.

The drawing of the new horse collar showed that the redesigned version could effectively reduce pressure on the horse's shoulders and windpipe, fully releasing the animal's pulling power.

Lady Adalheid hadn't studied agricultural knowledge of this kind and wasn't certain whether Father Aliss's words were accurate, but if this initiative could be successfully implemented, the value of this gift would far exceed five hundred silver coins—even fifty thousand wouldn't be enough.

This reminded Adalheid of Father Aliss's words in the meeting hall back then: "Claude has no way to kill me right now." If she had been in Claude's position, facing a clergyman who could send design drawings and accurately predict climate and land use patterns, she likely would have chosen to pretend she had "already warned" him once—even if only to save face.

After all, setting aside miracles entirely, a person who could articulate agricultural development trends and even push for a shift in the Northern Territories' farming methods was far more than just a priest who knew how to say prayers—his influence was not necessarily any less than that of a general skilled at military logistics and weapons research.

"..."

However, Lady Adalheid hadn't finished before she heard footsteps and voices outside the storage room.

Not just Hugo's voice—Claude's as well.

The moment she heard that voice, Lady Adalheid's heart clenched. She immediately slipped away from the main path and ducked into a side room crammed with dusty old church odds and ends.

The moment the door shut, the light suddenly darkened.

She held her breath along with it.

Lady Adalheid had absolutely no desire to run into the Duke, and still less desire to let him know her true purpose in coming.

And so, Lady Adalheid overheard their conversation.

...

"The specific location can't be shared with you yet," Lady Adalheid told the noblewomen. "But as you were discussing before, Bishop Hugo and Claude do indeed want to find an area without religious restrictions."

To be more precise, Bishop Hugo wanted to find a completely neutral place in the Northern Territories to establish the ninth parish district.

The establishment of this ninth parish district still required confirmation from the visiting bishop.

But that wasn't the part Adalheid was paying attention to.

She only took note that the location for the ninth parish had been confirmed as the Savoie Parish.

Bishop Hugo had said at the time that he wanted to make the Savoie Parish, where the grammar school would be located, into the heart of the entire Northern Territories.

Duke Claude had expressed skepticism about Bishop Hugo's intentions: "Why the Savoie? Is this your personal bias toward Father Aliss, or blind faith in him?"

Bishop Hugo had smiled and replied: "Because the Savoie Parish has never produced a single true believer to this day—doesn't that make it fertile ground for cultivating freedom of faith?"

It was a sophistry. But so what?

Claude was neither in support nor against it.

The only complication, however, was that the manor in the Savoie Parish was Audora's former home in her lifetime.

And Leslie had lived there for over a decade.

If the place was to be converted into a school, this was something that ought to be discussed with Leslie—but the Duke had absolutely no such intention.

Adalheid didn't know when to bring it up, or whether it was better to simply pretend she had never known.

*

Back at the Stein City mansion.

Lady Adalheid was directing a maidservant to send newly arrived silk to the tailor, when she turned and found Leslie standing in the shadow of the staircase.

"What are you doing here?" She frowned, and her gaze involuntarily swept upward to where he stood above her—the feeling of being looked down upon sent a chill through her entire body.

Leslie's face was pale, his lips carrying a cold edge. "The manor you were all talking about this afternoon—it's the one in the Savoie Parish, isn't it?"

For others, Adalheid's words might still be a riddle they couldn't piece together. But for him, it was as if someone had announced directly to his face: they intended to convert his mother's former home into a school, without even a word of notice.

"Are you going to steal what belongs to someone who has died?" His tone was filled with icy contempt and disdain.

Stung by his words, Adalheid's folding fan snapped shut with a "clack," and she laughed coldly in return: "Watch how you speak. Besides, nothing here ever belonged to you, nor to your mother."

The moment her words fell, Leslie's gaze, sharp as a blade, stripped away her jewels and finery, going cold as if to kill.

"You'll regret this."

He said it, turned, and left.

Adalheid stood in place, her hand trembling involuntarily—she couldn't tell if it was the wind, or if his eyes had frozen her.

Thinking back on that look, she suddenly felt that Leslie and Claude resembled each other—that obsession embedded deep in the bone, that murderous intent, was almost identical.

Before the second dawn came, Leslie had already vanished from Stein City without a trace.