The temple's air was cold, hostile.
Konrad might've been the overlord here—even without the title—but he was unknown.
A kid, even. And they didn't appreciate his tone.
With the king's sister standing by, they couldn't exactly rebel, either, but—
"If his majesty wants someone to protect his borders, ask me," a man spoke.
Once he broke the silence, others joined his grumbling, too.
"A boy who'd never done anything of note won't boss us around."
"We have our pride and ancestral lands to protect—you won't take them."
Bold words from people he rescued. Without him, they wouldn't have those lands to begin with. And he wanted to give them more. Organize them better.
They didn't even try to understand it.
Konrad counted to ten before snapping again, but it was hard to control himself.
Worse, Helena watched every twitch with a knowing smirk.
No help came; Eyna seemed lost in the sudden change of atmosphere, too.
"Did nothing of note, you say?" Konrad scoffed.
He could've listed his exploits, but it felt odd to advertise himself. And hoping for the help of those whom he saved—especially Brigida's parents—was pointless.
"For the record, I never asked for this job."
Speaking to no one in particular, he eyed the princess, her smirk faltering.
"People who wanted to take advantage of my ancestry roped me into this. I had no ambitions to become lord of these lands, but one day I found myself on Halaima's Code of Conduct."
Which wasn't exactly true, but he didn't want to be the lord of these lands in particular.
"The next thing I knew, from a Church orphan, I became the Inquisition's worst enemy."
Silence again, and Helena averted his eyes.
"That Church took over everything you had, and you didn't bat an eye. If I don't come here against my will, you'd still be under the Inquisitor's yoke. And you ask what I have achieved?"
That must have hit a nerve, because now every noble tried to speak at once.
The one who spoke up first was the loudest.
"Well, kid, we're nobles, not rebels," he said. "Fighting the Church is almost like starting an uprising against the king. And we're his most loyal servants."
Konrad scoffed at the claim.
"So that's how you explain your weakness?" he challenged them.
He hated to talk in front of an audience, but the fire burning inside him pushed him forward. Taking one step after the other, he found himself staring up at the old noble from inches away.
It was a tall man in his fifties.
He didn't look as pampered as he sounded—standing his gaze without flinching.
"Nobody calls me weak, kid. Not someone who knows nothing about nobility and politics." He was gritting his teeth, his hand shifting to the pommel of his sidearm. "You are nobody."
"I am Lord Erwin Halstadt's son, the legal heir recognized by the king," Konrad sifted.
Although he didn't mention Nimrod, the real firstborn.
Things were already complicated as is.
"And I am Count Rolalt Del of the Altef Fort," the man claimed, a title that didn't tell him much.
But that wasn't something he could say. He spent so many hours reading through documents.
Trying to get a hang of his vassals, but still couldn't remember half of them.
That was his failure—and even without stating it, Count Rolalt gave him an accusing smirk.
"You've got big claims, kid," the man said. "But you've no idea 'bout these people or their lands. You'd redistribute them on a whim, to make them look better on a map? Over my dead body."
"My goal was to revitalize the economy, and help you all—again," Konrad repeated.
Another scoff, this time from the old man.
He didn't let it dissuade him, though.
"If you looked at that map, you would've seen how I organized each fief around the current seats of power," he said. The illusion was still active behind him. "Rather than taking them away."
"Seats aren't the only important things here. I, for one, fought to defend Altef Fort for longer than you've been alive. And you'd take it from me without much compensation."
He had to look that place up because he never stumbled on it.
But it was beyond the point, anyway.
"I didn't force it on anyone. I laid out a proposal, and wanted everyone's input on it. Negotiate. Improve. Hold a council, like normal adults would. But I guess nobles don't have the brains—"
And as soon as he said it, he knew it was too much.
It was out now, either way, and the wary stares turned outright hostile.
"I dueled a man for lesser insults, kid. Easy for you to speak like that with the princess backing you. But she'll be gone, and we'll stay—remember then, what you have said."
At least the threat wasn't veiled at all. He could react in kind.
"Please, be my guest. It seems saving your asses from the Inquisitor wasn't enough to prove what I am capable of," Konrad seethed. "Dueling one of you might be more convincing."
"And that was enough," Helena finally intervened—when he least wanted her.
He turned to face her, the expression stern and dark, but—
"If we wanted a massacre, we would've sent the army to deal with the Church. The king left it up to the nobles instead—they failed. This boy didn't. You questioning your king?"
That had the count back off and bow, but the murmurs didn't die down.
"I'd do no such thing, your highness," he said. "But I won't take insults from a problem-solver."
Konrad was mighty pissed. So that was what he was?
A royal problem-solver? It made sense if he thought about it.
He got roped into this mess, and he solved it out of necessity, but for what?
To face another trial, and another, while he didn't even get the title he deserved?
Not that he wanted it—okay, he did, but not like this.
"Princess, please allow me to rein in these subjects as I see fit," he pleaded, voice cold. "I swear I won't kill any of them. Heck, I won't even use my magic. But what's enough is enough."
The murmurs got louder, the gazes heating up—but he had a plan.
And like so many times before, Helena read the room better than he had expected.
"Very well. If you think a duel would resolve these issues," she let her voice trail off. "Whoever wishes to take up the sword against Lord Halstadt, step up now, or fall back in line."
Seven nobles took a decisive step, much more than Konrad had expected.
But the odd thing was—they were all old and frail.
Beating them would have been both trivial and dishonourable. That fifty-year-old count joined them, too, his face in a confident smirk. Did they have any idea about his skills?
"Are you sure?" he gave them one chance to back down. "Even all seven of you wouldn't stand a chance in a melee—and I'm not trying to boast."
The nobles' eyes met for a second, the silence heavy between them—
Then they all burst into a laugh.
"I have to hand it to you, kid," Count Roralt said. "You're an excellent joker."
Behind the seven frail nobles, seven retainers stepped up.
All in their prime, bursting with muscles.
"Now, stop joking around, and introduce your champion, too."
Oh. So that was how they played. Nobles were assholes.