Kyle sipped his tea, unbothered, as the tension between Nigel and the Duke thickened like a storm in the air.
His expression remained calm, distant even, as if the entire affair unfolding before him was none of his concern.
The only sound in the room for a moment was the faint clink of porcelain when Kyle gently set his teacup back onto its saucer.
The Duke and Nigel both turned toward him instinctively, startled by the subtle shift in energy.
Kyle met their gazes without emotion.
"I don’t mind giving up the heir position. I have far more important things to focus on."
The Duke’s brows furrowed slightly, not at the words, but at the certainty with which Kyle said them.
"That said...I want to know what I gain from this trade."
Kyle continued, resting his hands lightly on the armrests of his chair,
The Duke blinked, stunned. Then, unexpectedly, he leaned back in his seat and let out a deep laugh.
"You’ve changed. To think you’d ask something like that in this hall. Ambitious now, are you?"
The Duke rubbed his chin, amusement still lingering in his expression.
"Maybe I should change my mind and make you the successor after all. If you’re this ambitious now, you might just be the kind of Duke we need."
"I’m far too busy to manage the duchy. Politics bore me, nobles irritate me, and the paperwork would waste years of my life I can’t afford to give away."
Kyle said flatly, not missing a beat.
Nigel leaned forward quickly.
"If you inherit it officially, I’ll run it in your place. I’ll act as your sword and your voice. That way-"
Nigel’s mouth closed. His eyes flicked up to meet Kyle’s.
"It would be better for the people if you were to inherit officially. The war I’m about to fight may take weeks. Or it might stretch into decades. No one knows. And I won’t hand this family over to uncertainty."
Kyle said, his tone still calm but unmistakably final.
"Then I’ll go in your place. You stay. You’ve built a settlement. You have people who rely on you. Let me—"
That was all it took.
There was something in Kyle’s eyes—something sharp and unwavering.
That quiet kind of resolve that could not be swayed by reason or affection or familial duty. Queen’s faint mana, dormant in the background like a slumbering storm, shivered slightly at the intensity.
Nigel sat back slowly, defeat weighing on his shoulders. He didn’t argue again.
What was the point? One look was enough to tell him—Kyle had already made his choice long ago.
The Duke observed the exchange quietly. Then, after a moment, he spoke.
"You’ve grown colder."
"No, I’ve just stopped pretending to be weak."
The Duke chuckled again, this time quieter, more thoughtful.
"You always did have your mother’s sharp tongue. Very well. Nigel will inherit. You’ll go to war. But if you’re going to be dragging the Armstrong name across the battlefield, then make it feared."
Kyle said as he stood.
The chair made no sound. His posture was relaxed, but his presence filled the room like a tide.
The Duke raised a brow.
"Anything else you want in exchange for your obedience?"
Kyle paused, then offered a ghost of a smile.
"Resources. Troops. Provisions. And access to the Armstrong information network."
The Duke looked at him, long and hard. Then he slowly nodded.
In the end, Nigel had no choice but to nod, giving his reluctant approval to the Duke’s plan. As the meeting ended, the tension left his shoulders, but a shadow of resistance remained in his eyes.
He walked beside Kyle in the corridor, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets.
"I’ll do it. But only temporarily."
He muttered, glancing sideways.
Kyle didn’t answer immediately.
Nigel cleared his throat, forcing a grin.
"You can take the title back any time you want, brother. One word, and I’ll step down."
Kyle let out a faint exhale that resembled a tired chuckle.
"Keep it. I’ve got no interest in wasting my life behind a desk."
"You sure? All that power—"
"Is a cage. And I’d rather be free."
There was a beat of silence between them before Nigel spoke again, more serious this time.
"Then I’ll support you. As Duke, I’ll back you with every resource I have. Money, men, information. Whatever you need, just ask."
Kyle gave a curt nod.
"Good. That’s all I ask."
Still, as they parted ways, Nigel’s eyes were thoughtful. He had no intention of holding on to the title forever.
Somewhere deep inside, he kept a loophole—one that would allow him to hand it over to Kyle the moment his brother needed it, no matter what Kyle claimed.
Kyle returned to his room, his cloak draped over his shoulder. The sun had dipped low beyond the estate walls, casting golden slants across the floor.
Bruce was waiting inside, arms folded and a thoughtful frown already forming the moment Kyle stepped in.
"How did it go, Young Master?"
Kyle sat down near the window, glancing out at the estate gardens without answering at first.
Bruce tilted his head.
"Should I take that as a disaster or a success?"
"It went well. Nigel’s going to be Duke."
"I gave him no choice."
A moment passed before Bruce chuckled.
"Then what about you, Young Master? What’s your next move?"
"I won’t be weighed down by the chains of nobility. Not when we’re so close to war with the divine."
Kyle said, voice calm.
Bruce’s gaze sharpened at the word divine, a chill passing through the room. Even it, Queen, stirred faintly from where it slumbered, as if reacting to the direction of Kyle’s intent.
"I won’t end up like Amanda. Tied down. Blunted. A political figurehead more than a warrior."
Bruce’s smile faded at the name. Amanda Armstrong, their once-great war hero, now shackled by political constraints and endless obligations.
Bruce had seen what titles did to people—how they devoured time and dulled the blade of purpose.
"I need to move freely. Fight as I please. Build as I must. A Duke can’t do that."
Bruce slowly nodded, his expression turning serious.
"We leave after the feast tomorrow. Back to our territory. The next battle is coming fast, and we need to prepare. I want the walls fortified, the scouts expanded, and every unit trained for divine confrontation."
Bruce straightened up.
"We’ll make our stand soon. Against it, against its kind. I want Queen to taste what it truly means to be opposed."
At the mention of its name, the dormant mana in the air briefly thickened.
Queen did not speak, but the pressure it exerted was like a silent hiss in the mind, a reminder that it still watched, still waited.
Kyle met that presence with no fear in his gaze.
Let it understand that its time was almost up.