Grand Duke Oliver

Inside the ducal manor of Kenyaza City. Duke Oliver Norton's excessive fat trembled violently, and his voice quavered with terror. As descendants of the Val barbarians, House Norton was said to carry the bloodline of giants. Grand Duke Oliver was indeed unlike ordinary men, standing well over two meters tall with a pale whitish beard. Yet right now, wrapped in luxurious robes, his corpulent frame betrayed not the slightest trace of barbarian valor. "What... what do we do? The Kingdom of Cinders has breached the city!" "We're finished! It's completely over!" He had never imagined that the Kingdom of Cinders would strike here with lightning speed. The Principality of Norton had long enjoyed the protection of the Principality of Bosque, frequently garrisoning Lionheart Knights within its borders. Few nations were foolish enough to attack this place—after all, striking the dog means facing the master, and no one dared provoke a Northern colossus like Bosque. That had also been the very reason Oliver dared to provoke the enemy time and again. Now, however, the Lionheart Knights had been withdrawn, and most of Norton's local troops had been fed into the Battle of Trier. Just when city defenses were at their most vulnerable, the Cinder scions led by Duoluo caught them completely off guard, storming and conquering Kenyaza City in a single sweep. Duke Oliver looked toward his adjutant beside him, seizing the man's shoulders like a drowning man clutching at a straw, shaking him violently. "Quick, Gardel! Go find Grand Duke Leo!" "The Principality of Bosque will definitely have a way!" "Go, hurry!" Gardel, however, merely stood motionless, his face etched with utter despair. Enraged by this, Duke Oliver shoved him violently to the ground and roared, "Damn it! Can't you understand human speech? Go contact Grand Duke Leo for me right now!" "Now! This instant!" Sprawled on the floor, Gardel spoke in a voice laden with gloom: "Lord Oliver, it's already too late. They've already breached the city. Bosque's reinforcements... it's not like they can sprout wings and fly here to save us." Serving virtually as the chief steward of the Principality of Norton, Gardel had harbored nothing but pessimism toward their prospects ever since the defeat at the Battle of Trier. This time, he had painstakingly urged Duke Oliver not to wade into these murky waters, yet Oliver, relying on Bosque's backing, had dispatched over a hundred elite fighters anyway. Oliver grew even more incandescent with rage. Grabbing Gardel by the collar, he hauled the man into the air, spittle flying as he yelled: "Then what do you propose we do?" "Just sit here and wait to die?" "Perhaps... perhaps we could surrender," Gardel suggested tentatively. Oliver slammed him back to the ground and barked out a bitter, furious laugh. "Perhaps you could surrender, but do I still have that chance?" "Lest you forget, House Lakeman has already been wiped out, and more than half the nobles of the Principality of Lakeman were slaughtered down to the last man! Do you truly believe that I—the Duke of Norton, ruler of this principality—would ever be granted the chance to surrender?" Unsheathing the handaxe from his belt, Oliver gripped it firmly and stepped forward pace by pace. His towering frame almost completely eclipsed Gardel, his voice growing chillingly grim with every word. Lying on the floor, Gardel sensed the danger. Yet he did not panic. Instead, an odd sense of relief washed over him, and a mocking smile broke across his face. "Who knows? Your Grace might actually have a chance. After all, being a dog of the Principality of Bosque is still being a dog, just as being a dog of the Kingdom of Cinders is—" *Shhhk—* Duke Oliver severed Gardel's head in a single stroke, warm blood splattering across his face. "Hmph. Shameless traitor." He snorted coldly, his expression twisting into an even more ferocious grimace. Duke Oliver knew all too well that he had provoked the red dragon far too many times. Given the red dragon's vengeful and unforgiving nature, there was no chance he would be spared. He would likely be dragged onto a guillotine to face some farcical "trial" and become the laughingstock of the realm. For Oliver, that was utterly intolerable. Duke Oliver turned toward his personal guards and declared in a chilly tone, "This is the fate of anyone who dares contemplate surrender. Is that clear?" The bloodline of frost giants seemed to manifest: holding Gardel's severed head, panting heavily, his blood-splattered face had taken on a faint blue tint. Combined with his hulking frame of over two meters, he genuinely looked like a savage, ferocious frost giant. Whether out of terror or awe, the guards nodded in agreement, not daring to utter a sound. "..." "Then... what will Your Grace do next...?" After a prolonged silence, the captain of the guard finally summoned the courage to ask. The commotion outside was growing increasingly chaotic, filled with incessant wailing, frantic screams, and the sharp cracks of gunfire echoing throughout the city. The forces of the Kingdom of Cinders had clearly breached the inner perimeter and were eliminating all remaining pockets of resistance. They would not last much longer. "Damn it..." "To let them push through this quickly—what a bunch of useless trash." Duke Oliver cast aside Gardel's head, whose unclosed eyes stared blankly into nothingness. Oliver pondered with a sullen grimace, a heavy gloom cloaking his rugged features. Suddenly, he remembered a tale of House Norton. It had existed since the days when House Norton were chieftains of the Val barbarians, passed down by word of mouth through generations. Now, four hundred years later, people regarded it as mere legend—even his father had considered it so. Yet with the red dragon's scions bearing down on him, perhaps this was his final lifeline. At this thought, Oliver commanded: "Move. We're going to the family mausoleum." "Yes, my lord." Oliver and his personal guards took a secret passage behind the ducal manor, arriving at the House Norton mausoleum out back. The cemetery was quite lavishly adorned, planted with flowers symbolizing eternal rest for the departed. The headstones were carved with exquisite inscriptions—the names of House Norton's ancestors and their epitaphs. Within the cemetery were numerous sizable crypts where generations of dukes rested in peace. After centuries of assimilation, House Norton's burial customs were now virtually indistinguishable from those of the northern nobility. "This is the place." "You may withdraw. Wait for me at the entrance." "Yes, my lord." The guards obeyed the order and stood watch at the entrance of the crypt. Grand Duke Oliver approached the largest crypt and stepped straight inside. Engraved upon it was the name of House Norton's progenitor, the very first person granted the surname Norton—Cavaha Norton. "According to the secret records, this should be the way." Following the procedure recorded in the family's secret texts, he slit his finger with a dagger and let droplets of blood fall into a groove before the stone sarcophagus. His oddly colored blood, a strange shade of red tinged with white, sank into the groove immediately, triggering subtle, frigid ripples of energy. *Rumble—* With a dull, heavy roar, a concealed stone door slowly ground open, revealing a dark, cavernous secret passage behind the sarcophagus. "It really is true..." "Everything written in those records was true!" Duke Oliver's eyes lit up. Trembling with excitement, he hastened straight into the secret passage. The passage felt as though it had been tailored specifically for him; even with his towering frame of well over two meters, he walked through it without having to stoop.