To the people of Harvest, Victory was another world. It looked different, painted in shades of white and gray as opposed to the vibrant greens and golds that colored majority of the kingdom. The people walked differently, accustomed to stomping through the snow, talked crudely by capital standards, and they believed in different, insane, things.

Unlike most of the young men native to the north, Lancecain had been beyond the tall walls of his home. Said trips had mostly consisted of short hunting trips to hone his abilities against different types of manabeasts. He’d walked under a clear blue sky and eaten fragrant dishes that weren’t some variety of roasted monster. Despite that, his definition of a beautiful day was a carpet of fluffy gray clouds with murky rays of light shining down on a field of white snow.

Walking through Victory, his breath fogging on the frosty air and his arms full of the makings of a good meal, Lancecain was in a good mood. The year’s campaign hadn’t gone as he’d hoped, having expected the push much deeper into enemy territory. He was sure they could have. Their army hadn’t even suffered any injuries.

He suspected that their leaders had been holding back. Something unthinkable for a native of the north but it wasn’t unusual for outsiders to balk, lacking the dedication of someone who had grown up around the war. He’d expected more of Alana’s…loved ones. Especially Alana’s loved ones. He expected the bastard with too much to prove to urge them forward until at least half the army succumbed.

If it were anyone else, their accomplishments would be more than sufficient. Hundreds of monsters slain, including a goliath, which was a threat that would have done devastating damage to a regular army, all without losing a single man. She should have been celebrated. Would have been if they hadn’t made such a spectacle of their power. As it was, those that had remained in the fort and welcomed the youngest James daughter home wondered if she had lost her passion for her family’s quest.

Many were appeased by the explanation presented by Khan’s apparent betrayal. It made sense to leave the enemies ahead to the more experienced and return to protect their back from a traitor. Lancecain, who knew Alana better, had doubts.

She pursued her goals with the self-sacrificing determination her family was famous for. If she had wanted to go deeper, she would have dragged her brother, the strange reptilian creatures, and any other hindrances behind her for as long as her legs would carry her.

No, he was sure that there was another reason Alana didn’t try her hardest but he wasn’t the type to probe. He would have hoped that she would confide in him as a friend but had to acknowledge that she wasn’t quite as fond of him as he would like. Lancecain had to content himself with returning home safely. If other matters were his concern, they would reveal themselves.

With several armies beyond the walls, the fort was much quieter than usual. Quiet enough he could hear each crunch of his steps in the snow. It was soothing. He hummed alongside it, his cheerful mood at odds with the dreary atmosphere as he walked toward the norther wall.

Victory did not have a need for luxury. As a consequence, many status symbols of the south had no importance to the northerners. Rather, it was things that others took for granted that separated the powerful from the common. One being private residences.

Most of Victory’s population were soldiers who didn’t require much domestic maintenance. They stayed in communal housing, usually provided by their orders, until they were ready to start their own families. Something they only did after a few campaigns, which many didn’t survive. As such, there were very few private homes within the walls.

One of those homes belonged to Lancecain’s master, a gift from the duke himself. To Lancecain’s knowledge, his master hadn’t been involved seriously with a woman for his entire life and disregarded any notions of starting a family once he found a capable disciple. The knight, well-accustomed to the north’s ways, didn’t care to take up limited space within the walls by occupying a house he didn’t need but he was too distinguished a character to go unrewarded.

Sir Polluck didn’t give it much thought, only concerned that he had a bed to sleep in at the end of the day. Lancecain was more appreciative of the privacy. He had moved in with his master once Sir Polluck determined there was nothing left for the Duelists to teach him. Given that he spent much more time in it than Sir Polluck, Lancecain found it easy to think of the house as his own.

He was the one who shoveled a walkway to the front door every other day, caught in an endless struggle with the unrelenting snowfall. He also had the door painted a dark blue and commissioned ice sculptures of miniature manabeasts to decorate their small yard.

Seeing the cute renditions of the horrible creatures that claimed the lives of thousands every year always amused him. His master never looked at them twice. Polluck’s attention was consumed with training and fighting. When he couldn’t do those two things, he brooded in his old chair that sat before a simple fireplace, watching the flames dance.

That was how Lancecain found him. “Master, I’ve returned with dinner. Unless you’re hungry now. I’m fine with a late lunch.”

He didn’t receive a response as he carried his burdens into the kitchen. Reaching into a cabinet, he pulled out a brown bottle with a simple label glued to the front, blank except for a green H. The Herbanacle brought by Lady Tome was simply too good to pass up. He would have bought barrels of it if he had the gold, but it was understandably expensive. He’d already dipped into his master’s savings for the six bottles he grabbed.

He didn’t feel bad about it. His master spent his vast wealth accumulated by risking his life slaying titans on nothing but new weapons, new armor, and maintaining them. Lancecain would inherit everything of his master’s one day. He didn’t see anything wrong with spending a little of it early to bring a little life into their home.

Grabbing two cups, Lancecain moved to the living room. He filled them up before settling the bottle on the mantle and holding a cup out to his master, keeping it there for several moments before it was noticed. The older knight sniffed it and frowned. “Isn’t that the stuff brought by the elf?”

“The good stuff, you mean.” Lancecain waved the cup under his nose until his master took it.

They sipped their drinks in silence for several minutes before Sir Polluck finally grumbled, “You wasted a golden opportunity.”

“Alana’s army didn’t make it as far as I thought but it’s obvious she has a bright future. Being in her camp may not have many benefits now but I’m betting it’ll be better in the long run. Though I have to wonder if they have any need for duelists. They have other means of bringing down titans.”

“I’m not talking about the campaign.” Sir Polluck glared at him. “I’m talking about Alana James and you being the next duke of Victory. I could have been calling you Lance James. You could have had the north.”

“You can put a sword in a boy’s hand but you can’t make him swing it.” Lancecain took a long drink, smiling as it burned a trail to his gut. A warm fog blanketed his mind and his body felt lighter, showing how strong the southern drink was. He could hold his liquor well like most men of the north but without diluting it, the Herbanacle was strong enough to put him on his ass after one cup. “Alana wasn’t interested.”

“With that face? If you put half a mind to it, you could have had her eating out of your hand.”

“Thank you for the compliment but I think you’re overestimating my charm.”

“She seemed to like you plenty. The two of you were always together.”

Lancecain looked over. Seeing that his master hadn’t drained his cup, he put the wildly inaccurate remembrances to wishful thinking. “We were friendly. I think she gave me those few moments because no one else would give her the same. She never seemed comfortable around me.” He paused to take another drink. “Besides, given her companions, I don’t think I had much of a chance.”

Polluck grunted. “You still might have a chance. If Alana is to be the duchess, she’ll need an heir.”