The Northern Grand Duke's Mad Son-in-Law - Chapter 2

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Ceaseless

◈ The Northern Grand Duke’s Mad Son-in-Law ◈

Chapter 2: Leather Notebook

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‘All I have is one bag.’

Galahad clicked his tongue softly as he shook the leather bag in his hand.

He had thought he’d lived a fairly diligent life, yet all he had to show for it was this one leather bag. He had returned his uniform, leaving him in the shabby shirt and trousers he had worn when he first arrived.

‘Looks like I’m the first one to get out alive.’

There was a famous story within the Intelligence Bureau. The legend said that anyone who wanted to leave had to offer up their life.

In truth, once someone joined the Intelligence Bureau, they could never transfer to another department.

The Intelligence Bureau was obsessively devoted to secrecy. If not for political reasons, they would have smashed Galahad’s head with a hammer if that was what it took to erase his memories.

‘They said someone would come pick me up.’

Galahad put a cigarette between his lips.

Just then, a carriage came rumbling toward him. Passersby jumped at the loud snorting of its glossy horses. A few watched as though they were seeing something strange.

‘A carriage in this day and age...’

Galahad narrowed his eyes.

As magic studies advanced, Mana Carriages fitted with magic circles and mana reservoirs became popular in place of horses. They cost about the same as horses, if not less, and were easier to maintain. Carriages were steadily disappearing from the capital.

‘The Northern Grand Duke sent this carriage.’

He had to travel all that distance in a carriage. Clicking his tongue, Galahad approached it.

A man with narrow eyes sat in the driver’s seat.

Thick steel armor, a long sword at his waist, a dagger strapped to his inner thigh, and a helmet placed beside him. He was the very image of a knight.

“Are you Galahad Ambertan?”

“I am. Is this the carriage sent by His Grace the Northern Grand Duke?”

“Yes. You may call me Gilbert. I’ll escort you.”

The man roughly opened the door. The inside was even worse than the exterior. The seats wrapped in scraps of cloth looked more uncomfortable than tavern chairs, and there were even stains on the walls.

‘This won’t be easy.’

Sending such a shabby carriage and only one escort was proof that they did not welcome Galahad either.

“It’s made from Demonkin leather, so it’ll be softer than it looks.”

The man who had introduced himself as Gilbert spoke with a trace of amusement.

Knowing complaints would change nothing, Galahad nodded and climbed into the carriage.

Bang. The door slammed shut with a loud crash. Before Galahad could even sit down, the carriage began moving.

“Soft, my ass. It feels like someone’s kicking me in the backside.”

A laugh came from outside the carriage when he grumbled under his breath.

His hearing’s sharp. Muttering quietly, Galahad searched through his inner pocket.

He pulled out a small Leather Notebook. It looked like an ordinary, worn notebook, but when he poured mana into it, it opened on its own.

Its pages were filled with handwriting that ranged from crooked scrawls to neat script.

The sentence written at the very top was...

[I transmigrated into a novel.]

It was written in crooked Korean.

Galahad had clearly written those words, but they were so old that his memory had faded.

At first, he had thought he had been reincarnated with memories from a previous life. After all, when those memories had returned to him, he was only beginning to walk.

It was only after hearing about the Demonkin and familiar names that he realized he had transmigrated into a novel.

Galahad had hurriedly gone over his memories and organized what he recalled of the novel. That was what this Leather Notebook was.

Quite some time had already passed by the time he realized where he was.

His memories of the novel were incomplete. He had never read it that carefully to begin with, and who read a novel while memorizing every detail?

Still, he remembered the broad strokes. For example...

[The world will be destroyed by the Demon King.]

The novel had a sad ending. No, calling it a sad ending was not enough.

It was a fucked-up ending.

[Key figures: a blond Sword Master, some Great Archmage, the Mother of Elves, an axe-wielding barbarian, a Half-Demonkin...]

He had written down whatever he could vaguely remember. The ending was certain, but he could not be confident about the rest.

Below that was an explanation written in the Imperial language.

[The Great Archmage is most likely the Master of the Twilight Magic Tower. The blond Sword Master is likely the Northern Grand Duke’s eldest daughter. The Mother of Elves should be in the Elven Forest. The axe-wielding barbarian is unknown.]

Those were pieces of information Galahad had obtained while working for the Intelligence Bureau.

Galahad’s goal was a warm, comfortable old age. To achieve that, he had to stop the Demon King ending somehow.

Originally, he had planned to prepare for the Demon King in the Intelligence Bureau. The Intelligence Bureau was such a powerful organization that people said it moved the continent.

‘But an engagement to the northern Sword Master...’

Galahad smiled bitterly. It was hard to call it a good move, but it was not the worst one either.

The blond Sword Master was the most prominent hero in the story, and the North was also where the front line against the Demonkin stood.

To catch a tiger, you had to enter its den.

Galahad kept rereading the notebook, its cover worn smooth by his hands, as he went over his memories.

* * *

The carriage stopped after sunset.

“Please get out.”

Gilbert pointed behind him. They were beside a road with nothing around it at all.

“We’re sleeping outside?”

Galahad frowned. He was a scion of a count’s house.

There were villages or castles a day’s journey apart, so he could not understand why they would deliberately sleep outdoors.

“I was told to avoid contact with the Empire as much as possible.”

“Was that His Grace’s order?”

“I follow Lady Adrianna.”

Adrianna was the name of the woman Galahad was going to marry.

“Right. A man should listen to his wife.”

Crunch.

A chilling sound came from Gilbert’s teeth.

‘He doesn’t like me.’

It was only natural.

Galahad was a mage, the sort of person they hated most, and the third son of a count. There was no reason for them to welcome a marriage between someone like him and the Northern Grand Duke’s eldest daughter.

Countless power struggles and conflicting interests must have been tangled beneath it all. Judging by the result, the Northern Grand Duke had lost.

“You are not married yet.”

Gilbert smiled, showing his teeth. Killing intent pricked at Galahad’s back.

‘This could be dangerous.’

Galahad put a cigarette between his lips and smiled bitterly.

Gilbert silently prepared the camp. His hands moved with an ease that showed he was used to sleeping outdoors. Galahad watched without saying a word.

Gilbert gathered the firewood and lit it in an instant. He set a pot over it, threw in some meat, and made stew as well.

‘Don’t want to eat that.’

Galahad clicked his tongue quietly. He already knew the people here had terrible hygiene, but turning over meat with hands that had dug through dirt and handled firewood was too much.

“Eat. It’s northern cuisine.”

Gilbert picked up a piece of meat and held it out to him. It was a large chunk that had not been cut, seared only on the surface. Red blood dripped from the uncooked center.

Not even rare. Super rare.

This was supposed to be cuisine? It was absurd, but unfortunately, he was not in a position to complain about his meal.

“Thank you.”

Galahad tore into the meat. Sour blood, heavy with the stench of raw flesh, filled his mouth. He chewed thoroughly and swallowed.

Perhaps Gilbert had not cooked it that way simply to mess with him, because he tore into his own meat too. He even drank the running blood as though it were a beverage.

Watching that barbaric meal made Galahad want to go north even less.

The meal continued in silence. Once he had finished, Gilbert offered him a bottle of liquor.

“I don’t drink.”

Galahad lightly shook his head. Alcohol dulled the mind and weighed down the hands, making it taboo for mages.

“As expected of a mage.”

Gilbert emphasized the word mage. It was not said kindly.

“Yes, an exceptionally skilled mage.”

Galahad met his gaze without looking away. Gilbert’s brow creased slightly.

“You should be careful in the North. Those ignorant northerners cannot tell mages and Demonkin apart very well.”

That was all the threat amounted to. Galahad found it childish.

“Surely the Northern Grand Duke can protect one son-in-law in his own territory.”

This time, Gilbert snorted. He was more patient than Galahad had expected.

“I hear hunting mages has become fashionable in the Empire these days. A mage’s heart fetches a high price.”

Gilbert grinned as if nothing had happened. He was right. There had been quite a few reports lately of mages being hunted.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m a valuable item, even if I don’t look it. This is the first exchange between His Majesty the Emperor and the Northern Grand Duke in twenty years. Things were so tense that people were even talking about rebellion. What if something happened to me, proof of their exchange?”

This time, Galahad grinned.

Unlike before, Gilbert was no longer smiling.

“I’m quite important. Take good care of me.”

Galahad did not know the details himself. Perhaps he was simply someone who had lost all backing, but there was no need to say that.

“If you’re done eating, we should get moving again.”

Gilbert rose to his feet.

“You plan to keep moving without sleeping?”

“Yes. You’re an important person.”

“Will you be all right?”

“I’m a knight. I can go without sleep for several days. Will an important person like you be all right? The carriage will shake a lot.”

Gilbert asked with narrowed eyes.

‘He’s sulking.’

Galahad clicked his tongue and nodded.

The carriage seat was hard, and it shook violently. It was no place to sleep.

Gilbert clearly had the petty intention of making him suffer however he could.

Galahad, however, was a mage. Mages of this era were more suited to support than combat.

Turning a shaking carriage into a soft, silent bed was fairly easy.

For the first time in a while, Galahad slept deeply enough to snore.

* * *

Knock, knock.

Galahad woke at the warning spell. He had slept so soundly that his body felt refreshed.

Galahad tidied his sleeping area before opening the door.

Gilbert, who looked more haggard than before, frowned at him.

“You seem to have slept well.”

“Very well. Are you all right? You don’t look so good.”

“...I’m fine. It’s common to go days without sleep on the battlefield.”

“I see. I’m fine, so keep up the good work.”

Gilbert’s face twisted further. He was fun to tease.

“Let’s stop at a castle or village along the way.”

“...A castle?”

“I think I need to buy a coat.”

Galahad said as he rubbed his goosebumped arms.

“Can a mage feel cold?”

Gilbert asked as though he genuinely could not understand. Galahad frowned. What exactly did he think mages were?

“I’m a person, so of course I can.”

He could use magic to maintain his body temperature. Still, spells that affected a mage’s body were several times more difficult than creating a bed or blocking out sound.

“Garseton Castle is on our route, isn’t it? I heard they have good coats there. Let’s stop by.”

“Garseton?”

It was an unsettling response, but Gilbert had always seemed suspicious. Galahad nodded.

“Understood.”

The corner of Gilbert’s mouth rose.

He really was deeply unsettling.

* * *

‘Cold.’

Galahad grumbled as he pushed back his hair. The center of the Empire was warm every day, but this place was cold enough to raise goosebumps. He had to use mana just to maintain his temperature.

He had not even put a cigarette in his mouth, yet his breath misted in the air. Keeping himself warm alone was draining mana at an alarming rate.

There were no stone roads, so mud clung thickly to the soles of his shoes. Was it really mud?

Galahad sniffed.

An unpleasant smell filled his nose.

It was mud.

Galahad hurriedly put a cigarette between his lips and lit it. The fragrant scent of lemon drove away the other smell.

“It’ll only get colder the farther north we go.”

Gilbert, dark circles hollowing out the skin beneath his eyes, said sharply. Somehow, he had changed into fur clothes that looked like animal hide.

“Don’t soldiers at the front endure the cold bare-bodied or something?”

Gilbert frowned at Galahad’s question. Looking closely, it was a smile.

“Yes, soldiers dress warmly too.”

“What a shame.”

Galahad grumbled under his breath.

Just then, a fat man came running over. He had so much flesh that it shook with every step. The man wore high-heeled shoes that had gone out of fashion long ago.

“Oh! Why did you stop at the outer castle instead of coming to the inner castle when you arrived?”

The fat man wiped sweat from his forehead as he spoke.

Galahad glanced at Gilbert. Gilbert looked away as though it had nothing to do with him.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Aren’t you His Grace the Northern Grand Duke’s guest?”

Galahad looked at Gilbert.

Gilbert shrugged, his expression saying, It wasn’t me.

‘The Northern Grand Duke’s side must have informed them that someone was coming.’

Gilbert had actually opposed visiting the castle. The arrival this man spoke of could not have been Galahad’s.

“Come in! The lord is waiting for you!”

“Do you have a soft bed?”

The fat man tilted his head at Galahad’s question, then nodded.