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Kayani, of course, harbored immense resentment toward Louis.

For years they had been ruled by Duke Remitri or his direct son, Pierre.

And what of the rumors that had trailed Louis until now? Not a single one had been favorable.

Yet people were now saying those rumors had likely been fabricated by Pierre.

At this point, Louis was even being compared to Pontina Valpur—a figure credited with achievements unimaginable back when the Duchy of Eron was first founded.

So much so that Pierre’s soldiers—who had marched to the very gates of hell under a ghostly mastery of war—likened Louis to Mars, the god of war.

And rumor had it that he had even won the favor of Rukus, the god of slaughter, who was jealous of Mars.

In short, Rukus—who had always envied his elder brothers—wished for the third son, Louis, to defeat his two brothers and claim succession.

Two opinions were rampant, but either way, the debates and chaotic rumors were settling as Louis revealed himself in full and imposed order.

Anyone who saw him even once seemed branded by the impression and praised him.

Perhaps they had sensed, even indirectly, the majesty of a true lord that Pierre never possessed.

Accordingly, popular support here among commoners was soaring.

Men wanted to become soldiers; young women spent whole days gossiping about Louis’s looks.

Only the old ruling nobles held grievances.

Even so, among them, the young and clever yielded to Louis at once; more than a few threw their full weight behind him.

Before a decisive outcome, anyone must lower their head.

Through overwhelming generalship, Louis had crushed Pierre’s army despite the disadvantage; with astonishing administrative speed, he stabilized recaptured cities with emergency measures—leaving no one bold enough to rebel.

And how could they, when former top figures were mysteriously dying to unknown ambushes?

No assassin had been caught, but no one could dispute that Louis was behind it.

Thus, even if the entrenched interests resented him, there was nothing they could do.

Those who kept their mouths shut were dying to knives out of nowhere; those who didn’t had even less chance to live.

And with only grim tidings—Fred and Marquis Gangpireu had clashed head-on—yet no results spreading elsewhere, it effectively appeared that Duke Remitri’s domain had passed to Louis.

Within a domain, all authority belonged to its lord— especially in a rotten state like the Duchy of Eron, where many parts had decayed and factional influence ran strong.

Therefore, only factions with comparable wealth could hope to restrain Louis in anything he did.

Even so, wholesale executions of the old elites would have sparked massive social backlash—so Louis resorted to assassination, keeping that point in mind.

Naturally, the busiest man was Kaiser, whom Louis now trusted absolutely.

No one knew better than Louis how starved Kaiser was for blood.

So Louis ordered him to make examples—boldly eliminate those who needed killing.

In Kayani, wherever Kaiser moved, sensational news followed without end.

No one pointed a finger at Louis.

The exploited never favored the leeches who bled them dry.

Meeting the same tormentors and seeing them beaten down in turn made people like Louis all the more.

Thus, though still officially in “Resistance,” the city was remarkably stable.

Trade was immediately reactivated, and citizens were assigned to salt harvesting.

Salt had been the most crucial resource in history.

Dyes brought decent profit, yes—but Kayani’s wealth came from salt.

If a neighboring country suffered poor harvests, the price of salt soared sky-high; for the starving, salt was more essential than wheat.

Some states even used salt in place of coin, so varied were its uses.

Securing salt-producing land was vital to a domain’s development.

Among the reasons Marquis Gangpireu coveted Remitri’s lands, salt proudly ranked near the top.

Secure overland trade routes deep into the interior, and salt could be worth more than gold.

The Duchy of Eron, stuck between several countries in a near-ruinous state, still limped along largely because certain coastal domains produced salt.

Those interests were tangled with bribery and corruption, and Pontina’s lands were no exception.

But the key point now was this: among the brothers, only Louis could freely direct this resource as he wished.

After advancing several initiatives, Louis had two tasks left:

One—lead the army to end the succession war.

Two—the very thing he was doing now.

At early dusk, the great mansion overlooking Kayani throbbed with life—nothing like a city that had just seen war.

Normally, a city consul’s residence stood at the exact center, but Kayani’s was set farther back.

The sloped terrain was one reason; the greater was to project majesty.

Even so, the consul’s mansion wasn’t necessarily the finest house in the city.

The wealthy would always build wider, more splendid homes to flaunt their riches—something that, quietly, aided urban growth—so there was no law against it.

Back in Proia, Louis’s residence had been modest compared to many grand houses—especially the great mansion Dekal had used, the largest of them all.

Of course, after Louis defeated him, that mansion—his symbol—became a heap of ash.

In contrast, Kayani’s consul mansion was downright fearsome.

You could read the second brother’s obsession with money in the straight-set marble stacks—piled like works of art.

Pontina lands, bound by family austerity, felt stark and severe.

Here, without such restraints, Pierre had indulged his desires without mercy—and Louis found the mansion satisfying as a result.

The old-style white marble everywhere exuded the air of dominion.

Louis had seen such buildings once before—in Aiwood, the free city-state dedicated to the slave trade, which possessed a barbaric yet beautiful face.

How he had coveted that city; when he left, he vowed he would claim it someday.

Now he stood in the mansion’s annex built solely for parties.

“Annex,” yet in truth it was half the building—a wing designed entirely around festivities, a broad central hall close to the kitchens so that fine dishes flowed out without pause.

The table glittered.

The cloth looked fresh from the loom; the wares atop it were anything but ordinary.

Carefully baked breads of many kinds; bottles of port set upright like little pillars of ice; honey dripping in golden threads for pairing; and, above all, as befit a port city, an array of rich fish dishes spread thick across the board.

Most eye-catching were the sturgeon soup and a steamed fish that was clearly a local specialty.

The slaves, bearing platters, fought their hunger with all their might.

Compared to their usual fare of thin weed porridge and barley bread, these delicacies were torment to ignore.

But this was a party thrown in Louis of Pontina’s own name—he who dragged rumor and frenzy in his wake.

Its weight was unusual; even minor mistakes could bring severe punishment—up to death.

Amid this lively, gentle air, Louis took oaths of fealty from the nobles who had ruled here.

Ceremonial as it was, such acts mattered greatly among nobles.

It meant choosing a new faction—so even if Fred won his war against Marquis Gangpireu, the oath-takers were bound to aid Louis with all their strength.

A few nobles still refused to join, fearing disgrace would stain their houses if they betrayed their choice later.

Typically, those holdouts were the city’s most powerful households—families of men whom Louis had smashed, their heads broken or their bodies torn apart in deaths so humiliating it made their kin grind their teeth.

And yet there were always those quick to secure a way to live.

The man swearing now was Vasiliev—a young, wealthy noble whose father had been cut down by Louis only recently.

Even so, attending and pledging here took uncommon nerve.

Such was the mad world of nobility.

Knowing the turmoil seething inside the man, Louis nonetheless completed the brief rite, clapped him on the shoulder, and welcomed him.

Then he glanced around, tallying how many from each powerful house he had carefully marked had shown up.

‘Exactly three came.’

He had “ground down” seven houses; the fact that three families likely nursing hatred still came to swear was encouraging.

Louis’s aim hadn’t been to shake the old order just to sow chaos; it was a warning—betrayal would be answered without mercy.

Since unlocking Mana Absorption, Louis felt mana begin to cling to him—and with it, his Charisma skill surged in synergy.

He now drew on that charisma to full effect.

They may have hesitated to come—but once here, Louis meant to show them they wouldn’t regret the choice.

It seemed to be working.

Those who arrived with hostility looked so ill at ease they wouldn’t even sip their wine, faces heavy.

Lower houses, able to climb now that the old order had wavered, already praised Louis—and seeing his substance up close only fanned their ardor.

In any case, the party would end before dawn.

Once he had taken every oath, Louis would march north within days.

While he re-absorbed and integrated Pierre’s remnants, his army was now larger than before.

Focusing on strategy, he felt he could meet Marquis Gangpireu in open battle—and see a path to victory.

In some ways, position had favored him.

Only his two elder brothers bordered Gangpireu; Louis had been set apart.

Someone had to receive the marquis’s lust head-on—and the eldest had done so.

Had Louis been in that region, he might already have crumpled.

Louis rinsed his mouth with wine.

It tasted good—very, as swollen as his ambition.