166 Game of Predators
"This is where things become crucial," his eldest son, Godfrey, said. "The boy isn’t stupid. He knows it’s a trap, so he’ll come prepared. We need to make sure we have him completely cornered."
Norbek nodded in agreement.
They had succeeded in luring William into the designated hunting ground, but he had yet to step into the actual trap.
If they wanted a perfect hunt, they needed to coordinate with their allies—set layers upon layers of fail-safes to ensure William wouldn’t escape.
"Still, there’s no need to be overly cautious," Norbek said. "The event is being hosted on our land. No matter what preparations he makes, he’s at a fundamental disadvantage."
"…My lord, about that…"
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The voice that spoke was hesitant.
Marcel, the envoy who had been sent to confirm the arrangements, was standing stiffly, sweat beading on his forehead. Gone was his usual composed demeanor.
Norbek’s eyes narrowed. "What is it? Did something go wrong?"
"Well… he did agree to participate in the hunt… but he also insisted that he himself be the host."
"…What?"
Both Norbek and Godfrey stared, momentarily at a loss for words.
The sheer audacity of the proposal left them speechless.
He wants to host the Hundred-Day Hunt himself?
Norbek’s mind reeled.
A man with no land of his own, no territory to serve as the hunting grounds—what absurdity was this?
"What nonsense. I understand his caution, but making such a proposal is no different from a refusal. If anything, it only backs him further into a corner."
"Actually…" Marcel hesitated before continuing. "Shortly after I arrived, the emperor granted him both a noble title and a domain."
Norbek’s hand, which had been stroking his beard, froze. "What?"
"The emperor has named him Margrave and gifted him Asagrim—the former capital of the Northern Kingdom."
"...!?"
Silence.
For a moment, neither Norbek nor Godfrey could say anything.
Asagrim?
The emperor had never relinquished control of the imperial territories. And yet, he had just handed over Asagrim without hesitation?
Marcel, sensing their disbelief, pressed on.
"Additionally, the Imperial Auditor has been dispatched to oversee a formal inheritance process. They intend to officially transfer all estates and assets left behind by the former Duke of Grimaldi to his grandson."
"This is madness!"
Norbek shot to his feet, voice shaking with fury.
It was one thing for William to inherit personal wealth from House Grimaldi. That much could be excused.
It was even barely acceptable that Asagrim had been granted to him.
But both?
House Grimaldi’s legacy and the former Northern capital?
"This is the royal bloodline we’re talking about! The last vestige of the old kingdom! And yet, the emperor has given him Grimaldi’s wealth and Asagrim? This is nothing short of resurrecting the old monarchy!"
"A thought I had as well," Marcel admitted. "I doubted it. A hundred times over, I questioned it. But the Imperial Auditor was legitimate. The emperor’s personal decree was included as well."
"No. No, this can’t be happening. It’s absurd!"
"Father! Calm yourself! We need to think clearly!"
Godfrey grabbed Norbek’s arm, forcing him to sit back down.
Though he played the role of the rational one, the reality was that he, too, was struggling to comprehend what was happening.
The emperor should have feared another rebellion after the recent declaration of independence from Krefeld.
Yet instead of crushing any potential threat, he had all but encouraged the North to unite under a single banner.
Was he truly pushing for Northern unification?
It went against all logic.
If anything, the emperor should have been dividing the lords of the North, keeping them from ever forming a consolidated power.
But instead, he had just handed Asagrim to William Grimaldi—giving him a rallying point, a symbol of Northern identity.
Why?
Does he truly believe that boy would unite the North and pledge himself to the Imperial Court?
If so, the emperor was gambling everything on a single outcome.
For now, perhaps William would swear fealty. But what about the next generation? The one after that?
Was the emperor really so desperate for allies that he was willing to take such a reckless risk?
"This… this is bad," Norbek muttered, pulling himself together. His grip tightened around Godfrey’s sleeve.
Godfrey snapped out of his thoughts. "Father?"
"If he has truly been granted the title of Margrave and received Asagrim, then the Hundred-Day Hunt is meaningless."
The old man’s face twisted with frustration.
"What should have been a hunt to test him will now become nothing more than a celebration—a festival where we, the guests, are forced to congratulate the rise of a new Northern ruler."
"Then what should we do?"
Norbek’s gaze flickered toward Marcel.
Understanding the silent order, the envoy quickly bowed and retreated.
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Once the doors had shut behind him, Norbek lowered his voice to a whisper.
"We need to summon the Magician."
"Father!? That’s too dangerous! Do you intend to openly oppose House Hern!?"
"This isn’t the time for hesitation. Can’t you see what’s happening? Why do you think the emperor handed that boy such excessive gifts? He’s preparing to use him to crush us and hand him the entire North!"
"..."
"William Grimaldi has always viewed us as a thorn in his side. And now, with the emperor’s silent approval, he will come for us. If we do nothing, we will fall by his hands."
Norbek’s voice was sharp and cold.
He could see the writing on the wall.
The boy had been given power. Now, it was only a matter of time before he used it.
They had to strike first.
It was reckless, yes. But being cautious would only ensure their destruction.
They could worry about the aftermath later. If they wasted time debating, they would be dead before they ever had the chance to regret their decision.
Norbek leaned in closer.
"There is no other path. We will hire the Magician—and when the deed is done, we will make sure all blame falls on him."
Godfrey hesitated.
Would the plan work? Would the enemy fall for it?
It didn’t matter.
In the end, they had no choice.
"…Understood."
With a heavy nod, he accepted his father’s command.
The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear—
House Calix would not go down without a fight.
"Ugh!"
"Something wrong?"
"No, it’s just… I got the chills all of a sudden."
Colin, a mage of the Celestial School, shivered despite the thick layers of clothing he wore.
It wasn’t his first time in the North, but for some reason, an unnatural chill was seeping into his bones.
As he rubbed his arms, a quiet chuckle sounded from ahead.
"My, my. To think you’re worrying about your health now, Senior. Weren’t you the one who used to say it didn’t matter when you died?"