Following the heated discussion between the maids and the guards, I learned that my father was once a guard-in-training at my mother's childhood home, which belonged to a middle-tier merchant family. They apparently fell in love after he risked his life for her by slaying a lone Berserker Orc.
Despite the fact that he was not the family's official guard at the time, he quickly rose to prominence as an independent hunter. That orc, due to its berserker state, was a mindless brute of terrifying strength that existed only to kill, eat, and sleep—that was the reason for our status. Its skull, which I saw encased in glass, was the origin of our surname: Hatar. In this kingdom, common people did not have surnames; we were the exception.
Because my mother's family opposed their union, my parents eloped and joined the military, serving together for ten years. The females had wistful expressions, whereas the males were awestruck because of the revelation. There was undoubtedly more to the story, but I could already see where the facts ended and the fiction began.
This gossip helped me understand why people called me the "miracle baby." My mother could not have children without magical or alchemical support, as the chances of natural fertilization were slim. Even with an alchemical pregnancy, the risk of an abnormal birth was high, and the treatment for both would have cost a fortune. I was certain my mother's illness was magic-related, though I lacked the knowledge to identify the exact cause, as they talked about something regarding excellent healing affinity and mana burn. Regardless, the mystery surrounding my conception explained the immense fuss over my first birthday.
However, the public remained divided. Those who called me a "Bad Omen" fell into two categories. The first was the superstitious crowd; because I was born in the month of Ace and the possibility was low according to them, they believed my birth was the result of an evil ritual. The second group was political. While I didn't yet fully grasp the nuances of rank and power, I knew the gist: my father had served in the regular army for six years, fighting in the skirmishes between the Kingdom of Enameia and the Confederation of Vyarga.
Later, my father transferred to the 5th Battalion of the Central Special Military Orc Eradication Brigade. It was formed to hunt the rise of the Orc Lord, whose army was initially estimated at 6,000 but actually numbered over 10,000. This force was comprised of sixty percent goblins, kobolds, and other lesser races, with the remainder being true orcs. They launched a surprise attack from the Shattered Mountain Range—a feat that had been successfully accomplished thrice in 4,000 years of the kingdom's history. Defending the range was usually easy, as there were only three routes—Capt, Losa, and Amlo—each protected by massive fortifications.
"Suspiciously, this invading army remained undetected, captured the forts, and flowed inward, using our own strongholds as their bases," a veteran said after carefully observing the surroundings.
"A portion of goblins, kobolds, and a few other creatures have since spread across the countryside, their rising populations destabilizing the entire kingdom," remarked the young guard whose family had recently settled here.
On the basis of the discussion between them, I came to the conclusion that both the royal and ducal armies should have been sufficient to quell the threat, even with the intelligence failure. However, the force led by the Duke's two sons and their subordinate nobles was brutally crushed; their heads were displayed as trophies upon the walls of Fort Losa. Enraged, the Duke led a second army himself, only to meet the same fate and join his sons at Losa.
In response, the Royal Family commissioned the Orc Eradication Brigade. While they initially recaptured the three forts, the aspiring Orc Lord began employing unprecedented strategies. In the recent long history of human-orc conflict, few orcs had possessed the intellect to improvise on the battlefield. Because of this, he was feared as Hanord the Schemer.
They discussed my father as they were talking about a religious figure, not a war hero. From the conversations I came to know how in one of the disastrous engagements, the 1st, 3rd, 5th, and 6th Battalions fell into an ambush and faced total annihilation. My father's squad, along with three others that belonged to other battalions, held the line. They stood their ground without orders, allowing the rest of the battalions to retreat. The enemy's momentum was only broken when the Orc Chieftain and his guards leading the charge fell at the hands of my father and his squad. He personally killed the Orc Chieftain. For this act of defiance, my father was awarded the 'Iron Grunt's Witness.' This distinction was unique; it was only bestowed when every single soldier in a battalion unanimously agreed on a recipient. It could be given to only one person per battalion, making it the highest honor a common soldier could receive.
It was not only my father who fought; my mother served alongside him. She belonged to the Mage Class of Healers. It was a strict military custom to station husbands and wives together only if their abilities complemented one another or filled specific roles within a squad. The command had to be certain that their relationship benefited the unit's efficiency rather than creating a liability.
The war in the Shattered Mountain Range ground on for two long years. What began as a series of direct confrontations slowly decayed into a brutal battle of attrition, eventually shifting into irregular warfare.
The brigade held a logistical advantage, as their supply lines were more secure than those of the orcs. In response to the rugged terrain and the enemy's shifting tactics, the brigade mirrored the orcs' strategies, deploying small-unit guerrilla tactics to match the threat. My father was at the absolute front of this conflict, leading their team through the harshest conditions. His main motivation was my mother's injuries.
When the battle dragged on with no end in sight, the State finally decided to deploy their 'Heavy Hitters'—the kingdom's most powerful assets. While the enemy army was nearly annihilated, Hanord the Schemer managed to retreat with his remaining forces. This narrow escape left a bitter taste in everyone's mouth. By surviving an encounter with Enameia's full military might, Hanord had become a much greater threat. This achievement made him a legitimate contender for the title of Orc King, a position that would grant him the Blessing of the Gods. If he triumphed, he would go from just a local nuisance to a global catastrophe, and the Kingdom of Enameia would undoubtedly be his first target.
Processing all of the information was a heavy task. I was now certain that my mother's illness was rooted in something that occurred during those years in the mountains—a period the historians now like to call The Trial of the Schemer.
Some guards spoke freely about the political consequences, apparently unaware of how much they were revealing. The conclusion I reached was that the orc incursion had fundamentally destabilized the kingdom's politics.
While those at the lower levels of society may not grasp the gravity of the shift, my past-life education and reading between the lines confirmed my suspicions. The death of the Grand Duke and his eldest sons had sparked chaos in the North. The only remaining heir to the Ducal House was a mere child—the son of a maid and the Duke's eldest son. Now, rival factions of nobles as well as the royal family were warring for control over the boy, while other minor families scrambled to seize the lands of those who lost their heirs.
This upheaval did not leave us unscathed, but we came out on top. Almost all of them talked about how my parents, upon their retirement, were granted titles of nobility and permitted to establish their own 'Noble House,' complete with its own Coat of Arms. This was one of the premier rewards of the Iron Grunt's Witness.
A very old guard halted the discussion and looked at the young ones, his eyes clearly wanting to talk about the subject. Everyone allowed him. He spoke about the vast social gulf between simply 'being a noble' and 'being from a noble house'. According to him, my family belonged to a class called 'Sword-Nobles'—elevated by merit or, by another name, 'Blood Nobles.' He mentioned the ancient laws that were established at the founding of the kingdom; he said that our house held the right to nobility in perpetuity, ending only if our bloodline died out.
He explained how this stood in stark contrast to other forms of ranks and went over to explain them.
The nobles who bought their way into the nobility could hold their title for only two generations. If the third generation could not sustain the wealth or perform a deed of merit, the name reverted to commoner status.
On the topic of an independent knight, he explained to them that these people earned nobility for themselves and their children through the blade. But for the grandchildren, the clock reset. To maintain the title, the parents had to perform their own deeds of valor according to the ancient laws. If the parents failed to prove their worth, they remained noble for their lifetimes, but the children—the grandchildren of the original Knight—were born as commoners, unless they could strike out and carve their own legacy through a deed of their own.
The third method that he mentioned was Anchor of Marriage. A provisional noble could secure their status by marrying into a blood-noble house. This extended the title to the spouse, their immediate children, and future lineage—a legal anchor against the descent. But the path was still guarded by rules.
He also talked about the coats of arms for these houses—the provisional nobles—and went into full professor mode about the geometric pentagram that mapped their territorial loyalty.
This helped me understand how the regular pentagram—five congruent isosceles triangles surrounding a central pentagon—represented the six power centers of the kingdom.
As he spoke, the design clicked into place in my mind. The pentagon at the center was the royal family. The five triangles pointing outward were representations of the five duchy territories ruled by a "grand duke."
Each of the five outer triangles was representative of North, East, West, and two distinct southern regions (Southeast and Southwest).
I was amazed by how simple, elegant, and ruthlessly political the crest was. A person's loyalty was literally written on their body.
On a provisional noble's shield, left chest, breast, sleeves, lapel, sash, surcoat, official uniform, and livery badges, the triangle or central pentagon corresponding to their home province was colored gold to show their regional loyalty.
In contrast, for Blood Nobles it was mandatory to have their own unique crest, distinct from the standard pentagram. Accompanying this crest was a pentacle; the golden-colored sections within it—such as a specific triangle or the central pentagon—demonstrated their regional loyalty. However, a house like ours possessed a colorless pentacle as a new member to the ranks of the Blood Nobility.
This realization brought to mind the two rings my parents always wore. One bore the Pentacle, the mark of our rank; the other featured our House crest. The crest was a masterwork of symbolism: a heater-style shield in the foreground, backed by a heavy two-handed broadsword. The sword's crossguard was uniquely shaped like a balanced scale, and at the center of the grip sat a shining pentacle. Embossed upon the shield's face was a hunter's dagger.
It was a perfect visual metaphor for our family's legacy: the strength of the blade, the precision of the hunt, and the cold, calculated balance of trade.
Because our pentacle remained colorless, it signaled to the world that while my father held the Iron Grunt's Witness, he had not yet pledged our house's 'eternal soul' to a specific Grand Duke or the King's inner circle.
To the Provisional Nobles and commoners—and even some Blood Nobles draped in regional color—our colorless mark implied we were 'rootless,' having served no single province for generations. To them, my father's pentacle looked empty. But to those who truly understood the Ancient Laws, that emptiness was terrifying: it represented a Blood-Noble House that owed favors to no one.
We are truly independent.
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