Hohenfels

Jerzy Nowak was beyond elated. Not only was his favorite student much more receptive than he had dared hope for: no, said student had also inadvertently proven a theory Jerzy had developed over the course of two long decades.

The old ways were still alive among the Eastern nobility.

It was supremely rare for the words of a baptized and confirmed Christian to reach the ears of the Old Gods. It was impossible for one to succeed on the first attempt. Prince Arnold von Hohenfels, heir to the margraviate and brother of a Paladin, was born and raised a heathen.

Oh, he couldn’t wait to see the face of his grumpy old mentor hearing those news. Though, on second thought, it was probably better to hold off on spreading that particular piece of information. The Prince certainly did not seem keen on sharing it, and drawing his ire would be… suboptimal. At least for a while.

Still, Jerzy found it difficult to contain his curiosity. If Arnold lacked the unimaginative, standardized Foundation of the Imperial aristocracy, what was his magic based on? It certainly wasn’t druidic in nature: the shaman’s own Heartroot would have been able to detect as much.

‘Hohenfels… Hohenfels…’ The Professor only vaguely recalled what little he knew about that House’s history. Perhaps the academy’s library had a genealogy or something similarly useful. He would need it to get an idea of what he was dealing with, since he would have to revise his entire teaching strategy.

= = = = =

Klara stared down at the terrified young lady in the dirt, and suddenly realized with a lurching heart just how badly she had messed up once more.

Despite everything, Katharina was still a high noble. Johanna had once summarized a terribly boring politics lesson in a short sentence: ‘If a House’s name is on the map of the Empire, it is important.’

Silberthal, while not much larger than some vassal countships in Eisengrund, sat right in the middle of the Imperial heartlands. The old silver mines they got their name from had long run dry, but their connections to Schwarzwald and Sonnenfeld clearly had not.

She had just threatened their eldest daughter at swordpoint, picked her up by the collar, and thrown her across the training ground, entirely unprovoked, just to make a point.

There was essentially no chance of direct retribution, as even an Imperial Count could not possibly stand against a Duke. But considering Eisengrund’s precarious situation, making enemies behind the scenes might even be more dangerous than provoking unambiguous rivals like Hohenfels.

As her mind raced to find a solution to the newest problem she caused, her victim scrambled to her feet, visibly unsteady from shock and fear. Even with her head racing with worries and uncertainty, Klara couldn’t help but find the sight utterly pathetic.

…It really was a shame. Sometimes, Katharina showed potential to be more than a worthless silkling, but now that she stood there trembling like a beaten dog, the Princess realized that no amount of training would ever forge the girl into a woman of honor.

The savages of Hohenfels were crude, arrogant, and incorrigible. No amount of explanations would ever make them understand their failings: after all, they still denied their responsibility for the massacre of Pogranicze, the horrendous military failure her brother paid for with his life.

But despite all their faults, they would never allow themselves to suffer such… degradation. As honor demanded, swift and severe retribution would follow any insult given. In contrast, the young silkling standing in front of her on shaky legs seemed… barely even human. An honorless wretch, weak and pitiful.

What a disappointment. But even so, Klara’s own honor would be tarnished should she leave things as they were. Bullying the weak was antithetical to House Eisenberg’s creed. She would have to–

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Katharina said quietly, her words barely more than a whisper.

“I’m thinking about what to offer you in restitution,” Klara responded honestly.

“...Restitution?”

“Yes. Restitution,” the Princess confirmed slowly, as if talking to a child. In some ways, she felt like she was. “My honor demands that I don’t unnecessarily torment my lessers. I failed in that just now, so I have to make up for it.”

“Your… Lessers?” There was something strange in Katharina’s voice, and Klara immediately regretted her choice of words. She had not meant them as an insult, but they had clearly been taken as such: and now that she repeated them in her head, she realized it was difficult to take them in any other way.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

That said, they were not wrong.

“Do you have any requests? I’d like to get this over with soon,” Klara demanded, deciding to just barrel through the uncomfortable conversation. It would be much easier if the girl picked something on her own, provided it was not too outlandish. It had only been a quick throw after all, and it probably did not leave any lasting injuries.

Katharina simply stared for a few heartbeats, and her terrified expression slowly morphed into something the Princess knew far too well: Anger and frustration. Was the girl finally growing a real spine? It sure seemed like it as her limbs stopped trembling and her gaze hardened.

“You don’t take me seriously in the slightest, do you?” she asked in a low voice. “Not even Prince Ludwig is this arrogant.”

…Did this girl just compare her to that incompetent clown?

“Bold words,” Klara snarled. “Careful, or I might start taking you seriously. Are you sure you want that?”

Katharina’s face went blank.

Klara’s instincts screamed a warning. She fell back two steps, taking up a defensive stance to parry the impending attack: but it never came.

“Do you even realize what I could do to you?” The young woman’s tone was deceptively calm, but the restrained rage contained in her words was almost palpable. “A few words in the right ears could ruin the pitiful remains of your reputation, and not a single soul would defend you. You are all alone. I have not once seen you with friends, and believe me, I paid attention.”

She took a step forward. Though her sword remained on the ground, discarded and forgotten, Klara retreated another two paces before her mind caught up with her feet.

“Did you know that Lord Friedrich is lauded as a hero for almost killing you?” she continued. “And not just in Hohenfels Hall. I’ve heard people from Sonnenfeld, Greifenau, even Eisengrund mock and deride you.”

“What does it matter?” Klara sneered. “They’re nothing but powdered rats, playing their stupid, useless games. I don’t give a fuck what they think of me.”

A cruel little smile crept onto Katharina’s face. “Pray tell, Your Highness, what do you intend to accomplish in life?”

“That’s none of your business!”

“I bet you have no idea yourself. Or is it some childish revenge fantasy? ‘I’ll show those Hohenfels mudlords who’s boss! And then I’ll punish Sonnenfeld and bring glory to Eisengrund!’”

The disdain dripping from her words seeped into Klara’s mind like poison, and she raised her weapon with an enraged growl. “How fucking dare you.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Katharina asked quietly, taking another step forward. “What do you think would happen if you killed me?”

Klara flinched.

Another step forward.

“This is not the arena. This is not a duel. You would be a murderer.”

A dagger softly brushed Klara’s neck, preventing further retreat.

“Sure, you could try to frame it as a training accident. But who would believe you?”

Another step. Another dagger, caressing her upper back.

“Nobody. You are alone.”

Katharina now stood so close that Klara could feel hot breath like yet another dagger on her throat as the smaller woman looked up to her with furious eyes.

“I have never waged war. But even I know that you can’t fight an army all on your own,” Katharina whispered. “Even if you plan to spend the rest of your life on the battlefield, you’ll need friends there. Allies who won’t stab you in the back the moment their greed overwhelms their fear.”

Mustering a defiant reply took more willpower than the Princess would ever care to admit. “Our people would never betray House Eisenberg,” she growled, her insistence ringing hollow even in her own ears.

“Perhaps not,” Katharina allowed. “But they would betray you.”

A pearl of sweat ran down Klara’s temple as she failed to find words.

“Are you prepared to live your life as a liability to your House?” the Young Lady Silberthal smiled wryly. “An inconvenience they have to plan around instead of with, because they cannot trust you not to mess up?”

“I’m not a liability! I’m–”

“A menace on the battlefield? A prodigy with the sword?” she scoffed disdainfully. “You’re supposed to be a Duke’s daughter, not some unwashed Knight.”

Klara’s magic broke out of her brittle grasp, flooding the training field with red-hot fury and obliterating the illusive daggers: but Katharina did not even blink, fanning the flames of rage within the Princess even further.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I’m supposed to be, silkling. You don’t know me and you don’t know honor. I am strong. I know I am. And one day, I will be stronger than Lady Pala–” Klara’s mouth snapped shut, and she felt the heat of embarrassment rise into her face.

“So I was right,” the damnable woman said with a soft, condescending smile. “I know precious little about fighting. Perhaps it is possible for you to surpass Lady Paladin Elisabeth in single combat one day. But it wouldn’t matter, because unlike you, she has allies of her own. Thanks to her, Rotenbach will one day belong to Hohenfels. Her people adore her, and her enemies respect her. Even here in the West, little tomboys pray every night to be like her one day. She is a living symbol. In short–”

Klara clenched her jaw, and the hilt of the practice sword creaked in her fist. Katharina would surely not dare–

“She is useful. You are not.”

A surge of magic. A crunch of bone.

Lady Katharina von Silberthal staggered backwards, blood streaming out of her shattered nose.

Her incredulous eyes met Klara’s. Then, she toppled over backwards, unconscious before she even hit the ground.