Lord of Caldera

Chapter 170

On the northern avenue, a carriage clattered along. Though luxurious in appearance, it had been worn down over the years and seemed halfway to becoming a relic. Inside, a faint murmur seeped from the old coachman's lead.

"I just can't understand," muttered Viscount Thorburn, staring vacantly at the letter in his hands. He had read it numerous times, yet questions still lingered.

"The Platinum Council, of all things. Who would have thought they'd revive that lost tradition now?"

"Has the Marquis gone senile? Maybe he's just playing around, trying to confirm his authority before he dies," came a brash voice from the front. It was Kenneth, Thorburn's only son and heir.

"Watch your mouth. What if someone hears you?" the Viscount scolded.

"Oh, who cares? When the emperor's not around, people still mock him," Kenneth shot back, unfazed.

Seeing his son's defiant expression, Viscount Thorburn clutched his head. The family's half-fallen status and the disrespect they faced had subtly twisted his son's character. Despite his father's sighs, Kenneth's eyes gleamed.

"Honestly, what do you think, Father? I can't tell if this is just a prank or if the Marquis genuinely intends to hold a council."

"He's serious, I think," Thorburn said with a sigh, drifting into memories of the past. He vividly recalled the Marquis's cunning rhetoric from his youth.

"Cunning, but thorough when it comes to presenting himself. The man I know wouldn't play games with authority like this."

Moreover, the very name of the Platinum Council bore weight. Such an assembly could easily give the impression that the North was seeking independence from the central empire.

"If he's convening this council, there must be a half-hearted intention behind it."

"Then whose intent is it, if not his?" Kenneth asked.

"Probably the Great Chief's," Thorburn replied. The Great Chief, who had unified the barbarians, had always eyed the empire. Aggrim had done it, and this new chief likely had similar aspirations.

"Is the Marquis truly serious about holding the Platinum Council?"

"The royal family won't stand idly by," another muttered, caught between anxiety, concern, and an odd sense of anticipation. Led by the attendants, they were directed into a hall usually reserved for grand receptions.

Inside, a large round table with many chairs had been prepared, as if by magic.

"Have you all arrived?" came the voice of Marquis Serge, stirring mixed glances among the nobles. Some of the more influential figures moved forward to confront him.

"What is the meaning of this? The Platinum Council?"

"Mentioning a tradition abolished with the founding of the empire—is that wise?"

"Withdraw this before word reaches the royal family," one urged, but the Marquis's face darkened at their arrogance.

"I can't do that," he said, scanning the nobles. "This is a council that could decide the fate of the North."

"And what gives you the authority to decide that instead of the imperial family?" one noble sneered. Before the Marquis could react, a loud voice echoed through the hall.

"Not the Marquis, but any son of the North! Since when has the empire controlled the children of the icy plains?"

Startled, the nobles turned to see barbarians dressed in thick leather garments entering. Ragnar, their leader, laughed heartily at the shocked nobles.

"Greetings, old kin! I am Ragnar, the Great Chief!"

"The Great Chief!" gasped a noble, panic spreading through the crowd. If the barbarians had truly united, this was no small matter—the entire nobility of the North would need to ally against such a force.

"What in the world are you thinking?" another noble began, but the Marquis interrupted.

"Enough!" he barked, silencing the nobles. He tapped the round table, indicating for everyone to be seated. "Let's not embarrass ourselves before our guests."