CHAPTER 102: THE MAD MARGRAVE

CH102 The Mad Margrave

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Kurt’s mother was Joselin Holt, a member of one of the many branches of the Holt Marquis Family.

The Holt family had, for many generations, served as loyal vassals to the Machholt Grand Duchy—one of the three Grand Duchies of the Virellian Empire. Over the centuries, numerous Holts had served the Machholts as butlers, soldiers, generals, administrators, and more.

There were even whispers that the Holt family had been founded by a collateral descendant of the Machholt bloodline, and the Holts had always acted in accordance with that belief—devoted vassals to the very end.

Unlike the Fury Family, who spread their power horizontally across multiple branches, the Holts followed a centralised structure: power was concentrated in a single main branch. Only those of that main line could inherit the title of Marquis, much like a royal family.

Joselin Holt, however, was not born into that main line. She hailed from one of the lesser branches—though she possessed a rare political acuity that elevated her status within the family. It was her cunning that made her valuable, both to the Holts and, by extension, to the Machholt Duchy.

Through her, the Holts—and by extension, the Machholts—secured an alliance with the rising Fury Family. More than just an alliance, it was an opportunity. Through the marriage between Joselin and Earl Drake, both older noble lines hoped to absorb and dominate the younger Fury family and claim its rare combat potential.

It was an open scheme, obvious to anyone with eyes. Which led many to wonder...

Why had Earl Drake agreed to such a marriage?

The answer was simple.

At the time, the Fury family had been in a desperate position—one that demanded help... significant help. The sort of help that no one in the noble circles would willingly offer, especially not to upstarts like the Furies.

But the Holts had stepped forward.

And so, despite knowing full well what he was walking into, Earl Drake had no choice but to drink from the poison chalice.

The memories of that time drifted across the Earl’s mind as he listened to Alex’s question. It was clear the boy had begun to put the pieces together.

Rather than answer, the Earl countered with a question of his own.

"What’s more important in combat: strength or intelligence?"

Alex frowned at the seemingly simplistic question. But a moment later, he replied:

"It depends. On the situation... and the nature of the battle."

He paused before continuing.

"Generally, soldiers on the frontlines need strength—to survive, to fight. But commanders and generals at the rear require intelligence and wisdom. They’re the ones who dictate the flow of battle and engineer the conditions for victory."

Alex’s eyes grew thoughtful.

"Personally, I’d rather have both. But if I had to choose, I’d lean towards intelligence and wisdom."

"Why is that?" Earl Drake asked.

"Because with sufficient intelligence and wisdom, one can resolve more situations cleanly than they could through brute force. Power often suppresses an issue—it delays it, buries it—but rarely does it remove it. It’s like pressure in a sealed container. Eventually, it erupts."

He continued, "But with wisdom, you can diffuse that pressure—turn a crisis into a non-issue. Strength wins battles. Wisdom wins wars."

Earl Drake nodded.

He said nothing in response to Alex’s reasoning though. He neither agreed nor disagreed—he simply accepted it and moved on.

He pressed a glowing rune on the magic table. The map of the Marblebrook Plane shimmered and faded, replaced by the familiar contours of the Arun Continent.

Alex’s eyes widened.

A significant portion of the north-western Virellian Empire, where the Fury lands were located, was coloured in the deep black-purple-red of Earl Drake’s personal banner. That colour stretched from the far north-west, down through nearly half the north-central region of the Empire.

Alex turned to his father in disbelief.

If this map was accurate... then the lands under Earl Drake’s control had long surpassed the limits of an Earldom. In fact, they had exceeded the size of a Marquisdom as well.

They had entered the territory of a Margravedom.

On the Arun Continent, nobles loved to classify and rank themselves with obsessive precision—especially when it came to land and authority. Amongst the aristocracy, status was everything.

Noble ranks were broadly divided into Classes, depending on the size and value of their fiefdoms. Higher nobility was even further divided into upper and lower ranks to highlight the disparity between ranks:

Class 0: The Royal Family.

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Class 1: Ducal families.

Upper Class 1: Grand Duchies.

Lower Class 1: Regular Duchies.

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Class 2: Marcher families.

Upper Class 2: Margraves.

Lower Class 2: Marquises.

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Class 3: Count Families.

Upper Class 3: Earls.

Lower Class 3: Counts.

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Class 4: Viscounts.

Class 5: Barons.

Class 6: Baronets.

Class 7 (Unofficial): Knights.

Though many higher nobles refused to recognise knights as true nobility.

-

From what he was seeing, Drake Fury was not an Earl.

He was a Margrave.

"You’re holding an Upper March territory?" Alex asked, incredulous.

"Indeed." Earl Drake nodded solemnly.

"Then why are you still titled an Earl?"

"Because I haven’t revealed it yet," the man replied calmly. "The extra territories are being managed by proxies—people I installed. When the time is right, I’ll take direct control."

Alex frowned. "How can you be sure they won’t betray you?"

A knowing smile tugged at the Earl’s lips. "They won’t dare. They know who gave them their power... and that I can take it back at any moment."

As he spoke, his crimson eyes gleamed slightly—Calm Madness.

Alex paused, watching the familiar shimmer in his father’s gaze.

’So... this is what I look like when I enter Calm Madness...’ he thought.

"But why bother with all this subterfuge?" he asked aloud. "Why not claim the prestige and power that comes with being a Margrave?"

Drake Fury chuckled.

"I’ve grown far too used to the title of Mad Earl."

"...Huh?"

Alex blinked.

"I mean, really," the man continued with a smirk, "If I rose to Margrave, no one would call me Mad Margrave. It just doesn’t have a good ring to it."

"...Father. Are you joking right now?"

Earl Drake met his eyes directly. "You’re a smart person, boy. What do you think?"

***