Chapter 21
“She’s My Mother-in-Law, but I Don’t Want a Mother-in-Law Conflict”
As soon as Wilhelmina finished speaking, the waiting servants stepped forward to guide the knights and soldiers.
Each commander—knights, their squires, and elite soldiers—followed the servants with awkward expressions on their faces.
Wilhelmina and the Frontier Count headed toward a small storage shed attached to the garden.
Originally used to store seeds and fertilizer, it had since been refurbished into Wilhelmina’s private lounge.
“You remember the event schedule, right?”
“Of course.”
First, the Frontier Count would give a victory speech, then award medals, and finally kick off the tournament.
He knew that long speeches could ruin the mood at such events, so he intended to move swiftly through the medal ceremony.
At the noble-only banquet, Duke Leighton had delivered the congratulatory address, but for an event involving soldiers, it was typical for insiders to handle everything.
“By now, my attendants should be explaining the tournament rules to the participants… As for you, Count, you’ll be wearing this with me.”
“This is…?”
What Wilhelmina held out was a colorful mask and formalwear, the kind that contestants might wear.
Perhaps mindful of the Frontier Count’s massive frame, the outfit looked more like a theatrical cloak than a formal dress uniform.
The real problem lay in the fabric. It was a patchwork of rainbow-colored cloth, with a pink heart and a thumbs-up symbol inexplicably sewn onto the chest.
“You don’t mean… I have to wear this too?”
“That’s how we set the mood. I’m wearing mine too.”
“Here.”
She held up her outfit—which was no less ridiculous. Hers included a cat mask, a hat with rabbit ears, and a hood with multiple long sleeves that resembled spider legs.
At least the colors were nice, but no one would guess she was a duchess from the way she looked.
“Everyone will recognize you anyway, Count. But I want to hide my face. I’ll be doing the commentary.”
“Commentary?”
“It’s a martial arts tournament, after all. Don’t you think commentary will liven things up?”
Did she mean that rowdy style of commentary you’d hear at fighting arenas?
Typical martial arts competitions were conducted in silence and solemnity. He’d never heard of adding commentary just to boost the atmosphere.
But… it does sound fun.
Especially for the soldiers—it might help them relax. Some of the participants were soldiers, after all, and the commentary might ease their nerves.
Thinking it was a thoughtful gesture, the Frontier Count accepted the outfit without further protest.
“…What do you think of Nata?”
“What do you mean, what do I think?”
“You know what I mean.”
As Wilhelmina fiddled with the cat mask, she quietly met the Count’s gaze.
Her deep navy eyes seemed to see straight through him—not as a noble lady, but as though she were another commander.
“He’s a bit fragile.”
“…”
But the response that came was far harsher than he’d expected.
“I know Sir Nata is in a complicated position. I understand why you entrusted the matter to me—because favoring him would only make things worse.”
“Then—”
“But even so, Sir Nata’s handling of the situation has been frustratingly poor.”
She sighed and put on the cat mask.
“If he had realized you were on his side, he could’ve acted more decisively.”
A rather cold assessment.
“If he’d found people who liked him and formed his own group, escalated this from a personal issue to a matter of faction and rank… things might’ve gone better. His biggest mistake was believing swordsmanship alone could solve everything.”
I was the one who suggested that solution in the first place, she murmured to herself.
“Manipulating group discord… That’s not what a knight should do.”
“And since when was ostracizing others the behavior of a knight? Victims of injustice are bound to grasp at immoral options for retaliation. Both sides become perpetrators, but at least the victim won’t suffer as much.”
Wilhelmina’s solution was pure aristocratic politics.
By using the Count’s silence to frame this as a group conflict rather than a personal clash, she was employing tactics seasoned noblewomen used regularly in high society.
He hadn’t expected her to articulate it so clearly, and the Frontier Count had no rebuttal.
“Not everything can be resolved through righteousness alone. He had his looks, his connections… There were so many things he could’ve used. He wouldn’t even have needed external help.”
“Did you tell Nata all this?”
“…No.”
Wilhelmina clicked her tongue softly and adjusted the mask.
“I’m not the type to say harsh things to someone like him.”
“…Hah.”
Only then did the Frontier Count realize that what sounded like a critique of Nata had actually been a complaint.
“In the end, you chose the most troublesome method.”
“Well…”
She hesitated for a long time before sighing in frustration at herself for being unable to say anything better.
“It just pisses me off to see someone work hard and not get rewarded.”
Honestly, just giving advice from the sidelines would’ve been enough. But Wilhelmina had dragged this issue into the celebratory banquet just to help Nata in the most ideal way possible.
She had nothing to gain from it. She was doing it for no reason other than her own anger.
“I think I finally understand what kind of person you are, Duchess.”
Wilhelmina frowned under her mask at the Count’s muttered words.
“Is that some kind of local proverb or something?”
“Hm?”
“Sir Nata said something similar.”
Pffft!
The Frontier Count couldn’t hold back his laughter and bent over. Wilhelmina narrowed her eyes at him as he chuckled uncontrollably.
“You must’ve seen the same thing.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s something amusing, that’s all.”
You do seem to have a good eye for people, the Frontier Count thought as he draped the ridiculous mask and costume over himself.
He recalled the love confession of a man he’d met on the battlefield. Now, he understood why that man had fallen for Wilhelmina.
“Please take good care of Nata.”
“It’s not over yet. Don’t drink the kimchi soup too early.”
“Kimchi…? What’s that?”
“It exists. Something nostalgic.”
Wilhelmina grumbled and shut her mouth.
Nata Sonon.
Having received “Sonon” from the Frontier Count’s middle name, Nata had dreamed of becoming a knight since childhood. Enduring persecution as a member of a minority race, joining the Count’s army had been the first step in realizing that dream.
Fortunately, his talent was more than enough to follow that dream.
His swordsmanship was so exceptional that even the Frontier Count was impressed. Within a year, he had surpassed most knights, and his achievements in battle proved it.
But the evaluations from his peers didn’t match his accomplishments.
Extraordinary talent always breeds jealousy. Though he had perfect knightly skills, Nata was ostracized for lacking social finesse.
Which is why he felt immense gratitude toward Wilhelmina—something words could never fully express.
He had gone to the lounge to receive his contestant costume and tell Wilhelmina he would do his best, only to overhear her conversation with the Frontier Count.
“It just pisses me off to see someone work hard and not get rewarded.”
It was a simple and common sentiment—but also the one thing he had desperately longed to hear.
He realized anew how comforting it was to have someone firmly on his side.
I’ll win for sure.
He gave a short bow toward the closed lounge door, then turned back toward the waiting room.
His ridiculous outfit, which had once made him feel silly, now helped him refocus his mind.
“Hm? Nata!”
As he made his way to the waiting room in the annex, he ran into Derrick. Derrick was holding a large bundle of fabric, probably his costume.
As always, he greeted Nata with a friendly smile.
“Man, there are so many contestants. Winning’s going to be tough.”
“…I see.”
Nata had always thought of Derrick as a sincere and dependable senior.
He was well-liked within the knight order and highly skilled. It was common to see junior knights or squires seeking his advice.
Even so…
Derrick was one of those who had belittled him. Nata still hadn’t forgotten the conversation he overheard in the annex.
He had pretended to help the squires while subtly putting Nata down—clearly not his first time doing so.
As Nata tried to quietly walk past him, Derrick continued talking with that same smile.
“But hey, don’t be too nervous. It’s just an event.”
“…”
Nata had never said a word about the martial arts tournament. But anyone in the knight order could see how serious he was about it.
Everyone knew he’d been waiting for a chance to prove himself.
That’s what makes it even more disgusting.
He could somewhat understand why squires who had never fought in war might hate him.
