The Kingdom

Chapter 4: The Coslo Family

At the very first step, Hudson immediately stumbled, much to his own embarrassment. Indeed, it seemed that clever minds far outnumber the naive. Fortunately, his mistake was discovered early—otherwise, future consequences would have been dire.

Perhaps noticing Hudson’s prolonged silence and mistaking it for despair, Baron Redman consoled him, “Do not be disheartened. For one of your years, achieving even this is commendable. In truth, no matter how dazzling one’s performance may be, it cannot deceive those with discerning eyes—most simply choose to feign ignorance. You may seek to make a name for yourself through this affair, but to trample so ruthlessly on Lysur—after all, he is your own brother—is another matter entirely.”

Sibling strife is a cruelty that no father can bear. Though Baron Redman’s punishments toward Lysur were severe, they stemmed not from cold-heartedness but from a frustrated desire for his son to excel; deep within, he still harbored care for him.

After a pause, Hudson hesitantly inquired, “But Father, did you not proclaim that a true noble must always pursue the maximization of benefit? Lysur’s conduct is not only deplorable but his folly is utterly incurable. Allowing such an imbecile into our noble circles only brings disgrace upon our family—I am merely putting him to a futile use!”

To show mercy to an adversary is to betray oneself. Though the original enmity was not his by birth, having inherited his predecessor’s mantle, he was compelled to inherit that same bitter resentment. Yet, humaneness must prevail over utter annihilation—a cruelty even Baron Redman would not condone—so he resolved instead to sever Lysur’s future prospects.

From the outset, this incident had already cast a long shadow over Lysur’s prospects; even venturing outside became a challenge until the tumult subsided. By adding insult to injury and using him as a mere stepping stone to bolster his own reputation, Lysur’s future grew even bleaker. In noble society, there are rules all their own—no one fancies a man of ill repute, and none more so than someone like Lysur, untitled and shunned. If one cannot even gain entry into esteemed circles, how can one hope for a future? Unless Lysur were a prodigious talent capable of surmounting the very pinnacle of the continent—a near impossibility given the scarce resources and the constant competition among his siblings—his fate was sealed. Even prodigies, if they squander time, eventually blend into the common throng; besides, he was by no means a supergenius.

Perhaps stung by his words, Baron Redman fixed his steely gaze upon Hudson and, after a long silence, remarked slowly, “Hudson, your views are exceedingly radical—such notions are unbecoming for one of your age. While there is nothing wrong with pragmatism, one must possess the resolve to harness it without losing oneself. In the world of nobility, there is no absolute right or wrong, only benefits and drawbacks; yet in this realm, many a wise man is led astray by his own acumen. You must learn to cultivate restraint and conceal your true talents. Now, go forth! First, peruse the books in the library—only then should you reconsider this matter.”

With a dismissive sweep of his sleeve, Baron Redman departed, leaving behind a bewildered Hudson, caught between laughter and tears. By all that is sacred, those words were but a ruse—a modest stratagem regarding Lysur, adopted simply as the natural course of events. Their relationship had long been fraught, and if he did not even strike back, suspicion would be inevitable, especially considering he was merely a sixteen-year-old youth.

“Restraint” and “subduing one’s brilliance”—need they be further extolled? Were it not for the fear that too drastic a change might attract unwelcome scrutiny, he could have languished in complacency forever. Ambition, however, must be founded upon strength. Having lived two lives, though lacking many virtues, Hudson had learned the art of adaptability. The proverbial “golden finger” had yet to manifest; he was merely an ordinary young man endowed with extra memories. In this ruthless world where the strong devour the weak, how could he afford to show off?

Were his former self not a dismal student who despised reading, he would have long since frequented the library—but Baron Redman’s command provided the perfect pretext. Relying on his hazy recollections, Hudson ventured into the library only to be swiftly disappointed. Instead of the imagined mountains of books, he found only carefully preserved parchment scrolls. For a moment, he even entertained the fanciful idea of pioneering paper manufacturing to amass wealth, though such impractical notions were soon dispelled. The intricacies of papermaking were far beyond his rudimentary grasp; indeed, one’s station in the nobility forces a perspective that favors exclusivity. While the advent of paper lowers the cost of disseminating knowledge and promotes cultural spread, is that what the aristocracy truly desires? The answer is an unequivocal no.

Parchment, though costly and less conducive to mass communication, can be seen as an advantage. From the noble standpoint, monopolizing knowledge is ideal—the higher the cost of cultural diffusion, the better the monopoly is maintained, and thus the stronger the grip of the aristocracy. As vested interests, betraying one’s own class is unthinkable; no sum of money outweighs one’s life.

Taking up a scroll of continental history, Hudson began to read with genuine relish, though much of its content was vague and cursory, little more than hearsay. The Coslo family, though with a legacy spanning a thousand years, were ultimately minor nobles—incapable of amassing the vast archives of the entire continent. Hudson surmised that their enduring survival was due primarily to their prodigious fertility. A glance at Baron Redman revealed that the Coslo family possessed an innate gift for propagation. Thanks to time-honored traditions, apart from the eldest son who inherited the family estate, all other sons, upon reaching maturity, set forth equipped with full knightly accoutrements and a retinue of attendants. This brutal mode of survival forged resilient characters; although many perished in the struggle, a fortunate few emerged triumphant—whether through martial prowess or advantageous noble alliances.

Generation upon generation, the ranks of minor nobles bearing the Coslo name swelled, making them among the most populous families in the empire. Numbers do not guarantee strength, yet they do ensure a robust survival capacity. Even if one lineage were to vanish, another would swiftly arise, averting the catastrophe of the empire seizing their fief for lack of heirs. Under such a regime, slowly infiltrating every echelon, the Coslo family would eventually ascend to the pinnacle—even if no singularly brilliant figure emerged. Of course, this presupposes that their fertility remains consistently high; for in this war-torn world, no one can predict whether tomorrow or disaster will come first—a single conflict might well obliterate centuries of accumulation in an instant.