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Forged in Iron and Ambition (Web Novel) - Chapter 866: Discipline Not Decadence
Chapter 866: Discipline Not Decadence
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Claire had never eaten in a palace before.She had grown up in a wealthy family in the French countryside that had survived over a hundred years of wars.
Her family had gained the privilege of nobility in France around the same time as Bruno’s had.
During the Napoleonic Wars, the foundation of House von Zehntner was laid down with victories over the French at Leipzig and Waterloo.
While Claire’s house had been founded a decade earlier at Austerlitz. Yet by her lifetime, that privilege had thinned to little more than land and memory.
But after the fall of the Second Empire they had mostly kept to themselves and stayed out of the chaotic affairs of the Republics that followed.
To say this was her first time witnessing the grandeur and splendor of a royal palace was an understatement. And the one in Tyrol was about as exquisite as such an estate could be.
The dining hall was large, yes, but it was lived-in. It had existed for only a few decades, and yet it gave the impression that it had stood proudly for centuries.
What unsettled her most, however, was not the room.
It was the people in it.
Maria and Theresa had disappeared briefly after returning home, only to reappear with their sleeves rolled up, hair pinned back, and aprons tied neatly at the waist.
They moved with familiarity through the kitchen adjoining the hall, assisting the cooks without ceremony. One stirred a pot while the other carried bread to the table.
Claire watched in silence, uncertain whether she was misunderstanding something fundamental.
Around her, other members of the household did the same. Younger boys helped clear the dishes. Older girls set the places and poured the water.
In the courtyard beyond the windows, she could see several men, clearly of noble bearing, working alongside groundskeepers, trimming hedges and repairing a section of fencing.
No one barked orders.
No one stood idle.
When Bruno entered the hall, the room shifted, not in fear, but in recognition. He wore no uniform, only a plain jacket and shirt, his sleeves already dusted with sawdust.
He greeted his grandchildren with easy warmth, kissed Heidi’s cheek, and took his seat as though this were the most ordinary thing in the world.
Claire waited until the meal had begun before she spoke, hesitant but unable to contain her confusion.
"Pardon me," she said softly, her French accent more pronounced when she was nervous. "May I ask something?"
Bruno looked up from his plate and smiled, not the smile of a statesman, but of a grandfather indulging curiosity.
"Of course."
She gestured subtly around the hall.
"Why... do you all do this?" she asked. "You could hire more servants. Many more. Most families of your standing would never—"
She stopped, afraid she’d gone too far.
Bruno did not seem offended.
Instead, he leaned back slightly, studying her with thoughtful eyes.
"I was born the ninth son of a Junker household," he said calmly. "My inheritance was an aging Fachwerk manor in Berlin’s old town, and nothing more. Given to me the night Heidi, and I were wed. I earned a junior officer’s salary at the time, and she was a housewife. We could not afford cooks, or maids, or gardeners."
He glanced around the table, meeting the eyes of his children and grandchildren.
"So we learned to do everything ourselves."
Claire listened, transfixed.
"Things have changed since then," Bruno continued. "My sons and I helped build this vey palace with our own two hands when they were available for support. This is our house, and a house demands daily attention, whether that means fixing floorboards, cleaning toilets, cutting hedges, or cooking meals."
He paused.
"We do not forsake maintenance," he said quietly. "And we do not compel others to act where we would not."
No one spoke.
Maria returned to her seat, hands still faintly dusted with flour, and met Claire’s gaze with a small, knowing smile.
Claire looked down at her plate, suddenly embarrassed, not by poverty or labor, but by the assumptions she had carried with her.
This was not decadence; this was discipline.
She continued to eat the rest of her meal in silence. Listening to the conversations the family had at the dinner table.
Generations of von Zehntners gathered in the dining hall, sharing meals, drinks, and personal stories. There was no infusion of the politics of the land, or passive-aggressive remarks about competition.
Even the distant cousins related to Bruno’s older brothers seemed to hold no grudges, despite the youngest of their patriarch’s generation inheriting the family line.
It was shocking to Claire, whose own family’s dining hall, which she now realized was so humble by comparison. Was mostly filled with debate, competition, and false pretenses.
She thought back to the words that Maria and Theresa had spoken earlier in their class that day. That their family was candid and blunt, preferring such straightforwardness over superficial tactfulness.
And now, she finally understood... The man that her people had quite literally depicted as the grim reaper during wartime propaganda, who had been blamed for France’s misfortunes over the course of the last few decades. Had fostered a dynasty that was stronger than any other because they focused on raising their children in an environment that didn’t flaunt their privilege but grounded them in the world around them.
By the time she returned to her dorm that night, which was located just down the road from the Grand Palace of Tyrol, Claire went to bed wondering if everything she had ever been taught about Germany, and about the infamous Reichsmarschall had been nothing but falsehoods.
Or if a man who seemed so gentle, so kind, so caring about his own family and their future. Could also somehow be a monster responsible for millions of deaths and the suffering of millions more.
Ultimately, she chose to believe her eyes and ears. Not the rumors of people who had never even met the man.
