Chapter 109

“The Calm Before the Storm” Rutger died with his eyes open. It seemed he hadn’t even fully grasped what had happened to him. The expression of shock and confusion remained on his face even in death. “I just don’t get it. Carlson, answer me. How can a father kill his own son?” Isaac crouched down and gently closed Rutger’s eyes. “It’s not that rare. If necessary, they can discard—or kill—them without hesitation.” “Why? Viscount Botmer is a wealthy and powerful father, isn’t he?” Isaac knew as well. In the near future, such things would become common. Parents would sell their children for a single meal, and children would turn their backs on their parents. As Isaac himself had realized, humans were not that strong. To avoid pain, they could become cowardly or even cruel. But those were people driven to the extreme— choices made by those left with nothing but the instinct to survive. It didn’t apply to Viscount Botmer. Isaac felt neither pity nor sorrow for Rutger. He was simply curious. And slightly angry. “In that sense, young master, you’re a fool with knowledge.” “Me? That’s amusing.” “Before being a father, he is a person. And a person with much must sometimes choose what matters more.” The reason the Chevalier had tried to kill Rutger and Bishop Alquin was clear. If they were defeated and taken prisoner, Viscount Botmer must have ordered their deaths. Through Rutger’s death, he would preserve the justification for war— and by killing the bishop, he would silence him. A rough smile crossed Isaac’s smooth face. “Maybe I’m dumber than I thought. I still don’t understand. Klaus von Botmer… I want to see his face at least once. Really—this is interesting. I’ve never wanted to kill someone just because I wanted to. This is a first.” Isaac stood up. “Have the bishop hold a requiem mass for him.” “I’ll speak to him once he regains consciousness.” “Ah, right. The bishop’s not in his right mind either… tsk.” Bishop Alquin had suffered a shock too great for his old age to bear. First, he had witnessed Rutger—whom he supported—die before his eyes, killed by someone he had long known. Second, he had nearly been killed by that same Chevalier. Third, he had seen the Chevalier transform into something inhuman—and burn to death. “Burying the enemy commander properly is too much trouble. Have the prisoners cremate him. Let them pray or give a eulogy if they want.” “Understood.” “And bury our fallen in the cemetery. Let each have their rites according to their traditions. Send word to the Winterband as well.” “…The singing won’t stop for a while.” A wrinkle formed on Isaac’s brow. “Oh, and while we’re at it—start telling me everything you know about Botmer.” “It’s nothing particularly grand.” Klaus von Botmer. He was originally from a noble family of the Republic. The family name itself was Klaus. For generations, the Klaus family had accumulated wealth through banking and trade, becoming one of the most powerful financial forces in the Republic. But when the flames of revolution engulfed the Republic, their fate began to falter. In the early days, they maintained stability—lending to the revolutionary government and purchasing bonds. But as the revolution grew more radical, extremists began targeting financial powers. They imposed absurdly high wealth taxes on capitalists and forced them to buy revolutionary bonds. Those who did not actively support the revolution had their assets confiscated—or were executed as counter-revolutionaries. As an example, most of the Klaus family perished at the guillotine. Amid the madness, only the eldest son, Klaus, and his wife escaped. They smuggled out what remained of their wealth and fled to the kingdom. To survive, they purchased the ruined Botmer family, a fallen branch of the Goethe nobility. Their only child was the current Klaus von Botmer— the Viscount. “In a sense, the current viscount is the embodiment of the Klaus family. There is no value greater to him than preserving and expanding the house.” “Hmm…” As Carlson continued explaining, Bill and Besimer scratched their heads. The two glanced at each other and gave awkward smiles, as if they had found a kindred spirit. “Through his predecessors’ experiences, Klaus learned something. Money alone cannot protect a family. So he recruited capable orphans, trained and indoctrinated them thoroughly. In other words, he created knights who would never betray him—a personal guard bound by the idea that the family is everything, and without it, they are nothing.” “So that’s why.” Besimer muttered, recalling how the Chevalier had bristled at the mention of being an orphan. “Then… Rutger wasn’t his real son either?” Isaac asked. “No. Rutger was his biological son. Klaus treats orphans and his own children differently. Orphans are trained in martial arts and combat, while his children are taught the art of rulership. Though in the end… it’s just a matter of assigning value to pieces on a board.” Carlson let out a cold laugh. On a chessboard, a knight is more valuable than a pawn. But that’s all. A knight, too, is ultimately a piece meant to be sacrificed for victory. Like Rutger. ‘Is that what I’m like as well…?’ Isaac wondered. Perhaps his hatred for Botmer stemmed from the fact that they were alike. If there were a chessboard meant to protect Goethe, then what pieces were those before him? ‘Maybe Carlson’s right. I really am a fool with knowledge.’ Isaac gave a bitter smile, then erased it. Such reflections could wait until the immediate problems were solved. “So those orphan knights… there are still ten left, huh.” “That’s right.” Carlson nodded at Besimer’s words. Originally, Botmer had twelve knights— Carlson himself had once been among them. Once, the viscount had been a “father” to him as well. Until Carlson saw his true face. “Then… will they all turn into monsters like that?” Besimer asked, unusually serious. Even for a great warrior like him, the Chevalier’s transformation had been overwhelming. “That, I don’t know. It’s been too long since I left the family. Who knows what he’s done since then.” “Heh… I see. Something to look forward to.” Besimer grinned— yet his legs trembled. His mind and body reacted differently. His spirit longed to fight the strong, but his body clung to survival. “What about our great mage here? Any thoughts on that monster?” “M-me!?” Bill, who had been silent until now, seized the moment and asked Enette. She had been quietly waiting for the meeting to end and was startled. “That’s right, Enette. It wasn’t our great knight or warrior who took that monster down—it was you. The soldiers can’t stop praising you.” Bill grinned mischievously. He knew it was Isaac who had burned the Chevalier. He had been the first to learn of Isaac’s magical abilities back at the estate. “Ah, um… th-that’s…” Enette looked toward Isaac, silently asking for help—but Isaac avoided her gaze. He didn’t particularly appreciate Bill’s mischievous teasing, but he couldn’t step in to help her every time. To Isaac, Enette was both a channel for magic and a mask. And someday, she would be the one to stand at the top of a mage tower built here. Step by step, she needed to learn to think, answer, and move forward on her own. “Th-that is…” Enette trailed off and lowered her head. With Carlson and Besimer’s attention now on her as well, she couldn’t bring herself to meet their eyes. ‘Right… it’s too much to expect her to get it right from the start.’ … Isaac let out a quiet sigh and was about to speak. “I-I’m not completely sure, but… I think his mana circuit burned out.” “Mana… circuit?” “In the human brain, there’s something called the pineal gland. It’s said that through it, one manifests will and manipulates mana. Um… maybe because of some kind of catalyst…” “That man…” “His pineal gland was abnormally activated, and… um… his body and mana synchronized to an extreme degree? So maybe the mana circuit couldn’t handle the flow, and it went into overload?” Enette spoke while fidgeting with her bandaged left hand using her right. It was only a half-correct answer. But even so, Isaac was inwardly impressed. What the Chevalier had used was an enhancement drug that would later be used in wars. Strictly speaking, Enette’s conclusion wasn’t accurate— but her overall line of reasoning was. Bill stood there, stunned. “Uncle Bill… do you understand?” “O-of course I do! You think I wouldn’t understand something you do?” Bill snapped defensively. He had been a servant of the estate, just like Enette had been a maid. His pride wouldn’t allow him to admit he didn’t understand something a younger maid did. In truth, Isaac was the only one in the command tent who had understood her explanation. Sometimes, staying quiet gets you halfway there. Besimer and Carlson did exactly that. Perhaps because of this, the meeting continued in a somewhat subdued atmosphere as they discussed troop reinforcements, the handling of remaining prisoners, and issues of planting and logistics. And afterward— Bill found himself feeling oddly uncomfortable around Enette. *** The nights of Winterband were bitterly cold. Yet the sky was almost indifferent in its clarity. Under countless stars, the world lay in darkness. From somewhere far within the White Serpent Mountains, the distant roars of magical beasts could be faintly heard. Or perhaps it was only the wind. Below the walls, soldiers moved in groups. They inspected the walls and wooden palisades, lit torches, maintained weapons and armor. They tended the braziers, warmed their hands by the fire, stood watch, or patrolled the perimeter. Within the inner area, off-duty soldiers could be heard chatting as they took time for personal maintenance. A long winter was coming. What the soldiers feared was not the battles with beasts before them— but the fear that crept in when there was no battle. “This autumn has been unusually quiet.” Baron Berkheim muttered, puffing on his pipe. Smoke thicker than his breath drifted into the cold night air. The count simply stared at the sky with his usual expressionless face. Every day felt like the calm before a storm. “They’re here again! They’re back! Light the fires! Sound the alarm! Take up your weapons! Don’t let even a sliver of darkness remain! God will protect us!” “Hoo…” Leaning against the inner wall’s railing, Baron Berkheim watched a soldier running frantically. The man had gone mad— trapped in the moment his squad had been wiped out, reliving it over and over again. “Get a hold of yourself, Raguen!” “Someone deal with this idiot!” His fellow soldiers struggled to restrain him, sweat pouring down their faces. Their expressions were filled with exhaustion and irritation. It wasn’t a rare occurrence. It wasn’t even unusual. Here, it was normal. One by one, people went mad— and in the end, unless you lost some part of your sanity, you couldn’t endure this place. “Let me go! Let me go! They’re coming! We’re all going to die! All of us!” The count, like Baron Berkheim, watched as the soldier was dragged away by his comrades. Neither commander showed any particular emotion. “It seems winter has truly begun. The madness is returning.” Breath escaped the baron’s lips as he spoke. The cold cut into the skin like blades. That cold intertwined with memories of nightmare winters, giving rise to madness. What the living had to endure here was not just battles between life and death. Here, winter came first— and left last. “What will you do?” Scratching his graying beard, the baron asked. Two pieces of news had arrived. One was, relatively speaking, good news. The other was truly bad. One was Isaac’s victory. The other was that Baron Büchtner had been assassinated, and his second son, Beltran, had become head of the house and aligned himself with Botmer. And the count felt a dull ache in his knee. The demonic energy was growing thicker. It meant the beasts were crossing the White Serpent Mountains— and drawing ever closer.