Chapter 134

Winter, Ominous Signs of War

Adele heard many different stories about Isaac.

“Poplus.”

The first was from Jonas.
When she asked how he had created the snowflake anemone, that was the name he gave.

Poplus.
He said it was a name taken from a poplar tree.

“It’s my friend’s name.”
“Friend?”

“He’s a spirit. I got to know him thanks to big brother.”

Jonas told Adele about everything that had happened while she had been away for nearly a year—
playing the piano with Isaac,
glimpsing Poplus’s memories,
and naming him in the ruins where the poplar tree once stood.

He spoke of learning spiritism from Violet,
finding spirit stones through minor spirits,
and performing magic in a competition in harmony with Poplus.

“Isaac did all that?”
“Yes. I couldn’t have done any of it without him.”

The more Adele heard about Isaac, the more unfamiliar he began to feel.

—Mom, Mom.

After his unusual constitution manifested, Isaac would call for her day and night.
He had been a bright child, thoughtful toward the servants—
yet to Adele, he was simply her young son.

A child so dear she could have held him in her eyes without pain,
one she had been ready to cradle for the rest of her life.

And precisely because of that, it had been agonizing.

It hurt.

It felt as though the reason her own child suffered—
the reason he was in pain—
was somehow her fault.

When she entered into a political marriage with Helmut, it wasn’t only the warlike tribes who opposed it.

The vassals of Goethe, who had lost so much in battles against the tribes,
and the soldiers who had witnessed the deaths of their comrades firsthand—
they voiced concern and anger.

Even the clergy of the Old Faith cursed the union of Helmut and Adele.
They said a child born between them could never be normal.
How could they entrust succession to a child mixed with barbarian blood?
They urged him to take a noblewoman of proper royal lineage as his legitimate wife.

The bishop of Bern even refused to baptize Isaac.
Both Isaac and Jonas had to receive baptism from a priest of the New Faith who came from afar.
Though the bishop later performed the rite again, considering the influence of the Old Faith, his displeasure never changed.

An unblessed marriage,
an unblessed birth.

Isaac bore all the hardships of that beginning.

That was why, when Isaac suffered from his unusual constitution, Adele felt as though it was all her fault.

Unable to show it, she left the estate.
It was partly to find a cure—
but also because she could not bear to simply watch Isaac suffer.

Two years passed like that.

Even when she returned about a year ago, there had been no improvement in Isaac.
He still writhed in pain.
Looking at the fresh blue flowers blooming in the courtyard, Adele left the estate once more in despair.

And yet—
in the time since, an unbelievable change had occurred.

“Young master Isaac? His swordsmanship is exceptional. I suppose he takes after you, my lady.”

That was what the captain of the guard said.

“Ever since returning from Vinfelt, he’s… changed a lot. He came back with a stronger presence, and his appetite improved as well. Forgive me, my lady… I don’t know much. The only thing I saw was him beating the guards senseless in front of the marquis…”

“Pardon me, but perhaps he’s discovered an interest in women…”

The servants all spoke differently.

“No, no. Young master is definitely in love. He cares deeply for Enette.”
“Clara! I’m sorry, she’s still immature. Please don’t worry. From this nurse’s perspective, young master hasn’t changed at all. He’s still just as thoughtful as ever.”

After hearing all these stories from Adele, Waller let out a soft chuckle.

“That is likely the young master’s design.”

He then told another story about Isaac.

“It was young master Isaac who stopped Duke Dietrich’s scheme—and devised a plan to make use of him. His Excellency intended to kill him as an example, but the young master was looking far beyond that.”

“Helmut… gave up his stubbornness? Truly… Isaac did that…?”

“The young master now is growing into someone strong, brilliant, and worthy of respect.”

Waller continued, a faint smile on his lips as if amused by Adele’s reaction.

“At times, he even surpasses the insight of myself or His Excellency. Especially during the competition—his move was something none of us could have predicted.”

As though he had been waiting to be asked about Isaac, Waller continued.

Isaac read and countered Botmer’s moves faster than anyone in Goethe.
He secured the status of an independent lord and created a pretext for war by killing one of Botmer’s attendants.

“He has already won a battle, and though the full details are unclear, there are rumors that he has gained favor with the Old Faith. By papal order, Botmer’s two thousand troops withdrew. There are even rumors he received a holy relic. Thanks to that, Goethe has gained valuable time.”

“The more I hear… the less it feels like Isaac.”

Adele muttered, downing her wine.

The child who had once been her greatest worry had somehow become a pillar of strength.
She should have been happy—
and yet, she wasn’t entirely.

How much must he have endured to change so drastically?
How much must he have suffered to grow up so quickly?
Had she been the one who forced him into that path?

“…Then what about magic?”

Adele asked, her voice trembling slightly.

The Granak tribe held deep resentment toward the kingdom’s magic.
Until little more than a decade ago, the kingdom had not even treated the tribespeople as human.
Though Goethe had been forbidden by royal decree from using magic for killing, that restriction had never applied to the tribes.

Because of that, older tribespeople still shuddered at the mere thought of mages.

But now, Adele was not only a daughter of Granak blood—
she was also firmly a member of Goethe.

And Goethe was a house of magic.

Whether Isaac could use magic or not was an important matter to her—
even if it was something the royal family feared.

Holding his teacup, Waller slowly shook his head.

“So… that’s how it is.”

“Publicly, yes.”
“…What?”
“The young master cannot use magic. He must not be able to.”

“The name Sieg von Goethe still remains a burden upon the house. The nobles of the royal court still fear that name. However, at the very least, there will no longer be any incidents of mana explosions caused by his unusual constitution.”

It was a puzzling answer—
and yet, at the same time, a sufficient one.

Adele’s lips parted slightly.
A faint smile rose at the corners of Waller’s wrinkled mouth.

“Have I not told you time and again? The young master is not cursed.
Within boiling molten iron, he did not break—he became stronger.”

“I know what you’re thinking. A mother’s heart always feels she has done too little,
and wonders if things might have been different had she done more.”

“Waller, it feels like you can always read my mind.”

“I have served His Excellency since childhood.
Please, simply take pride in him. That is what the young master would want.”

“Thank you, Waller.”

“The wine has gone cold. I’ll have it warmed.”

***

Adele stayed at the estate for a few more days.

She spent time talking with Jonas, catching up on everything they had missed, and played with him like before.
If Isaac had still been suffering from his madness, she wouldn’t have been able to stay even a single day in peace—she would have packed her things and left immediately.
But now, there was no need.

“Mom, who composed this piece?”

One day, while they were playing the piano together, Jonas asked.

It was .

“Well… your grandfather, perhaps?
I just wrote down something he used to hum.”

“Then did grandfather come up with the title too?”

“No, that was me.
Your grandfather was so strong he was nicknamed ‘the Dragon.’ But why do you ask?”

“Because it’s Poplus’s favorite piece.”

“Is that so? That’s a shame. I can’t see your friend.”

“He’s right next to me even now.”

“Really? Then can you tell him thank you for listening?”

Adele gently stroked Jonas’s head as he continued playing.

“If your grandfather were still alive… he would’ve made peace by now.
If he saw how much you’ve grown, he would have been very happy.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s nothing. What should we play next?”

***

That afternoon—

A single wagon arrived.

On its door was engraved a crest: eight stars and an owl holding a laurel wreath.

The Royal Academy.

The man who stepped down from the driver’s seat took out a chest from the cargo compartment.

“This was sent personally by Headmaster Marcel Reich.
It is a communication device using an artificial ring designed by Baron Vinfelt.”

***

Isaac devoured his meal.

“No one’s going to take it from you. Eat slowly.”

“Thanks, Hans.”

Isaac was practically burying his face in the stew bowl.
He stuffed chunks of coarse rye bread straight into his mouth.

The hunger was unbearable.

As she watched him, Asra quietly sipped her cold ale.

After waiting for quite some time, the elderly woman opened and closed her mouth repeatedly.
There were questions she needed to ask—
sacred questions.

They were not things to be answered carelessly over a meal.

And so, despite her age, Asra waited with uncharacteristic impatience, enduring in silence.

Ulleorn lay on the table as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Isaac had passed Ulleorn’s trial.

It had happened on the morning of the sixth day.
Among all those who had ever passed the trial, it was the fastest.

Even Brynskar—her husband, who had been called a legendary great warrior, even a dragon—
had only been able to lift Ulleorn on the evening of the seventh day.

Isaac had done it a full day earlier.

It was fitting for a descendant bearing Brynskar’s blood—
and yet, Asra could not help but wonder how he had passed the trial.

“Haa… I finally feel alive again.”

Only after finishing five bowls of stew, three loaves of bread, six strips of jerky, and entire portions of dried fruits and nuts did Isaac finally set down his spoon.

“Are you ready to answer?”

“Oh—were you waiting? I got too absorbed in eating.”

Isaac wiped his mouth and scratched his forehead awkwardly.

Even in his past life, when his family had fallen on hard times and he had survived on scraps of hard bread, he had never felt such hunger.
The hunger that followed Ulleorn’s trial was especially intense.

“Ulleorn is not merely a sword.
It is the memory contained within its blade—and a mirror.
What you saw there is what defines you.”

Asra calmly explained the nature of the trial before asking:

“What did you see there?”

“A wolf that spewed dust and ash.”

“And?”

“I saw a one-horned bison. An owl. A black serpent…”

Isaac recounted everything he had seen.

“…Whom did your blade point toward?
Against whom did you measure Ulleorn?”

“Brynskar.
But not only him. I faced many things within myself.”

As the exchange continued, Asra’s expression remained unchanged.
Yet her upper body leaned closer toward Isaac.

Not even Brynskar had witnessed all forty-seven chieftains manifest at once.

“A warrior breaks. A shaman embraces. A mage designs.
What did you choose?”

“I chose nothing.”

“What was the final scene you saw?”

“The snowfields melted. Spring rain fell.
And countless butterflies filled the air.”

After hearing all his answers, Asra folded her arms and remained silent for a while.

“Was that sufficient?”

“We must move.”

Asra rose to her feet.
Her tall frame nearly brushed the ceiling of the tent.

“Where are you going?”

“While you were taking the trial, Botmer began advancing.
They say he is heading toward Winterband. Even Goethe’s vassals have joined his forces.
At this rate, Winterband will fall—whether to beasts or to men.”