Chapter 137

A Shield Is a Shield

“…Your appearance…”

Reich was startled when he saw the count.

Was this what a corpse buried in a snowdrift would look like?
Snow had not only piled onto the count’s head and shoulders—it had frozen over. Icicles clung throughout his hair, and his worn coat was stiff with frost and snow.
Blood and rime were tangled in his unkempt beard, and the torn wound on his forehead had dried with blood still trailing down.

His eyes were still blue and clear—
but they could not hide the exhaustion that had settled deep within.

“My apologies for the poor reception.”

The count sat across from Reich like a ghost.
After letting out a deep breath, he spoke again.

“So, what brings you here? Without even an escort, to such a harsh place.”

“I sent them back. There was no telling how long I’d have to wait for you. I wanted to help as well, but that man—Berkheim—insisted I stay out of it to the very end.”

“That was the correct judgment for a baron.”
“Berkheim… is a baron?”
“Yes.”
“…Huh.”

Reich looked incredulous.

Berkheim neither looked learned nor refined.
Though a citizen of the kingdom, he behaved no differently from the northern tribesmen.
And yet, not only was he a baron—he was also fighting on the front lines.

“Master Reich, if you were to be injured or killed, Count Goethe would face consequences he could not bear.”
“…Hm. I suppose… that’s true.”

Reich nodded reluctantly.

As a 4th-class mage, he had wanted to lend a hand. Being refused had left him frustrated and embarrassed, even somewhat angry.
But he hadn’t considered the implications the count mentioned.

It was hard to think clearly in this place.

The constant shouting, screams, death, the smell of blood, and the raging blizzard awakened instincts for survival long forgotten.
Rather than the distant future, one focused on tomorrow—
rather than tomorrow, today—
rather than today, only the present moment.

“Anyway. Have you heard that an army of five thousand is marching from Botmer?”
“Yes. I’ve heard.”

The count responded as though the size of five thousand meant little to him.

“What do you intend to do? It may take time for the main force to arrive, but at most, you have less than a week.”
“I’ll have to find a way.”
“I hope that ‘way’ doesn’t mean trying to stop five thousand with fewer than five hundred men.”

As he said this, Reich placed a chest onto the table.

“What is this?”
“Something your eldest son asked me to have made. And also the reason this old body of mine came all the way here in person.”

Reich pulled out a piece of parchment from his robes.
The fine goatskin bore a seal—
an owl clutching a laurel wreath.

It was both the emblem of the Royal Academy and the royal family.
The only difference was whether it bore eight stars or not.

The count slowly opened the chest first.

Inside was a metallic frame holding a refined magic stone ring, alongside rune-engraved plates, a power unit, and resonance devices packed tightly together.
The chest itself was a complete magical device.

“What is this?”
“A long-distance communication device. This here is the relay, this is the sensitivity analyzer, and this is the transmitter-receiver. It performs an artificial mana circulation—transmitting the caster’s intent here, refining and amplifying it—khm.”

Reich wanted to explain in detail the masterpiece he had created at the Blue Magic Tower, but he stopped when he saw the count’s reaction.

“Anyway… thanks to the artificial ring devised by the Baron of Vinfelt, we’ve managed long-distance communication—something scholars struggled with for years.”
“You mean Isaac?”
“Yes. Months ago, he already predicted a war with Botmer and said this device would be necessary. Frankly, I still don’t know where he even learned about such research…”

Reich recounted his conversation with Isaac, as well as the lecture Isaac had given at the Royal Academy.

The count seemed slightly surprised—but calmly nodded.

The existence of magic-engineered swords.
A perspective on the future of the kingdom—and even the continent.
The stages of magical development.
The popularization of magic and aura, and the collapse of class structures that would follow.

They were radical ideas—impossible to imagine in the present.

And yet, they carried both logic and inevitability.

The count’s fingers tapped lightly on the table.

“That sounds like Isaac.”
“…Hah. Do you even know anything about that boy? Recently, he was even dragged into the Inquisition of the Holy See—and came back escorted by the Grand Inquisitor, receiving a holy relic. I hear he’s become quite close with a cardinal reborn as a saint…”

“Is that so.”

At some point, the count had put a pipe in his mouth, nodding indifferently.

“…You’re not even surprised?”

“As long as he’s safe, that’s enough.”

“… …”

At the count’s calm response, Reich felt deflated.

If Waller—who had stayed by the count’s side for years—had been here, he would have recognized that the subtle tapping of the fingers meant the count was actually in a very good mood.
But Reich didn’t know him that well.

“Then why give this magical device to me?”
“I don’t know myself. I simply brought it at the request of the Baron of Vinfelt. You’ll likely receive communication through it soon enough. More importantly, I didn’t come all this way just to relay news about the boy.”
“…This, then?”

“Yes.”

As Reich nodded, the count held up the sealed parchment.

Breaking the wax seal, he unfolded it and scanned the contents.
Then, without a word, he lit his pipe.

Reich waited patiently for him to speak.

But even after the pipe’s contents had burned to ash, the count remained silent.

“…Is there any other choice?”

Unable to wait any longer, Reich finally spoke.

“There is no decisive solution.”

“There isn’t much time. You must send a reply to His Highness quickly—only then can reinforcements arrive while you hold the fortress.”

“…What are you hesitating for? Even your vassals have turned their backs. If not the First Prince, who would help you? The northern tribes? Even if they did, how many warriors could they muster? Or do you think fewer than five hundred men can hold this under-supplied fortress? The outer wall may be a natural stronghold—but Botmer’s army will strike the inner fortress.”

The count let out a low murmur as he refilled his pipe.

Fwoosh—

A small flame reignited the tobacco.
Smoke rose slowly.

“Helmut!”

Reich shouted.

But the count only stared at the ceiling, taking a few more puffs before finally speaking.

“You asked me before, during the audience. You told me not to forget that I am the royal shield. And I answered that I am the shield of the kingdom.”

“…You did.”

“That remains unchanged, even now.”
“If you don’t accept the First Prince’s aid, Goethe will fall!”
“If we cannot stand on our own, then falling is inevitable either way.”

Unlike Reich, who had raised his voice, the count spoke quietly.

Partly because of the exhaustion weighing on him—
and partly because of the unshakable conviction that had never changed.

There was no need to raise his voice, no need to argue or refute.

A shield is a shield.

The parchment was a letter from the First Prince.
It stated that he would stand on the count’s side in the war against Botmer, and that if help were requested, he would dispatch troops at any time.

At a glance, it seemed filled with goodwill and favor—
but its true intent was clear: to have the count side with the First Prince in the coming succession struggle.

From the very wording, it already assumed civil war—
a conflict between the royalist faction and the parliamentary faction.

“How!? Are you planning to use that incredible magic of yours against Botmer!? If His Highness the First Prince secures victory, he might lift the prohibition and overlook it—but not now! If you use magic against people, you’ll be breaking the ban, challenging royal authority, and turning the royal family into your enemy!”

“I have no intention of using magic.”
“Then what—are you planning to surrender to Botmer!?”

Reich’s voice was filled with frustration.

Five thousand troops from Botmer were advancing.
Their march would be slowed by encampments, supply lines, and rough terrain—but even so, they would reach Winterband within a week at most.

Caught between demonic beasts and Botmer’s army, no one could say how many days Winterband could hold.
Even if the First Prince dispatched troops immediately, the outcome was far from certain.

And yet, despite all this, the count remained calm—
as if it were someone else’s problem—holding firmly to his own principles.

It was enough to make an old man’s insides burst.

“Goethe will resolve this on his own.”

The count seemed determined to push the old man to the brink.

***

Isaac and Besimer’s earnest spar continued until dawn.

“Huff… huff—”
“Hoo… hoo…”

Breathing heavily, they swung sword and axe even as mana churned wildly within them.

Clang!

Compared to when aura was infused, the metallic sound was light.

“Huff… give up.”
“You… first.”
“I could go on… huff… for two more days.”
“Oh yeah? Hoo… I could go another week.”
“Don’t… huff… say ridiculous things.”

They were evenly matched.

“You’re the one… hoo… being ridiculous.”
“Damn it… huff… figures… you’re the eldest son… stubborn as hell…—hey, what are you all staring at!?”

At some point, soldiers had gathered on the hill.
It was supposed to be morning training time, but Isaac and Besimer’s clash had stretched their break longer than expected.

“Let’s stop here.”

Carlson, who had been watching quietly among the soldiers, spoke.

“You’re interfering with training.”

“What? That’s your reason? I thought you were watching for training material.”
“This fight is far too unreasonable to be used as teaching material. Neither of you even has proper fundamentals.”

Carlson’s evaluation was cold.

“What did you say? Huff… you—come here. Fight me.”

Besimer flared up.

Carlson stepped forward calmly.

Tap—

With a light motion, Carlson hooked Besimer’s leg with his scabbard.
Besimer instantly lost his balance and collapsed.

“You can barely stand as it is.”
“You bastard… huff… fighting dirty…”

Even as he complained, Besimer didn’t have the strength to get up, squirming with his face buried in the dirt.

“Someone from the Royal Academy has arrived.”
“Haa… haa… Academy? Someone?”

Isaac wasn’t much better off.
He sat down on the ground, barely processing Carlson’s words.

“Yes. They arrived early this morning and have been waiting for you.”
“I’m tired.”
“They seemed urgent.”
“Besimer, it’s a draw. I’m still your hyung.”
“I can still go… huff… still…”

Leaving behind Besimer, who was muttering without even being able to hold himself up, Isaac forced himself to stand.

“You’ve started using aura?”

Carlson asked, glancing at him.

“More or less. I can’t use magic, so… I should at least pull my weight in a war.”
“I see.”

“You’re not even surprised.”
“I’ve already been surprised enough.”

Carlson replied indifferently.

***

Inside the command tent, the courier from the Royal Academy was waiting.

Bored from waiting, he had been sprawled across a chair, but quickly stood up when he recognized Isaac.

“Are you Baron Vinfelt?”

“That’s right.”
“Headmaster Marcel Reich sent this.”

A chest sat on the table.

“He said you would understand if I told you it’s a communication device.”

After the courier left, Isaac opened the chest and learned how to operate the device.

It wasn’t particularly difficult.

When he transmitted his intent using a small amount of mana, the ring made of magic stone glowed and resonated.

But no message came back.

“…Has no one received it yet?”

After rolling around all night fighting Besimer, he was starving.
Isaac got up to find something to eat.

Then—

—Hyung?

“…Hm?”

The communication device activated, and a voice came through.

It was Jonas.

—Does this thing even work?

And then, another voice followed—

One Isaac had longed to hear.

His mother.
Adele.