Chapter 87

Hope

The poplar tree appears in many legends.
It stands at the entrance to hell.
It exists in tragic myths and in folk tales.
It appears in paintings by famous artists.
There are even musical compositions themed after the poplar.

It also appeared in a book Isaac once read, .

It was a record about a tyrant from two centuries ago.

The king who had usurped the throne lived in constant fear of assassination.
Any retainer who displeased him, even slightly, was executed without mercy.
To forget his fear, he held banquets every day—luxuries built upon the suffering of his people.

One summer, tribes from beyond the frontier invaded.

Many of the border’s inhabitants were plundered.
They were violated, abducted, or killed.

Around that time, the king—intoxicated by heroic tales—personally set out to subjugate them.
He fancied himself a hero, believing he would save his suffering people.

But he was, by nature, a coward, and he refused to acknowledge his own incompetence.
While pursuing the tribes, he lost his way in the forest—and instead found himself being chased by tribal warriors.

The poplar trees of the forest swayed.
The sound of branches and leaves colliding resembled the murmur of voices.

Terrified, the king lost his sanity.

“Do you hear that sound? It’s rebellion! Treason!”
“It is only the sound of branches swaying.”
“The people—the soldiers—are coming to kill me!”

Abandoning his royal guard, the king ran blindly.
He trusted no one.
After all, he had earned no one’s trust.

The murmuring followed him.

Whether it was truly the sound of branches, as his guard captain said—
or people chasing him to kill him—he could not tell.

Running frantically, he tripped on a rock.
He tumbled down a slope and struck his head against a boulder.
He died an empty, meaningless death.

By cruel coincidence, that place was a burial ground—where villagers, starved or frozen to death due to the royal family’s exploitation, had been laid to rest together.

This was the story Isaac had once told Jonas.

***

“It’s here. That child.”
“That child?”
“The one I kept seeing whenever I played the piano.”
“…!”

“Long ago, many people died here. Tribes invaded from outside, and the lord exploited them from within. People were cut down, starved, and frozen to death. That child was one of them. Even after dying… they watched people continue to die for a long, long time.”

“Then… that child was a real person?”

Isaac couldn’t hide his shock.

He had thought it was just a spirit.

But it was a human soul—
one that had wandered here for a very long time.

A child with short hair, a mole near their eye, and dimples.
What Jonas had described wasn’t imagination, nor a spirit mimicking a human form.

It was simply… their true appearance.

“They said it’s cold. But when they come near me, it’s warm. They want to stay by my side.”

Jonas approached the poplar tree and placed his hand on its bark.

“This tree… it grew nourished by that child’s death.”

His voice was heavy, yet calm—
far too composed for a nine-year-old.

Perhaps it was because he had glimpsed the memories of a being that had existed for nearly two centuries.

“Hyung… what should we do now? It’s so pitiful.”

Jonas spoke in a dry voice.

“….”

Isaac was momentarily at a loss for words.

He had only intended to awaken Jonas’s talent sooner.

He hadn’t expected such a history.

Still, an opportunity was an opportunity.

The spirit had chosen Jonas.
It had revealed itself to him.

All that remained was to call its name—and form a contract.

“Do you know the child’s name?”
“No.”

“Then let’s give one. What do you want to call them?”
“I don’t know…”

Jonas shook his head.
Then suddenly, he looked at the poplar tree bathed in faint moonlight.

“…Poplus. I’ll call them Poplus.”

It meant poplar.

***

A month passed.

The Goethe estate regained its vitality after a long time.

Ingredients were delivered day after day.
A royal chef was invited as head cook.
Gardeners worked tirelessly.

They prepared seasonal flowers and decorative arrangements.
Servants polished the marble corridors until they gleamed like mirrors.
Not a speck of dust remained on the chandeliers.

“Enette! Enette!”
“Ah… yeah.”
“What are you doing? Are you going to clean just that one spot all day?”
“Sorry.”

Enette replied blankly.

As the competition approached, her anxiety grew.

Even while fulfilling her duties as a maid, her mind was consumed by thoughts of magic.
The burden on her shoulders was far too heavy.

Still, no one knew that she would be attending the competition in Isaac’s place.
It was Isaac’s consideration.

In a quiet estate on the frontier, servants always needed something new to gossip about.

Isaac had always provided them with topics.

Once, it had been his unusual constitution and mana explosions.
When those ceased, his reckless behavior became the talk—mocking guards, openly assaulting one when Marquis Dietrich visited.

Recently, rumors spread about his involvement with the maid Enette.
Even that had begun to fade.

Now, all the servants talked about was the upcoming competition.

“They say important figures will attend this time.”
“A famous figure from another country is coming.”
“A professor from the royal academy will be there.”

Like children seeing the Milky Way for the first time, they chattered excitedly.

It was only natural.
In the harsh, remote northern lands, seeing renowned outsiders was as rare as finding salt in a river.

But compared to them, Enette’s heart grew heavier by the day.

Only a few days remained until the competition.

She—a commoner—would stand in a gathering meant only for nobles.
In place of Isaac, the heir of a prestigious magical family.

It was completely unreasonable.

Dozens—no, over a hundred nobles would be present.
And a lowborn maid would demonstrate magic before them.

People often said that magicians pursue truth regardless of status.
Indeed, even among slaves or commoners, exceptional magicians sometimes appeared.

But Enette had never seen or even heard of such a case in her life.

This wasn’t just about her—it was about the honor of the Goethe family.

It was already strange that Isaac himself wouldn’t attend.
But for his substitute to be a commoner…

That alone was enough to invite ridicule.
No—she could even be executed for insulting the nobility.

Even if the Count had permitted it, reality was still reality.

If I fail to demonstrate magic worthy of the heir of Goethe…

Whenever she thought of the competition, the worst scenarios came to mind.

Nobles mocking Goethe after seeing her unimpressive magic.
The Count enraged, vassals demanding her execution on the spot.
And if even Isaac turned away from her—

Her life would be forfeit.

…

But whenever Enette thought of Isaac, her heart strangely calmed.

— If you can’t trust yourself, then trust me.

His words came back to her.

She shook her head, brushing away the creeping anxiety.
As if trying to wipe away those dark thoughts, she gripped the rag tightly and scrubbed the central staircase with force.

***

Evening.

Exhausted from preparing for the competition, Enette fixed her appearance and went to Isaac’s quarters.

Rumors had already spread throughout the estate that the two were involved.
Even so, it was far better than word getting out that a maid was receiving magic lessons from the Count’s son.

“Young master, it’s Enette.”

“Come in.”

“Ah—! I’m sorry.”

The moment she stepped into the bedroom, Enette turned back.
Isaac was in the middle of getting dressed, with Hans assisting him.

“Come in. I’m done.”
“Are you feeling unwell anywhere?”
“I’m fine.”
“But… are you really going to wear something like that?”

Hans asked.

Isaac’s outfit was extremely simple—a plain black tunic and pants.
The fabric was high-quality silk, but there was no embroidery, no jewels, no lace—none of the usual decorations.
It was far removed from what nobles typically wore to banquets.

“The less noticeable, the better.”
“If that’s your decision, young master…”
“That’s enough. You’ve worked hard—going back and forth to Bernsi several times a day.”
“It’s nothing, really.”

Hans smiled proudly.

“Right. Compared to training, it’s nothing. Must be a shame—you’ll be back to training with the guards starting tomorrow.”
“I’ll die.”

Hans began complaining about how grueling the guards’ training was, while Isaac listened half-heartedly.

“Don’t call me even if you need me. I could be knocked out and carried away without noticing. Enette, take care.”
“Yes, sir.”

Hans slumped his shoulders and exchanged a nod with Enette before leaving.

Once he was gone, as always, magic practice began.

Isaac didn’t teach Enette theory.
He only pointed out flaws and improvements in the magic she cast.

“Don’t let mana consume you—use it.”
“The essence of fire magic is combustion. Focus on the feeling of burning.”

Fwoosh—

A flame ignited in Isaac’s hand.

Even seeing it again, it was astonishing.

Even with the same fire magic, the result differed completely depending on the caster.
Personality, mana capacity, the nature of mana circuits, proficiency—all of it influenced the flame.

Now, Enette could feel that difference herself.
Even she produced a different flame every single day.

But there was one thing she was certain of.

She had never seen another mage’s fire magic before—
yet she knew that no one could match the flame before her now.

It was overwhelming.

More than just heat and light.

Isaac’s flame carried will—life itself.
It was as if the flame were alive, where chaos and order intertwined.
Explosive intensity and solid stability coexisted within it.

Enette felt drawn to it—yet also afraid.

Because Isaac’s flame was not merely a product of mana.
It was something projected from deep within him.

“Enette.”

Isaac called her in a quiet voice.

He hadn’t shown her that flame without reason.

“What meaning does your flame hold?”

The question left her speechless.

She had never thought about it before.

She trained every day, igniting flames again and again.
But she had never considered what her flame represented—what it meant.

She had only relied on emotions and memories.

“That’s enough technique. From now on, you need to find your flame.”

The flame in Isaac’s hand flickered.

“Answer me.”

“…Yes. Haa…”

Enette took a deep breath.

The answer Isaac wanted wasn’t spoken—it was shown through magic.

She closed her eyes and recalled the cold she had felt with her entire body.
Within that cold, she remembered the desperate spark she had longed for.

What had that spark been?

Fwoosh!

A small flame rose at her fingertips.

A tiny, trembling flame.

Like herself—immature, yet full of potential.

That flame held the promise that one day, it would burn as fiercely as Isaac’s.

Yes.

It was hope.