Chapter 20

Interlude

The season shifted from spring to summer.

The snow that had stubbornly remained in the shade even through spring finally melted away, and heat haze shimmered faintly over the fields. The temperature had risen to the point where one could not endure the day without fanning themselves while the sun was up.

Yet despite the daytime heat, the nights were no different from winter. Though there was no snow, fierce winds swept away all the warmth from the earth. This too must have been the influence of the Ice Peninsula. It was truly a strange place.

Rattle—

The wooden window shook.

In Freiche, the central city of Dithmarschen, the lord's residence had its windows tightly barred against the night wind, yet the wind howled as if it would tear the latches apart.

At that moment, Priest Roberta was performing her dawn prayers in a bedroom prepared in one corner of the residence. She placed a symbol of the goddess Ganymea on the table, knelt before it, and clasped her hands together.

This day marked the second summer since she had taken her post as chief priest. It had also been several months since she returned from the journey to the Ice Peninsula in spring.

"..."

After reflecting on the journey during her prayer, Roberta rose from her place after some time. Holding an oil lamp in her right hand, she stepped out of the bedroom and walked down the corridor.

Even with a coat over her priest's robes, the cold of the night made her shiver. Listening to the fierce wind battering the wooden windows, she stopped in front of a certain room.

After hesitating briefly, she knocked.

Knock, knock.

"Come in."

The reply came as if he had been waiting.

"Excuse me."

When she opened the door, the study was revealed.

A fireplace, a single wooden window, two bookshelves, and a desk beside them. Nothing more. It was not merely simple—it was barren.

Ulrich, lord of Dithmarschen, was already seated at his desk from the early hours of dawn. Without looking at her, he wrote something with a quill, relying on the faint glow of candlelight.

"My lord?"

Roberta stepped inside and closed the door.

"It's rare for you to seek me out at this hour. Is this the first time?"

Ulrich paused his hand and lifted his head. He was wearing glasses. As far as she knew, his eyesight was not poor, yet he often wore them when reading or writing. It gave him an intellectual air, while also making him appear a few years older.

"Was it improper of me to come so suddenly?"

"Not at all. You know I don't sleep much at night. It's rather welcome to have someone to talk to. Though I doubt you came for idle conversation."

With a faint smile, Ulrich gestured for her to sit.

As soon as she sat down, she shivered. Even in the lord's study, it was as cold as the corridor. Wondering why, she glanced at the fireplace—there was no sign of a fire having been lit. Just as on the Ice Peninsula, that strange lord had been spending the night in light clothing.

He removed his glasses, placed them on the desk, and stood up to light the fireplace. Only then did the room grow a little brighter, and the chill began to recede.

"It seems you don't feel the cold, my lord."

"That's not true. I feel it very well."

"And yet you show no sign of it."

"Because I can endure it. It's an adaptation born of time."

Roberta briefly considered his estimated age. How long would one have to live to no longer react even to the bitter cold of the Ice Peninsula?

"But that story would be far too long to tell. And it wouldn't be the answer you're looking for, would it?"

"…No."

"Then what is it you wish to ask? At such an early hour—when even Bernhard isn't awake yet."

As always, there were many things she wanted to ask. Especially about the journey to the Ice Peninsula—there were so many questions that she hardly knew where to begin.

King Banares of Carbonihar, the giant Uar who did not serve the Creator, the dragon Narbakayani who sought to understand humans, and even Ulrich's former name, Oscar.

But none of those were the reason she had come at this ambiguous hour. Those questions could wait. She had time—she could unravel them one by one.

"Are you going to leave, my lord?"

But if Ulrich were to leave—

That question had arisen during the journey to the Ice Peninsula.

Duke Vailen, the giant Uar, and the dragon Narbakayani had all testified that the man named Ulrich had lived a life far longer than the one he had spent as lord of Dithmarschen. They had also said that he had changed his name many times over that long life.

Narbakayani had even remarked that Ulrich had been using his current name for quite a long time—and that he should be growing tired of it soon.

At that moment, Roberta had wondered—

Like a dragon leaving behind humanity, would Ulrich also leave soon?

"I intend to."

Ulrich answered without hesitation.

"May I… ask why?"

"Simply because I feel the time has come."

The time has come?

"What does that mean?"

"That question requires a question in return. Why, and for how long, do you think I must remain here?"

Roberta blinked.

"…Pardon?"

"You know how I came to be the lord of Dithmarschen."

Of course she did. It was a well-known story. Ulrich had been the adopted son-in-law of the previous lord, Hilde, and upon her death, he inherited the title.

"Hilde made a request of me. She asked that I remain even after her death—to protect her people through the snowstorms of the Little Ice Age. I promised her I would."

He added quietly, as if to himself,

"Though I had other reasons as well."

"To me, the title of Count—no, Duke—of Dithmarschen is nothing more than that. It began as a promise between Hilde and me, and that promise was fulfilled long ago. And now, even the winters are growing shorter. The temperature rises each year."

They called this the end of the Little Ice Age.

"Even without me, the people here will survive. It took longer than expected due to various problems, but the promise ends there—that was Hilde's request. And once the promise is fulfilled, there is no reason for me to remain."

"…I don't quite understand."

Roberta did not know the weight of the promise between Ulrich and Hilde. She could only guess that he had valued it enough to devote three hundred years of his life to it.

But what did that have to do with relinquishing his title?

"Was stepping down also part of the promise?"

"No. There was no such promise."

"Then why…?"

Why leave, after fulfilling it?

"Don't you think three hundred years is more than enough time to hold the position of lord of Dithmarschen? It's far too long to still cling to lingering attachments."

She looked at him, unable to understand.

As far as she knew, very few people in history had acted this way. Those who did retire only did so because of age and frailty, wishing to spend their final years in peace—not because they lacked attachment to power.

If anyone else had said the same thing, she would have scoffed inwardly.

There were many who spoke lies and exaggerations with ease. She knew well that there was no greater display of greed than claiming to have none.

However, the one who said this to her was a man who had refused the throne of a kingdom, and who had saved a great king four times yet rejected any reward.

"It seems you still don't understand."

"To be honest… no, I find it difficult to accept."

"I believe I told you before—don't overcomplicate things."

There's a limit to that, she thought, suppressing a hollow laugh. How many people could hear something so far removed from common sense and simply respond, "Ah, I see."?

"After living here this long, wouldn't you have grown attached?"

"Attachment? Of course I have."

"Even if not for the title, you could stay for that reason alone."

She asked:

What about people like the steward Bernhard or Chief Kurt? If they begged him to remain as lord, would he still refuse and leave?

"Well then. Let me give you an example."

Ulrich closed his eyes briefly, then continued.

"Let's say you raise a dog named Iva. And suppose Iva's descendants continue for a long line."

"..."

"You've raised Iva's offspring, and occasionally entrusted a few to reliable people. But over time, her lineage prospers—twenty generations, let's say."

Roberta narrowed her eyes, understanding the implication.

"It's a metaphor. I'm not saying I view people as pets. I'm merely comparing what it feels like to live longer than others, and to watch someone's descendants across generations."

"..."

"Now, think about it. After twenty generations, there would be nothing left of Iva. At most, perhaps the breed or fur color might resemble her—but in truth, they would be strangers to her. And yet, if you continued raising Iva's descendants, why would that be?"

"By then… you wouldn't be raising them because of Iva."

"That's right. At first, you give them affection because they are Iva's children. But gradually, you come to care for them for who they are. When people remain close to something, they inevitably grow attached."

But how long could that continue?

He went on.

"You would continue to care for Iva's descendants—but can you say that would last forever? Wouldn't there come a time when you think, 'I'll stop at this one'? And then, you would entrust its offspring to someone else who could love them, and care for it only until it grows old and dies."

He then asked if she understood the metaphor.

"..."

She could not answer.

She met his gaze in silence. He wore a faint smile, while her eyes trembled.

The man before her—young in appearance, yet claiming to have lived longer than anyone—was not a dragon.

The dragon who had once embraced a human had simply left when there was nothing left to gain, without any emotion.

But Ulrich was human. He had kept a promise for centuries, and now that it was fulfilled, he was preparing to part.

Unlike a dragon, he had emotions.

Roberta could sense the complex feelings within Ulrich's voice. It was something only a human who had reached the end of a long promise could possess.

"It felt as though all his desires had burned away into ash."

At that moment, she recalled the words of an old priest.

The old priest she had met on her way to Dithmarschen had also said,

"Perhaps he has lived longer than recorded history, and time has dulled even his greed."

"May I ask one more thing?"

Ulrich nodded.

"If you leave, my lord… who will succeed you?"

"Bernhard. That child will inherit it. I raised him for that purpose."

"…Forgive me, but… is the reason—"

"You mean, whether I am passing it on because he is my descendant?"

Lowering his gaze, Ulrich touched the ring on his right index finger. The golden ring bore the crest of the Dithmarschen family—worn only by its lord. If he had worn it since inheriting the title, it had been three hundred years—yet it remained spotless.

"There were no children between us."

"Us" referred to Hilde and Ulrich.

"Hilde's body had been greatly weakened. Because of that, she could not bear children. The blood that flows through the Hilderson clan today comes from her relatives and the adopted children she raised."

"Adopted children?"

"I have never had children here."

Just as the giant Uar had said—Ulrich had never taken another wife, only adopted heirs. Roberta had assumed he might have had biological children during Hilde's lifetime, but even that was not the case.

"As I always say, I am Ulrich of Dithmarschen. As long as I bear that name, I must fulfill its responsibilities. That is the only way to honor Hilde. Am I wrong?"

"N-no."

She averted her gaze, feeling as though her thoughts had been read.

"Bernhard's family is the Mayer count family. That lineage carries the blood of Hohenlohe, the eldest among Hilde's adopted children. They take great pride in that and send their children to me, hoping I will see Hohenlohe in them."

"It's a futile effort," he said.

"I do not see Hohenlohe in them. Unlike someone like Vailen, they are not even close in lineage. After so many generations, how much of an ancestor remains? Bernhard succeeds me because he has the ability. There is no other reason."

After that, Roberta asked no further questions.

She could not find words to continue in the face of such unfiltered honesty.

Just then, a careful knock sounded at the door.

"It seems time has passed."

A faint blue dawn light seeped through the cracks of the closed window. As he had told Roberta, Ulrich said toward the door,

"Come in."

The door opened, and Steward Bernhard Mayer entered, offering a greeting.

"Good morning, my lord."

Bernhard's expression was stiff.

Despite his rugged appearance, he was normally gentle and wore a faint smile—but now his face was rigid enough for Roberta to notice. He must have overheard their conversation.

I was careless.

She reproached herself.

She had been so absorbed that she hadn't even noticed the sunrise—so it was only natural she hadn't heard approaching footsteps. Bernhard must have heard that his master intended to leave.

Yet he forced his stiff expression into a smile. As a steward, he acted as though he had heard nothing, approaching his master as usual.

"It seems you are not alone today."

"And it seems you are not alone either."

There was a boy beside Bernhard.

His name was Fritz Mayer, a boy not yet sixteen. Though they shared the same surname, he was not Bernhard's son, but his younger brother's fourth son—being trained to assist the lord in the future.

"Yes. From now on, I intend to bring him along."

"Already teaching him? Isn't it too early?"

"Not at all. It's far too late."

Bernhard laughed, gesturing to his own age.

"I see."

"Please don't worry. Even if I leave, this child will remain."

Watching their exchange, Roberta suddenly understood the meaning behind Bernhard's actions.

Think about it—Ulrich was not someone who deceived others. Nor did he hide things. Would Bernhard, who had served him far longer than she had, fail to notice such a change in his master?

With his wrinkled hand, Bernhard gently pushed the boy Fritz forward—so that Ulrich could reach out and pat his head.

To Roberta, it looked like a mother dog carrying her pup to show its owner—as if trying to imprint upon him, this is mine.

And perhaps, please watch over this child as well.

Bernhard's ancestors must have done the same.

But such things could not last forever.

As Ulrich had said, there would come a moment when he chose to part.

She did not know when that moment would come—but Roberta felt it was not far away.