Chapter 2
Have I Returned?
“My little brother is proceeding with his engagement to the Dread Queen Valdrova?”
Huren Rosnova, the second son, reacted as though he could not believe what he had heard.
He had gray hair and brown eyes.
He was responsible for the intellectual affairs of House Rosnova and was expected to become its next head.
He had recently traveled to the Empire on business as a representative of his father, Erembalt, and was now on his way back.
“Yes.”
The butler who had delivered the report nodded.
“Seriously?”
“That is correct.”
“That makes no sense. Didn’t that bastard misunderstand something?”
“He appears to understand exactly what it means.”
“Then again, even my elder brother understands it. There’s no way that fool wouldn’t.”
Huren scratched his chin.
No matter how he thought about it, he could not understand the situation.
Why would he choose death when his only options are dying or leaving?
Was he trying to prove to Father that he was a man?
But since this was a matter decided by the Empire, once Ferda accepted it rather than refusing, there would be no way to withdraw.
The same applied to Ferda.
If he belatedly said, I’ll just leave this family instead, it would be considered a violation of imperial law, and his head would be separated from his body.
“So what is he doing now?”
“He is scheduled to depart today, so he should be preparing to leave.”
“Is that so? Then there should still be some time for us brothers to talk.”
The butler inwardly scoffed when he heard that.
Huren had been the first person to despise and ostracize Ferda for being the son of a concubine and possessing blue eyes.
For someone like him to speak of brotherhood was laughable.
With his hands clasped behind his back, Huren walked down the corridor as leisurely as though he were strolling through a garden.
When he arrived in front of Ferda’s room, he found the maids who were supposed to be attending him waiting outside the door.
“Why are all of you standing outside instead of attending to him?”
The maids flinched and hurriedly lowered their heads as they explained.
“W-We offered to assist him, but he ordered us to remain outside...”
“Ridiculous. So you are simply waiting out here?”
“Yes...”
“You useless fools. Are you saying he intends to dress himself? Even that bastard is technically a noble. How could he possibly manage that?”
Huren spoke irritably, but inside, he was delighted.
I knew it! Now that the day has actually arrived, he doesn’t want to go.
Huren cleared his throat and flung open the door.
“Ferda! You bastard, you haven’t even prepared properly, so what are you—”
Huren, who had been about to berate him, fell silent.
The Ferda he had imagined was sprawled across the bed, whining that he did not want to leave.
But what Huren saw now was—
He’s dressing himself?
Ferda was looking into a mirror as he calmly fastened his buttons.
“How can you barge in without even knocking, Brother?”
Instead, Huren had given Ferda the perfect opportunity to point out his rudeness.
“I thought you would be hiding in your bed.”
“Why would I do that? How could I possibly dawdle on such an important day?”
“Then why are you making the servants wait outside?”
“I can dress myself. That is all. I will no longer have the help of maids once I leave, after all.”
His voice was calm.
His eyes remained fixed on the mirror as he inspected his own appearance.
Huren blinked as he watched Ferda.
Is this really the same bastard I knew?
What kind of person had Ferda been?
He was a parasite wearing human skin, always smiling servilely in an effort to survive.
But now?
He was composed and collected, like a dignified middle-aged man.
“Someone like Ferda...”
For the first time in his life, Huren felt a trace of tension in Ferda’s presence.
Trying to conceal his discomfort, Huren cleared his throat and changed the subject.
“Ahem... Right. I heard you accepted the engagement to the Dread Queen Valdrova.”
“If you have ever read a book, then you should know what that engagement means.”
“I know perfectly well. Isn’t it simply another way of telling me to stop loitering around the family and get out?”
“Why would you put it like that? Even House Rosnova would not send you away without giving you a single coin. You’ll be provided enough money to establish yourself.”
Ferda thought about that.
Money...
Yes, they would give him money.
How much?
Enough to live for ten years.
The problem was that those ten years were calculated according to the living expenses of commoners.
For Ferda, who was accustomed to the lifestyle of a noble, it was such a small sum that he could squander it within four days.
Though I gave all of that money to my master anyway.
It had not been because he wanted to.
The only magic teacher willing to accept an eighteen-year-old beginner had been a man obsessed with money.
He had barely taught Ferda properly, but simply gaining access to information had still been invaluable.
That man is probably still chasing money and women even now.
Remembering those days, Ferda let out a faint snort.
This bastard is laughing?
No matter how much Huren thought about it, he was convinced that Ferda had misunderstood something.
Otherwise, there was no way he could have enough composure to laugh.
“You clearly seem to have misunderstood the situation. Do you know why becoming engaged to the Tyrant Dragon means death?”
“Why wouldn’t I? I know very well. Her first fiancé was torn apart, wasn’t he?”
Valdrova’s first fiancé had been the Empire’s Third Prince, the current Emperor’s uncle.
He had been renowned for his sharp intellect, exceptional appearance, and outstanding reputation.
He had even been discussed as a potential future emperor, though he himself had rejected the possibility.
Yet that Third Prince had been reduced to something beyond three separate pieces, mangled so badly that his original form could no longer be recognized.
It had happened less than a day after he went to the Dread Queen.
Based on that incident, society had interpreted the situation as follows:
—Any human who wishes to become Valdrova’s fiancé must possess abilities surpassing those of the Third Prince.
Afterward, Valdrova once again sought a new fiancé, but no one volunteered.
The Third Prince had already been regarded as nearly perfect. No one believed they could possibly possess enough ability to fill his place.
Still, a fiancé had to be selected, so one noble was chosen every year.
The problem was that each selected person either fled or declared that they would remove themselves from their family register and abandon their household.
As the practice gradually took on a different meaning, it eventually became an excuse used by nobles to cast out unwanted children.
“Do you believe you can accomplish what the Third Prince could not?”
Could he?
“I don’t know.”
To be honest, Ferda was not confident.
Even after proving his abilities by becoming the youngest Eighth-Circle Grand Mage in history, he still could not answer with absolute certainty.
But Ferda had never been the kind of person who moved only after gaining certainty.
“Well, isn’t that something I can find out along the way?”
Huren thought Ferda was reckless.
He stared at him with an exasperated expression and issued a warning.
“I don’t care what you do, but do not run away.”
“The moment you flee, House Rosnova will dispatch men to cut off your head. Do you understand?”
Ordinarily, Ferda would have been terrified by that expression.
But Ferda merely stared at Huren without revealing any emotion.
“Brother.”
Huren was momentarily overwhelmed by his gaze.
“W-What?”
“You should take better care of what’s between your legs. Everyone knows about the lecherous way you stare at the first head maid whenever you see her.”
Huren’s face flushed bright red.
“W-What?! Y-You—what are you talking about...?!”
“Even though you probably want to hit me, please restrain yourself. Your little brother has to walk into a dragon’s jaws, so I’ll be on my way.”
Ferda patted Huren on the shoulder as he walked past him.
Huren could only stare blankly at Ferda, who seemed not merely mature but completely at ease.
“It was an honor to serve you, Young Master.”
The butler seeing him off shed tears.
Ferda quietly studied them.
He’s saying something he doesn’t mean.
If those tears held any meaning, they were probably closer to relief than sorrow.
Serving a young master who possessed neither talent nor usefulness was humiliating for a servant in a noble household.
Was this one of the people who tampered with my meals?
He had not known at the time.
He had assumed that slipping on an unusually smooth floor or vomiting halfway through a meal was simply due to his frail body.
How could he have imagined that the servants were responsible?
Ordinarily, such a realization would have been more than enough to ignite his hatred and desire for revenge.
The only mercy he might have shown would have been to kill the man so quickly that he never even realized he had died.
But what meaning would that have now?
The current Ferda was perfectly calm.
The blazing flames were gone, leaving only peace behind.
He had already taken his revenge once.
He decided that he would no longer cling to anything in this place.
Thus, Ferda patted the butler’s shoulder encouragingly.
“You’ve worked hard. You had to look after someone like me for such a long time.”
“...Pardon?”
The butler had been pretending to cry, but he was so startled that his tears instantly vanished.
“Take good care of House Rosnova after I’m gone.”
“Ah, yes...”
Ferda turned and walked away.
He was far too composed for someone supposedly marching toward his death.
When he stepped outside the estate, a servant who had been waiting for him offered a greeting.
“My name is Hans. I will serve as your coachman until you reach your destination, Young Master.”
“Coachman?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
Ferda tilted his head.
“Am I traveling by carriage?”
“Pardon? Ah, yes. A carriage, of course. What else would there be?”
“Hmm. I see.”
“Is there a problem?”
“No, it’s nothing. It merely feels nostalgic.”
“Ah, I understand... Pardon?”
No matter how hard he thought about it, the coachman could not understand what Ferda meant.
“Then we shall depart!”
—Neigh!
Accompanied by the snorting of horses and the clatter of hooves, the carriage began to move.
It has been a very long time since I rode in one of these.
In the last period Ferda remembered, carriages had disappeared.
More precisely, the very concept of the carriage had become something associated with the vaguely defined middle class.
Because magical automobiles took their place.
At first, nobles resisted them, claiming that tradition was being lost.
But before long, the superior control they offered and their efficient use of space placed them firmly among the possessions of the nobility.
Then came aerial carriages and all sorts of other things.
All of them were creations born from the field known as magical engineering.
Though none of it had anything to do with me.
To Ferda, who had lived only for revenge, that branch of magic had held little appeal.
Magic...
Ferda had reached the Ninth Circle, a realm no one else had ever attained, and had even cast wish magic.
But the Ferda of the present was not a Ninth-Circle Grand Mage.
I’m merely the frail, underestimated Ferda again.
Naturally, he was currently far removed from magic.
He had awakened to magic after leaving his family, but the driving forces behind that awakening had been rage and vengeance.
The current Ferda possessed neither boiling anger nor a blade-sharp desire for revenge.
It was only natural that his power had not awakened.
I don’t want to awaken that way again, either.
Looking back, Ferda’s magic had been like a drug.
It felt wonderful at first, but as his tolerance increased, it gradually became impossible to control.
While he had been insane, everything had felt exhilarating and pleasant.
Now, however, those memories were horrifying experiences that he never wanted to relive.
Ferda preferred the bitter tranquility he possessed now.
That doesn’t mean I want to live without using magic at all...
Life without magic was inconvenient in many ways.
For example, there was the matter of dressing oneself.
Upon reaching the Third Circle, one could use magic to put on simple clothing.
At the Fourth Circle, a mage could analyze the structure of complicated formal attire and command magic to dress them automatically.
To live independently without inconvenience, I should reach at least the Fourth Circle.
Anyone who heard him casually speak of the Fourth Circle as though it were something easily obtained would have been dumbfounded.
Nevertheless, what Ferda felt at that moment was uncertainty.
Although he had once reached the Ninth Circle, the path he had taken was not one he could simply follow again.
What would Ferda need to awaken magic without rage or revenge?
“M-My lord...!”
No sooner had he asked himself the question than the frightened voice of the coachman reached him.
That alone told him the answer.
“W-We’ve arrived!”
The carriage had stopped in the middle of a forest.
A single sign stood beside the open road ahead.
Beyond this point lies the territory of the Dread Queen. Entry is strictly forbidden.
This was as far as the carriage could travel.
“You’ve done well.”
Ferda climbed out of the carriage.
The coachman unloaded his luggage and remained standing beside him.
“You may leave now.”
“But I should wait until someone comes to receive you...”
His attempt to appear stubborn was unconvincing.
He had clearly been ordered to watch Ferda and make sure he did not escape.
“A dragon will arrive here shortly.”
“A-A dragon?”
“Probably not the dragon herself, but one of her descendants or subordinates—a spawn. However, to an ordinary person like you, it would make little difference.”
Cold sweat ran down the coachman’s forehead, and his Adam’s apple bobbed.
Ferda gestured toward the horses with his chin.
“Even if you could endure the sight of a dragon, those animals could not. If the horses panic and prevent you from returning home, wouldn’t you be the one who suffers?”
“Ah...!”
“So report that I entered safely and return home. Everything would be for nothing if you died, wouldn’t it?”
“U-Understood.”
The coachman no longer insisted.
He took down a large bag from the back of the carriage.
“Then this humble servant shall be on his way! Please stay healthy, my lord!”
The man who had claimed he would remain did not even look back as he drove the carriage away.
He moved so quickly that the rear of the carriage bounced violently.
Ferda sat on the hard suitcase as though it were a chair and waited.
“The Dread Queen’s territory...”
A short while later, the wind suddenly began to blow.
Ferda raised his head and looked toward the dark forest.
A young girl stood there.
She was a silver-haired maid dressed in a servant’s uniform.
But one must not be deceived by her outward appearance.
She was a dragon spawn.
“Are you Lord Ferda Rosnova?”
She asked politely.
“I am.”
“I shall escort you to the castle. This way, please.”