Chapter 15

Carlson, the Condemned

“I heard you treated the children of Black Goose Village. Is that true?”

After the knights had left,
the count asked.
Isaac already knew that was the reason his father had summoned him.

“Did you hear it from Waller?”
“Yes. When I first read the letter, I thought I had misread it.”
“I was fortunate.”

Isaac answered calmly.

“Fortunate?”

A hint of doubt appeared on the otherwise expressionless face of the count.

Fortune?
Was pneumonia something that could be resolved by luck?

Every year in Goethe’s territory, over a dozen people died from pneumonia.
Most of them were children or the elderly.

Yet his eldest son had miraculously cured an entire village’s outbreak.
Was that something luck could explain?

“It was something I read by chance in a book—about an unusual type of pneumonia. Then I heard from Hans about the nanny’s village, and I realized the symptoms matched.”

As if reading the count’s thoughts, Isaac explained.

“Have you decided to stop throwing tantrums now?”
“……”

Tantrums.
That referred to Isaac’s unruly behavior after his mana explosion.
The boy had been filled with self-pity and resentment, lashing out irritably at the servants.

“I’m trying.”

After a brief silence, Isaac replied.

“Trying?”

“To improve.”

The count took a pipe from his drawer.
Just as Isaac remembered.

There were always various pipes within arm’s reach around his father.
There was even a small one tucked into a pocket sewn inside his old coat.

It seemed that only when smoking did the count forget the burdens he carried like a lifelong curse.

Sss—

Gray smoke rose from the stem packed with tobacco, filling the air with a sharp scent.
As if fire had always been there, the count’s magic was natural and effortless.

“How is your condition?”

Tap.

With the pipe in his mouth, the count tapped the desk lightly with one hand.

He didn’t offer any words of praise, but Isaac knew he was satisfied in his own way.
He hadn’t punished Isaac for breaking the ban on leaving the house, nor had he scolded him for the risk of triggering another mana explosion.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I haven’t had any explosions. And the feeling that one might happen has faded a lot.”
“I see. It seems the physician brought from Oton is as skilled as the rumors say.”

That quack?

The words rose to Isaac’s throat, but he swallowed them.
There was no need to provoke the old man’s temper right now.

“Still, you must not let your guard down. Your condition… is unpredictable.”

The count carefully chose his words.

“Yes. I will remember that.”

As Isaac recalled, it had been a little over a month since the count had returned home.
Yet perhaps he had already run out of things to say, as he simply smoked in silence.

“Did you happen to stop by Bern City on your way back from Winterband?”

“Hmm?”

At Isaac’s question, the count removed the pipe from his mouth.
It was a rather unexpected question.

“Why do you ask?”
“Someday, as a Goethe, I’ll have to go to Winterband myself. Of course, I’ll have a guide, but I should at least know the route.”

“…… Normally, we don’t pass through Bern City. The road is smooth, but it’s a detour. However, if supplies are needed or there’s business with the city lord, we go through it. This time, we stopped by Bern.”

The count answered while studying Isaac.

“And Sir Randolph and Sir Fikel as well?”
“Yes.”

“Do you usually travel with them?”
“You’re unusually curious today.”
“Now that I’m feeling better, I’ve grown more curious.”

Though the count found Isaac’s questions strange,
Isaac passed them off as the curiosity of a young noble—
an interest in the life of a family head,
and in the people and ways of Winterband.

It wasn’t a bad thing.
His eldest son, once consumed entirely by his illness, was finally taking interest in the family’s affairs.

“Anything else you’re curious about?”

After answering all his questions, the count asked.

“One last question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you trust Sir Fikel and Sir Randolph?”

“……Trust, you say. That’s a difficult question. They were born and raised among the civilians of Winterband. I do not trust their character or judgment. However, one thing is certain—they truly wish to protect Winterband.”

“I see.”

Isaac nodded.

“The conversation has gone on longer than expected. You may leave now.”
“Is it because of the military council?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to pass judgment on insubordination.”
“That’s right.”

A faint glint passed through the count’s eyes.

Twelve years old.
Young, yet already approaching the age to prepare for adulthood.

And yet, to fully understand what the count meant—
that was commendable.

Even without the word “insubordination” being spoken,
Isaac had inferred the charge from context.
It meant he understood matters of military discipline and hierarchy.

“I’ll take my leave.”

After Isaac bowed and left,
as if waiting for that moment, the head steward Waller entered.

“Well?”

Waller, who rarely showed impatience, asked with urgency.

“Did something happen to Isaac while I was away?”
“Not that I’m aware of. He’s been like that ever since he woke up from collapsing due to the mana explosion.”

“I understand what you meant when you said Isaac had changed. It seems he has made up his mind about something. Adele will be pleased.”

As the count spoke, he tapped the desk lightly with his index finger.

It seems the one who’s pleased is you, my lord.

Waller knew that was a habit the count displayed when he was in a good mood—
even if the count himself was unaware of it.

“Company commanders, huh.”

According to the count, Randolph and Fikel were company commanders of Winterband.
They each led infantry units of around twenty to thirty men.

Normally, they wouldn’t have any reason to visit the estate,
but they had come this time due to a military trial.

The charge: insubordination.

One of Fikel’s infantrymen had been temporarily assigned to Randolph’s unit for a mission.
During that mission, he had disobeyed Randolph’s orders—and even drawn his sword.

That alone warranted severe punishment,
but it didn’t end there.

He had swung his blade at Randolph and even cut off his ear.

Summary execution would have been justified,
yet strangely, Randolph had requested a formal military trial from the count.

“Tch.”

Isaac clicked his tongue.
It was a complete mess.

He didn’t know when the knights of Winterband had begun getting involved in the filthy dealings of Bern City’s underworld.
But one thing was certain—

There was a high chance that the one who killed Niers’s subordinate and cut off nine of his fingers was Randolph.
The timing matched.
The description matched.

Unbelievable…

Human trafficking, failure to control subordinates, and now insubordination.
It was absurd.

Isaac had been planning to visit Winterband soon to recruit a reliable vanguard.
Those who didn’t know how to deal with mages could be handled alone,
but experienced opponents wouldn’t even give him the chance to cast spells.

It was only a matter of time before such enemies appeared.
He needed someone to stand at the front lines with him.

But if discipline in Winterband had already collapsed,
if the soldiers’ values were shaken—

Then it would be better to look elsewhere.

At that point, they wouldn’t be Goethe’s shield—
they’d be a disease that needed to be purged.

“Young master? What brings you here…?”

Isaac approached the entrance to the underground prison on the west side of the main estate building.

Usually, there were no prisoners, so guards were rarely posted.
But today was different.

There was a condemned man awaiting execution.

“I came to see what kind of man is locked up.”

Isaac answered the guard.

“Was this permitted by the count?”
“Yes. As Goethe’s heir, he told me to see with my own eyes what kind of criminal is imprisoned and how he is executed.”

Isaac lied without hesitation.
There was no way for the guard to verify it anyway.

“This way. Be careful. I hear he’s quite nimble.”

Led by the guard, Isaac arrived at the cell holding the condemned man.

“Call me if you need anything.”

With that, the guard quickly retreated toward the entrance.
It was obvious why—

He had heard the rumors about Isaac’s mana explosion and was afraid to stay near him.

“So you’re the condemned man?”

“……”

Isaac asked, but there was no reply.

In the dim torchlight, it was hard to make out the prisoner’s face.
Disheveled hair covered half of it,
and what little could be seen was swollen and scarred.

Insubordination.
Whether from comrades or superiors, he wouldn’t have been treated gently.

The journey from Winterband to the estate must not have been easy either.
Even here, he likely wouldn’t be allowed to die peacefully before the execution.

His hands were bound in shackles,
his ankle chained,
and in the cold weather, he wore nothing but tattered underclothes.

The longer his execution was delayed,
the more he would suffer—whether from the cold, flu, or pneumonia.

“Why did you cut off Randolph’s ear?”
“……”

Isaac asked again and again,
but the man remained silent.

This is going nowhere.

Isaac hadn’t come here without reason.

He wanted to confirm whether Randolph or Fikel had ties to Niers’s organization.

And here was someone who had rebelled against them and now stood at death’s door.
If things had come this far, the man would likely harbor resentment toward his superiors—
and might not hesitate to speak against them.

“Do you know an organization called Niers?”
“……”

“They deal in human trafficking.”
“……”

Clink.

The prisoner shifted, chains rattling.
Through the hair covering his eyes, a faint glint reflected the torchlight.

He still said nothing—
but for the first time, he had reacted.

That face… feels familiar.

Isaac felt a sense of déjà vu.

“Then you must also know your company commander was quite close with that criminal organization?”

Clank—
Clank!

The prisoner stood up.

Though gaunt and exhausted,
his frame was strong, his body well-built.

Clang—!

As he grabbed the bars, his shackles struck against the iron.

“I’ll say this only once.”

His lips were cracked, his face battered.
His voice was hoarse, tinged with a metallic rasp, as if he hadn’t had a proper drink of water.

Even so, his words were clear.

“I… know nothing. That is my answer.”

He glared at Isaac as he spoke,
then returned to sit down.

He had clearly denied knowing anything—
but at that moment, Isaac obtained a crucial piece of the puzzle.

Because under the torchlight beside the bars,
the prisoner’s face became unmistakably clear—

And it was a face Isaac recognized.

“What’s your name?”
“……Carlson.”
“The only answer you’ve given—and it’s a lie? Kyle.”

“……!”

Clink—

At Isaac’s call,
the prisoner flinched.