Chapter 23

Bigger Fire (3)

Ironically, it was a priest of the Old Church who presided over Randolph’s funeral mass.

“…You have laid the sinner to rest in peace, and he now finds his repose in a place of tranquility.”

A considerable number of people had gathered in the Old Church’s chapel.
Randolph’s family and relatives.
The guards who had held goodwill toward him.
His friends.

And in addition—
the count, Jonas, the head steward, and their escorts—
well over a hundred people filled the small chapel.

Randolph lay in his coffin, dressed in the chainmail and surcoat he had worn in life, a sword held in his arms.
All traces of blood had been cleaned away.
Preservation magic had slowed any decay.
He looked almost at peace.

“A noble of the Empire nearly ran my son over with his carriage. Everyone else was trembling in fear, but… it was the knight who saved him.”

Those speaking about the deceased all looked deeply sorrowful.

“He must have been well respected.”
“Ralph… was that kind of man.”

At Isaac’s remark, Carlson replied.
His face showed neither grief nor agitation.

“Why don’t you go say a few words too? At least tell them how Sir Randolph died.”
“Death is just death. No matter how grandly you describe it, it remains the same. I’ll take my leave first.”

Carlson wiped his dry face and left the chapel.

Randolph’s body was buried in the Old Church cemetery—

a place reserved for clergy and knights,
complete with proper gravestones.

Shovel by shovel,
as the coffin was lowered into the earth,
Isaac looked toward Randolph’s family.

A woman clutching her still-young children came into view.
The children were crying, but the woman’s face remained blank—
as if she still could not fully grasp what had happened.

What is she thinking right now?

Isaac wondered.

Even without a mana explosion,
someone had died as an unintended consequence.

If she learned that her husband had died because of Isaac’s plan—
would she rage? Curse him?

If he had anticipated that the bishop would come with paladins—
if he had prepared for that—

could Randolph have lived?

Was Randolph someone who should have been protected?
Or someone who had to be used as a piece to protect others?

The sunlight, unusually bright that day, pierced through Isaac’s eyelids.

He felt like collapsing on the spot and falling asleep—
but the sunlight burned down harshly,
as if demanding that he face the deaths before him…
and the deaths yet to come.

Don’t doze off.
Don’t seek rest.
Keep your eyes open.

It seemed to say so.

That guilt. That weight.

Isaac knew it well—
the melancholy of a mage.

The exhaustion from overexerting his mana to overwhelm the bishop
had begun to affect his mind as well.

He knew that—
yet there was no way to ease the heaviness in his heart.

“Hey… can I ask you something?”

Jonas, who had quietly come to stand beside Isaac, spoke up.

“…What is it?”

Isaac’s voice was hoarse.

“What does it mean… to die?”

Nine-year-old Jonas’s eyes sparkled with curiosity.

“Well… that’s…”

Isaac began to answer, then closed his mouth.
After a moment, he placed a hand on Jonas’s head.

“It means sleeping for a long time. A sleep that no one can wake you from.”

“No one can wake you?”

“…Yeah.”

“That’s why they bury people like that—so no one can disturb them.”

“…Yeah.”

Jonas nodded as if he understood.

“Then don’t die, brother.”

“It’s okay if you don’t play with me… but I don’t want you to fall asleep forever.”

“…Alright. I won’t die.”

Isaac gently ruffled Jonas’s hair.
Then, squinting, he looked up at the dazzling sky.

From the moment he killed Niers—
no, from the moment he killed that deserter in his previous life—

this was the path he had already begun walking.

To protect his family.
To protect his house.
To repay the debts etched into his heart.

A path that required dirtying his hands,
a path that rejected peace.

It had already begun.

Suddenly, he felt a small hand grasp his left hand.

It was Jonas.

Randolph’s wife and children had begun sobbing at last—
and seeing that, Jonas had instinctively reached out.

“I wish no one had to die.”

Jonas murmured.

Isaac looked silently at the hand holding his own.

It was his right hand—
the one he had once caused Jonas to lose in a mana explosion.
The hand he had sworn never to hold again,
for fear of seeing Jonas screaming in agony once more.

Slowly—

Isaac let go of Jonas’s hand.

“…Brother?”

“I have something to take care of.”

He couldn’t afford to be lost in a mage’s melancholy.

Wandering around the cemetery, Isaac thought about what lay ahead.
He had to.

There was no time allowed for weakness—
nor was it permitted.

His aimless steps eventually stopped at the cemetery’s back gate.

Carlson was standing there.

“Were you following me?”
“I just happened to come this way.”

At the gate stood a massive stone monument,
its surface densely engraved with names in the common tongue.

“Names you recognize?”
“They’re the names of those whose bodies were never recovered from Winterband. It was erected under the order of the Commander-in-Chief—no, His Excellency. In truth… there are far more than this.”

“… ”

Without replying, Isaac studied the names carved into the stone.
None of them were familiar.

All were people lost to the forgotten pages of Winterband’s history.

“…They could have been saved.”

With a sudden flutter of wings overhead, Carlson spoke.

“Ralph could have lived. If I had done my utmost.”

“You’re saying you didn’t?”

“Until I kill that man, I must remain nothing more than an ordinary soldier. Great skill and great reputation bring equally great consequences.”

Though much was left unsaid, Isaac understood.
Until his revenge was complete, he could not afford to reveal himself.

“The paladins the bishop brought were skilled. In a situation where even one might escape alive, I had no choice but to remain Carlson—not Kyle.”

“If you had done your best, you could have saved Randolph and killed all the paladins.”

“That lies in the realm of possibility. And…”

Carlson trailed off, his expression growing troubled.

“You didn’t trust Randolph either.”

“…It’s not that I didn’t trust him. It’s just that what I have to do from here on… is more important.”

His revenge mattered more than his friend’s life.

Isaac could not condemn him.
He himself had also accepted the sacrifice of others for the sake of his goals.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“To inform you in advance.”

“Of what?”

“In the unlikely event that such a situation arises for you, Young Master… I will act the same way.”

“So even knowing your background, your purpose, and your abilities—I shouldn’t expect anything more from you than that.”

“That is correct.”

Carlson nodded heavily.

“Even if I am someone cooperating in your revenge…”

“That’s correct. The day I reveal everything I am… will be only that day.”

That day—
would be when he carried out his revenge not as Carlson, but as Kyle.

“…I understand. You and I… neither of us has the right to watch Randolph’s funeral to the end.”

“….”

Isaac and Carlson stood in silence, staring at the monument until the sun began to set.
There was still plenty of space left on that massive stone for more names to be engraved.

“You’ve been hiding quite a lot.”

Inside the carriage, only Isaac and the count were seated.
The steward had gone ahead on horseback with Jonas and the guards.

“….”

At the count’s offhand remark, spoken while looking out the carriage window, Isaac did not respond immediately.

The count had already heard the full account from a priest of the Old Church.
Everything matched what Isaac had said.
Yet the count did not feel at ease.

“I didn’t know the cultists’ rituals were that cruel. I had heard of paladins, but I didn’t know there were thirteen of them. I didn’t know the bishop was creating cultists—or committing such transgressions. I didn’t know they were at odds with the Holy See. And I never imagined the deacon would be involved. There are too many things you knew… that I did not.”

“….”

“What happened to you? Before I left for the fortress, you were just a child suffering from your abnormal constitution. But now…”

The count paused, then continued.

“I can’t read your thoughts.”

“I am simply acting for the sake of the family.”

Silence followed Isaac’s answer.

Only the grinding of the carriage wheels against the road,
the sound of hooves from the riders ahead,
and the wind slipping through the window could be heard.

“Waller said something interesting.”

The count spoke again.

The red glow of the setting sun streamed through the window, illuminating his face.

“To other lords, family is no different from personal property. Something that can be replaced at any time, used as a tool if needed. But I… cannot do that.”

“….”

“He said that is why Goethe cannot grow any further—
and at the same time, why Winterband has not collapsed.

When I was fourteen, I was married to Adele.
We couldn’t even understand each other’s language—
a girl from a completely different culture, customs, and way of thinking.

It was… a kind of hell for both of us.

Because we were tools meant to stop a war.”

Isaac looked at the count.
The count was still gazing out the window, at the mountains fading into dusk.

“At that time, Adele and I made a promise.
That the children we would have would never become tools for the family.

Even if we still don’t fully understand what life is…
we would at least help our children live their own lives.”

The count let out a quiet sigh.

“I thought I would have several more years before telling you this.
But you’ve grown up too quickly.”

Isaac didn’t know what to say.

His father from his previous life—
the last image of him, walking with a limp, carrying his belongings, cutting Isaac’s hair—
until his aged back disappeared into the distance.

Just like then,
he could not find the words.

No matter how many books he had read,
he could not find a single sentence to speak.

Even now, it was the same.

Was he always this talkative…?

Seeing this side of the count for the first time, Isaac felt a little uneasy.
A man who never wasted a word or expression—
yet now spoke at length.

Was it Randolph’s funeral that stirred him?
Or the sentiment of the setting sun?

This version of his father felt unfamiliar.

“I’m not telling you this to make you look so troubled.”

The count, his brow creased with concern, placed a heavy hand on Isaac’s head.

It was a thick, weighty hand.

“It means you can remain a child a little longer.
It means you can be spoiled.
It means you don’t have to burden that clever mind of yours with the family’s problems just yet. Do you understand?”

A father, who had not even lived half of Isaac’s lifetime, offering concern.

Isaac wanted to respond—
but what rose to his throat could not be put into words.

Things that had built up over decades,
things that could never be expressed in a few simple sentences.

And so—
what finally left Isaac’s lips was something painfully simple.

“…Yes.”

Just that one answer.

“Good.”

The count ruffled Isaac’s hair.

At that moment, the fading sunlight struck Isaac directly in the eyes.
He squinted from the brightness—

and in that instant,
he thought he saw a faint smile on the count’s face.

A bitter smile—
yet somehow warm.

Perhaps it was just his imagination.
When the red light faded and Isaac’s vision cleared,
the count had already returned to his usual expressionless face.

But the cold, pale blue melancholy that had consumed Isaac—

in the light of the setting sun,
in a flame far greater than before—

melted away.

Things will get busy from here on, Father.

Isaac looked out the window in the same direction as the count—
and smiled.