Chapter 45
Homecoming (2)
The air of Goethe remained relentlessly chilly.
Yet the season was already turning toward early summer.
For the people of the north, the current air felt as warm as a mother’s embrace.
Warmth gives birth to life and makes it lively.
But at times, that vitality goes too far.
***
“C-Count… P-please spare us. W-we only needed food…!”
The Count, along with his soldiers, disarmed the three bandits and dragged them beside a broad, flat rock.
Bound tightly with rope, the three could do nothing but beg for their lives.
Especially in front of the Count, who held the execution blade—Valerich.
“Did you truly only need food? And that’s why you went beyond looting—to slaughter, to rape, to desecrate corpses?”
“T-that… was to set an example, to avoid unnecessary resistance! P-please, mercy…! The blood we shed at the walls of Winterband hasn’t even dried yet—!”
“I shall remember your ‘devotion.’ And I will show you mercy.”
The Count gestured to his soldiers.
Two of them dragged one bandit forward, toward the rock.
Waller stepped forward and pressed down on the soldier’s back, adding his weight.
“Please… Count, I beg you—”
The bandit’s forehead was forced against the stone.
“I acknowledge your efforts and will grant you mercy. If you wish to go without pain, do not struggle.”
Whoooom—!
The greatsword cut heavily through the air.
Shhk—
Thud—
Valerich bit into the rock.
The neatly severed head fell from the stone and rolled across the ground.
The Count personally executed all three bandits with his own hands.
***
He did not hand the blood-soaked sword to a soldier.
Instead, he cleaned and oiled it himself.
The pool of blood gathered on the rock slowly cooled.
Flies gathered, tasting the blood.
“Cut them into pieces and feed them to the beasts.”
The soldiers moved to carry out the order.
***
“Ever since my father bestowed Valerich upon me, I have used this sword continuously. Yet no matter how much I grow, no matter how my body strengthens, this blade always feels heavy… and burdensome.”
The Count spoke as he wiped the blade with a cloth soaked in linseed oil.
“It is the weight of the house, my lord.”
Schiller replied.
“…I suppose it is. And the Red Orchard Village?”
“It has been handled.”
“And the Black Goose settlement? Many of the servants’ families live there.”
“There were no casualties there. It lies farther inland compared to the other villages and is close to the estate.”
“That is a relief.”
***
“Here, wipe your face.”
Waller handed the Count a clean handkerchief.
Blood from the bandits had splattered across the Count’s cheek.
“Thank you.”
The Count wiped his face, sheathed Valerich, and secured it to his saddle.
Valerich, a greatsword, was not a weapon meant for simple slaughter—nor should it be used for such.
It was a famed blade, meant only to be wielded in accordance with Goethe’s will, and the will of the head of the house.
***
As the Count mounted his horse, Waller and two escort knights did the same, while the soldiers formed ranks.
“And Isaac?”
“A carrier pigeon was sent. He should arrive by today or tomorrow at the latest.”
The Count nodded silently and began to ride forward at a slow pace.
His people followed behind him.
There were still many villages left to inspect.
***
As the weather grew milder, merchants from surrounding regions would begin to flock toward Bern.
Farmers had long prepared for this season, cultivating cold-resistant crops in rough fields.
Shepherds carefully timed breeding so their livestock would give birth around now.
But where there is something to take, there will always be those who come to seize it.
From this time onward, bandits became increasingly rampant.
Goethe, situated near the frontier, was a haven for drifters crossing the border for all sorts of reasons.
It was also the time of year when the most deserters emerged from Winterband.
***
“Waller, have you heard anything from other territories regarding the royal inspector?”
“They say it was as usual. He checked tax records, loyalty to the crown, and then demanded a few prostitutes and some gifts to amuse himself.”
“And what of the fallen bishop and the cult he manipulated?”
“Nothing has been reported.”
The Count let out a low, troubled sigh.
“The Holy See will not dig into such a blasphemous matter. The Empire is already divided between imperial authority and divine authority—they will not willingly expose something that could become a weakness for His Holiness.”
“But what if it is the royal inspector?”
“…Inspector Dietrich is a cunning man. Most likely, he will demand something in exchange for his silence.”
***
The Holy See would hush up the bishop’s death in Goethe.
But if the royal inspector—effectively the king’s envoy—made the matter public, the Church could not ignore it. A large-scale investigation would follow.
Court factions would interfere according to their interests.
In the worst case, Goethe could be accused of murdering a bishop or committing blasphemy, drawing the wrath of the old religious powers.
That could mean not only the confiscation of the territory, but also the annihilation of the entire house.
The inspector would use this as leverage.
***
“What have you learned about him?”
“He indulges in both women and men, gambled away half his fortune, and enjoys brutally killing slaves and tribespeople. He was also known to associate with the Second Prince.”
“Nothing particularly useful.”
“My apologies. Our most reliable informants are risking their lives. Please give us a little more time.”
“I hope it is not too late.”
***
What the Count wanted was valuable information—something that could counter the inspector’s threats.
But Schiller lacked time and had yet to uncover anything sufficient.
In truth, it was never going to be easy.
If the inspector had carelessly exposed his weaknesses, he would never have held such a position in the first place.
The Count did not rely on others.
Most likely, the response to the inspector would come from his own words—and the weight those words carried.
***
“Tell me about Isaac.”
“What would you like to hear about the young master?”
“How he fought against the hell wolves.”
“My lord… haven’t I told you that story enough to dry my throat? This makes the eighth time.”
“I drank too much last night because the campsite was uncomfortable. The memory seems to have vanished along with the hangover.”
“How unfortunate.”
***
“Fortunately, the road to Oak Hill is quite long. That should give you ample time to restore my lost memories.”
“As I mentioned, these are only eyewitness accounts from the Vinfelt soldiers, but I will recount everything in as much detail as possible.”
The Count slowly circled his index finger in the air.
It was a signal to continue.
“So… the moonlight poured down over the hills like a blade, and the soldiers were so terrified their bodies stiffened like stone…”
Schiller began his tale.
The Count’s fingers, holding the reins, twitched slightly.
A faint smile lingered at the corner of his lips.
***
“How fascinating.”
Isaac lay back in the bath prepared by the servants, observing the mind of the hell wolf.
The hell wolf, strolling through the garden with Jonas, felt Goethe to be stable and familiar.
Part of that came from its mental connection to Isaac.
But something even stronger was its fondness for Jonas.
‘A friend? A brother?’
Isaac inferred what the hell wolf felt toward Jonas.
***
When surrounded by servants and guards,
Jonas, upon first seeing the hell wolf, had shown no fear at all.
After savoring his reunion with Isaac, Jonas immediately became curious about the hell wolf.
He even asked about things Isaac himself had never considered—its name, what it ate, how it lived, whether it was always this large—bombarding Isaac with questions to the point that Isaac himself felt at a loss.
Jonas, without a hint of fear, touched the hell wolf’s cheek and snout.
Even the tribal children of Vinfelt had cried or trembled in fear when they first saw the hell wolves.
Only after spending several days with them and realizing they were not dangerous did they begin to play around them.
But Jonas had skipped that stage entirely.
***
‘Affinity…’
Isaac was reminded once again of Jonas’s abilities from his previous life as the head of the house.
His magical talent had been impressive, but what truly set him apart was his affinity with spirits.
Just as humans possess souls, supernatural beings—especially those with intelligence—also have souls.
They feel emotions, moods, likes and dislikes, affection and hostility.
And to such beings, Jonas must have appeared as an exceptionally appealing presence.
Whenever Goethe had fallen into crisis after Jonas became head of the house, they had readily extended their help.
Of course, Isaac had only realized Jonas possessed such talent years after he had taken the position of head.
***
‘Well… people lump together everything—from the spirits dwelling in nature to the souls of the dead—and call them all “spirits.” If so, the hell wolf is a spirit too.’
Thanks to that, Isaac could worry less about the hell wolf and instead enjoy the comfort of the bath.
In his mind, thoughts flowed without rest:
On a broad scale—
the circumstances of neighboring nations, the condition of the kingdom, Goethe’s place within it, and its future, as well as the direction of Vinfelt’s development.
On a finer scale—
how to awaken Jonas’s talents, how to help Carlson achieve his revenge, and even how to nurture the magical potential of Enette, the maid he had rescued from Niers.
***
“Young master, it’s Hans.”
Meanwhile, Hans—having washed himself and tidied his beard and hair—knocked on the bedroom door.
“I’ve brought Bill.”
“Send him in.”
Isaac replied, submerged in the bath with only his face above the water.
***
“Young master, I trust you’ve been well—… Who are you?”
“You seem to be doing well enough.”
Bill—who had become the leader of Niers’s organization after Isaac killed Niers.
His hair was tied back, and his frame had grown larger.
Scars lined his rolled-up arms, with a few fresh cuts still visible.
Bruises colored his face—his cheeks and forehead tinged yellow and blue.
“Bill, this is Young Master Isaac. You’ll get used to it. I’ll be going then.”
Hans patted Bill’s shoulder and gave him a wink.
“…?”
“Hans, take a few days off. Go spend some time with your family.”
“Thank you, Young Master.”
Hans withdrew from the room, leaving Bill standing awkwardly, staring at Isaac.
***
“U-uh… are you really the young master?”
“Why? Do I not look like it?”
Isaac rested his arm along the edge of the bath.
His developed arm and chest muscles stood out.
Though his face still carried a youthful sharpness, his body did not.
He was still lean, but it was a trained physique.
“…Yes, honestly… are you really the young master?”
“I should be asking the same. Are you really Bill? In just a few months, you’ve become quite the man of substance. Where did that loudmouthed braggart who used to gossip with the servants go?”
“I’m learning firsthand that position shapes a person.”
“And the reports I told you to send? I haven’t received a single letter. I thought perhaps your head had been cut off or your wrists severed—leaving you unable to speak or write.”
Isaac’s eyes, fixed on Bill, began to glow with a yellow hue.
Startled, Bill instinctively took a step back.
It was a reflex.
Perhaps this was what it felt like for an ordinary person to face a massive beast—something beyond opposition.
At that moment, Bill truly realized that the boy soaking in the bath was Isaac.
And that the young master he once knew had returned as something far more monstrous.
***
“Please… kill me, Young Master.”
Suddenly, Bill dropped to his knees.