Chapter 82

Thank you.

“What happened?”
“Enette’s talent is simply exceptional—she picks things up incredibly fast.”
“You’re saying she even grasped ancient language in that short time?”

Even the Count, who rarely showed emotion, couldn’t hide his surprise this time.
It was only a faint change in expression, but that alone was enough to please Isaac.

“No. She can’t read or write the common tongue, let alone ancient language.”
“Then how?”
“That’s exactly why her talent is so remarkable.”

Isaac spoke lightly.
He didn’t mention that he had borrowed a theory that would only be developed in the future by Jakob Lakan.
Revealing it now would only throw Goethe—and the entire kingdom—into chaos.

“Then will you grant permission? Enette may not win, but she will definitely produce results as my representative.”
“And you’ll become a laughingstock.”
“I’m already being laughed at enough as it is. I don’t care about that.”
“Have you forgotten that you are a Goethe?”
“Very few people even see me as a Goethe within the territory. So please, don’t worry.”
“…Very well. I gave my word, so I permit it.”

The Count spoke with a doubtful expression.

“Thank you.”
“You may go now. Your representative looks like she’s about to collapse.”

Just as the Count said, Enette’s face had turned pale.
Part of the reason was that she had overexerted herself using magic, but the main cause was the mana the Count possessed.
For Enette, who had only just developed mana sensitivity, simply facing the Count’s mana was an overwhelming burden.
Ignorance might have spared her, but now that she was aware—without even forming a single mana ring—his mere existence was crushing.

“Then we’ll take our leave. Enette.”

After bowing respectfully to the Count, Enette followed Isaac out of the study.

“Father.”

Suddenly, Isaac stopped as he was about to leave.

“What is it?”
“…It’s nothing. I’ll tell you later.”
“You certainly have a lot to say ‘later.’”
“Seems that way.”

Isaac gave an awkward smile.

***

Have you ever put a frog or a lizard into a cup of water?
That’s easy.

But have you ever tried putting a dragon into a cup?
That is a disaster.

A dragon would be enraged at such foolishness from a mere human.
Not only would the cup shatter, but the entire area would be devastated.

Making a contract with a spirit follows the same principle.
If you attempt to bind a spirit beyond your capacity, not only will the mage’s vessel shatter, but the spirit’s fury will sweep through the surroundings.

And that… was the tragedy that would occur at the upcoming competition.

The spirit stone of the Fleur family, inherited by Violet—
a family heirloom once possessed by the greatest spiritist of the Republic,
and the resting place of a top-tier spirit.

A rest that had lasted so long no one even knew when it began.

The one who awakened it was no vessel capable of containing a Spirit King,
nor someone who possessed the understanding or reverence required for such a being.

“Do you really think something like that will happen? Do you think so too, mister?”

At Isaac’s words, Violet asked Venders in disbelief.

“It’s… not impossible.”

Venders replied with a low, troubled tone.

“Vivi. The spirit stone you inherited from your adoptive mother is a one-of-a-kind item across the entire continent. At least, as far as I know. Very few even know of its existence. If word got out… who knows what would happen? It’s literally priceless.”
“Then how could Viscount Botmer possibly…?”
“There’s only one possibility. There must have been a traitor in the Fleur family.”
“….”

At Venders’ conclusion, Violet clenched her fists tightly.

“It’s a spirit stone containing a Spirit King. That’s something that should never be revealed to the world. It’s not something to buy, sell, or even know about.”
“Wait. A Spirit King’s spirit stone?”

Isaac doubted his ears.

“…You didn’t know?” Venders asked, puzzled.

“Of course not. I knew it was passed down in the prestigious Fleur family, so I only assumed a high-ranking spirit was sleeping inside it.”
“Ah…”

Venders glanced at Violet cautiously.

“It’s fine. I was planning to tell you anyway.”

Violet let out a sigh.

“You entrusted something like that to the Marquis as collateral?”
“He didn’t know its exact value either. I thought… at least until Weiss needed it, he wouldn’t do anything reckless.”

Only then did Isaac fully understand what had happened.

Why the great hall of the mansion had been so brutally destroyed.
Why so many people had been killed or injured there.
Why his father had suddenly grown weak after that incident.
And why war had become inevitable.

Back then, he had been young.
He knew nothing—and was too consumed by frustration over his own unusual condition to care about anything else.
He never even considered how dire the family’s situation had been.
Even on the day of the competition, he had stayed in his room, wallowing in self-pity.

“Why would Viscount Botmer do something like this?”
“To take control of the North.”
“What?”

Violet thought she had misheard.

“He needs a pretext to replace the main family with a branch line. With the black market shutdown, dissatisfaction among the branches and vassals has grown. Now is the perfect opportunity. Resentment toward your father must be at its peak.”
“And if the Spirit King goes berserk on top of that… My god.”

Quick-witted as ever, Venders immediately grasped what Isaac was implying.

“The nobles and officials gathered at the competition—and their children—will be killed or severely injured. Botmer will blame it all on your father’s incompetence.”
“It would go that far?”
“That’s not the end. A war will break out.”
“Then we just expose that the Botmer family is responsible!”
“That, too, is part of his plan. Even if evidence is found, the royal family will hesitate to intervene directly. Botmer will claim that the gods should judge the truth and declare a territorial war. Even without evidence, he’ll find a way to start one.”

“Isn’t that… too much of a stretch?”

Isaac looked out the window.

Everything he had said… had already happened.

In the future—
no, in the past.

Blind rage was directed exactly where Botmer intended—
toward Goethe.

“Then… who’s going to use that spirit stone to awaken the Spirit King?”
“At the very least, it’s not the Botmer family. I asked Waller, and he said they’re not even attending the competition this time.”
“The branch families as well. Around this time every year, they would hold a formal dinner with the Marquis at the municipal hall, but this time there hasn’t been a single word.”

Isaac and Venders answered Violet’s question in turn.

“They’re probably pretending to be uninvolved. Then they’ll appear at just the right moment—when the vassals are enraged and the branch families are fully prepared.”
“So… whose hands will the spirit stone end up in?”
“That, even I don’t know.”

“….”

At Isaac’s answer, Violet looked deflated.

“Then we shouldn’t be standing around like this—we need to go to Botmer right now and take it back!”
“How?”
“Any way we can!”
“Will you take on three hundred elite soldiers and eleven knights by yourself? Or try to persuade that cunning man with words?”
“Then what are we supposed to do?”

Violet glared at Isaac, her expression hardened.

“Wait.”
“Until when?”
“Until the competition.”
“By then it’ll already be too late.”
“It won’t be. Not if we time it right.”
“So you came all the way here early in the morning just to say that?”

Violet’s long hair fluttered lightly.
The wind was faint, but Isaac could feel the sharp anger within it—
sharp enough to cut.

“Violet. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Someone… you want to introduce me to?”
“Yeah. But before that, there are people we need to see.”

Isaac and Violet boarded a carriage and headed toward the city’s public cemetery.
In the distance, dozens of men could be seen gathered together.
The two stepped down from the carriage.

“I’ve never seen you nervous before.”

Violet studied Isaac’s face with curiosity.
He had been a boy who felt nothing even when over a hundred lives were taken—
between the forces of great families and gangs opposing his will.
No—he had been something wearing the shell of a boy.
And yet now, Isaac wore an uneasy expression.

“Because he died because of me.”
“Strictly speaking, Jang didn’t die because of you. There was already conflict with the Niers gang at the inn, and when Pallich didn’t take his side, he stormed out in anger. Then he was ambushed by soldiers from a great family.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“It’s not that it doesn’t bother me… it’s that I have to be fine with it to survive.”
“…Even so, I used the Weissmans as bait without their consent. The least I can do is show my face.”

Violet still couldn’t understand.
Though unwilling, she had lived for years in a world of blade fights, looting, and murder.
At times, sacrifices had to be made.
If it ensured the survival of the organization, that was enough.

There was no way Isaac didn’t understand that.
Could someone without such a mindset assassinate the market lord Baris, pressure a marquis, uncover the secrets of the House of Mercy, and wipe out great families and gangs?

Step.
Step.

At the appearance of Isaac and Violet, the Weissmans watched them in silence.

Most were expressionless.
Some drank rum, others smoked.
They simply stood still, parting to make way as Isaac and Violet approached.

“Well, this is a surprise. For a young master to come all the way here.”

Pallich sat in one corner of the cemetery.
He did nothing—just gazed at the distant ridge.

“I came to apologize.”
“Apologize? For what?”
“For using you as bait without your consent. And the result… was his death.”

Isaac spoke while looking at the raised grave mound.

“Heh… hahaha!”

Pallich suddenly burst into laughter, and the other Weissmans followed.

“What’s so funny?”
“Haha—of all things, I never thought I’d live to see the day a noble of the kingdom apologizes to us.”

Pallich let out a hoarse sound as he stood up.
His limbs were still not fully healed, and he leaned on a companion for support.

“Death has been our companion ever since we picked up a sword. Sometimes we long for it, sometimes we hate it, sometimes we fear it. Doesn’t that sound just like a friend?”

“All we ever hope is that when we finally take that friend’s hand, our journey wasn’t meaningless. And Jang’s journey… wasn’t so bad. He took eight of them with him—those bastards. None of us could cut down even one. But Jang, even after being turned into a pincushion by bolts, killed eight soldiers from a great family. That day… Jang was the best among us.”

Tap.

Pallich’s thick hand rested on Isaac’s shoulder.

“Thank you. Whatever your intentions were, thanks to you, we completed the mission with only one casualty and no further losses.”

Clang. Clang.

One by one, the Weissmans drew their swords and planted them into the ground.
Then they bowed their heads toward Isaac.

It was a gesture of respect—
a warrior’s salute, disarmed.