Chapter 85

“What else would I do? I have to train.”

According to the original course of history, the Spirit King is sealed by the Count.
However, everything had already come too late.

The collateral branches, having already been contacted by Viscount Botmer, do not participate in the competition.
Most of the vassal families who do take part are either gravely injured or killed.
The Count himself suffers severe injuries during the sealing process and hovers on the brink of death.

Seizing that opportunity the following year, Viscount Botmer gathers the collateral branches.
Blaming the Count’s incompetence for failing to prevent the incident, he petitions the royal court to hold him accountable.

Unable to side with either faction, the royal court withdraws.
Claiming it should be left to the will of the gods, they permit a territorial war.

Thus, war breaks out under the pretext that the victor carries the will of the divine.

If Waller had not acted swiftly, Goethe would have already fallen by that point.
Even so, too many people died.

‘Compared to that… I suppose this level of compromise is something I have to accept.’

Jonas only realizes his talent for spirit arts after he turns forty.
Until then, no one knew the extent of his true power.

“You’re saying we make the second young master form a contract with a spirit?”
“That’s the only way.”

Violet stared at Isaac as if she had misheard.

“I admit his affinity is exceptional. But forming a contract with a spirit is an entirely different matter. It’s not something that can be done just because I teach him.”

Spirit families pass down contracts with high-ranking spirits through generations.
Through inheritance and training, they become skilled at handling spirits.
Behind that lies decades—sometimes centuries—of accumulated history and experience.

That’s why two things are required to become a spiritist:

A spirit suited to the vessel,
and accumulated knowledge.

Jonas has neither.

Even if Violet shares her knowledge, the only spirits around Jonas are lesser ones that haven’t even developed a proper rank.
Though called “lesser spirits,” they are essentially nothing more than fragments of an element—
objects without power, like inert matter.

“But if he forms a contract with a spirit, the problems you mentioned would be solved, right?”
“…The lesser spirits would be wary due to the difference in rank, but yes. With his affinity, it’s possible. Spirits resonate with a spiritist’s mana, so mana consumption wouldn’t be an issue either.”
“Good. Then that’s enough. I’ll handle the spirit contract. You just teach him how to resonate with a spirit and how to open his inner sight.”
“You’ll… make him form a contract? With what kind of spirit?”
“There is one. A very ancient one.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“You wouldn’t. But Jonas will. I’ll make sure he does.”

It sounded absurd.
And yet, for some reason, Violet felt that if it were Isaac… it might actually be possible.

***

After the potato and scallion harvest season ended, Hans and Gisela returned.

“Nanny, have you been well?”
“Well? I’ve been breaking my back planting seeds and cooking meals.”
“You look a bit tanned.”
“I’ve been working under the sun all day. Still, thanks to Hans, it wasn’t too bad.”
“You’ve worked hard. You too, Hans.”
“You seem even more refined than before, young master.”

Hans said with a broad smile.

Just seeing Isaac made him beam with joy.

“Are Hinder and Peter doing well?”

Hinder and Peter were the sons of Gisela and Hans, respectively.
Both boys had once been saved by Isaac.

“They’re doing very well, thanks to you.”
“Peter is healthy as well. He wants to see you. He’s already insisting he’ll serve in Winterband and keeps getting scolded by his mother.”

Gisela and Hans answered.

“Bring them to the estate sometime. Let’s have a meal together.”
“Yes, sir!”

Hans replied loudly.

“Nothing unusual happened, right?”

Gisela asked.

“Hm?”
“I heard Bernsi was in chaos. When you visited our village, you said you’d entrust the second young master to us because of the trouble.”
“Ah, right.”
“I heard many people died at the estate… that there was a war in Bernsi, and that most of the elders of the great families were purged…”

Gisela trailed off.

She wasn’t wrong.

The marquis’s private soldiers had been cut down at the estate.
There had been battles between Weissman’s forces and the great families.
Akanlaufer had been stopped by Isaac.
Across Bernsi, remnants of the great families and gangs had been wiped out.

“Do you remember Simon, the tanner who sold leather in the commercial district?” Hans asked quickly, darting his eyes.

“Simon?”
“Yes, him. He’s thrilled. He used to be squeezed for fees by the guards and protection money by the great families. But now that both the gangs and the great families are gone, he says life’s finally good. His profits have doubled.”

“Even so, new gangs will appear. And another powerful figure will just take the place of the great families.”

Gisela said with a worried expression.

Cities and villages within the same territory rely on each other.
They trade goods, buy necessities, attend church—
interactions happen for many reasons.

Until now, Bernsi hadn’t exactly been kind to nearby villages.
Guards sometimes demanded nonexistent tolls,
merchants from great families exploited or overcharged them,
and gangs often assaulted or extorted people.

If things worsened, both the adults and children in the village would suffer greatly.

“Well, from what I heard from someone I know in the city guard, there’s going to be a major internal investigation. Guards who’ve embezzled from citizens will be severely punished, and discipline will be reestablished. They’re also planning to select vagrants willing to work and provide them with lodging and meals at workshops.”

“How do you know so much?”
“You can hear all that for the price of a mug of ale at the tavern.”

Hans said with a grin.

His eyes carried an unspoken meaning—this was all your doing, wasn’t it?
But Isaac pretended not to notice.

‘Looks like Venders is doing well.’

It was certainly good news.

“That’s how it is. So don’t worry, Nanny.”
“Yes, young master. If you say so, I’ll believe you.”

Gisela nodded, though her concern didn’t seem to fully fade.

“But… that’s not the whole truth, is it?”

“Hm?”
“Rumors about you, young master. They say you beat a guard, live drunk all the time, and… lay your hands on maids…”

Gisela’s gaze fixed on a corner of the bedroom.
There, the wine bottles Isaac had brought and emptied were neatly gathered together.
There were at least a dozen.
If the window hadn’t been open, the room would’ve been thick with the smell of alcohol.

“That’s not true, is it?”

Gisela narrowed her eyes.
Isaac subtly avoided her gaze.
For him, the most difficult person in the estate after the Count was his nanny, Gisela.
After all, she had practically raised him like a mother.

“I don’t know how much of it is true, but young master, Goethe—”
“Nanny!”

Just as Gisela was about to continue, Isaac grabbed both her shoulders.

“Do you trust me?”
“O-Of course.”

Startled by his sudden action, Gisela flinched.

“Then keep trusting me. There’s a reason for everything.”
“A reason?”
“Anyway, how about I finally eat something you made again? Every time I had dried rations in Vinfelt, I kept thinking about your stew.”
“…Hehe, I suppose so.”

Gisela, who had been looking at Isaac with suspicion, suddenly broke into a soft smile.
He had grown taller, and his expression had become sharper, but he was still the Isaac she knew.
She felt relieved.

When it came to Isaac, Gisela was the type to embrace and wait rather than interrogate or demand explanations.
Though it had once been a fleeting thing, that attitude had become a place of rest for Isaac.

“Then wait just a moment. I’ll prepare it right away.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”

Gisela left the bedroom with light steps.
The sound of her footsteps gradually faded.

“Where did Sir Carlson go?”
“What? Do you miss your knight more than your master?”
“No way. I’m your attendant before I’m Sir Carlson’s squire. I was just asking because you’re always together, and I didn’t see him.”

Hans’s playful tone hadn’t changed at all.

“I sent Carlson to Vinfelt.”
“Already? You’re not going with him?”
“I’ll stay here and send supplies to Vinfelt. And I plan to remain at the estate until the upcoming competition.”
“Is that… related to what’s happening in Bernsi?”
“To some extent.”

Bernsi was in the midst of upheaval.
With the ruling class replaced, the city’s economy—once dependent on the black market—had to be reorganized around the commercial district.
Those who had benefited from the black market—vassals and collateral branches—harbored resentment.

And Viscount Botmer would take advantage of that atmosphere.

“Then what should I do?”

Hans’s face was full of eagerness.
He looked ready to do anything asked of him.

“What else? You need training.”
“…Pardon?”

***

“Huff, huff, huff—!”

Hans had never imagined he’d be put through training at the estate as well.

“Hang in there, Hans.”

Isaac waved at him as Hans ran laps around the estate.

After being thoroughly beaten by Isaac, the captain of the guard had developed a desire to improve, and the soldiers had gained a competitive spirit.
It was bad enough that they lost to a mere twelve-year-old brat—
they had also been humiliated, and one of their comrades had been beaten.

Naturally, the intensity of the guards’ training skyrocketed.
It was even harsher than in the Vinfelt military camp.

And the one suffering for it was Hans.

Each time he ran, the iron swords packed into the basket on his back clattered loudly.
The noise was annoying, but the weight was far worse.
The basket was crammed full with over a dozen arming swords.
Just putting it on his shoulders had been a challenge—now, every single step felt like hell.

Every time he completed a lap around the estate path, he saw Isaac standing at the entrance, smiling in satisfaction.

“Y-Young master… I’m dying…”
“No, you’re not.”

Hans, drenched in sweat, barely managed to plead—but it was useless.
He could feel his boundless admiration and affection for Isaac gradually fading.

Still, he couldn’t stop training.
Although Isaac had ordered it, it was Hans himself who had asked the captain for training.

“My grandmother could run faster than that!”

The captain shouted.

“Huff… huff…”

Hans wanted to ask if that grandmother was secretly a Swordmaster.
But all that came out of his mouth were ragged breaths.

For a moment, he missed Carlson.

‘Get stronger, Hans. If you want to serve by my side, you’ll have to.’

After watching Hans complete several laps, Isaac returned to the main building.

Hmm-hmm—

A humming sound drifted from the second-floor common library.
It resonated softly, as if filling the entire space.

The voice, carrying mana within its tone, seemed to gently embrace the entire corridor with warmth.

It was a song Isaac knew.

Tristis Draco.

The weeping dragon.
A piece his mother used to play on the piano.

‘Only three days, and already at this level.’

It had been just three days since he asked Violet to teach Jonas spirit arts,
and Jonas had already succeeded in infusing mana into his humming—not just his piano playing.

The closer he got to the library, the more the cold air of the estate turned warm.

Isaac carefully opened the library door and stepped inside.

Though the room was filled only with old books,
a gentle breeze carrying the scent of flowers brushed against his cheek.

It was the fragrance of unknown wildflowers brought by the spirits.