The Temporary Lord
One week later.
“I present myself before the Lord of the House.”
“I present myself before the Lord of the House.”
The tutors of House Meyer had gathered in a single place—the study of Georg Meyer, head of the family.
“You have all labored hard teaching my unworthy children. I have summoned you today for no other reason than…”
“Is it regarding Young Master Franz’s education?”
“It is. How is Franz’s condition? His progress in his studies? His talent?”
At that, the six tutors each wore a troubled expression.
“His progress is quite rapid. His memory is so sharp and his mind so quick that one would never believe he had slept for five years.”
“Is that so?”
At the history tutor’s words, Count Georg Meyer felt a swell of pride. No man ever felt worse for hearing his child praised.
“At first he showed no interest whatsoever in poetry or literature, yet the moment he learned that verse and letters are bound up with politics, he began to study them with genuine zeal.”
“Ho, which is to say…”
“Young Master Franz appears to take an interest in politics as well.”
Georg nodded again, thoroughly satisfied. The eldest son of House Meyer ought to take an interest in politics. After all, the Meyers were a renowned house of strategists that had produced many famous counselors; for the heir of such a house to be ignorant of politics would have been unthinkable.
“He is especially strong in mathematics. He often solves problems with formulas of his own devising that even I do not know—almost as if he had studied mathematics in some distant foreign land.”
“A mathematical genius, then?”
“In originality, yes.”
Of course this was only because Lee Siwoo already knew modern mathematics, but the mathematics tutor had no way of knowing that, and so Franz simply appeared a prodigy.
“Oho… Perhaps I ought to have him specialize in that direction.”
“That would be excellent as well.”
“Why is the swordsmanship tutor silent?”
“W-well, that is…”
“Speak frankly.”
“His talent is a little below that of an ordinary man. With good instruction he could reach the level of a decent knight, but rising into the upper ranks will be difficult.”
“…”
No particular gift for the martial arts. That single remark chilled the atmosphere, yet the head of the house merely laughed as if it were nothing.
“Haha! A man may have one flaw and still be fine. So then—what is each of your overall assessments?”
“His martial talent appears somewhat lacking, yet he has only recently risen from his sickbed, so I believe he is still worth watching.”
“He may not be a genius, but he seems to possess considerable talent as a strategist.”
“I agree.”
“This humble one agrees as well.”
“He also learns etiquette with remarkable speed.”
And then the last of them—the tutor who taught politics and diplomacy—spoke.
“He is not a genius on the level of his younger sister, yet he possesses considerable talent.”
Lucill Meyer.
The strongest strategist in Arcadia Tactics, called the Zhuge Liang of the game. The reason was simple: her Intelligence was 100, and following her counsel never led one astray.
She was the rare talent who had held back the relentless advance of the game’s protagonist—the Demon King, Leona von Kruzenstein—for a full four years. Within the story there was even a saying: “Gain Lucill and you gain the world.”
The reason I bring her up is that she was my little sister.
“Brother.”
Creak. Someone opened the door and called to me. There was only one person who would address me as Brother: Lucill. The future S-class strategist. I closed the book I had been reading and answered.
“Hm? What is it?”
“I have something I’m curious about.”
She pattered over on quick little feet and sat on the opposite side of the bed, then opened the book she had brought with her.
Even if they call her the strongest strategist in the setting, a child is still a child…
Lucill was still only eleven—six years younger than my seventeen.
“What are you curious about?”
“Look here in this book.”
A fairy tale, perhaps? I glanced at the volume. The sheer thickness and the dense press of letters made my head ache at once. From a quick look at the contents, it appeared to be a history book.
“It is recorded that in the year 507 the late Emperor named his younger brother as heir, yet in 509, after a child of his own was born, he designated that child instead—and so the factions supporting the brother and those supporting the son split, and civil war broke out. Why did the late Emperor make a promise to leave the throne to his brother if he never meant to keep it?”
History, then. Good. I knew a little of this from having read the story, and I had recently reviewed it again with the tutors besides.
“The late Emperor…”
“Yes.”
“Ahem. Well, the late Emperor’s hobbies were the tea ceremony and gardening—quite aristocratic pastimes. But he took little interest in politics. He always wanted to hand the imperial throne to someone else. Most of the imperial family lived in luxury and dissipation, while the Emperor was expected to set an example for his subjects and was forced into a frugal life.”
“Ah~ So he wanted to pass the throne to his brother and enjoy his hobbies?”
“Mm. It has never been proven beyond doubt, but many hold the view that the late Emperor wished to become the retired emperor and devote himself to tea and gardening. That is the so-called orthodox interpretation. Then, once a child was born, his wife’s relentless pressure made him name the child as heir instead.”
“Thank you, Brother! That clears up my curiosity.”
The little thing smiled brightly, and I stroked her hair.
“But I have one more thing I’m curious about.”
“What is it?”
“The late Emperor placed his hobbies above politics. What is Brother’s highest priority?”
“Hmm? I’ve only just woken up, so I’m not sure. For the moment, studying hard and becoming useful in my own right is probably the priority, don’t you think?”
“Mm…”
My sister smiled faintly.
“I’m glad.”
“Glad of what?”
After pondering a while, she answered a moment later.
“Because Brother is a good person. I’ll be going now. If I stay up late, Mother will scold me.”
With that she rose, thick history book in her arms, and returned to her own room.
“A good person? Me?”
I found it a little odd, but decided it was just a child’s remark and let it pass.
Six months passed. I studied swordsmanship, horsemanship, and a host of other miscellaneous skills. Mother scolded Father for making me learn horsemanship again after I had lost my mind for five years while learning it the first time, yet Father’s will was firm. A noble—especially one who would become head of a house—must know how to ride.
I myself had no intention of spending my entire life in carriages, so I agreed to learn. More than anything, Arcadia Tactics was a war game. Wars broke out at the drop of a hat. If a fight went badly I would have to flee, and one could hardly escape in a carriage. Knowing how to ride—or not—would have a profound effect on the rest of my life.
I trained in swordsmanship, spearmanship, and horsemanship, yet honestly I remained far below the level of professional knights. I learned only enough to protect myself on a battlefield.
What I truly mastered were other subjects: politics, diplomacy, literature, etiquette, and above all the art of war. Given the age we lived in, Father drilled me intensively in military strategy, and my grasp of it reached a level I could boast of anywhere—though of course it still needed testing in real combat.
The art of war in this world was not so different from the tactics inside the game. Even though Arcadia Tactics was a fantasy title, it had a reputation for the realism of its warfare precisely because it had transplanted this world’s tactics wholesale.
As the heir of a house of strategists I steadily acquired one ability after another, growing day by day.
Then, one day—
Dong! Dong! Dong!
The sound of a bell rang out from somewhere. After six months living here, I knew exactly what that bell meant.
“The alarm bell…?”
The alarm bell. It was used to mark the beginning and end of the day. When it rang, the day’s work began; when it rang again, the day ended. But for the alarm bell to peal so rapidly meant only one thing.
Something has happened!
It rang like this only when something was wrong—an attack, a war, some great emergency. In short, it was the equivalent of an emergency siren.
I rose at once and ran toward the castle. Inside I found Father already clad in armor, leading a company of knights.
“What… is happening?”
“War has broken out.”
“War?”
“Yes. House Kruzenstein has invaded House Setia.”
House Kruzenstein was our enemy house; House Setia was the house of our liege lord. My father, Georg Meyer, was both vassal and strategist to Duke Henrik von Setia.
“This father of yours will be away at the front for a time.”
“Father…”
My sister Lucill ran to him and threw her arms around him. Even a girl who would one day become the strongest strategist was still only a child.
“Lucill, do not worry. This father of yours has marched to dozens of battlefields and yet stands here alive, does he not?”
“You must be careful.”
“Of course I will. Do not worry.”
After that tender moment between father and daughter had ended—
“Take care of yourself, Father.”
“I shall.”
The farewell between father and son was far drier than the one between father and daughter. That was partly my own nature, and partly another reason.
If my memory is correct, Georg Meyer dies of illness. Many in House Meyer are born with weak constitutions. Which means he will not die on the battlefield.
Knowing already that he would not fall in battle, I had little reason to worry.
“Ah, I nearly forgot to mention this.”
“What is it?”
“While I am gone, you are the temporary lord, my son. I leave the lordship in your hands.”
“Pardon?”
“You are the lord.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
Huh? This was a bit of a burden.