Chapter 256
Chapter 256
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 256
Chapter Title: How to Survive as the Second Son of a Magical Noble Family
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"It's cleaner than I expected."
I said as I looked at the well-maintained library.
There was no reply. I'd felt it from the start, but the attendant didn't seem very sociable.
'I get why they suggested I talk to him.'
Of course, the main reason for the suggestion was probably the information I could get from this man, but the fact that conversation didn't flow naturally must have played a part too.
I shook off the attendant's gaze boring into my back and walked down the aisle.
It was a vast library that took up an entire floor.
If the master of the house were someone who never read, there probably wouldn't even be a library, or it'd be tiny. But this archbishop didn't seem to be that type. Then again, it wasn't strange for the person in the highest position, leading others, to have one.
'Strategy books. Military treatises.'
I stopped in front of a shelf full of such titles. Military treatises filled two entire shelves. A few were lying open, upside down, near a sofa with a small chair and table—recent reads, by the look of it.
Our tastes were similar, which soured my mood.
There were hardly any novels on the shelves. Same as me. Excluding the last moments I spent in my old body, I'd rarely read novels throughout my entire life.
There were certainly a few that left a deep impression, ones I'd recommend to others, but not many. If I counted only the ones I'd truly gotten lost in, the novel that formed the backdrop of this world was the only one in my life. That's why arriving here had been so absurd.
Still, I'd never thought I shouldn't have read that novel.
I slowly walked the aisles, checking the books on the shelves and the worn-out ones that had been read a lot.
Overall, non-fiction outnumbered literature. Roughly an 8:2 ratio. Even that 20% skewed toward ancient Greece or the Middle Ages rather than recent works.
The ones in that 20% were genuine favorites, judging by how worn they were. I ran my fingers along the spines, reading the titles.
'Iliad, Odyssey, Oedipus Rex... Theogony.'
Classics even from our era. Aeschylus's tragedies stood out in their battered state too.
He seemed particularly obsessed with medicine, magic studies, and political science. The political science section was packed with journals on Machiavelli and Machiavellianism.
I stopped in front of it.
Two shelves occupied the spot where I stood. The left one was entirely books about Niccolò Machiavelli, and the right held works similar to his The Prince.
I'd checked every shelf so far, but this was the first time a single thinker and idea had claimed so much space.
'Hmm, Machiavelli...'
Everything here felt unexpected since I entered. I'd never seen him leading the diocese, so in my mind, his image was nothing more or less than a stalker.
On second thought, their dispositions seemed to match on the surface.
I already knew The Prince itself well enough, so to understand how the archbishop interpreted it, I'd need to look elsewhere.
I reached for the left shelf, the one with books about the author Machiavelli.
I pulled out a few with index tabs stuck all over them and flipped to random pages in each.
[Niccolò Machiavelli fiercely criticized the Medici's absolutism through The Prince. He was truly a republican, but the oppression of his era forced him to express his views secretly.]
[The author does not fully agree that Niccolò Machiavelli was a [virtuous republican citizen], but asserts this: The Prince is unequivocally a book for the people. To aid the reader's understanding of this paper, the author borrows the words of two thinkers. Spinoza said, "The Prince shows how dangerous it is for the free masses to entrust their welfare absolutely to one man." And Socrates said, "The only good is knowledge, the only evil ignorance." The shocking exposé of that work spurred subjects to return to being citizens, becoming the foundation of the Enlightenment. That is the core.]
[Why do Enlightenment thinkers try to whitewash Niccolò Machiavelli? Because his opportunistic nature forms the basis of The Prince. His absolutism reflects not true absolutism, but only Machiavelli's own egoism and opportunism. We subjects must remember that Machiavelli was a petty opportunist who switched political camps multiple times for survival.]
'Hmm...'
Each one I opened had a different tune.
More balanced and varied than expected, which made sense now.
The two were alike. More precisely, the public's image of Machiavelli fit the archbishop's thought process. He had plenty of reason to identify with Machiavelli. The Prince's philosophy—highly summarized as justifying any means for an end, to the point of flattening the work under misconceptions—aligned with the archbishop's tendencies and ideas. Dive deeper, and they'd be opposites, but still.
At the very least, it was clear he held Machiavelli in special regard, close to using him as a mirror for himself.
I put the books back and resumed walking. The attendant followed, holding a magic lamp.
'...Judging by the collection alone... I'd copy it wholesale for my house.'
Overlapping tastes irritated me.
That didn't mean I agreed with everything he owned. Just that many looked intriguing.
I'd come to the library to gauge his overall inclinations from the big picture, not because I thought he endorsed every single book.
And this visit gave me a feeling.
If we'd met normally in the same space, we could've been decent friends.
Not anymore, though.
I reached the end of the library and found a small room with the door open.
Inside, I saw what he'd been writing. I closed the open inkwell lid and read the words on the yellowed paper.
[In the last issue, I discussed the spolia opima. Thus, the reader should be well aware of Marcus Claudius Marcellus, the general who earned the spolia opima at the Battle of Clastidium and fiercely fought Carthage's Hannibal as consul.]
'Last issue? How many jobs does he have?'
I'd thought he spent all day tailing me, but he had more variety than expected.
Not disappointed, just intrigued. I didn't know which magazine he wrote for, but he lived like his days had 48 hours. Was this what it took to become archbishop?
[In 208 BC, Marcellus was detected by one of Hannibal's men during reconnaissance and killed. Hannibal gave him a dignified funeral, but there was one undignified act. Hannibal took the dead Marcellus's signet ring and sent false information to the Roman-loyal town of Salapia. The order claimed Marcellus was marching on Salapia and commanded them to open the gates. If Salapia believed the letter, the one entering through their gates would not be Salapia's ally, Rome's Marcellus, but Carthage's Hannibal.]
"......"
A snippet from the Punic Wars.
Intriguing content. Made more so because the archbishop wrote it himself. Worth remembering.
[But Rome's second consul, Titus Quinctius Crispinus, astutely saw through Hannibal's ruse and informed Salapia and nearby cities that Marcellus was already dead. This letter arrived just before Hannibal's. Unaware, Hannibal marched on Salapia's gates with Roman deserters at the front. Salapia pretended to be fooled by his letter and welcomed their "Roman Marcellus" through the gates. After lulling Carthage's guard, Salapia attacked them. In the end, Hannibal suffered losses from his own scheme and had to withdraw. No matter how great a general Hannibal was, or what his achievements had been until then....]
"How long do you intend to look?"
The attendant's words broke my focus.
I replied without looking his way.
"You're the one who said I'd be the husband."
He left it at that, with no retort.
[...This time, it was Hannibal's defeat. What can we discover here?]
"......"
[Hannibal's strategy was brilliant. But its failure was a painful fact, regardless of its excellence. Should we see this as the goddess of fate not favoring him? Or as Hannibal's blunder in underestimating Crispinus? The judgment is left to the reader.]
"If you're staying longer, shall I bring tea?"
"I see, that's what you meant. No need. More importantly, this column is fascinating. Which magazine or newspaper is it for?"
"Hard to say."
"Fair enough. Have you read this one?"
He nodded.
I clicked my tongue, figuring I'd play the husband role while I was at it—no, I'd given up on that—and said,
"It hasn't even been sent out yet, but he showed it to you? Feels odd."
"My apologies."
"No need to apologize. So, what do you think of the author's question?"
This would start my conversation with 'Lu Var.'
The suggestion to talk wasn't random. Small talk like "Nice weather today" was impossible with him.
To shift to the archbishop, I'd ask something archbishop-related. His writing was perfect for it.
"I think he was unlucky."
"......"
"At the same time, Hannibal was lacking too. If he wasn't confident he could keep the fact of stealing the signet ring from reaching the Roman army, he shouldn't have used that strategy. Maybe he sent the letter to Salapia thinking he had nothing to lose."
"What do you think your master would say?"
"I don't know my master's thoughts."
I nodded and slowly sat on the sofa at the back of the room.
Even though this was clearly the archbishop's private space, the attendant didn't stop me.
Now I asked something directly about the archbishop.
"I saw a ton of books on Machiavelli earlier. Ever thought Niccolò Machiavelli resembles your master?"
He looked down at me like he'd heard nonsense, then quietly replied.
"I can't say no."
I gestured to the sofa opposite.
"Honest, aren't you? Sit. In what way do you think he resembles Machiavelli?"
He stared blankly, then sat with a blank expression.
"Are you planning to marry my master?"
"......"
I let out a hollow laugh.
Me, the husband-to-be?
Was he saying he couldn't hand his master—his lover?—over to someone likening him to Machiavelli? Crazy bastard.
But that was my misjudgment. What came from Lu Var's mouth was unexpected.
"To cut the long story short before it drags: as Your Excellency knows, my master is the sort who'll gladly endure painful means for his goals."
"......"
More precisely, the type who'd unhesitatingly use painful means on others for his own gain. His stalking proved it. Amassing all those scholarly papers on Machiavelli yet living solely by his own tastes was baffling.
By the way, he habitually spat Low German—northern dialect—then corrected to High German.
"From the north? I hear Low German inflections."
"Yes."
"Where? North... Hamburg? Osnabrück? Münster?"
Instead of answering, he continued from before.
"Your Excellency isn't Pleroma. My master is. He definitely has room to make Your Excellency Pleroma for the sake of love."
Hm?
Of course. But this topic from his attendant?
I shook my head with a smile.
"Not your concern."
"......"
He watched me quietly, then asked.
"You'd be fine becoming Pleroma?"
"Honestly, no."
"He might demand your blood."
"I know."
"Would you give it?"
"No. Not right now."
"So later?"
"Depends."
Not later either.
There'd be no "later" anyway.
But no need to be honest in enemy territory.
"I don't get why you're asking. Do you not want me with him?"
"I'm just saying it seems Your Excellency is misunderstanding something. If so, what makes you stay here? My master could act against your expectations anytime."
Lu Var was telling me something ridiculous right now.
Hearing this here, of all places.
I clasped my hands and asked.
"Could you get me out of here?"
"It'd take a small lie, but yes. If you wish, I'll help you escape."
Disconcerting. His intentions were suspect now.
I kept calm and said,
"You asked what I trust to stay. I trust his promise to me."
"Trust? My master would lie for his goals too."
"I know. Still trust him."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Love, maybe?"
"......"
Saying it aloud was tough. But thinking of it as work made the awkwardness fade fast.
He looked at me with those dead eyes, shook his head, and stood.
"I have work. Call another servant if you need guidance."
"Wait."
He stopped, looking down at me.
"Why don't you trust your master?"
"I do. This was just human courtesy to Your Excellency."
I nodded, rolled my eyes, then leaned back on the sofa and asked.
"Fine. What's your name?"
"Lu Scheller."
"...Right. Got it."
I pulled up his status window.
Lu Var
Favorability +10 [攻略able]
Title: Wanted Man
Stamina: +6
Mental Strength: +4 [+9]
Mana: +6
Skills: +8
Impression: -3
Traits: —
Setting aside that insane favorability and title, he was indeed 'Lu Var.'
And 'Var' was a noble house from Osnabrück, as far as I knew. He'd tried to hide his family name from me.
'His given name's "Lu," huh.'
Uncommon to use a real name like that in this era.
Usually nicknames like Luise or Louis. Did he name himself?
He handed me a key and left the library.
Or tried to. He stopped at the dark hallway far off and slowly turned.
"Your Excellency."
As I looked, he continued.
"My master plans to hold the engagement ceremony soon."
* * *
With who?
Me?
'Who else...'
I hoped it was someone else, but sadly, no. At this point, anyone else would be problematic too.
Anyway, the suggestion...
Ding—!
Congratulations!
'Suggestion 1: Talk to "Lu Var"' success!
'Route 1 — [Suggestion 2]' confirmed.
Smooth success.
The conversation with that mystery man and his status weren't smooth, but they gave good info. Now to interpret it.
The archbishop appeared much later.
The next morning.
I jolted awake, chills running down my spine as I slept.
"...!"
The archbishop was right in front of my nose. I reflexively sat up and swung a fist, but he dodged nimbly with mana. Grinning, he said.
"I'm here. Time to plan strategy!"
"......"
The clock read 6 AM.
When I first arrived, it was dawn, so about 24 hours here. Outside, maybe 2 hours passed.
I nodded and flicked my hand, shooing him out.
He left more obediently than expected. Right after, two servants entered.
"What are you two?"
"To assist with your morning wash."
"No, I'll handle it."
Ten minutes of back-and-forth, but they wouldn't budge. Clearly the archbishop's orders.
Even after washing, they stayed.
One took a jacket off the rack. When I raised my arms, they dressed me.
'This is practically medieval.'
No.
I was just uncomfortable; it wasn't exclusively medieval.
Even someone like Georg Ascanien would have servants help dress. Adrian pretended not to be classist at home and, being a perfectionist germaphobe, never let anyone touch his things.
At Luca's house, I was air, so I handled everything without choice. Not alien to nobles.
Of course, from a modern personal-space-loving perspective, it was laughable.
"Anywhere uncomfortable?"
"No."
The clothes the archbishop provided fit perfectly—he must've measured from the ones he took before. But the design wasn't my taste. Suited his own, probably.
They sat me down and started oiling my hair to slick it back. This part was nice having help. Since Eschet, I'd fussed with my hair constantly; it was a hassle.
Not that I'd asked anyone to style it. During breaks, I wasn't planning to slick it like I was working. They hadn't asked my preference—just did as they pleased. Obvious who was behind it. Before they touched the other side, I stood and shooed them out.
"Thanks. I'll handle the rest. You can go."
I went to the bathroom, wet my hair, and tousled it back to normal with a towel like in the dorms. Heading downstairs to another room, the archbishop—who'd arrived first, sat with documents spread out—widened his eyes and said.
"You let your hair down."
"Yes. So, what's this material?"
"So unfamiliar~ I've only seen it slicked back since Eschet!"
The archbishop beamed, gesturing at his own hair. I smiled back and retorted.
"Not true."
"Why not? I've only met you since Eschet."
"......"
I smiled at him. He blinked wide, tilting his head.
"Fine, if that's how you see it."
He grinned at my reply and tapped the table. As I sat, he slid over the documents.
"First, it's been 2 hours since your disappearance. I don't recommend going to the Empire. They're burning hotter than ever."
"Burning, huh."
"The subjects learned the Empire covered up the terror... Ascanien issued an official statement on your disappearance."
"What'd they say?"
"Criticized the Empire for sacrificing Ascanien kin to resolve the terror. Oh, that Anhalt mage from your school joined the protest too."
Stefan Trout, probably.
Once flipped, he moved nicely on his own.
His issues were complicated; later.
The archbishop continued, his smile fading.
"Now the main point. In Pleroma recently—about 1.5 hours after you arrived—they changed strategy."
"......"
I looked silently at the short Pleroma letter he'd brought.
The content was pretty hopeless.
[To His Excellency, the Bishop of Münster's Diocese.]
[I am Therese Gebauer, Secretary-General of the District Union. Contacting Osnabrück's Diocesan Bishop is realistically impossible. His Grace, the Cologne District Bishop, orders you to seek Lucas Ascanien to lure Osnabrück's Diocesan Bishop.]
The archbishop looked at me seriously.
"The leadership's target isn't Osnabrück's bishop now. It's you."