Chapter 6
Those in power are destined to be lonely. They have surprisingly few people they can truly open up to about their worries. They've always been the ones shouldering responsibility, never allowed to lean on anyone else.
That's the irony—even those who have everything struggle with the most basic needs: sharing their sorrows through conversation or healing their painful pasts through relationships. That's why politicians and celebrities seek out shamans, Mom used to say.
"A shaman isn't anything special. Think of them as old-school therapists. They help people spit out the knots inside them and apply salve to their wounds. You can't just read their fortunes and leave the knots be. You have to untie them. Otherwise, a shaman might succeed, but they won't last long."
This time, too, I followed Mom's advice. The Count needed comfort, and I had the information to provide it. My words weren't as eloquent as hers, but what could I do? I'd just do my best within my limits.
"Look after your family and those close to you. See how they're living—what they enjoy, what direction their lives are taking. And above all, reflect on yourself."
The Count didn't snap at me. No berating a commoner for daring to advise a lord, no raised voice. He just gazed at me with a face full of sorrow and exhaustion.
"The thorn under the saddle is small and insignificant. But ignore it and keep riding, and the wound festers, rots, and eventually kills the horse. Stop for a moment, pull out the thorn, then mount up again."
I smiled at the Count.
"The answer is always within you. You'll find it, my lord."
At my words, the Count finally spoke, his face like he was unburdening his heart for the first time.
"Seeing my eldest son turn out such a mess... it fills me with regret. I feel like a worthless father who failed to raise his children right. That... that just sticks with me."
I shook my head.
"One's fate is forged by one's own hands. Even good soil grows weeds. And harsh soil can bloom beautiful flowers. If you believe you did your best, stop blaming yourself. The past is gone—clawing at yourself isn't wise."
"What should I do with my territory now? So many worries. I don't know who to pass it to. A count's title isn't eternal. Fail to build a proper reputation, and the moment it reaches the imperial ear, it's revoked and handed to someone else. I'm worried my children will end up on the streets."
"That's all the more reason to dismount calmly and look around. Talk to your children. Observe them. See what kind of people they are, what they love, what path their lives are on. Decide based on that."
"Can I... make the right choice?"
"Trust your judgment, my lord. You're no incompetent rider. You've just never had the leisure to look around."
With that, I stood.
"I'll take my leave."
Exhaustion from the nonstop tension since yesterday was hitting hard. All I could think was getting home and crashing.
The Count nodded as if entranced.
"Take my car back."
Too drained to walk, I accepted his offer without protest. Back at my tiny, shabby fortune-telling shop, I collapsed into sleep.
Ah... I was supposed to visit the alchemy guild today... That was my last thought before drifting off.
After the incident, for the first time, the Count took a vacation.
One realization from his talk with Aiden: he'd been a hopeless workaholic, busier than necessary. As a young knight and soldier, he'd charged battlefields; as lord, he'd drowned in endless duties. No time for family talks or meals.
He returned to his mansion—the grandest, flashiest in tourist city Yurtel. Yet he'd rarely spent time there himself.
Gazing at the immaculate garden and tidy interiors, he felt truly alienated from his own home.
"My lord, welcome home. What brings you today?"
With the head butler vacant, the head maid greeted him. The Count shrugged, scanning the rooms blankly.
"Just... wanted to rest at home for once. Prepare a meal? I'd like to eat with the family."
"Of course!"
Food was swiftly served. His children—long unseen—answered his call and entered the dining room: the second son and youngest daughter.
The Count racked his brain for what they'd been up to lately. Nothing came to mind.
"Let's eat."
"Yes, Father."
Only the clink of cutlery echoed softly. The Count and his two children sat in awkward silence, unsure how to start talking.
The Count broke it first.
"How have you all been?"
Cutlery paused. Staring at their wide-eyed gazes, his heart sank. What if they lashed out? Yelled that he'd never been a father and had no right to play one now? Or worse, pretended to be good kids while rotten like Richard, dooming them after his death?
In that brief quiet, darkest thoughts swirled.
But the responses were gentle.
"I'm studying for civil service. Aiming for inspector."
The second son's words.
"I'm at design school. Want to make dresses."
The youngest daughter eyed him cautiously.
"Are... you okay, Father?"
He stared at them long and hard. Civil service? Dress design? He'd known none of it.
Then it hit: why Richard and Paco betrayed him. Aiden nailed it—a fine rider with no time to look around. That was him.
"Not okay... You've heard about Richard..."
Struggling to speak, the Count faltered. His youngest daughter rose, grasping his hand firmly.
"We understand. You don't have to say if it's hard."
Emotion welled up unbidden.
"I'm sorry to you both."
Shock crossed their faces.
"I lived so frantically, I didn't even know how my own family was faring. Foolish. No shame as lord, but as father... disgraceful. I have no face to show you."
He bowed his head. They stared, then burst into laughter.
"Remember my seventh birthday? You carved out time for a theme park you built yourself. Cake, bath—fond memories."
The second son spoke. The daughter followed.
"When I entered academy, I begged for a pink dress. Amid your busyness, you bought one and gifted it at midnight. That's why I love making dresses. You're no bad parent. Never."
"Richard was... just like that. You did your part as father. We vouch for it."
"Don't feel guilty. We've never seen you as bad."
The Count laughed heartily.
"Right. Of course."
Looking around, he saw how foolish his self-torment had been. He had family—a loving wife who'd raised these kids. The eldest twisted sadly, but two solid ones remained by his side.
Silently, he rose and hugged his son and daughter. They didn't pull away. The embrace was long and warm.
"I'll cut back on work. Doesn't make sense at my age. Instead, I want time with you. Nothing grand—just meals when free."
They smiled.
"Yes, Father."
"I'll make time too. Weekends if weekdays are tough. Meals and talks."
"Yes. Let's do that."
He wiped hasty tears with his sleeve.
"Haha, getting old—sentimental fool. Eat up before the maid's feast cools."
Meal resumed. Silent like before, but the atmosphere utterly transformed. The Count smiled; his remaining children smiled with him.
They say the world can change overnight. I was living it.
Scraped a day off to meet the alchemist—only to spend it pinned in the Count's room on his sudden summons. Next day, business as usual: open shop, read futures and pasts, shuffle tarots, counsel till evening close, drag myself to bed exhausted.
Then:
"Aiden, the Count summons you."
Knights again. Why now? But they dropped the magic words I couldn't refuse.
"The Count wishes to pay your tip in person."
How to say no? I followed to his office in a sleek car.
Late night. The Count—in shorts and floral shirt, puffing a cigar over papers—beamed, rising at my entrance.
"Haha! Our great sage arrives!"
He barreled over, hugging me tight. Post-embrace, as I blinked in stunned fatigue, he clapped my shoulders boisterously.
"Sit, sit! Time for tip talk!"
"Ah, yes. Five hundred runes..."
"That paltry sum? Have ambition, man!"
Grinning, he slid documents my way.
"Read."
I scanned them slowly. Eyes widened with each page.
"Taxes once a year... just one thousand runes?"
"That's not all. Your shack of a shop? Forget it. I'll build you a prime tourist spot—territory-funded, flashy fortune-telling parlor. Promotion, ops, guards, headaches—all on me."
He tapped a bold clause.
"One condition: keep doing business in Yurtel. Stick to that, and I provide it all. Deal?"
Ten-year exclusive operation, auto-renewing absent objection.
Dazed, I murmured:
"Why... go this far for me?"
"You'll be this city's new landmark. Your readings? Extraordinarily special. Line out your door proves it—city has reason to back you. Personally... gratitude."
He clapped booming laughter. Door opened; a knight entered with an amber glass vial. The Count handed it over silently.
"What's this?"
"Truth? I looked into you. Server turned sudden fortune-teller after terminal diagnosis."
He offered the vial formally.
"Sun's Tear. Enough to extend your life a month. Fitting tip for counseling nobility, no?"
Ahh, seriously. Count. I love you.