Chapter 52
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 52
Chapter Title: Two Types of History Nerds
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"One carriage... Four escorts."
I approached the window at the sound of Lize's voice.
A procession raising dust as it approached. One carriage with four mounted escorts.
"Could be additional members of the Imperial Audit Team?"
"No flags."
The Imperial Audit Team was a group dying to flaunt their presence. They wouldn't move without flags.
Sir Heinrich placed his hand on his sword hilt.
"Enemies?"
"No enemies come so openly," Lize replied instead.
The carriage drew closer. A crest engraved on a silver background.
The symbol of an elven house that had lasted over a thousand years came into view.
"Duke Sylvesta?"
"What? Why's that guy come all the way out here?"
Celine's voice came from behind.
"It's Duke Sylvesta's crest," Sir Heinrich confirmed.
An elf who had lived 1,800 years. Dean of the Imperial Academy. Duchess Clara's teacher.
And a sort of friend with whom I exchanged letters.
He had come in person.
To meet the ten-year-old legion commander in the boonies, accused of treason.
If it could be handled by letter, he would have sent one. Coming personally meant there was something letters couldn't convey.
Coaxing? Warning? Or both?
"Shall we go out to greet him?"
I nodded at Sir Heinrich's question.
"Me too?" Celine asked.
"Wait outside. Where you can't be seen."
Just in case. Duke Sylvesta himself wouldn't strike, but who knew what might be mixed in with those four escorts.
Celine's tail twitched. She nodded.
I looked at Lize.
"Prepare tea. And tidy the study."
"Yes."
Lize's real job was maid, after all. Staff officer duties were more like a side gig she'd stumbled into.
Though she was about ten times better at the side gig than the main one.
"What vibe we going with?"
Celine asked.
"Treat him like a guest."
"Not an enemy?"
"A guest."
I emphasized.
Lize left the room first. Celine leaped out the window.
The black cat vanished onto the roof.
I headed to the entrance with Sir Heinrich.
The sound of carriage wheels grew closer.
The carriage stopped in front of the entrance.
The four escort knights dismounted first. Their movements were anything but ordinary.
The carriage door opened, and Duke Sylvesta stepped down.
An appearance in his early thirties. A youthful face that made his 1,800 years seem a lie.
But his movements were different. Slow. Incredibly slow.
The leisure of one who knew deep in his bones that time was on his side, devoid of any haste.
I bowed at the entrance.
"You've had a long journey, Duke Sylvesta."
"Journey? It was just a chance to see the outside after so long. The capital's air is too stale."
He was looking at me. More precisely, observing me.
"Please, come inside."
"Very well."
I signaled Sir Heinrich. He nodded and approached the escort knights.
"This way. We've prepared a separate waiting room."
I led him to the drawing room.
The wooden walls had peeling paint in places, and the furniture was practical but worn.
Sylvesta's gaze swept the room.
"Quite austere."
"It's the frontier."
"But I hear you've made a tidy sum lately."
"Start splurging just because you've begun earning a little, and you'll end up a beggar."
"A beggar. An amusing expression."
"It's the truth."
"You've had a near-monopoly on the capital's trade for almost half a year now?"
No reason to hide it. No way to hide it either. I nodded.
"That must bring in no small amount. This level of austerity is unexpected."
"Over half goes back into reinvestment. Faster carriages to cut transport time, improved storage to keep the fresh. Things like that."
"Better to spend on carriages than hoard in a vault?"
"Freshness is the lifeblood of herbs."
Duke Sylvesta set down his teacup.
The porcelain clinking against the table echoed in the quiet room.
"I've lived 1,800 years."
"I know."
"In that time, I've seen plenty of young humans get rich quick on luck. Nine out of ten ruined themselves. You can tell by where they spend the money."
"Common tale."
"Building mansions, gold-leafing carriages, hiring dozens of servants. Once the money starts leaking like that, the end is in sight."
I nodded.
"But you buy carriages. For speed, not gold leaf. You improve storage. For quality, not show."
Sylvesta looked at me.
"That's rare."
He took a box from his pocket.
"A birthday gift. Happy eleventh."
I opened the box. A fountain pen. Gold body engraved with ancient elven runes.
Mana hummed from it. Faint but unmistakable.
Not just a writing tool. A magic item. Worth hundreds of gold coins.
Why?
This was only our second meeting.
We'd exchanged letters, but was there reason for such favor?
Indebtedness? The start of recruitment?
Recruitment by whom? I'd never heard he belonged to any political faction.
"Thank you. But..."
"Personal favor. Just take it."
"That's not it. You didn't come all this way just to give me this."
A brief silence.
Sylvesta smiled. Just the corner of his mouth.
"Sharp. As expected."
The door opened, and Lize entered with fresh tea. Her hand trembled faintly on the tray.
"Honest, aren't you? Don't know how to beat around the bush?"
"I hate wasting time."
"I've lived 1,800 years. I've time to spare."
I didn't reply.
Silence flowed.
"I came to observe."
"Observe?"
"Observing human history is my hobby."
I knew. I'd read his books multiple times and exchanged letters often.
"Same here. History observation's my hobby too."
"Different. You read books. I watch firsthand. For 1,800 years. Dynasties rise and fall. Heroes born and die. Empires founded and rot. And you..."
He took a sip of tea. And then...
"Adrian von Krushtein seems like he could become part of that history."
Part of history.
How to interpret that.
Did he suspect I'd rebel?
No. Overthinking it.
I had no plans to rebel. Just wanted to live quietly.
The problem was, the harder I struggled to stay quiet, the noisier it got.
"I prefer observing history to changing it, myself."
Sylvesta laughed.
This time not just the corner of his mouth. He laughed out loud.
"Hahahahaha!"
Surprisingly hearty for a 1,800-year-old elf.
"Felt it from the letters too. Dealing with you feels like chatting with a peer."
A peer.
1,800 years and eleven years.
"You're too kind."
"Not kindness. Fact."
We talked like that for a while.
Cake came out. Lize had baked it herself. Simple decoration, but good taste.
"In the capital, they top cakes with gold leaf, I hear."
Sylvesta said, setting down his fork.
"Gold on food?"
"Decoration. No effect on taste. Just looks expensive."
"Doesn't make sense."
"Me neither."
Sylvesta laughed.
"Sturdy insides last longer than flashy outsides. Cake or people."
I took another bite of cake.
"Oh, right. Meant to pass this along."
Sylvesta pulled an envelope from his pocket. Sealed with the imperial crest.
"Got it before leaving the capital. Official letter to House Krushtein. Since I was coming this way, I brought it."
I took it, broke the seal, skimmed the contents.
Short. But heavy.
"Brother's marriage..."
"Young Lord Ernst is officially announcing his betrothal to a princess. If you'd been half as proactive as him, Adrian, it wouldn't have happened this fast."
"Yeah."
"Anyway, that's why I came. To see how you'd take the news."
The pen, history talk, cake critique. All foreplay.
Sylvesta's real goal was this. My reaction to the betrothal. Anger? Jealousy? Scheming?
"Sorry to disappoint. But it's worth celebrating. My brother's getting married."
Sylvesta's eyes narrowed.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Marriage to an imperial princess locks in the succession."
"Means your brother inherits Krushtein."
The elf might know history well, but he didn't know Walter von Krushtein the man.
It meant nothing.
"I know."
"And you're celebrating?"
"His good news."
Sylvesta laughed. His eyes smiled too this time.
"Amusing."
He lifted his teacup. A sip.
"Lie or truth? Even after 1,800 years, I can't tell."
"Could be both."
"Both?"
"Celebrating his good news is sincere."
Brief silence.
"Mind if I ask something?"
"Go ahead."
"Say an item is stolen and replaced with a fake. There's an old maid who's polished and cared for it for over a decade. Even she doesn't notice it's fake."
Sylvesta looked at me.
"But a boy who only glimpsed it once spots the fake immediately. How do you interpret that?"
I smiled. As naturally as possible.
"Boy's got sharp eyes."
"Just sharp eyes?"
"Or good luck."
"Luck?"
"Best way to describe the inexplicable, no?"
Sylvesta stared at me. Long. Very long.
Eyes holding 1,800 years. Eyes that had observed, analyzed, judged countless humans. Trying to read me.
"Not wrong. Luck. Yes. Could be. What race you're born, what talents. That's luck too."
"Agreed."
"Mind if I stay here a while?"
Out of nowhere.
"Here? In this frontier?"
"Said the capital's air is stale. Northern air's fresh. Nice."
Lie.
Surveillance? Or other motives.
"Welcome. But hospitality will be modest."
"Modest is good. Better than gold-leaf cake."
The door closed.
Footsteps receded down the hall.
Only then did tension drain from my shoulders. I leaned back. Fingertips trembled faintly.
"Young master. That elf... you know him."
And that wasn't all.
Staying a while, he'd said.
An unknown ally or watcher. Right under my nose.
My head grew complicated.
No. More than complicated.