Chapter 13
Chapter 13
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Audience with Lord Count Nant (2)
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After hearing the baron's words, it wasn't long before the count spoke in a thin, raspy voice.
"Raise your head."
In time with those words, the baron—who was kneeling on one knee in front of me—lifted his head and gazed at the count's face.
The count's face, which clearly belonged to a man past sixty, was etched with deep wrinkles. His eyes were somewhat cloudy, and it looked like he'd powdered his face—no, powder was actually dusting off in faint clouds.
He must have deliberately applied that ridiculous makeup to hide his poor health.
Seeing the count like that, the baron spoke in a voice thick with emotion, laced with worry.
"Count Excellency, you must get well soon. Then, just like the old days, you should take up your lance alongside me and ride into battle once more, don't you think?"
The count let out a phlegmy chuckle in response.
"I miss those times. Ah yes—back then, you swung your mace at the enemy's helmet, missed, and nearly got yourself killed, remember? I was the one who saved you."
"That's right. So that very night, didn't I come to you with the wine I treasured? I've brought the same vintage this time. I hope you regain your strength soon so we can share it together, Count Excellency."
"Heh, never thought I'd live to hear such fine words from that whelp. Long life shows you everything."
The baron bowed his head once more and murmured quietly,
"It's an honor."
Then the count clapped a hand on my shoulder from behind the baron and said,
"You're Paul's boy, eh?"
"Yes, sir. Siel von Kroitel, son and heir of Paul von Kroitel."
"Polite one, aren't you? That's how the young should be. Even when your father came with your grandfather, he bellowed, 'Yes! I'm the son of Helmut von Kroitel himself!' Not a bad showing, mind you."
"Is that so, Count Excellency?"
"It was. Well, regardless—you serve our House of Nant as faithfully as your father. My boy's about your age, so get along. You may withdraw."
At the count's dismissal, I rose carefully and left the audience hall for my assigned quarters.
**
Count Nant and Baron Kroitel were remarkably close.
As I'd just witnessed in the audience, they'd fought side by side on the same battlefield.
In fact, the count had once saved the baron from certain death there. That said it all.
Which was why—even at these official summons, where they usually stuck to matters of state—the two of them were sharing personal reminiscences.
And considering how the count had made a point of telling me his son was around my age...
Though in truth, there was nearly a ten-year gap... in any case, I figured the count would now wipe off his makeup, grasp the baron's hand, and say something like this:
'I'm this frail now, with nothing left but my late-born boy. Look after him for me. Your son's just the right age—they could be as close as we are, no? And not just anyone: the heir of Baron Kroitel, whose house has served me loyally for centuries. No—your son. I can trust him above all others. I beg you.'
The baron would reply through tears:
'How could I refuse? My boy outshines even me. United with the Young Lord, he'll show his mettle while Your Excellency yet lives. Worry not—just stay hale and live long.'
After that heartfelt exchange, they'd drink the wine the baron brought and talk the night away.
In most cases, both the count's plea and the baron's acceptance would be wise choices...
A knock came at the door, followed by a voice from outside.
"Sir Siel von Kroitel."
"Yes? Who's there?"
"Knight Fence Striker. The Young Lord wishes to see you in person. Will you come with me?"
As expected, this odd fellow from my memories was up to his usual antics.
Normally, unless I were some commoner or lowborn, no noble with a shred of sense would summon a stranger at this hour.
Carriage travel in this era was grueling; rest was essential. And here, folk turned in at sundown as a rule.
Even modern insomniacs who stayed up past ten rarely messaged on KakaoTalk after.
Still, no matter how peculiar the Young Lord's summons, a vassal couldn't refuse.
"I'll come. Just give me a moment—I'm in nightclothes."
"Of course."
**
I changed and headed to the other mansion where the count's son awaited.
About thirty minutes' walk away. En route, I asked my guide, Fence, about the count's son. His answers matched what I recalled almost perfectly.
A man who prized duels of honor, knightly valor, and chivalric tales. Deep into knightly literature, by all accounts.
He owned every volume of the Elaine Empire's hit, Tales of Knight Quelesior, and had his armor forged to match Quelesior's design exactly.
Chivalric lit never condemned knights for womanizing, so this one indulged aplenty.
Couldn't get enough of meat, wine, pastries, cakes, bread—all fine foods...
Truly, the worst sort.
To be precise, if he indulged himself yet still kept some basic moral limits, I might not have scorned him so. But the issue was…
Knight Fence halted abruptly before a grand mansion and said,
"Young Lord Schwain awaits in the reception room. Enter the main gate and follow the maid. Thank you for answering the late call, Sir."
"Thanks, Fence."
The gate swung open; a maid emerged to guide me.
Short walk later, we reached the reception room.
She knocked, paused, then announced,
"Young Lord, Sir Siel von Kroitel has arrived."
The door opened. I entered, knelt on one knee before the man ahead, head bowed, and declared,
"I pay my respects to Young Lord Schwain von Nant."
Strictly speaking, even as Count Nant's son, protocol frowned on such deference to one without title...
Schwain smiled and replied,
"Exceedingly courteous. Indeed, I am Schwain von Nant—your future lord."
"An honor to meet you."
"Raise your head."
I did.
His appearance was a spectacle.
His body saw action only in bedsports; no muscle to be found. Neck and face blurred into one fleshy mass.
His eyes were half-buried in cheek fat.
His fingers, plump as a tale's greedy mouse, looked perfectly round.
The buttons on his clothes seemed to scream, 'Help—I'm about to pop!'
I nearly laughed but held it back.
Schwain offered a glass of wine with a grin.
"Heirs of other barons or knightly houses show less decorum at first sight—it irks me. But you? A gentleman. Feeling generous. Try this—fifteen-year vintage."
"An honor."
I sipped the wine he proffered.
Rich grape perfume, tartness, faint bitterness danced on my tongue.
Far finer, deeper than expected—I blurted my delight.
"Delicious. First wine I've tasted this fragrant and robust."
Schwain beamed.
"That reaction says you've not had much of this caliber. Drink up."
"My thanks."
An hour of idle chat over drinks, and Schwain was thoroughly soused—face flushed crimson.
Burping now and then, like a pig from some clockwork game.
Mid-burp, he turned grave.
"So, got a girl you fancy?"
I nearly reeled from the absurdity but steadied myself.
"Haha, one's dear to me back in the territory."
"Pity... Urp... Found a fine lass at the brothel... Meant to gift her if you liked..."
Were he not my future lord, I'd have pleaded for a scrap of sense. But I forbore.
Couldn't afford a rift yet; the moment hadn't arrived.
"Even nobles find pre-betrothal entanglements messy, Young Lord—no matter the introduction."
As I'd said, most nobles abstained until after marriage or the first heir.
Contraception being primitive, an untimely pregnancy could snarl succession.
Schwain nodded, conceding the point.
"Hmm... Fair enough. Off to bed with you. Mull what you need and tell me later."
"Yes, Young Lord."
As I turned to go, his mumble reached my back—like a soliloquy.
"Trust demands quid pro quo."
Drowning in gluttony, vice, and wine—yet so mistrustful. How trust that as lord?
**
I lingered in the countship a week.
Met its barons and heirs now and then.
Sometimes feasting and drinking at banquets; other times, tea in quarters, sharing dreams and schemes.
Most vowed utmost loyalty as vassals and knights. I echoed them to fit the mood.
At last, the assembly dissolved; all headed home.
The farewell banquet's waning hours: the count commanded attention.
"I, Count Rifenheim von Nant, declare henceforward my title passes to my son and rightful heir, Schwain von Nant. His Majesty's approval pending, yet from this instant, all my vassals shall hail him lawful Count of Nant County. Let any dissenter step forth boldly."
None did, naturally.
Thus, this land's lord—my liege—shifted from Rifenheim von Nant to Schwain von Nant.
By my past life's recall, from here the mire awaited.