Reminiscences
Isaac's memories of his mother were hazy. What he vaguely recalled were moments from his younger days: the lullabies she sang to him, the times they played piano together. She would wander the continent for months, or a year, or even longer, before briefly returning to the manor. After that, all that remained were memories of her battling a local plague on the brink of death, and the letters she sent.
[…May your long night end someday. May you find peace.]
In truth, he could barely picture her face. Just gray hair like his own, eyes tinged with solitude somewhere, and rough hands—that was it.
That was why Isaac struggled to adjust.
"Whoa, it actually works? Is this really Isaac, my son?"
"…Yes, it is."
"I heard you were in Binvelt. Are you really there right now?"
"I… think so?"
"Is it snowing there too?"
"It just stopped."
"It's like a real magic box. Yonas, can you hear this? How does it even work? Do spirits carry the sound back and forth?"
Adel was thrilled and buzzing with excitement for a good while after hearing Isaac's voice. Only then could they have something resembling a proper conversation. Though it was still far from what Isaac had imagined.
"Are you eating well?"
"…Yes."
"What do you eat? You're in your growth spurt—you need to eat properly. Nothing spoiled, right?"
"Bread, jerky, cheese, nuts, dried fruits—a variety of things. There's always soup or stew too. Nothing spoiled, so don't worry."
"Who's cooking for you?"
"Hans or Enet sometimes, or the camp cooks or whoever's on duty."
"You took Enet along too. How's she doing these days? Oh, and by the way, son—is that rumor true?"
"Pardon?"
"The servants said you've been seducing the maids. They say Enet's one of them."
"Seducing? Who… what?"
As the long-distance communication device kept connecting him to Adel, Isaac's head began to spin. He'd already spent the night suppressing his surging vitality and sparring with Bessimer. His mind was foggy, his limbs aching. And now, unexpectedly chatting with his mother—he had no idea how to respond or what to say.
This was definitely not the reunion he'd envisioned.
"…I get that you're at the age where girls are a curiosity, but if you can't control your desires, you can't accomplish anything. It's the same in the kingdom or the tribes. True leaders know how to protect the dignity of those under them."
The decades of longing and affection Isaac felt were evaporating with every exchange. It had been decades for him, but for Adel, it was barely a year. She'd left the manor around when he was ten and returned a few times since. The past year had just been an unusually long absence.
To her, Isaac was still a young, naive child.
"…Do you understand? Helmut inherited nobility, and I inherited valor. You've got that blood in you. Act worthy of it."
"…Yes."
"Schrader said you deliberately acted like a delinquent, but wrong is wrong. If Enet doesn't want to travel with you, send her back to the manor. And apologize personally to that guard you humiliated. Got it?"
"I'll do that."
Isaac could only mumble responses to Adel's words. He'd seen his father, the Goethe Count, in his final days, pale and nearing death. But the time apart from Adel was several times longer. Even at over seventy, she intimidated him. She felt unfamiliar. And welcome.
"It's a shame. This magitech lets me hear your voice, which is amazing, but I can't see your face. Your voice hasn't changed much. But everyone says you've changed beyond recognition."
"Is that so."
"I've heard bits and pieces. What have you been up to? Tell your mom."
Adel's voice was steady—affectionate yet firm, close yet distant.
"Uh…."
Isaac was at a loss for words. He had no clue where to start.
"Son?"
"…Um, how much have you heard?"
"That you've become Binvelt's independent lord. With Baitur warriors and belligerent tribes there—it must be no small challenge. Even hearing about it from Schrader, I can hardly wrap my head around it."
"Ah, well… so, at Winterband, there was this company commander named Pfeil. He got caught human trafficking in the sewers by me. So with Randolf and Carlson—ah, Randolf is…."
Isaac stammered like a child babbling nonsense. He felt ridiculous, but without something like this, nothing else came to mind. Somehow, talking to his father had felt far easier. Conversations with the Goethe Count had purpose: what needed doing for the family, what was required, discussions, demands, persuasions.
By contrast, chatting with his mother had no goal or practicality. Even debating religion and faith with Vincenzio felt simpler. Isaac could feel his eloquence regressing in real time.
Adel's tone rose, her words speeding up.
"You took down that giant? Incredible! Your great-grandfather would've been thrilled. Even emotional."
Sobs echoed through the device soon after.
"Are… are you crying?"
"How could I not? Bessimer took his own father's life with his own hands."
"Ah… yeah… I guess so."
Adel was far more emotional than Isaac had imagined. It was hard to believe this was the woman who'd deliberately avoided showing her face in his previous life, treating him harshly to toughen him. Or maybe her soft heart was exactly why.
According to Yonas, many of the meals brought underground back then had been her handiwork.
I knew nothing.
Isaac had to admit he knew little of his mother. A stern warrior adhering to Granak traditions—that was just his own fabrication.
"Young master, I've brought your meal."
"…So do you know what I said there?"
"What'd you say?"
"I told them if imperial magic was so superior, to transmute a flame right there. I could do it, so could the wise professor? His imperial face turned beet red and he stormed out."
"…Young master?"
Hans, carrying a tray of stew, blinked. Isaac was giggling like a child.
"Oh, Hans. Just leave it there. But that's not the end…."
Isaac beamed at Hans and launched back into his tale. Hans set the wooden tray on the table, stared blankly at Isaac, then left.
"Something happen inside?"
Carlson, heading into the command tent, noticed Hans and asked.
"Pardon?"
"You look serious."
"Captain—er, company commander—have you ever seen the young master laugh?"
"Sure."
"Not just a smile. Laughing out loud like a boy his age…."
Ahahaha! Isaac's laughter burst from the command tent—a pure boy's voice.
"…Can't say I have. What's going on in there?"
"Seems like he's talking to Madam via some academy contraption."
"I see."
Carlson nodded and moved to enter, but Hans blocked him.
"If it's not urgent, maybe come back later?"
"Why?"
Carlson frowned.
"It seems important to the young master."
"…."
Carlson glanced at the tent. Isaac's chatter drifted out. It was a side of him Carlson had never seen.
"I'll come back later."
"Thank you."
"Why are you…."
Carlson eyed Hans and turned away.
"Eating on time?"
"Yes, don't worry."
"Not overdoing the magic?"
"No need for concern."
"Getting enough sleep? Still tossing and turning from worries?"
"Sleeping fine."
Isaac dozed at the command tent table, head nodding, then snapped awake. Familiar voices flowed from the device.
"Always brushing it off. I told you not to. You'll collapse for real."
"I'm the one worried. Adel, you returned safely?"
"I'm Brunscar's daughter. I don't go down easy."
Adel's bright voice mingled with Helmut's calm one. Dusk had fallen. Someone had lit the fire in the tent, and a thick blanket draped Isaac's shoulders.
"Father?"
"Isaac?"
"Yes, it's me."
"You got one of these devices too?"
"Yes."
"Much to say, but that'll wait till the war's over."
"Helmut. Did you hear what Isaac's been up to?"
"Roughly."
"Our son…."
From lunch to dinner, Adel showed no sign of tiring, rehashing Isaac's stories.
"Isn't it amazing? In front of the kingdom's top scholars…."
"…."
"And he passed Ullerne's test. You know how huge that is."
"Adel."
"That's the trial for great warriors and chieftains in history… Huh?"
"Better to discuss it in person later, no?"
"Oh, right. Am I too excited?"
"With war looming. Understand."
"True. Ahem."
Isaac marveled at Marcel Reich's long-range comm device. He could even hear the count's quiet sigh and Adel's fake cough.
"Isaac. Got your letter."
"What do you think?"
"Same as you."
"Contact from the royalists?"
"Master Reich came to Winterband himself. Delivered the First Prince's letter personally."
"You refused?"
"Yes."
Isaac nodded at the count's reply. He'd expected as much. You, the sturdiest shield. What Botmer wanted was the First Prince stepping in personally. The prince knew Botmer's—and the Second Prince's—intentions but fretted over losing his own forces, sending Marcel Reich as envoy.
But the moment the First Prince mobilized, the council faction would rise, claiming he meant to purge them. Botmer and Goethe's war served exactly that purpose. With the First Prince involved, Botmer couldn't win. But both the prince and Goethe would lose more than they gained.
In the original history, the count had teetered on death's edge from spirit rampage, and Schrader weathered the storm with royalist aid. No one knew then: that war, that victory, paved the way for the Second Prince's bloody succession.
"Botmer's army arrives in five days."
"How long do we hold?"
"Three or four days after."
"Busy times ahead. Mother, ask Schrader to take that chest to Grandmother?"
"I'll go."
"Winter's dangerous. For you to travel personally…."
"I'll go."
Isaac tried warning her, but Adel was resolute.
"Father."
He appealed to the count, to no avail.
"Let Adel do as she wishes."
"Pardon?"
"Few in the kingdom could best her with a sword."
"…Pardon?"
Isaac once more realized how little he knew of his mother.