Disappearance (1)
Bernsi's atmosphere was grim and tense. The guards were on high alert, and the mercenaries unleashed by the marquis scoured the city like bloodhounds. It was all because of Mayor Baris's death.
The entire city was frenzied, desperate to uncover the mastermind behind the assassination. But it wasn't just about maintaining order.
"You fuckin' bastard, you wanna die glaring like that?"
In an alley just off the main street, a mercenary kicked mercilessly at a man curled up like a bug.
"You? Yeah, you were in on plotting the mayor's assassination, weren't ya?"
The mercenary snarled, grabbing the bloodied man's collar.
"N-no, I d-didn't. P-please, spare me, s-spa—ghk."
The man's plea ended in a gut-wrenching knee to the stomach.
"Then prove it. Stop leeching off this city like a parasite and show some sincerity for public safety."
The mercenary whispered into the ear of the man, who could barely breathe and was hacking up bile.
"Urgh."
"Hey, you hear me?"
"I-I'll give it."
With trembling hands, the man fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a coin purse.
"This is a voluntary donation to the city council for public safety, right?"
The mercenary snatched the purse and counted the silver coins inside.
"Y-yes?"
"No?"
"N-no, yes, it is."
The man nodded frantically at the mercenary's words, on the verge of tears.
"Good. Then, on behalf of the council's great families, I thank you."
The mercenary patted the man's cheek and led his gang deeper into the alley. The man stared blankly at their retreating backs.
"What're you doing, Hermann? Let's go."
From afar, Wolfgang nudged the side of Hermann, who had been watching the scene. The two brothers, sons of Mrs. Randolf, were on their way back after washing the inn's bedsheets. Fortunately, no one bothered them—thanks to the prestige of Randolf, who was practically nobility.
Some city guards had served under him when he was a company commander at Winterband, and others owed him their lives. To them, the Randolf family was untouchable territory. Even the mercenaries hired by the marquis avoided needless trouble, allowing Mrs. Randolf and her children to settle in Bernsi without issue.
"Brother, what would Father have done?"
To nine-year-old Hermann, the scene was incomprehensible.
"Father would've saved that guy. But not us."
Hermann gripped the laundry tub tighter at Wolfgang's words. But nothing changed. All he felt was his own powerlessness as a little kid.
"Did Father really say he wanted us to become merchants?"
"That's what Carlson said. He wanted us to see the wider world, to live unbound by land."
"Do you want that?"
"If I could."
"Then I still wanna be a knight."
"Yeah. You can do it."
Wolfgang affirmed his brother's resolve—not because he truly believed it, but to placate his stubborn sibling and hurry back to the inn. Lately, adults had been tailing them: a middle-aged woman in a nun's habit and two armed men. The odd trio followed discreetly at first, but now they stared openly at Hermann and Wolfgang.
As Hermann burned with a sense of justice, the group approached slowly.
"Children, you're Mrs. Randolf's boys, aren't you?"
The middle-aged nun spoke in a gentle, kindly tone.
"Yes. Why?"
Wolfgang replied warily.
"Just as I thought. I look after children at the House of Mercy. Oh, it's that big orphanage over there."
She smiled warmly at the puzzled boys, explaining patiently.
"Mrs. Randolf sends us food for the orphanage. I'd love to repay her kindness—if you could deliver something for me? I don't want to burden her by going myself."
Her rivet-framed glasses were a bit unusual, but her face showed no malice—only serenity.
"So, you need our help?"
"Yes, dear. I'd like to ask you boys."
"Sure. We'll help."
"Hermann!"
The boy, who moments ago had felt so helpless, nodded eagerly. Wolfgang had no time to stop him.
"Then I'll just drop off the laundry tub."
"No need. Our brother will take it for you."
One of the armed men stacked their wooden tubs and strode off briskly.
"Uh, that's not the way to the inn."
"You haven't been here long, have you? That's the shortcut to the inn. Leave it to him and follow me."
The nun led the way with a steady smile. Hermann followed like he was entranced. Wolfgang was suspicious but couldn't abandon his brother and head back alone. Besides, her smile somehow put him at ease.
"By the way, you boys are so handsome."
The nun muttered as they walked along the street.
"What should we do?"
"Leave 'em be."
"Pardon?"
"I said leave 'em be."
Isaac emptied his wine glass as he spoke. Bill looked baffled.
The rumors swirling among the servants about Isaac were far from flattering—ranging from bad to worse. Yet Isaac wasn't angry; he told them to ignore it. He even went further.
"Why don't you join in? You've got a talent for gossip."
"...Are you serious, or joking?"
"Serious. Know what they call me in Binvelt?"
"What?"
"Frost Devil. Hard to top that for bad."
"Still sounds cooler than wastrel. Or whatever."
Bill backed down instantly under Isaac's glance.
"Anyway, let 'em talk."
Isaac had three reasons for returning to the manor. First: save Bernsi and secure Goethe's independence from the marquis. Second: procure large quantities of farming tools for Binvelt. Third: distance himself from the heir position.
The first two flowed naturally. Saving Bernsi and dominating its overt and black markets would make acquiring quality iron and blacksmiths a breeze.
But the third required care. His unique constitution was a disaster for the royals. Let the first son wither without blooming, fade into obscurity in Goethe's history. Let the second son, Yonas, become the heir.
That was Isaac's vision. The royals would lower their guard, and Goethe could focus on growth undisturbed. To achieve it, erase "Goethe" from Isaac von Goethe's name. Become a hopeless wastrel—at least in appearance.
No need to actually do it, just seem that way. Arrogant and lazy from sudden sword talent, plus cruelty from torturing in the basement. A more polished wastrel.
"You're really okay with ignoring it?"
"Yes. I told you."
Bill, clueless to Isaac's intentions, struggled to accept it. Nobles fretted over reputation—why court infamy?
But he got no answers, only more questions.
"Enough of that. Bring Enet."
"Pardon?"
"Enet. Do I need to repeat?"
"Th-the maid?"
Enet was one of the three maids nearly sold to the Nears gang. In his past life, she alone comforted Isaac after his mana rampage killed Hans and the nanny.
You can't undo or erase it. It'll follow you like a brand your whole life. Two choices: suffocate in guilt, or struggle to live for their share too.
She spoke calmly to the shaken, fearless, despairing boy. It was pity and courage—from someone who'd lost friends to her own mistakes. In that life, she'd been kidnapped by a gang with the other maids but survived alone.
Time to teach her now, so she's useful when needed.
Until word from the Baisman side arrived, Isaac planned to teach her magic. He couldn't hide and use magic forever. Building her reputation as a mage would let him use her as a proxy for high-level spells later.
Such moments weren't far off. Prepare now. Fortunately, Enet had talent—and a large mana vessel. Teaching her would lighten his heart, letting her live better.
Of course, no one could know he was teaching her. Better a scandal than that.
"And tell her to come to my room made up."
"Made up...?"
Bill's puzzled face turned sly.
"Ah, about time. You're a man after all, young master. Bit unique in taste, though."
"Shut it."
"Fetching her now?"
"Yes."
Bill left, and Isaac drained another bottle. Five or six empties already littered the desk.
"Women too, huh."
At twelve, it was early for lust, but not odd. Noble girls married around then. Arrogance, sloth, cruelty, lust—perfect wastrel mix.
"You called, young master?"
Enet knocked and entered the bedroom, made up as ordered. She might suspect his intent, but her face was calm.
"It's been months since I've seen you in this room."
As she said, it was since rescuing her from the Nears gang.
"You've grown so much. Hard to recognize you out there."
"You're the only one who says that."
"It's true. You're our lifesaver."
"Hilde and Clara doing well?"
"You even remember their names. Yes. Still scatterbrained."
She sighed faintly, but a subtle smile played on her lips. Few noble youths memorized maids' names without favors. He was the same young master she knew.
"One question. If you don't want to, I won't force you."
"Yes."
"When this is done, I'm heading back to Binvelt. Wanna come with me?"
"...If you need me."
She hid her trembling voice. His words could upend her fate.
"Binvelt's harsh land. Way tougher than manor work."
"Without you, I'd have been sold to slavers and died anytime."
Enet met his eyes with resolve. Isaac offered no excuses for the rumors. Yet she looked at him as if she'd never heard them. Unwavering gaze—too good for a maid.
"Alright. Lie on the bed."
A blunt command, no preamble. Enet obeyed without fluster.
"Should I undress?"
"If it's uncomfortable. No need otherwise."
"Yes."
She shed her maid uniform, lying on the bed's edge in just her chemise. Isaac gazed at the courtyard outside. Her body had matured beyond recognition, but he was still an inexperienced boy. Probably shy, she thought.
"Close your eyes."
She did. Her heart raced a little. When Bill summoned her, Hilde and Clara spun wild fantasies. Makeup and bedroom? Intent was obvious.
She hadn't shown it, but her mind whirled. Noble youths often toyed with servants out of curiosity or desire. She hadn't expected to be the target—or Isaac the one.
Older than him, but at sixteen, she was still a girl, a lifelong maid drifting manors. Men's tales came secondhand from Clara and Hilde. What feelings did Isaac have for her? What did she feel for him?
To her, he was an object of reverence—no equal footing. What would this mean for her? Her heartbeat quickened.