The Invisible Line
“Why’d you come?”
In a field a short distance from the cemetery, Bill stood burning a single corpse with the firewood he’d gathered. Sparks scattered on the wind.
“No other guys? Even with a comrade dead.”
“Comrade? Bullshit. We don’t do loyalty like that.”
Bill gave a gruff answer to Isaac’s question. Every one of Nierth’s gang members who’d gone to relay Isaac’s message to the other gangs had met their end.
“Three of ’em died. Couldn’t even find the bodies for two, and the third took a knife to the back and dragged himself to the inn. For the two without bodies, we used their stuff instead. Just some filthy rags, though—they burned up quick.”
Bill’s voice trembled slightly.
“You cryin’?”
“Why the fuck would I cry over these assholes? Got some ash in my eyes, that’s all.”
Bill rubbed at his eyes.
“You resent me?”
“They deserved to die. Trash that only caused harm alive. Good riddance.”
“……”
“But even scum like that thrashed around trying to survive. Guys who couldn’t even get protection from the guards had no choice but to band together to protect themselves, their families. Not that it’s anything but pathetic excuses. Better off not knowing ’em.”
Bill kept his eyes fixed on the flames.
“Nierth’s gang is gone now. Only one guy left running the half-burned inn. Most who remembered Nierth’s name are dead or fled… No reason to use it anymore.”
“Yeah. You can quit playing gang boss now.”
“Fuck, what a relief. So what now? Lay low as a manor servant? Or head to Winterband?”
Bill stared at Isaac with bloodshot eyes.
“Go to Binvelt. That’s your new home.”
Binvelt had Bessimer and Carlson. Plus Gunther and the soldiers who’d faced the hell wolves alongside them. But none had Bill’s knack for logistics or greasing wheels. He was perfect.
“What do I do there?”
“Supply officer. Tell ’em I sent you—they’ll hook you up.”
“Can I badmouth you all I want?”
“Sure. Just don’t let me catch you.”
“Skim some supplies?”
“Moderately.”
Isaac headed toward the carriage parked at a distance.
“Why show me magic right in front of me?”
By the time the carriage drew close enough to see Goethe Manor, Violet— who’d been silently gazing out the window—finally spoke.
“Huh?”
“If word got out that you use magic, the whole Goethe family would be in trouble.”
“It was the most efficient way.”
“What if I’d blabbed? Told the marquis? The royals would’ve sent investigators, and you could’ve been arrested.”
“I’d have handled it before then.”
Isaac replied indifferently, as if such a thing would never happen.
“You… trusted me?”
“Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.”
In an alliance, whether you can trust the other side was crucial—but whether they trusted you was just as vital. Sure, anyone could spout empty words. But over the past few years, Violet had learned from Benders and the marquis how to gauge sincerity from expressions and eyes.
“Wasn’t about trust.”
“Then what?”
“Let’s say I have an invisible line.”
Isaac held up his hand, edge out like a blade.
“Inside this hand: my people. Outside: doesn’t matter what happens.”
“So me and Baisman—we’re your people?”
“At least for now, seems like it.”
Isaac shrugged.
“……”
A clear, half-assed answer, Violet thought. But she could tell it was sincere. She couldn’t read his expression, but she’d seen him apologize to the Baismen for the undertaker’s death. And visit a gang boss like Bill at his men’s funeral.
“It’s always cold here.”
The carriage reached Goethe Manor. Violet shivered the moment she stepped out.
“Just your imagination.”
Isaac brushed it off, but not for her. Winterband’s other name was the Winter Fortress. To Violet, this was the Winter Manor. Even under the noon sun, with northern summer lingering, she felt winter’s chill on her cheek. Whether from the count’s presence or the manor’s century-old history, she couldn’t say.
“Shouldn’t we greet the count?”
“Father hates formalities. Spends so much time with soldiers at Winterband, he prefers being alone here. Got business?”
“No.”
“Then let’s go.”
Into the main building, up the grand hall stairs, left down the hall. Double doors led to a long room: the family library. It held secret tomes, confidential records, and most other books. A piano sat there too. Before wandering the continent, Countess Goethe had played for her sons here.
A lively piano melody tickled Violet’s ears. Bouncy staccato notes that refreshed the listener’s heart. For a moment, the worries crowding her mind faded.
“Let’s go in quiet.”
Isaac eased open one of the double doors and entered the library.
“This is…”
Violet followed, mouth agape, unable to cover it.
“You can see it, right?”
“……”
Violet had no words for Isaac. A gentle breeze filled the library. Northern summer winds were cool or cold, but this was warm spring air. It ruffled Yonas’s hair—just enough not to disturb his playing. At least, that’s how it looked to Isaac.
But Violet saw more. Infant-like spirits—formless, without eyes, nose, mouth, limbs, or any animal or plant shape—clustered around Yonas. Countless, like stars. They vibrated and moved to his rhythm, as if enchanted. A bizarre, wondrous sight.
As Violet stepped forward, entranced—
The piano stopped. The spirits scattered.
“Ah—”
Violet sighed unwittingly. She wanted to see and hear more. But her contracted spirit had scared off the lesser ones.
“Bro?”
“Yonas.”
Yonas leaped from the piano bench and toddled to Isaac. Isaac ruffled his hair.
Violet couldn’t look away. Golden hair, blue eyes. His features mirrored the count’s but softer, rounder, cuter. He reminded her of her birth brother, separated at the orphanage before Plour adoption. Especially those gentle eyes. In this frigid manor, warmth swirled only around Yonas.
“Violet, Violet?”
“Ah, yes.”
Violet snapped from her memories.
“This is Yonas, my brother. Yonas, this is Violet. She works with me.”
“Pleased to meet you, Second Young Master. I’m Violet de la Plour.”
“Hello, Miss Plour. I’m Yonas von Goethe. Honored to meet you.”
Yonas bowed politely. The innocence he showed Isaac vanished. Violet blinked in surprise. She hadn’t expected such formality from a boy barely to her waist.
“Just Violet is fine. I’m no noble now.”
“Yes, Violet.”
Yonas nodded.
“Yonas, remember I said I’d introduce a teacher? Violet’ll teach you from now on.”
“Huh? I like learning from you more, bro.”
“She’ll teach what I can’t.”
“What you can’t teach? You know everything.”
“I’ve still got a lot to learn.”
Isaac smiled. He truly did—mountains to learn.
“Listen well, and I’ll tell bedtime stories.”
“Really? Every night?”
“Yeah. Every night I’m at the manor.”
“Promise?”
Yonas beamed.
“When have I ever lied to you?”
“Never! Hehe.”
Yonas giggled, Isaac grinned along. Violet blinked. The scene felt utterly alien.
“Bro, what’s a playboy?”
“Playboy…?”
“Yeah. People call you that.”
“Uh… dunno.”
Isaac scratched his forehead awkwardly, glancing at Violet for help. No dice.
“What about rake?”
“That me too?”
“Yeah. Asked Finn and Paul—they said I don’t need to know.”
If Yonas had grown up in the alleys, he’d know at nine. But he mostly stayed in the manor, so he didn’t. Isaac hadn’t either—his life from prime to old age obsessed with one passion.
“What’s it mean? You know everything.”
“Well… not sure, but playboy’s someone great with the wind. Rake is…”
Isaac sweated bullets explaining to Yonas.
“He’s so weird,”
Violet muttered, watching. How could the boy who’d coldly planned a massacre be so tender? Monstrous one moment, a kid eight years younger the next. Then ancient, decades wiser.
Only after handing Yonas to servant Paul could Isaac breathe.
“Which is the real you?”
In the corridor, Violet pressed her pent-up question.
“What?”
“The young master plotting to massacre a hundred, or the one with the second young master. Which is you?”
“Both.”
Clear as day.
“Like I said, one rule: inside the line or out.”
“……Simple.”
To Violet, it sounded like a warning. Don’t cross the line. Don’t become the enemy.
They strolled the garden. Servants and gardeners bowed deeply to Isaac then hurried off. Discomfort plain on their faces—fear of mana rampage, worry of reprisal.
Know your partner: basic rule. Violet had learned what she could about Isaac. His unique constitution risked mana rampage. He’d taken the barren Binvelt as fief. Rumors of slaying hell wolves with swordplay, unconfirmed. But also ignoring guards, assaulting them, guzzling wine, bedding maids. Unfathomable.
“You saw it, right?”
After a silent lap around the garden, Isaac spoke.
“Pardon?”
“When Yonas played piano.”
“You saw too?”
Violet asked, stunned. Only spirit mages saw spirits.
“Nah, can’t. No spirit eyes.”
“Then how…”
“Can feel ’em. Countless undefined existences.”
Undefined existences. Perfect phrasing. Spirits arose from pure chance, accumulating eons beyond human ken into intelligent forces of nature.
“……”
Violet stared, piercing. His words on lesser spirits demanded deep spirit arts knowledge.
“Violet.”
“……Yes.”
“Teach Yonas spirit arts.”
Isaac met her gaze.