What Else? Gotta Train
In the original history, the Spirit King was sealed away by the count. But everything had come too late.
The collateral branches, having received word from Boatmer Viscount in advance, didn't participate in the tournament. The families of the vassals who did take part were mostly gravely injured or killed outright. The count himself suffered severe wounds during the sealing process and hovered on the brink of death.
Seizing that opportunity, Boatmer Viscount rallied the collateral branches. He blamed the count's incompetence for failing to prevent the incident in advance and petitioned the royal family to hold him accountable. The royal family, unable to side with either faction, washed their hands of it. They declared it must be left to the will of the gods and permitted a territorial war.
With the justification that the victor would carry the divine will, war broke out. If Schrader hadn't acted swiftly, the Goetes would have fallen by then.
But too many people had died.
Compared to that, I guess we have to accept this level of regret.
Yonas wouldn't realize his talent for spirit arts until he was over forty. Until then, no one knew his true power.
"You're going to contract the Second Young Master with a spirit?"
"That's the only way."
Violet looked at Isaac with an expression like she'd misheard him.
"I admit the Second Young Master's affinity is innate. But contracting with a spirit is a whole different matter. It's not something I can just teach him."
Spirit families contracted with high spirits across generations. It was hereditary, honed over time, making them adept at handling spirits. Behind it lay decades, even centuries of history and accumulated experience passed down through the ages.
Thus, becoming a spirit mage required two things: a spirit fitting the vessel, and accumulated knowledge.
Yonas had neither.
Even if Violet shared her knowledge, the only spirits around Yonas were lowly sprites that hadn't even achieved a proper rank. They were little more than raw elements—lifeless objects without any power.
"Anyway, if he contracts with a spirit, all the problems you mentioned get solved, right?"
"...The lowly sprites might be wary due to the rank difference, but yes. With the Second Young Master's affinity, it's possible. Spirits resonate with their mage's mana, so mana consumption won't be an issue either."
"Good. Then that's settled. I'll handle the spirit contract myself. You just teach him how to resonate with spirits and awaken his spirit sight."
"The Young Master... you're going to contract the Second Young Master yourself? With what spirit, exactly?"
"There's one. Very ancient."
"I couldn't see anything. No way you could."
"I can't see it. But Yonas should be able to. I'll make sure he can."
It was absurd. Yet somehow, Violet felt like Isaac could pull it off.
Once potato planting season ended, Hans and Gisela returned.
"Nanny, you doing okay?"
"Okay? I was breaking my back sowing seeds and prepping food."
"Your face looks a bit tanned."
"I was out in the sun all day. Hans made it easier, though."
"You worked hard. Both of you."
"You've grown even taller and more handsome, young master," Hans said with a beaming grin. He looked thrilled just seeing Isaac.
"Hinder and Peter doing well?"
Hinder and Peter were Gisela's and Hans's sons, respectively. Both owed their lives to Isaac.
"Thanks to you, young master, they're healthy as can be."
"Peter's fine too. He misses you. He's already throwing tantrums about serving at Winterband, got an earful from his mom."
Gisela and Hans replied.
"Bring 'em to the manor sometime. We'll have a meal together."
"Yes, sir!" Hans boomed.
"No troubles while we were gone?"
"Hm?"
"Heard Bernsi was in chaos. You left the Second Young Master with us during the commotion when you passed through the village."
"Oh, right."
"Word is, tons of people died at the manor. War broke out in Bernsi, and most of the great families' elders got purged..."
Gisela trailed off. It was all true, as she'd heard.
The marquis's private guards had been slaughtered at the manor. There'd been a battle between Baisman and the great families' guards. Akanlaufer had been stopped by Isaac. In Bernsi itself, countless remnants of great families and gangs had perished.
"Sis, remember Simon, the tanner selling hides in the commercial district?"
Hans's eyes darted cleverly as he spoke.
"Simon?"
"Yeah, that guy. He's thrilled. Used to get squeezed by guards for stall fees, great families for protection money—you name it. Now no gangs or great families, so life's good. Profits doubled, he says."
"Doesn't matter. Gangs will pop up again, and some new tycoon will take the great families' place."
Gisela looked worried. Cities and villages in the same territory were interdependent. Selling crops or crafts, buying necessities, attending church—trade and exchange happened for all sorts of reasons.
Of them, Bernsi hadn't exactly been kind to the villagers from smaller hamlets. Guards demanded tolls where none existed; great family merchants bullied or dumped trash on them. Gangs even beat or extorted them regularly.
If things got worse, the village elders and kids would suffer badly.
"Thing is, I heard from a guard buddy. Big internal investigation in the guard corps. Harsh punishment for those who've embezzled from citizens, gonna straighten out discipline. Plus, they're picking vagrants willing to work and offering room and board at workshops."
"How do you know all this?"
"A mug of ale at the tavern gets you everything."
Hans chuckled. His eyes held a knowing glint—You did this, right, young master?—but Isaac played dumb.
Benders must be doing a good job.
Of course, it was welcome news to Isaac.
"That's how it is, Nanny. No need to worry."
"Yes, young master. If you say so, I'll believe it."
Gisela nodded, but her concern lingered.
"But it's not true, right?"
"Hm?"
"The rumors about you. Beating up guards, drowning in booze, messing with the maids..."
Gisela's gaze fixed on one corner of the bedroom. Empty wine bottles Isaac had brought in were piled neatly there—over a dozen, by the look. Good thing the window was open; otherwise, the place would've reeked of alcohol.
"It's not, right?"
Her eyes narrowed. Isaac subtly averted his gaze. Next to the count, Gisela was the toughest person in the manor for him. She'd practically raised him like a mother.
"I don't know how much is true. But young master, the Goetes..."
"Nanny!"
As Gisela continued, Isaac grabbed her shoulders.
"You trust me?"
"O-of course."
She flinched at his sudden move.
"Then keep trusting me. There's reasons for everything."
"Reasons?"
"Alright then. How about some of your cooking for old times' sake? I kept thinking of your stew while choking down rations in Binvelt."
"...Heh, I bet you did."
Gisela, who'd eyed him curiously, burst into laughter. Bigger and sharper-featured now, but still the Isaac she knew. She relaxed.
In dealing with Isaac, Gisela preferred embracing and waiting over prying or lecturing. That attitude had once been his sanctuary.
"Wait just a bit. I'll have it ready soon."
"Looking forward to it."
Gisela pattered out of the room. Her footsteps faded.
"Where's Carlson?"
"What, missing your knight more than your master?"
"Nah, come on. I'm your valet first, his squire second. He's always glued to you, so I just asked."
Hans's banter was as lively as ever.
"Sent him to Binvelt."
"Already? Without you?"
"I'll ship supplies to Binvelt from here. Planning to stay at the manor till the tournament coming up."
"That have to do... with what's happening in Bernsi?"
"Somewhat."
Bernsi was in upheaval. With the ruling class overthrown, the city economy—reliant on the black market—had to pivot to the commercial district. Vassals and collaterals who'd profited from the black market harbored resentment. And Boatmer Viscount would exploit that mood.
"So, what do you need me to do?"
Hans brimmed with eagerness, ready for any order.
"What else? Train."
"...Pardon?"
"Hah, hah, hah, hah—"
Hans hadn't expected training at the manor too.
"Hang in there, Hans."
Isaac waved at Hans jogging the manor paths. After getting thrashed by Isaac, the guard captain had grown ambitious, and the soldiers competitive. Beaten by a mere twelve-year-old brat wasn't enough—they'd been humiliated, their comrades pummeled. Naturally, manor guard training intensified. Harsher than at Binvelt's camp.
And Hans was dying for it.
Each step, the iron swords in the basket on his back clanged. Annoying noise aside, the weight was hell. A dozen arming swords packed tight. Hoisting it was bad; running made every stride torture.
One lap around the manor paths, and there was Isaac at the entrance, smiling smugly.
"Y-young master, I'm dying."
"Nah, you won't."
Hans, soaked in sweat, begged in vain. His boundless respect and affection for Isaac cooled a tad. But he couldn't quit. He'd asked the guard captain for training himself, even if Isaac ordered it.
"My grandma could run faster than that!"
The captain bellowed.
"Hahk, hngh—"
Hans wanted to ask if the captain's grandma was a Sword Master. But all that escaped were ragged gasps.
Suddenly, he missed Carlson.
Get strong, Hans. You'll need to, to serve at my side from now on.
After watching Hans do three or four laps, Isaac returned to the manor proper.
Hmm-hmm-hmm—
From the second-floor communal study came humming. It resonated softly, like the whole space vibrated. The voice, infused with mana, seemed to warmly embrace the entire hallway.
Isaac knew the tune. Tritis Draco. The Weeping Dragon. One his mother used to play on piano.
Only three days.
Just three days since asking Violet to teach Yonas spirit arts, and he'd already succeeded in infusing mana into humming instead of piano.
The closer to the study, the warmer the manor's chill air grew. Isaac cautiously opened the door.
The study held only old books, yet a gentle breeze carrying unknown wildflower scent tickled his cheek. The fragrance spirits had brought.