Grant Me a Title Too
During the tournament, banquets were held every evening. Venison and wild boar, salmon and herring. Pies and pastries, white bread came out for the meal, with wine, ale, and mead as drinks. Musicians playing instruments and bards reciting songs and tales livened up the atmosphere. It wasn't extravagant, but everything was there in full array. The Great Hall buzzed with music, chatter, and laughter.
Amid it all, crowds especially flocked to Yonas, Beltran, and Enet, who had shown exceptional performances in the tournament. Nobles in particular swarmed around Enet. Those curious about her background gasped in admiration upon learning she had been a servant in this manor and had only recently begun learning magic. As fellow practitioners of the magical path, no one nitpicked her status. Instead, they showed immense interest in the extent of her skill and who had taught her. To them, Enet was a fresh source of entertainment.
Enet was overwhelmed by the attention she was receiving for the first time in her life and the awkward questions that came with it.
"She's the young master's disciple, right?"
"Something like that."
Isaac nodded faintly at Violet's question.
"What do we do? They already look smitten."
The two were observing from a corner of the hall, away from the center of the festivities. They couldn't yet assume all threats had passed. Boatmer might have prepared a backup plan.
"She'll have to endure it."
"Tough on her. And on you. You can't exactly say you taught her magic."
"Yeah."
Isaac watched Enet floundering from afar and chuckled. She had done well today. Really well. She had shown results beyond what he had taught her.
"It was close. If that Buhitner boy had interfered even a little, the Spirit King would have awakened."
Violet reflected as she recalled the event. The recovered spirit stone was like a cup brimming with water—one drop and it would overflow.
"Yeah. A decent enough mental fortress, all things considered."
Isaac's smile turned cynical. There was nothing wrong with Viscount Boatmer's plan itself. In the original history, the Spirit King's rampage would kill or injure too many key vassals. The vassals' discontent would shake the oath of fealty to its core. The count would suffer severe wounds, leaving Goethe vulnerable. Boatmer aimed to exploit that gap.
Isaac scanned the nobles at the banquet, lost in thought. Boatmer was surely already wooing Goethe's vassals. Some might already be swayed. Knights who had once held the Winterband walls alongside the previous Goethe lord, sharing their lives. Their second and third generations were now the vassals. There had been a time when bonds forged in blood were thicker than blood itself. But time had passed, and those bonds and memories had long faded.
This year will probably bring a long winter.
Isaac mused.
"Care for one?"
Violet pulled a cigarette rolled in cotton paper from her pocket. She could tell Isaac was deep in thought.
Isaac shook his head.
"Wasn't killing that servant a bit hasty?"
Violet lit the cigarette with magic after putting it in her mouth.
"What?"
"His head. If we'd interrogated him, we could have used him as a witness to this incident."
The Boatmer servant who had tried to hand the spirit stone to Beltran—Emil, that man—had been abducted by Pallichi, who was waiting in the Great Hall, and his head was neatly boxed and delivered to Boatmer's steward. The viscount would soon hear the news.
"Even if he'd testified, do you think Boatmer's side would have admitted it?"
"But this is basically a declaration of war."
Isaac had sent Emil's head in his own name. It was as blatant a provocation as it got.
"Yeah. A declaration of war."
Isaac smirked.
"Those stubborn bastards."
Reihi barged into the count's private study without knocking. The count glanced at him wordlessly and lit his pipe.
"Are kids these days clueless about the world? Or do northern kids just mature faster?"
"Why so worked up, Master Reihi?"
The count exhaled smoke and responded a beat late.
"Can you see my horns? I'll be a devil soon."
"Shall I request an exorcist from the Papal Court?"
"Not funny."
Reihi pulled a face, while the count cracked a rare smile. Marcel Reihi was one of the few who could see the count show expression without issue.
"Couldn't snag the kid you wanted, huh."
"Be straight with me. Has the Royal Academy's reputation tanked without me knowing?"
"Asking me, who hasn't left the frontier in over a decade?"
"Tch. Damn."
Marcel Reihi smacked his lips. While watching the tournament, he had marked three academy special admission candidates. All three were geniuses by any measure: Enet, Beltran, and Yonas. Of them, only Beltran had gladly accepted the special admission offer. Enet and Yonas had clearly refused.
"Yonas, fine. The Royal Academy is basically the parliament faction's mouthpiece. But Enet? Who taught that girl? Threats, bribes—nothing made her spill about her master, even on pain of death."
"Enet's my proxy. Who else but Isaac?"
"That brat? Hmph. If he won't teach, tell him."
Reihi snorted. The count just smiled silently.
"Some secret teaching method? When I first saw Yonas's demonstration, I thought it was dual casting and nearly fainted."
"Glad you didn't keel over. You know it's not now."
"Glad? A nine-year-old wielding magic and spirit arts freely—is that just normal?"
"Regrettably, Goethe has no secret arts. You know that."
"Saying there's no secret makes me convinced there is one. Did you teach Enet the same way?"
Reihi's eyes narrowed.
"You won't learn anything from me. I truly don't know."
"Still full of secrets, as always. Same when you dropped out of the academy without a word and married Adel. Who'd have thought that wild warrior girl would become Lady Goethe. Still amazes me."
"Ancient history. You didn't come here for reminiscing?"
"If you'd stayed at the academy, you'd be chief academic magistrate by now."
"Master Reihi."
"Fine, fine. No need to get all serious if it's embarrassing. Sigh—"
Reihi grumbled and sighed.
"His Majesty had a seizure a fortnight ago."
He groaned. As academy dean, he was also a royal advisor.
"So it came to that."
The count's face hardened. The current dynasty's bloodline came from incestuous marriages. Seizures were the side effect. Without exception, those who suffered them died of heart failure within years. The king would be no different. Thus, the royal balance—delayed heir designation and all—began to crumble.
"Things are boiling over. Six dead in the palace already. Assassination attempt on the First Prince."
"Perpetrators caught?"
The count handed his pipe to Reihi.
"The small fry, yeah. Deputy head chef, table master, storeroom manager, a few cooks—all beheaded."
Reihi took the pipe and exhaled deeply.
"No backers found?"
"Three days of torture. Two really didn't know; the four clammed up till the end."
"Palace must be chaos."
"Don't ask. Royalist and parliament knights nearly drew blades inside."
Reihi spun the pipe anxiously, then stared straight at the count.
"Helmut von Goethe. Don't forget you're the royal shield."
"I'm the kingdom's shield. That much never changes."
"Hah, just like you."
Reihi chuckled dryly. Not the royal shield, but the kingdom's. It reflected the count's will: neither royalist nor parliament, recognizing the First Prince's legitimacy but staying out of the mudslinging—and uninterested in any gains from it. Quintessential count.
"I want to chide you for being so aloof, an isolated island. But with the chaos ahead, that lofty stance might be what the kingdom needs most."
"Had a drink? Too much praise."
"Enough. Off to enjoy the banquet. Hanging with gloomy folks like you ages me."
Reihi returned the pipe, stood, nodded in satisfaction, and left the study.
"Good night."
"You too."
Even after Reihi left, the count lingered. Laughter and chatter from guests stepping out for air drifted faintly. Things ill-suited to him. He went to the table and examined the map of Goethe territory.
The royal situation was dire. Civil war could erupt. What would Goethe protect? The decision loomed.
Time passed in contemplation.
"Your Excellency. Young Master Isaac requests an audience."
A guard's voice from outside.
"Send him in."
The study door opened, and Isaac entered.
"The banquet host leaving his post—sure that's okay?"
Isaac held a wine bottle. The smell wafted strongly.
"No need to act here. Who'd you bully today?"
"I don't always bully."
"Heard the guard you beat when Marquis Dietrich visited quit."
"Sorry about that."
Isaac shrugged. It had been necessary.
"Dean Marcel took a shine to Enet."
"Did he."
"Not sharing with me? How a girl who barely speaks the common tongue, let alone ancient, pulled off such magic in months."
"As I said, Enet's talent is exceptional. I just recognized it."
"You teaching her means she knows you use magic. Right?"
"Yes."
"Trustworthy?"
"Enet's loyalty? Not sure. But I trust she wants a better life."
"Soft."
The count sighed faintly and sat at the desk. Since Isaac entered, his fingers had been tapping lightly. The royal news gave him a headache just thinking, but Yonas's tournament lingered pleasantly.
"What's with Yonas? Never dreamed he'd learn spirit arts."
"That too..."
"His talent?"
"Yeah. And the Plour heir taught him directly."
The count and Isaac chatted about the tournament, mostly Yonas's magic demo. Both enjoyed discussing his feats.
"So, why seek me at this hour? Not tired of playing the wastrel at the banquet."
"Making jokes now?"
Isaac smirked.
"Asking."
The count added sternly.
"Here for formal praise. My doing boosted Goethe's prestige among the vassals, right?"
"Taking credit?"
"You could say that."
"Well done."
The count gave the praise Isaac wanted, stiff and insincere—but his best. Yet Isaac wasn't satisfied.
"I don't want empty words."
"What then?"
"Yes."
"Handled the republican exiles already."
"That was for city normalization. This is different."
"Speak."
"You gave me a barony. Now grant a title."
"A title?"
The count's expression hardened.