A Boring Day
“I’m not asking for a vassal’s oath. I want an independent fief.”
“You mean a branch family?”
“Yes.”
A furrow creased the count’s brow. Lately, Isaac’s actions had exceeded even his expectations. The boy who once despaired over his unique constitution was gone, replaced by a youth as sharp as he was cunning. That boy had overcome the limits imposed on him, protected Binvelt, and contributed to normalizing Bernsi. He had recognized a maid’s talent and raised her as a mage, even facilitating Yonas’s spirit contract. Isaac wouldn’t make such a request without reason.
Yet the count struggled to accept it.
“Do you even know what you’re saying?”
“I do. I want to become the Baron of Binvelt.”
“Becoming an independent lord means you’ll be completely cut off from the Goethe succession. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“It means you’ll be outside my protection as a collateral branch, not a vassal. Do you grasp that too?”
“I do.”
Isaac nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“As I said before, Yonas is the heir. There are no other options. Now that he’s made such a strong impression on the vassals, the timing is perfect.”
“……”
The count grunted and stuffed dried tobacco leaves into his pipe. Goethe, harsh land in the north. And among it, the roughest patch: Binvelt. To grant that land to his eldest son and name him a baron. The Goethe family followed primogeniture, the blessing of the firstborn. Bestowing an independent fief and title on the eldest meant excluding him from succession.
The count’s brief elation from Yonas’s tournament performance sank away. Isaac’s words rang painfully true. The moment Isaac, inheritor of Zeke von Goethe’s unique constitution, was recognized as firstborn heir, chaos would ensue. Vassals would lose faith; collaterals would seek cracks. Succession disputes weren’t just a royal problem.
“There’s no better path.”
Isaac emphasized again, his tone flat even as he spoke of relinquishing what he had and what he might inherit.
“You really do take after Adel in moments like this.”
“Do I?”
“Stubborn as hell, shouldering everything alone, never shying from hardship. I heard from the new mayor you helped shut down Bernsi’s black market and bring the city economy above ground. They say it’s largely thanks to you.”
“……”
“You’ve already accomplished things I couldn’t at twelve. I think you could carry on the succession.”
“……”
Isaac met the count’s gaze. This was the first time the count had voiced his inner thoughts so directly. But the answer was set.
“Father.”
“Don’t answer. That’s just my opinion.”
As if anticipating Isaac’s response, the count cut in. Mana explosions, a unique constitution like Zeke von Goethe a century ago, the royal family’s wariness and checks. Isaac as heir would be a disaster for Goethe.
“You’re really set on that path?”
It meant abandoning the family name to live as an outsider.
“Binvelt isn’t good land.”
“I plan to make it livable.”
“There’s still time before Yonas is named heir.”
“No need to delay.”
“It’ll be tough.”
“I know.”
“……The investiture is three days from now, at the tournament’s closing ceremony.”
The count spoke like a sigh, thick tobacco smoke billowing from his breath. The tournament consisted of magic demonstrations, an academic conference, and melee combats. The conference presented new research or theories in magic studies; the tournament pitted battle mages against each other. Neither held much interest for Isaac. He already had decades of future knowledge on magic theory, and the combats were too elementary for him.
Helping Enet with her magic training or spending time with Yonas wasn’t feasible either—both were swarmed by influential visitors. It was crucial for them to make impressions on the power players. He couldn’t interfere. Hans grumbled but diligently trained with the guards, challenging retainers from various vassals to spars and getting thrashed in every one, yet refusing to quit.
Thus, Isaac was left utterly alone during the tournament. Locked underground for over half a century in his past life, solitude hadn’t bothered him then. It still felt familiar now, but unlike before, it wasn’t entirely welcome.
“……”
Isaac stirred from meditation, slowly opening his eyes. The clamor outside contrasted with the room’s silence, making it stifling after so long. With rumors of his unique constitution, mana rampages, and madness plaguing nearby fiefs, wandering freely wasn’t wise.
They should be ready by now.
He threw on some clothes, hooded his cloak over his head, and left his chambers. His steps naturally led to the annex guest rooms.
“Violet.”
Isaac knocked indifferently and called her name. Violet emerged with her long hair loosely tied, her face languid as if from a nap.
“Young master?”
She blinked in surprise at his unexpected visit.
“Come on.”
Without further ado, Isaac led her to Pallichi’s room.
“Pallichi.”
A maid answered the knock first, her face flustered as she curtsied.
“Y-Young master.”
Her disheveled clothes made the situation obvious.
“Go.”
At Isaac’s permission, she fled hastily.
“Young master? Even the doc?”
Pallichi scratched his neck sheepishly.
“Don’t misunderstand. She was just tidying my room, y’know.”
“Wipe your mouth first.”
Violet reacted as if it were nothing new.
“You two free today?”
“Yes.”
“Well, uh, I had stuff to do, but thanks to you, it’s gone.”
Violet and Pallichi answered Isaac’s question.
“Let’s go.”
“Where to?”
“Bernsi.”
“Why there?”
“You’ll see.”
“Yaaawn. Thought I’d finally get some rest.”
Pallichi grumbled but drove the carriage anyway. With the manor bustling inside and out, no visitors paid the departing carriage any mind.
“So, young master. Why Bernsi all of a sudden?”
“Bored.”
Isaac answered from the driver’s seat. Barren fields stretched beyond the window, yellowed leaves shaking in the harsh wind. Streams began to freeze, thick smoke pouring from farmhouse chimneys. After Isaac’s reply, the three fell silent, each lost in thought, gazing at the bleak landscape.
Bernsi buzzed with winter preparations: storing grain, salted meat, dried fruit, beer; firewood carts rumbling endlessly; homes sealing windows with oiled cloth or wooden shutters. Pedestrians bundled thicker than ever.
“Checked the flour warehouse?”
Short, stooped Benders scurried about on quick steps, overseeing supplies entering the city hall’s storerooms.
“The grain bought last autumn is stored as planned, but… with illegal goods cut off this year, essential supplies have dropped sharply.”
“Can’t cover it through official channels?”
“We’ve maxed out official trades. Merchants hesitate with stricter customs, so we may need to lower taxes or grant monopolies to guilds to boost trade.”
“What about the old church?”
“Lukewarm response. No extra aid.”
Two clerks trailed Benders’s hunched back, answering briskly.
“Damn it all, raid the city treasury if you have to and buy more food. No matter what, relief distributions can’t shrink this winter. Fucking zealots—only care about lining their pockets.”
Benders grumbled curses.
“Busy, I see.”
Isaac strolled into the city hall garden with Pallichi and Violet in tow. Benders scowled immediately.
“I told you the Azer ore shipment takes time.”
“How much longer?”
“At least a week. No point pushing; we’ve already shaved a month off the deadline. It’s cost us a fortune!”
“Hmm. Mayor now, and still skimping on meals?”
Isaac scratched his cheek awkwardly at Benders’s irritation. Had he pushed too hard? Benders looked much thinner since last time. His small stature and stoop made him seem even more frail; without his fine velvet and fur attire, he’d pass for a beggar hunchback from the slums.
“No time to eat even if I wanted to. And I’ve always had plenty of money.”
Benders grumbled, then glanced at Violet and Pallichi.
“Vivi, Pallichi.”
“Uncle.”
“Ben.”
“What brings you? The first prince’s man, the last gang boss, and their leader—odd trio.”
“Ben, long time no see. Too prickly?”
Pallichi scratched his mustache at Benders’s reaction.
“Try my age, my position, my workload. See how you like it.”
“Ahem. Young master? Why are we here?”
Pallichi averted Benders’s aggrieved glare and looked to Isaac.
“To pick up certificates.”
“You came in person for that?”
“Thought it’d make a nice gesture. Plus, check on the city.”
“Haa.”
Benders sagged, too exhausted even for anger.
“Finish inspections and take a break. Let’s go.”
He ordered the clerks and headed inside. Isaac followed, with puzzled Violet and Pallichi behind.
“At least eat properly?”
“Only you look after me, Vivi.”
Violet inquired after Benders’s health as they climbed to the mayor’s office. His tone toward her was suddenly gentle, like father and daughter chatting.
“Worlds apart how you treat her.”
Pallichi muttered; Isaac just smiled.
“Planning shelters for republic refugees soon.”
“Possible?”
“Someone made it so.”
Benders glanced at Isaac.
“Where’d I put it.”
The mayor’s office was a mess, worse than Isaac’s last visit. Papers on administration, law, commerce strewn everywhere. Yet Benders fished out the needed documents from the piles effortlessly.
“Here. Your certificates.”
“Certificates?”
“What kind?”
Pallichi and Violet tilted their heads.
“You can read, right? Take a look.”
Benders grinned meaningfully at Isaac.
This certifies that Violet de la Plour is a citizen of Bernsi and a free commoner of Count Goethe's territory, entitled to all rights and protections thereof.
Sealed by the Mayor of Bernsi and Count Helmut von Goethe.
“This is……”
The document, in common tongue, bore two seals at the end: one from Bernsi’s mayor, one from Count Goethe. A guarantee from both city and lord. It proved Violet de la Plour’s rights and protection as a Bernsi citizen and free commoner in Goethe territory. Pallichi’s was the same. And the stack Benders handed over held more—for the other Baisman members.
“Tried not to miss anyone, but check. Been out of it lately; might’ve overlooked some.”
Benders said proudly, hands on hips.
“This… incredible.”
Pallichi stared in awe; Violet gaped mutely at hers.
“What’s the surprise? It was the deal. Help make you mayor and legalize the black market, and we guarantee citizenship.”
“Keepers of promises are rare, young master. Especially for exiles.”
Pallichi smiled bitterly. Citizenship meant the lord’s protection and city laws. Access to administration, recognition of property. In other words, freedom in the fief without backers. It protected the republic’s moderate exiles without aid. Violet’s long-sought wish, begged of the marquis to no avail. A chance at a new home.
“……”
Violet’s throat tightened. Years since fleeing the republic after Plour Count’s burning, drifting like dust. A speck unable to settle. But no longer.
“Thank… you.”
She bowed deeply. Pallichi followed suit.