Chapter 12
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: The Golden Statue (3)
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The Tolome Family owned a vast tract of land within Baltimore, the capital of the Felix Kingdom.
The Tolome estate itself was enormous, but the garden surrounding it was no less impressive in scale.
The Tolome Family had served as aides to Wilhelm I since the founding of the Felix Kingdom.
Such families were collectively known as the Kingdom's Meritorious Nobles, a title that spoke volumes about their prestige.
Though these nobles were not granted territories, the wealth and influence they had accumulated since the kingdom's early days were unparalleled.
This was why the Tolome Family could claim such an expansive plot in Baltimore.
"So you've got all this land, why not go play somewhere else?"
"No way! This was originally my land!"
'Kids are such a pain to deal with.'
Blanc himself looked like a fourteen-year-old brat on the outside, but with the mind of a forty-year-old man inside, he couldn't begin to guess what went on in children's heads.
"I had flowers and herbs planted here that I worked so hard on! They were here before you bulldozed everything!"
"'You'? Aren't I technically your older brother?"
"You're a Cardmus! I'm a Tolome! Since when does a baron's family boss around a count's family?"
'Should I just smack her?'
The golden-haired girl puffed out her flushed cheeks, venting her frustration.
It had been like this for a whole week.
Viteli Tolome, Blanc's uncle and Bartolomeo's second son, had promised a dedicated training ground not long ago—and true to his word, he'd quickly cleared a corner of the garden and set one up.
It was little more than leveled earth with some hastily erected temporary structures, but Blanc was satisfied with that much.
Of course, Rakshar liked it even more—if he'd had a tail, it would've been wagging furiously. He'd moved his belongings into the makeshift building before the roof was even on.
But even Rakshar was nowhere to be seen right now.
And all because of the ten-year-old girl here: Izrelin Tolome.
"And where's that weird-looking werewolf?!"
'He ran off to avoid you.'
Just as Blanc had made a hole in the fence to the hunting grounds during his own childhood, it seemed this young lady had carved out her own secret hideout in the Tolome garden.
Viteli, oblivious to that fact, had demolished it to build Blanc's training ground.
Unable to vent her anger at her uncle—who handled the family's affairs—she'd latched onto the more approachable Blanc instead.
"I'll tell Rakshar to plant your flowers and herbs somewhere else. Problem solved, right?"
"No! It has to be here!"
"Why?!"
Blanc finally snapped, shouting over Izrelin's nonstop whining.
"Ugh... snif... It's my land! You idiot!"
Even as tears welled up, she grabbed a handful of dirt and hurled it at Blanc.
"It was mine, and you came and wrecked it all! Give it back!"
The ten-year-old girl plopped down on the ground, bawling unreasonably.
'Crying again?'
Blanc had learned over the past week that once Izrelin sat down like that, she'd stay put for an hour or two unless soothed.
And soothing her took just as long—she wouldn't just brush it off.
In other words, the training ground he'd made to avoid prying eyes couldn't dodge them after all.
"Waaah... You stupid Cardmus! Get out of the Tolome estate!"
And he couldn't train there either.
'Sigh... If it were a boy, I could've just given him a good whack...'
"From what I've seen, she just wants to play with you, young master."
"She shows up wanting to play, then whines and cries at every maid she sees?"
"Isn't that exactly the age when kids can't be honest?"
Billy, who had served the Tolome Family the longest among them, chimed in after Emilia.
"Besides, aren't you the cousin closest in age to her among the siblings?"
Blanc and his group rode in a carriage provided by the Tolome Family, once again heading out to investigate Wilhelm I's statue.
Inside, the topic was the youngest Tolome: Izrelin.
"My loyal gamekeeper—and now training ground caretaker—Rakshar."
"Y-yes, young master."
"Why do you vanish every time Izrelin shows up? If she just wants to play, why not play with her?"
Rakshar could sense her coming like a ghost and bolt every time.
"That Izrelin lady... whenever she sees me..."
"What? Does she have a fit from shock?"
Regular werewolves looked human most of the time, transforming only under a full moon. But as a half-werewolf, Rakshar was stuck in his wolfish form always.
Thanks to his mixed heritage, he couldn't pass for human.
Most people who saw him for the first time freaked out.
"N-no, it's not that. She keeps saying it's fascinating and yanks out my fur, pries open my mouth to look..."
Izrelin seemed more curious than scared by Rakshar's werewolf form.
"And?"
"L-last time, she liked my fangs so much she wanted to... pull one out and keep it..."
From what Rakshar described, she'd even brought tools to yank out a fang.
Traumatized, Rakshar fled deep into the garden at the sight of her golden hair—duty as caretaker be damned.
"Is she that scary that you'd abandon me?"
Rakshar nodded furiously the moment Blanc finished speaking.
Blanc could yell as her cousin and baron—but Rakshar couldn't, so he'd suffered quite a bit.
"I see... When faced with unstoppable violence, running is the best policy. Keep running, and guard those fangs well."
"Th-thank you, young master."
Rakshar finally relaxed at Blanc's permission to flee.
By the time their chat wrapped up, the carriage had arrived.
A bustling four-story café stood before them, packed with people.
"Why are there so many people?"
"This is the only place where you can see Wilhelm I's portrait, my lord."
Blanc, Emilia, and Billy got jostled amid the crowd.
Even loyal Rakshar took one look at the throng inside and waited outside, intimidated.
Not that he could've entered—his werewolf form would've been stopped at the door anyway.
The group had finally reached the second floor of the four-story building.
Blanc easily spotted Rakshar outside, slumped under a hood like a rain-soaked dog.
The sight made him chuckle.
"Most of the people here are couples, as expected."
"There's a romantic legend attached."
"True, but do you really need to see it, young master? You don't even have a girlfriend, let alone any lady friends."
"I deeply admire Wilhelm I from the bottom of my heart. Anything connected to him, I want to check out."
It was a lie.
"Still, today's not too crowded. Normally, you might wait all day and never make it to the fourth floor."
"Why does it draw such huge crowds?"
"Various reasons... but definitely the lovers' legend. This is the only spot where you can see the portrait from the legal code."
As Billy explained, the café sat on a high vantage in Baltimore. With four stories, it offered not just the statue but panoramic views of the capital—another draw.
"Does that legend actually work?"
"They say couples who view Wilhelm I's portrait here often end up married."
"It really works?"
Emilia's eyes sparkled at Billy's words.
But Billy adjusted his slipping glasses and continued matter-of-factly.
"Coffee here is among the priciest in Baltimore—and doesn't even match the price. So couples who come can afford it, meaning they're well-off."
Billy's glasses gleamed white.
"And as I mentioned, waits can last all day. Yet they endure, showing strong patience and a deep bond."
In short, per Billy: affluent, patient, deeply committed pairs already primed for marriage—no portrait needed.
'That's... convincing!'
Blanc found himself nodding along to Billy's logical breakdown.
True to a count's family butler-in-training, he had a sharp mind.
'I'll ask Bartolomeo to lend him to me when I go independent.'
Billy had no idea his fate had just been sealed.
After a long wait and endurance test, Blanc's group finally reached the fourth-floor balcony.
There, far off, loomed the majestic back of Wilhelm I's statue.
"Young master, over here."
"Prepared in advance? Excellent."
Blanc was even more pleased that Billy had thoughtfully brought a telescope.
'Let's see.'
According to Billy, the legal code's portrait depicted celestial bodies—stars, moon, sun.
'This is...!'
Peering through the telescope at the code's engraving, Blanc's heart raced.
"The prevailing view is that the portrait symbolizes the cosmos. Perhaps the first legal code embedded universal truths into the stars..."
No. It wasn't that.
Those stars were a cipher.
From the Liberation Front, humanity's last stand against the void.
Deciphering required a correspondence table matching each star's position and size—historians mistook it for mere art.
But Blanc knew that table by heart.
'...!'
Applying it, Blanc screamed inwardly.
The message was unimaginable.
-My regression failed.
'Ulrich...!'
The statue, built 200 years ago, held words in a cipher from 30 years in the future.
-My regression failed. If one of you two sees this, follow the golden guidance and call the name of my disciple. Goddess Calendar Year 164: Ulrich Tideman.
Now was Goddess Calendar Year 354.
Of the two regressors Blanc awaited, one had gone back 190 years.