Chapter 19
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: Marriage Alliance (1)
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Afternoon sunlight filtered through the gap in the open curtains.
Blanc savored the incoming light while eating the soup Emilia had brought.
'What a rare chance to sleep in.'
Blanc had lived his entire life plagued by chronic sleep deprivation.
Whether as a slave, a mercenary, or battling the endless onslaught of the Void.
But last night had been unavoidable.
His stamina had been utterly depleted, and he was wounded to boot.
On top of that, Blanc's body was still that of an incomplete 14-year-old boy.
"Let me feed you, young master."
"I can eat it myself."
With both hands wrapped in bandages, Blanc found it awkward to grip anything.
'Good thing there are no lingering effects.'
Blanc had swung wildly at the giant centipede, driving his blade into its head to pierce its tough exoskeleton.
"Who on earth did you get that bullheaded stubbornness from?"
"My father or my mother, probably."
Blanc stubbornly refused Emilia's offer to feed him and awkwardly wedged the spoon between the layers of bandage to scoop up the soup.
"So, Izrelin's okay now?"
All that grueling effort had been for Izrelin.
The legendary Moonlight Grass, something out of myths.
When the thought of Moonlight Grass first crossed his mind, Blanc had figured he'd sell it for a fortune to revive House Cardmus.
It was an exceedingly rare flower, priceless, after all—Ulrich had once said selling just one funded years of research.
And it might yield something beyond money. Connections with powerful nobles, perhaps.
'But I used it on a kid...'
It was priceless Moonlight Grass, bought with countless opportunities lost and his own blood, sweat, and tears. Izrelin had to survive.
"She's much more stable now. Yesterday, it looked like she was on the verge of death, but that Moonlight Grass must be truly miraculous!"
"It had better be... after all I went through to get it..."
True, using the precious Moonlight Grass on Izrelin wasn't purely a loss.
Instead of noble connections, he'd left a strong impression on Bartolomeo Tolome, head of House Tolome.
Instead of selling it for cash, he'd incurred a massive debt from Weard Tolome, the Tolomes' fourth son.
Weard, Izrelin's father, managed the family's trading company and wielded considerable economic influence in the Felix Kingdom—plenty of ways he could aid Blanc financially.
"Did you hear? Count Berger Neuendorf visited yesterday. He processed the Moonlight Grass into medicine. They say without him, even having it wouldn't have helped."
"Who?"
"Count Berger Neuendorf! Seeing him in person, he really does glow. He's so handsome!"
'Berger Neuendorf!'
—The Void spreads through sight and infects via fear.—
When the Void first emerged, leaving humanity helpless against the unknown horrors, one man first analyzed it from human observation.
Berger Neuendorf, meritorious noble of the Felix Kingdom, head of the alchemist school, and one of the Seven Sages.
Without him, the Liberation Front wouldn't exist—they wouldn't even know how to fight the Void.
If Gornas Valtazar, who gave Blanc the White Lightning, was a frontline hero, Berger was the one who uncovered the Void's secrets to ensure humanity's survival.
"I... I'd love to meet him."
Gornas he'd crossed paths with multiple times on the frontlines, but Berger? Never.
"You sounded a bit like Rakshar just now."
"He already left? If not, introduce us."
The chance to meet a hero he idolized had Blanc's heart racing like any 14-year-old boy's.
"Are you sure I can take this?"
His words were polite, but Berger's eyes burned with desire.
"You've saved my granddaughter's life, and forgiven my son's rudeness for banging on your door in the dead of night. If anything, this isn't enough."
"No! This is more than sufficient. Lord Bartolomeo."
The vial in Berger's hand held a silvery liquid.
Blanc had brought the Moonlight Grass but naturally yielded ownership, making Bartolomeo its master.
Bartolomeo was proud of his grandson's proper etiquette in presenting the treasure, so he intended to return it as Blanc's gain alone, not the Tolomes'.
Thus, he handed it to Berger, another meritorious house.
Berger gazed at the vial with a pleased smile.
One bloom of Moonlight Grass had more than sufficed to treat Izrelin's poisoning.
He even wondered if he'd used too much—her golden hair had turned silver.
But handling Moonlight Grass for the first time, a little excess was forgivable.
"Izrelin seems stabilized now. The family physician agrees. She's past the crisis."
"How can we ever repay this debt..."
Though both meritorious nobles, their fields differed, leaving little chance for deep exchange like this.
"Speaking of, I hear the Moonlight Grass was brought by the new Baron of Norinton, Blanc."
"Hohoho, yes. Blanc of House Cardmus, my grandson."
As the topic shifted smoothly from the grass and Izrelin to Blanc, Bartolomeo's shoulders puffed up.
"I'd like to ask him a few questions, if that's alright? Purely academic curiosities."
"Of course. I haven't heard the full story myself amid the chaos. Let's hear it together."
Entering Bartolomeo's study, Blanc's eyes first fell on a handsome middle-aged man with reddish-brown hair.
He'd spent the night tending Izrelin's poisoning, yet his innate looks shone dazzlingly.
'Worthy of the title "God-blessed Berger" indeed.'
Brilliant mind, striking features, heir to a meritorious noble house: Berger Neuendorf.
People called him God-blessed for it.
Even in his later middle age, his smile could make nearby women clutch their hearts.
"I come at the count's summons. Blanc Cardmus, at your service."
Blanc would've found an excuse to meet Berger regardless.
"Ah! You must be Blanc. Delighted. Berger Neuendorf."
Berger approached the bowing Blanc with an outstretched hand.
As a count, he cared little for rigid formality.
Defining himself more as scholar than noble allowed such behavior.
"How could I, a mere baron, shake hands with a meritorious noble like Lord Berger..."
"Nonsense. You've more than earned it. Fetching Moonlight Grass from legend? Shaking the hand of such a hero is my honor!"
Blanc and Bartolomeo might not realize it, but the experiments possible with that grass were endless.
To a truth-seeking alchemist, possessing a mythical item made its finder endlessly endearing.
A bandaged black-haired boy suddenly seemed profoundly reliable.
"So, where did you find it? Tell me the full process in detail."
"Yes! That's what I'm dying to know, Baron Blanc Cardmus!"
Per Bartolomeo, Blanc recounted the hunt for the Moonlight Grass.
Just swapping Ulrich's role with Cardmus family lore made it unvarnished truth.
"Our founder and my great-grandfather, Tommel Cardmus, once ventured to the cliffs now called the White Nail in his youth. There, he..."
Tommel had found the Moonlight Grass as an immature bud, deemed unripe for harvest. He'd passed down its location generationally, with a deathbed wish: use it in the family's hour of need.
"The location?! Temperature and climate? Soil conditions? The White Nail's granite region, right?"
Blanc had barely begun when Berger pounced with questions. Revering him deeply, Blanc answered earnestly.
"A black centipede? Never heard of such a monster. And you killed it how? By stabbing its head?!"
Bartolomeo's barrage piled on, leaving Blanc reeling.
The two luminaries' wildly differing interests bombarded him, soul nearly fleeing—but as a 30-year veteran regressor, he bit his lip, clung to his wits, and endured.
Before long, the sun dipped low.
After hours standing and fielding questions, Blanc staggered as his legs gave out. Bartolomeo hurriedly sent him off, fretting he'd overtaxed the injured boy.
"When we send an expedition to the White Nail, I'll notify House Neuendorf."
"Much appreciated."
The Tolomes would verify the black centipede; Neuendorfs, the cave. They'd agreed on a joint team from both houses.
"Remarkable boy. Bringing a family heirloom to save his cousin—and nearly dying against that centipede, by his account."
Incredible resolve and results for a 14-year-old pre-adult.
"Isn't he? Tolome blood runs true—exceptional talent, no doubt."
Bartolomeo seized on Berger's praise like he'd been waiting.
A normal man might chalk it to grandfatherly pride, but Bartolomeo was a count in high office.
No mere doting grandpa—he chose words with purpose, like any true noble.
"What do you think?"
"Of what?"
Berger led his house capably, but Bartolomeo's seasoned presence dwarfed him.
"Fine young man, isn't he? Not just saying so as his grandfather. Baron Blanc has potential. Norinton's claim is dormant now, but with our support, reclaiming it is feasible, no?"
"Our?"
Berger admired Blanc, true—but Blanc wasn't their circle.
Thus, Bartolomeo's sudden inclusion puzzled him.
"I hear House Berger has a daughter near Blanc's age. Talented and beautiful, just like her father."
"Ah... I see what you're driving at. But Lord Bartolomeo, that girl..."
"I know. But it's hardly her fault, is it? Mere misfortune, not superstition. I'm no slave to such nonsense."
"Her husband passed recently; remarriage weighs heavy so soon. And she's weary of marriage talk herself..."
Vague responses preserved options—a noble instinct.
True nobles read contexts, atmospheres, true intents.
And these two in the study were undeniably such.
"Hahaha! Time heals all. Blanc hasn't even had his coming-of-age yet. Fine youth and maiden—give them time, feelings will blossom."
Bartolomeo read Berger's nonverbal cues, gauging his sincerity.
"Well... I'll ask her."
Berger's troubled head-tilt signaled serious consideration of a Tolome marriage alliance.
That was precisely why Bartolomeo had given Berger the Moonlight Grass.
House Neuendorf would make Blanc a sturdy wife's family.