Chapter 8
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: To the Tolome Family (1)
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The innermost chamber of the Tolome Family, the patriarch's study.
It wasn't flashy, but the gray-toned space gave off a neat and tidy impression.
Even someone seeing Bartolomeo Tolome, the head of the Tolome Family, for the first time would get a rough sense of his character just from stepping into that modest study.
And within that study sat an elderly man with white hair as wild and tangled as a lion's mane.
"He manifested aura?"
"Yes, Patriarch."
"Hmm..."
The Cardmus Family had been wiped out less than a week after his daughter's death.
Faced with a catastrophe that left no time to properly mourn her, Count Bartolomeo Tolome hadn't bothered hiding his rage.
He had just returned from the royal palace yesterday, ranting that those vile Gartaria scum who crushed a Felix barony needed to be captured and executed.
Even he, however, had already heard the rumors about his grandson Blanc Cardmus's mysterious whereabouts.
If the boy was alive, he was blood that naturally belonged under his protection, so he'd sent people searching for the past two months. But after Free City Baywood, there had been no trace at all.
Yet now, that very grandson had walked in on his own two feet—not only that, but he'd manifested aura and intimidated the guards.
"Aura... aura, you say... Has the Cardmus Family ever produced a notable knight?"
"They're known for their robust physiques."
"Knights?"
"No famous knights that I know of. There are records of the first Cardmus patriarch manifesting aura, but even he was middle-aged at the time..."
"So not a family with any genius bloodline?"
Yet his grandson, who was definitely around thirteen years old, was already wielding aura?
"Is this confirmed?"
Bartolomeo couldn't bring himself to believe it, so he asked Sir Edwin, the family's guard knight, again.
"Not just the guards—everyone watching nearby testified to it. They said he unleashed white lightning."
"Hmm..."
Blanc's mother, Nedrian, had been Bartolomeo's most beloved child.
As his only daughter and youngest among five children, she was the apple of his eye—someone he wouldn't have traded for the world.
Even after she married far away into the Cardmus Family, they had kept in steady touch via letters.
"Nedrian certainly bragged about Blanc plenty, but that's just what mothers do. If he'd had talent for manifesting aura, she would've mentioned it differently."
Bartolomeo's eyes darkened deeply.
"He might not be my grandson after all."
"You're permitted to enter."
As the Tolome Family butler granted permission, Emilia—who had been fidgeting anxiously and biting her nails—sprang to her feet.
"Young master... Young Master!"
"Calm down. You didn't catch a stutter from Rakshar, did you?"
The loyal gamekeeper who spoke with a slight stammer was probably back at their campsite by now, waiting endlessly for them.
Blanc had wanted to bring Rakshar along if possible, but with his identity still unverified, they'd had no choice but to leave him behind.
Werewolves stirred up too much suspicion among people, after all.
"C-Can't I just... stay out here?"
"No."
Emilia had served his mother for nearly twenty years and was one of the few who still remembered her well.
Even more than Blanc himself.
"But I could help!"
"Absolutely not. If nothing else, you can just stand there and cry."
"That... I can do!"
Blanc eyed Emilia clenching her fists, seriously doubting how much help she'd be.
"This way, then."
The butler, who had watched their little comedy, quietly gestured for them to follow.
The mansion dwarfed anything in the Cardmus Family by comparison.
After traversing a long hallway and passing several doors, they finally arrived.
But it wasn't Bartolomeo's modest study—instead, it was a grand, imposing reception hall.
He doesn't see me as his grandson, huh.
The chairs flanking Bartolomeo's seat were lined with armed knights, after all.
If he truly believed Blanc was his grandson, there would've been a lavish feast waiting, not sword-wielding knights.
"Are you really Blanc Cardmus?"
Bartolomeo's quiet words echoed through the high-ceilinged, vast space like a beast growling right beside them.
"S-Sob... sob..."
The overwhelming pressure and reverberating voice must have terrified her—Emilia was already shedding tears without being told to.
But the black-haired boy standing beside her stared straight at the white-maned old lion without flinching.
"Yes, Count. I am Blanc Cardmus, son of Palad Cardmus and Nedrian."
Hoo.
Bartolomeo watched Blanc bow and introduce himself, his eyes gleaming.
He couldn't be sure if the boy was truly his grandson, but he could tell he was no ordinary kid.
And according to the report, he'd even manifested aura.
Captivated by Blanc's confident demeanor, Bartolomeo found himself searching the boy's face for traces of his daughter.
The eyes look similar, the lips are a spitting image, and that black hair has the Cardmus Family vibe.
"Count."
As Bartolomeo stared entranced at Blanc's face, his guard knight Edwin cleared the air.
"Ahem. Yes. But as you know, there are over a hundred impostors outside claiming to be Blanc Cardmus. You say you have proof that sets you apart?"
"When those vile Gartaria dogs trampled the Cardmus estate, the first thing I saved was my mother's ancestral tablet—before even the family seal."
In truth, if he'd only grabbed the family seal, none of this ordeal would've been necessary. A simple comparison with the records at the palace or temple would've sufficed.
But his father's study was on the second floor, and retrieving the seal amid the invading soldiers was too risky. So he'd only taken his mother's tablet.
"Let me see it."
Blanc handed the ancestral tablet of Nedrian—which he'd kept close to his chest—to a nearby knight.
Bartolomeo received it from the knight.
It seemed he'd cherished it even through the chaos; it was wrapped carefully in white silk cloth.
Unwinding the layers revealed Nedrian's tablet, carved from jade with a faint blue tint.
But whether this truly held his daughter's remains was impossible to confirm.
He hesitated to smash it outright, recalling the last impostor—a black-haired urchin—whose tablet had contained a curse from one of his political enemies.
As a count of the realm, Bartolomeo had as many foes as he did powers. That knight who'd tested the previous tablet for him had been badly injured.
So before destroying this one, he'd interrogate the boy first to verify if he was genuine.
"They say you wielded aura."
"Yes, Count."
Blanc sensed the interrogation beginning now.
A wrong answer could mean instant beheading for impersonating nobility.
Bartolomeo Tolome was a meritorious noble with summary execution rights, after all.
"Have you practiced the Cardmus Family's signature Aura Cultivation Method?"
"I have practiced it, but manifesting aura wasn't due to the family method."
"Then what?"
Blanc regulated his breathing and organized his thoughts. What he said next would shape his future.
"My father believed the Cardmus methods couldn't reach higher realms. So he brought in a renowned swordsman from the Anton Kingdom and had me learn a new one."
"Is that so?"
It wasn't unheard of for families to discard old methods for better ones.
And the Cardmus weren't known for superior techniques, so it rang true.
"What's the method called?"
"White Lightning, from the Assansio Family of the Anton Kingdom—a house that's since been extinguished."
Hmm...
An obscure method from an unknown family. If the Cardmus heir had truly done that, it wouldn't have been easy to uncover.
Bartolomeo continued grilling Blanc relentlessly.
How he'd escaped, how he'd slipped out of Baywood, how he'd made it here.
He even mixed in questions about Nedrian and the Cardmus Family to sow confusion.
But aside from the cultivation method, Blanc had nothing to hide and answered fluidly.
This feels right.
The confident attitude, aura manifestation at thirteen, sharp mind answering without falter even before him.
At some point, Bartolomeo found himself rooting for the boy.
If this talent was truly his grandson, it'd be perfect.
But if he was a fraud, he'd have to order the execution himself.
"Then, finally..."
Another question?
Even Blanc was strained reciting memories perfectly under threat of death.
His back was soaked, his face beaded with cold sweat. He just wanted it over.
"C-Count..."
The loyal maid Emilia saw Blanc paling.
Daring to interrupt a kingdom noble as a mere servant, every eye in the hall turned to her.
But Emilia, staring at the floor and bowing low, rummaged in her pocket unaware, pulling out a golden hairpin.
She crawled on her knees to the knight before her and offered it.
What the hell is she doing!
The mood had been good. Just hold out a bit longer.
But the timid maid's sudden outburst left Blanc speechless and frozen.
"I-I'm Emilia, the maid... I've served Madam since she was four..."
"Enough."
Bartolomeo cut her off with a stiff voice.
Irritated at being interrupted by a lowly maid, he fixed Blanc with a sharp glare again.
"So, what's that hairpin?"
The knight handed the golden hairpin to Bartolomeo right away.
As he examined it closely, an inexplicable unease washed over him.
"M-Madam said this hairpin was passed down from her mother... that is, from your wife, the Countess..."
"Enough."
It was common for noblewomen to pass heirlooms to their daughters.
But it was news to Blanc.
As a boy, he'd never heard about women's accessories.
"Urk... ugh..."
"Count!"
"Lord Bartolomeo!"
The moment Bartolomeo confirmed the hairpin, he clutched his chest and began shedding thick tears.
The sight of Felix's lion-like warrior weeping was beyond shocking—terrifying.
Everyone in the reception hall froze in stunned silence.
Finally, Bartolomeo wiped his tears and carefully began smashing Nedrian's ancestral tablet—the one Blanc had brought.
Gently, preserving as much form as possible.
From Bartolomeo's hands, the shattered tablet revealed Nedrian's golden hair, neatly tied, alongside a tiny note.
"When my daughter was born, my wife looked out at the moonlight seeping through the window and asked me to plant forget-me-nots in the garden tomorrow."
The note read "At Birth."
Nobles had a tradition: upon a child's birth, parents or elders composed a poem just for them.
A secret known only to the child and direct bloodline.
Forget-me-not flower born under white moonlight. I awaited you anxiously.
The poem Bartolomeo had personally written for Nedrian.
The shy young forget-me-not who bowed at his call had returned as a small tablet.
But that fragile flower had sprouted its seed and sent it back to him.
Bartolomeo clutched the broken tablet of his daughter, weeping.
Before him stood a black-haired boy.
The son of the forget-me-not.
At last, the white-maned old lion stopped his howls, rose from his seat, and bellowed.
"My grandson! Bearing my daughter's soul and my wife's heirloom, has returned to the Tolome! All of you, welcome him!"
The knights, unsure what to do, froze.
But at Bartolomeo's command, they knelt to Blanc without hesitation.
"Welcome, Lord Blanc Cardmus!"
Blanc Cardmus.
In his previous life, they'd called him Blanc Scar.
A nickname for the scar-covered wretch he'd been.
He'd never found his roots then— the name Cardmus.
But this life would be different.
From now on, he was Norinton's sole legitimate heir, backed by the Tolome Count family—meritorious nobles of the kingdom.
Blanc Cardmus.