Ferzen von Schweig Brutein
Ferzen von Schweig Brutein had intended to take breakfast in the dining hall, but the biting cold drove him back to his room. There, before a roaring fireplace freshly stoked with logs, he shared a quiet meal with Euphemia.
"Listen well, Euphemia. Once you've handed over control to Sebas here, we will depart straight for Brutein."
"……"
"I've heard you've been the one slaying the monsters descending from the Lutein Mountains all this time. You needn't worry about that."
"……"
"House Brutein has the wealth to turn mountains into gold. Reshaping a backward fief like this into something livable won't be difficult."
Euphemia, who had been picking at her food without really eating, merely listening to his words, finally lifted her head.
"I don't have to come along, do I? You just want to parade your war trophy in front of your family, don't you?"
With Euphemia, he could control certain variables to some extent, so he couldn't afford to let her out of his sight if possible. Even if he couldn't find the protagonist, Ciel Midford, it was likely the man would eventually approach her directly.
Considering that, Ferzen had never mentioned the protagonist's name or any distinguishing features in her presence. She needed to see him as utterly indifferent, unconcerned—that way, she'd act carelessly enough for him to exploit.
In truth, even when Euphemia had told the protagonist—who insisted on fighting to the end—"You're not my knight, so there's no need to die a dog's death here. If you want to throw your life away for me, become a knight first and come find me"—she probably didn't truly believe it would happen.
But Ferzen did. He was certain it would happen, because he vividly remembered how the protagonist's emotions were described as he was reluctantly helped to escape the fief upon hearing those words.
Of course, this was the core reason for taking Euphemia with him, viewed through a purely realistic lens that excluded the fused Ferzen's ego.
"Hm……"
Unable to voice that aloud, he trailed off, and Euphemia spoke to him in a self-deprecating tone.
"If you insist on taking me, is it so you can disguise my death as an accident on the way to Brutein and……"
"That won't happen. Rest assured."
Now that Ferzen's ego had merged in, killing Euphemia was nearly impossible. This body liked her far more than he could have imagined, and beyond the primary reason just mentioned, it was the secondary motivation for bringing her along.
A severe obsessive-compulsive disorder limited to possession and symmetry. Of the two, symmetry took precedence.
In fact, Ferzen had deliberately ruined his eyesight since childhood, fearing he'd obsess over the asymmetry of human bodies. Poor vision would blur things at a distance, making it impossible to discern perfect symmetry.
Once he fixated on asymmetry in a person's body and the urge to correct it surged, it could lead to murder. There had been an attempted case that never fully materialized.
Thus, even with bad vision, Ferzen avoided focusing properly when facing people. The only things he could gaze at comfortably were the sky and a serene lake with rippling waters.
Yet Euphemia alone offered him the same comfort as those natural vistas.
But calling this feeling "love" would be inaccurate. If anything, it was the regard one holds for a prized possession.
That was why Ferzen had raided Ruerg on the flimsiest pretext, forced a marriage, and claimed her—without seeking any emotional exchange.
"Then why……"
But he could no longer maintain that stance. Or rather, he had decided not to.
Lee Seojin's ego was far more ordinary than Ferzen's, and with his favorable impression of her, the blended self now could treat her more kindly.
Yes, more kindly—but he couldn't for the life of him think of what to say to a woman he'd forcibly married and raped to draw her closer.
"I simply don't want to be apart from my new wife."
That was the best he could muster after racking his brain, but Euphemia furrowed her brow, gripping her knife tightly in clear displeasure.
"Put it down. If you kill me, you'll be executed. And until Ruerg is granted to someone else, it'll be annexed as imperial territory. The provisional administrator won't care for it properly."
"If you're so rational, then never again pretend to love me so shamelessly in my presence. You have no right……"
Her words rang true enough to empathize with, yet they inexplicably soured his mood, and he opened his mouth.
"A woman born and raised in Ruerg, yet your head's full of flowers. No matter how much you've suffered, do you think you could give this fief the safety and leisure it has now? The process may have been unpleasant, but the outcome is optimal."
"……"
"If your late father were alive and I said I wanted you, do you think he'd refuse?"
His appetite vanished. Finishing his meal, he wiped his mouth with a napkin, shot Euphemia a cold glare, and rose.
"Euphemia el Lerenne Ruerg. Be grateful I take an interest in you. Qualifications? The name of House Brutein is more than enough. I wonder what value you think your body holds."
"……"
"When rain falls on a parched desert, shouldn't one give thanks without question? A bloodline impure from generations of commoner mixing. A mongrel like you."
"……"
"Know your place."
Setting aside personal feelings, his words held no fault, so Euphemia trembled, her head bowed low.
'Ah……'
He hadn't meant to go this far—why had he accelerated like that? Did her defiance irk him? Even with his petty bourgeois ego fused in, if it was this bad, how monstrous had the original Ferzen been?
In any case, the mood was ruined. He rose quietly, opened the door, and stepped into the corridor.
"Did you enjoy your breakfast, young master?"
"I ate early and got up. Call the maids to clear when Euphemia signals from inside. And…… tell the hired mercenaries to assemble in the rear garden."
"Understood."
After issuing his orders, he brushed past Sebas and walked the corridor. As the risen sun eased the cold somewhat, he buttoned his collar and fished a letter from his pocket.
'Wonder if this ties into the next episode the author planned.'
We, of the Imperial House, request your service as Professor of Black Magic at the soon-to-be-completed Academy in the capital, Ernes.
While phrased as an inquiry of intent, refusal shall invite grave repercussions.
Bearing the imperial seal, the letter requested—nay, effectively commanded—his appointment as professor of black magic at the new Academy in the capital.
As House Brutein, they had no choice but to defer to the current imperial family. Ferzen's memories brimmed with evidence of their formidable power, but even without that, establishing an academy in a feudal system proved their dominance.
Glorified as a learning ground for noble heirs, it was in truth a hostage system, forcibly detaining them in the capital for years.
To use an extreme analogy, imagine the only school existing in America, where citizens of other nations must enroll just to earn a diploma.
Moreover, noble children tutored from youth by elite private instructors—what new knowledge could they gain? It would devolve into a networking social club.
Thus, the imperials wanted Brutein's second son as professor; his pedigree would compel even haughty heirs to show respect, preventing veiled disdain.
'With sponsorship allowing commoners entry…… maybe I'll encounter the protagonist here.'
He wasn't sure. But even if not, gathering intel from assembled regional nobles would be straightforward.
'Ha……'
Roem, leader of the Reps Mercenary Group, scowled down at a shivering rookie.
The long-term commission from House Brutein paid handsomely, befitting a great noble house, keeping spirits high until yesterday. But learning some had sold off the issued cold-weather gear left him with a throbbing headache on how to salvage it.
"L-Leader……"
"Shut it."
The gear was loaned property of House Brutein. Damaged items aside, it all had to be returned intact at mission's end.
He might have glossed over selling his own allotment, but pilfering extras made that impossible.
Roem still clearly recalled the butler's piercing glare last night while moving gear to the warehouse and noting the shortage.
"Leader, even so, would House Brutein fly into a rage over a few sets? Th-they're made from silver-maned wolf pelts, sure, but……"
"Don't talk nonsense. The wealthy spend big, but they don't squander coin. And this touches their honor. Letting commoners steal and sell their goods would invite mockery."
This land endured harsh winters save summer, but the pay drew him, and he'd brought rookies for battle experience—now a grave mistake.
"You lot still don't grasp how terrifying nobles are. Watch and learn this time."
Roem sighed, wiping his face. Hearing footsteps behind, he turned, spotted Ferzen approaching, and hurriedly bowed.
"Why is this mercenary like this?"
"Well……"
After deftly explaining the situation, Roem silently awaited Ferzen's response.
"He must die."
With Lee Seojin's ego fused, moral qualms briefly held him back—even criminals deserved death? But heading to the capital soon, he couldn't let the lord's absence embolden mischief. A harsh example would maintain discipline; no harm in that.
"Understood."
At his word, the mercenary leader drew his sword and stood beside the pale-faced man, raising his arm.
"Sp-Spare me! I-I have…… I have a child! My wife died, so if I'm gone—!"
"Kill him."
"Please—!"
True or false, he couldn't tell. It might be a desperate lie, or a real child awaiting a father's return elsewhere.
Pity flickered, but more so: without a mother, no father made for cleaner, symmetrical lineage.
Obsessive episodes lacked absolute triggers, being mental illness. Asymmetry, desire for possession—sometimes an irresistible urge, other times ignorable. This was the latter, but in a death sentence already passed, seeking comfort wasn't wrong.
Slash!
The clean strike severed the kneeling mercenary's head painlessly, rolling it across the snow, staining white red.
"Hm……"
Stepping back to avoid blood on his clothes, Ferzen eyed the neck stump: unclean. Not a straight line, but a slanted diagonal.
"You."
"Yes! Command me!"
"Cut again. No—I'll mark the line. Got a dagger? Hand it over."
Ignoring their puzzled looks, he took the dagger and carefully traced a line on the spurting stump.
With quantification active for guidance, it was perfectly precise.
"Follow this line for the next cut."
"……"
"Didn't you hear me?"
"N-No, sir!"
Startled into a booming reply, the leader swung again, precisely severing along the mark.
"Dispose of the corpse yourselves."
"Y-Yes……"
Gazing at the flawless cross-section, his lips twitched upward involuntarily.
The mercenaries stared like he was a ghost, but he'd have to grow accustomed to such looks—this was his fate, inhabiting Ferzen's body.