Chapter 19
Chapter 19
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: War Hero Becomes the Baroness's Young Lady's Butler (2)
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Name.
The name Hans was fairly common, and the surname Wilhelm was a gift from the Grates royal family.
To me, reincarnated as one of nine siblings, the name Hans was just a label for my new self.
A name is just a name.
But if you attach meaning to it, that name becomes something very special.
For instance, like right now, when a noble bestows a name on someone.
'Look at this scheming little thing.'
It wasn't some magical ritual or procedure, but by giving me a name, she was trying to indebt me to her.
Even if I later remembered my real name, I'd probably mull over the one Diela gave me.
If I were truly an amnesiac!
"Really?"
So, I played along.
"You're giving me a name...?"
"Yes. Oh, if it bothers you, you don't have to accept it."
"Not at all. Any name would be fine."
Like an amnesiac would.
"No matter what name you call me, Lady, the fact that you gave me one is gratitude enough."
"Not at all. If anything, I'm the grateful one. You protected me from... my mother."
Diela blushed faintly at my words, smiling softly.
"Have you heard of the continental hero, Sir Hans Wilhelm?"
"......."
A sudden question.
It caught me so off guard that my words stuck in my throat for a moment.
"You don't know him?"
"...Sorry. I can't quite recall."
"Uh... Do you know there was a war for 12 years?"
"A war...?"
I immediately turned my gaze out the window.
"It looks so peaceful. You're saying there was a war? For 12 years?"
"Yes. Thankfully, thanks to the great hero Sir Hans Wilhelm, the war ended. He held back the Empire, so we can live today without worrying about their bullets."
"......."
Should I act uncomfortable, or pleased?
Normally, you'd praise the hero who stopped the war, but even I wasn't shameless enough to praise myself in the third person like some bystander.
"I see. That's fortunate."
I just kept it straightforward.
"......You really have no idea at all."
"If my memory returns, maybe I'll learn something, but..."
To ease the atmosphere as Diela gazed at me intently, I pointed alternately at her and myself.
"By the way, how long do you plan to speak formally to me?"
"Pardon?"
"You're a noble lady, and I—"
"We don't know that."
Diela cut me off, shaking her head firmly.
"Your past is unclear. We can't just call you a commoner because you showed up without a stitch of clothing."
"Lady."
"And you've already shown it. Manners more impeccable than anyone's. That was the bearing of nobility."
Good.
Next chance I get, I'd have to act in a way that erases those ingrained noble etiquettes as much as possible.
"And..."
"And?"
"That robe you were wearing."
"...I was wearing a robe?"
"Yes."
Right.
My clothes had all been blown away in the Pafnil core explosion, and I'd taken a robe from an Imperial Master—
'Tsk.'
My mistake for not minding the details in the rush.
'No problem. I'll act more thoroughly from now on.'
For now, Diela thought of me as some amnesiac noble. Next time I met someone else, I'd hide my identity more solidly.
"So, I won't treat you carelessly. Who knows? You could be a prince from some country."
"Not quite that..."
"Hehe, you never know. Or maybe someone like the Northern Grand Duke."
And if I did have some noble background, it wouldn't be a bad title for me, for Diela, or even when dealing with the Baroness.
"With that in mind, I'll give you a name. One to call you by while you're here."
"Yes. What is it?"
"It's..."
A short while later.
In the most luxurious and spacious room of the baron's mansion, Baroness Trimien Arsin sat on a bed large enough for six people. She gritted her teeth as holy power flowed from the hands of a young priest.
"Hoo..."
The pain and bruises vanished without a trace.
"Are you alright, Baroness?"
"Yes, priest. It doesn't hurt anymore."
"That's a relief. To think someone would commit such a brutal act to leave bruises like these..."
The marks of agony had vanished under the benevolent goddess's blessing without a scar, but the mind and memory held onto the horrific pain.
"Oh. I should head out now. There are young lambs at the church waiting for his touch."
"Thank you for coming on such short notice."
"No trouble at all. How much help has the Arsin family given the church? A quick visit like this is nothing. May the goddess's grace be with you."
"May the goddess's grace be with you."
After sending off the young priest with a kind smile,
"......."
The Baroness silently fiddled with her wrist for a moment before grabbing the flowerpot beside her.
"Hold it, Captain."
Just before the crash, a middle-aged man in a black suit like a butler's restrained her.
"Let go! And I told you not to call me Captain!"
"Who do you plan to order to clean it up if you break that?"
"Obviously—"
"Diela? That wench?"
"......."
Her wrist still throbbed, making it hard to issue her usual order to smash the porcelain pot and clean up the shards.
The Baroness huffed, quietly set the pot down, then crossed her legs and vented her irritation at the middle-aged man who'd called her "Captain."
"Who the hell is that guy?"
"If he's truly lost his memory, he's probably a knight-level talent who suffered mental damage on some special mission—high chance."
"Special mission?"
"Yes. Amnesia, but the poise and habits ingrained in his body, plus skills we can't easily gauge. He's no ordinary man."
"Right. That's why even I backed off."
Even though her wrist was grabbed and her arm twisted, and she didn't care what Head Butler Albert said—why did she have to retreat?
"Jackson. What about you?"
"I'd have to clash to know, but if I'm careless, he might kill me."
"Annoyingly vague."
"Captain... no, Baroness, what about you?"
"Same here. I gave up resistance midway. If I'd kept thrashing, a bone might've broken."
She'd sensed it instinctively—not as the Baroness, but as the former mercenary captain—the moment her wrist was seized and her arm bent.
"That man's at least knight-level, right?"
"Yes. Special forces background."
"...Special forces? Evidence?"
"Here."
At the Baroness's question, the middle-aged man who'd been vice-captain of her old mercenary band, Jackson, pulled out a black robe.
"This is the robe that man showed up in."
"Naked underneath, just the robe, right?"
"Yes. Circumstantially... maybe caught in some special forces incident, and this robe's owner draped his own over the guy."
"What nonsense is that?"
"He floated down the river unconscious, didn't he? The owner wouldn't have time to care for him fully, but covered his nakedness and helped so he wouldn't get hurt in the current."
Jackson spread the robe wide with force, smoothing out its folds neatly.
It trembled.
He yanked hard with his hands, but the robe only quivered without tearing.
"It's enchanted with preservation magic."
"So, definitely not ordinary."
"Yes. And this preservation magic... it's Imperial style."
"!!"
At "Imperial," the Baroness jolted upright in bed.
"For real?"
"Yes. The magic patterns etched in match those used by the Imperial Intelligence Agency closely."
"Then... he's Imperial?"
"No. I think... an Imperial spy helped him."
"What?"
The Baroness tilted her head at Jackson's words.
"What do you mean?"
"During the 12-year war, men and women fought to take lives on the shadowy side of the battlefield. Now in peacetime, maybe his organization discarded him, tossing him into the river without capacity to handle him directly—so they cloaked him in this to protect from river wounds until someone found him."
"...You."
The Baroness shook her head and slumped back onto the bed.
"Quit butling and go to the capital as a playwright. Your scenarios are top-notch."
"Ma'am. It's speculative, but not entirely impossible."
"Nonsense. Don't make weird guesses—judge by the facts."
The Baroness kept pressing and releasing her wrist while gazing out the window.
"Whatever that man is, it can't disrupt our plans. Got it?"
"Yes. We'll make sure nothing leaks."
"Good. After coming this far... one stray man can't ruin everything."
Outside the window.
Two young ladies in fancy dresses and parasols, resembling Baroness Trimien perfectly, were stepping down from a carriage.
"I've become Baroness."
Flutter.
The Baroness opened a frilled fan to cover her mouth.
"But my daughters will be countesses—no, marchionesses or higher. Yes, that's the proper world."
"And Lady Diela...?"
"Eh, whatever."
At the name Diela, the Baroness openly scowled, waving dismissively with annoyance.
"Just sell her off as a concubine to that pot-bellied old geezer, right? Ohohohoho!"
"Yuri. Are you alright?"
"......."
What kind of name is this? Better than Hans, though.
"Call me whatever you like, Lady."
"Thank you. Then, Yuri. One request."
"What is it?"
"Will you..."
Diela reached out to me.
"...be my butler?"
Her outstretched hand trembled ever so slightly at the tip.
...
First things first.
'I'll have to get rid of the Baroness and her daughters.'
A beauty on the verge of tears— even a spy from an enemy nation would grant her request once.
"Of course, Lady."