Chapter 20
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: Interlude
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The season turned from spring to summer. The snow that had lingered in the shade even through spring finally melted away, and heat hazes shimmered over the fields. The temperature had risen to the point where one couldn't bear the daylight hours without a hand fan.
But the daytime heat was a fleeting thing; the nights were no different from winter. Though it carried no snow, a fierce wind blew, sweeping away all the earth's warmth. This, too, must be the influence of the ice peninsula. It was a truly strange place.
A wooden window rattled with a clatter. In Freiche, the central city of Dithmarschen, the windows of the lord's manor were firmly latched against the night wind, but the gale battered them as if to break the bolts.
At that moment, the priest Roberta was in her bedroom, a chamber set aside for her in the manor, offering her morning prayers. She had placed the symbol of the goddess Ganymea on a table and knelt before it, her hands clasped.
This day marked the second summer she had greeted since her appointment as the resident priest. It was also several months after she had completed her journey to the ice peninsula in the spring.
“...”
After retracing her journey during her morning prayers, Roberta rose from her knees a long while later. Taking an oil lamp in her right hand, she left her bedroom and walked down the hall.
The night air was cold enough to make her shiver, despite the coat she wore over her priest’s robes. Accompanied by the sound of the fierce wind battering the wooden windows, she stopped before a door in the hallway.
And after a moment's hesitation, she knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
The reply came as if he had been waiting.
“Pardon the intrusion.”
Opening the door revealed an office. It contained only a fireplace, a single wooden window, two bookshelves, and a desk beside them. Devoid of any decoration, the room was simple—no, stark.
Ulrich, the Lord of Dithmarschen, was seated at his office desk, though it was still early morning. Without looking at her, he wrote something with a quill pen, relying on the faint light of a candle.
“My lord?”
Roberta stepped inside and closed the door.
“It's rare for you to seek me out at this hour. Is this the first time?”
Ulrich stopped writing and looked up. He was wearing glasses. As far as she knew, his eyesight wasn't poor, but he often wore them when reading or writing. The spectacles made him look quite intellectual, while at the same time adding a few years to his appearance.
“Have I disturbed you by coming so suddenly?”
“Not at all. You know I don't sleep much at night. In fact, I welcome the company. Though I suspect you haven't come for light conversation.”
Smiling, Ulrich gestured for her to sit in the chair before his desk.
She shivered the moment she sat down. Despite being the lord's office, it was as cold as the hallway. Wondering why, she glanced at the fireplace and saw no sign of a fire having been lit. The strange lord was passing the night in light clothing, just as he had on the ice peninsula.
He removed his glasses, set them on the desk, and rose from his seat to light a fire in the fireplace. Only then did the room brighten a little, beginning to drive out the chill.
“It seems you don't feel the cold, my lord.”
“On the contrary. I feel it quite well.”
“And yet you show no sign of it.”
“Because it's bearable. An adaptation born of time.”
Roberta briefly recalled his estimated age. How long would one have to live to remain expressionless even in the bitter cold of the ice peninsula?
“But that story is too long for you to hear to the end. And it's not the answer you're looking for, anyway. Is it?”
“...Yes.”
“So, what is it you wish to ask me? At such an early hour, when even Bernhard is not yet awake.”
As always, there was much she wanted to ask. The journey on the ice peninsula, in particular, had raised so many questions that she wondered where to even begin.
From Banares, the Great King of Cabonihar, to the giant Uar who did not serve the Creator, to the dragon Narvakayani who wished to understand humans, and even Ulrich's past name, Oscar.
But none of those were the reason she had sought him out at this ambiguous hour. The other questions could wait. She had time enough, and she could unravel them one by one.
“Are you planning to leave, my lord?”
But what if Ulrich left?
It was a question that had arisen on the ice peninsula.
Duke Bailen, the giant Uar, and the dragon Narvakayani had all testified that the man named Ulrich had lived a life twice as long as his time as the Lord of Dithmarschen. They had also said that he had changed his name many times over his long life.
Narvakayani had mentioned that Ulrich had been using his current name for quite a long time and that he must be getting tired of it. It was then that Roberta had suddenly wondered: like the dragon who had left humanity behind, would Ulrich soon depart as well?
“That is my intention.”
Ulrich answered without hesitation.
“May I... ask why?”
“Simply because I felt the time had come.”
The time had come?
“What does that mean?”
“To that question, I must ask one of my own. Why, and for how long, do you believe I should remain in this position?”
Roberta, caught off guard, could only manage a single word, “What?”
“You know the circumstances under which I became the Lord of Dithmarschen.”
How could she not? It was a well-known story. Ulrich had been the husband of the previous lord, Hilde, and had inherited the title upon her death.
“Hilde asked me. She asked me to stay even after her death, to protect her people from the blizzards of the little ice age. And I promised that I would.”
‘Though there were other reasons,’ he added, as if to himself, and continued.
“For me, the title of Count... no, Duke of Dithmarschen, is just that. It began with a promise between Hilde and me, and that promise was fulfilled long ago. What's more, the winters are growing shorter now. The temperature rises every year.”
This was what they called the end of the little ice age.
“Even without me, the people here will survive. It took longer than expected because there were many problems, but the promise went only so far. That was all Hilde asked. And once the promise is fulfilled, I have no reason to remain here.”
“...I don't quite understand.”
Roberta did not know the weight of the promise between Ulrich and Hilde. She could only surmise that he considered it important enough to dedicate 300 years of his life to it.
But what did that have to do with renouncing his title?
“Was renouncing the title also part of the promise?”
“No, there was no such promise.”
“Then why...”
Why leave just because the promise was kept?
“Don't you think 300 years is long enough to have held the position of Lord of Dithmarschen? It's far too long a time for any unfulfilled attachments to remain.”
She looked at him with an expression of incomprehension.
As far as she could recall, few people in history had ever done such a thing. Those who had were old and infirm, retiring to spend their final years in peace, not because they had no attachment to power.
If anyone else had said the same thing, she would have scoffed inwardly. Plenty of people spouted lies and exaggerations with ease. She knew well that no words revealed greed more than, “I have no desires.”
But this was a man who had refused the throne of a kingdom, a man who had saved a great king four times and refused any reward. And it was he who was saying this to her.
“It seems you still don't understand.”
“To be honest... yes. It's difficult to accept.”
“I believe I've said this before. Don't overthink it.”
*There's a limit,* she thought, swallowing a dry laugh. How many people would hear something so far beyond common sense and respond, “Ah, I suppose that's possible”?
“After staying here so long, haven't you grown attached?”
“Attached? Of course, I have.”
“Even without the title, couldn't you stay for that reason?”
She asked.
What about people like his steward Bernhard, or the clan chief Kurt? Would he refuse and leave even if they begged him to remain as their lord?
“Well. Let me give you an example.”
Ulrich closed his eyes for a moment before opening them and continuing.
“Suppose you raise a dog named Iba. And suppose that Iba's descendants continue for many generations.”
“...”
“You've raised Iba's children, and at times you've entrusted some of them to people you trust, but Iba's line has prospered and continued for some twenty generations.”
She narrowed her eyes, reading the hidden meaning.
“It's an analogy. I don't mean to say I see people as pets. I'm likening it to the feeling of raising someone's descendants, generation after generation, while living a life longer than others.”
“...”
“Now, think about it. A descendant twenty generations removed will have no trace of Iba. At best, the breed or the color of their fur might be similar. In reality, they're a stranger to Iba. So why would you still be raising Iba's descendant?”
“By that point, you wouldn't be raising them for Iba's sake.”
“That's right. At first, you gave your affection because it was Iba's pup, but gradually you came to love the pup for its own sake. People naturally grow fond of those they are close to.”
But how long can that continue?
He continued.
“You would continue to give your affection to Iba's descendants, but can you say for certain that it will last forever? Won't there come a time when you think, 'Ah, I'll look after this one, and that will be the last'? Then you would entrust the pup it bears to someone else who can love it, and you would care for the parent only until it grows old and dies, wouldn't you?”
And he asked if she understood the analogy.
“...”
No answer came.
She met his gaze in silence. A faint smile touched his lips, while her eyes trembled. The man before her, so young in appearance yet claiming to have lived longer than anyone, was not a dragon.
The dragon who had embraced a human had left when there was nothing more to gain, and there had been no emotion in it. But the man named Ulrich was human. He had kept a promise for hundreds of years, and upon its fulfillment, he prepared for farewell.
Unlike the dragon, he had emotions. Roberta could read the complex feelings in Ulrich's voice. It was something only a human who had reached the end of a long, long promise could possess.
- He seemed like ashes from which all desire had burned away.
At that moment, she recalled the old priest's words.
The old priest she had met on her way to Dithmarschen had added, ‘Perhaps he has lived longer than the records say, and the passage of time has blunted even his greed.’
“May I ask one more thing?”
Ulrich nodded.
“If you leave, my lord, who will succeed you?”
“Bernhard. That boy will succeed me. I raised him for it.”
“...This may be rude, but is the reason, perhaps—”
“Are you asking if I'm passing it to him because he is my descendant?”
Lowering his gaze, he touched the ring on his right index finger. It was a gold ring engraved with the crest of the Dithmarschen family, something worn only by the head of the house. If he had worn it since inheriting the title, it would have been on his finger for 300 years, yet it was spotless.
“We had no children between us.”
*We* meant Hilde and Ulrich.
“Hilde's body was greatly injured. Because of that, she couldn't have children. The blood that flows in the Hilderson Clan today is that of Hilde's relatives and the adopted children she raised.”
“Adopted children?”
“I have never had children of my own here.”
It was just as the giant Uar had said. Uar had told her that Ulrich never took a new wife and only took in adopted children. Roberta had thought he might have had several biological children during Hilde's lifetime, but even that wasn't the case.
“As I always say, I am Ulrich of Dithmarschen. As long as I bear that name, I must fulfill my responsibilities. That is how I avoid dishonoring Hilde. Am I wrong?”
“N-no.”
She avoided his gaze, feeling as though he had read her mind.
“Bernhard's main family is the County of Meyer. In that house flows the blood of Hohenlohe, the eldest of Hilde's adopted children. And with deep pride in that fact, they send their children to me. They hope that when I look at them, I will be reminded of Hohenlohe.”
A futile effort, he said.
“I am not reminded of Hohenlohe when I see them. It's not as if the generations are close, like with Bailen. How much of an ancestor's appearance could remain after so many have passed? The reason Bernhard will succeed me is because he has the ability. There is no other reason.”
After he finished speaking, Roberta asked no more. She was unable to say anything in response to his unvarnished answers.
And just then, there was a soft knock on the door.
“So it's that time already.”
The blue light of dawn was seeping through the cracks of the closed window. Just as he had with Roberta, Ulrich called out to the person beyond the door, “Come in.” At that, the steward, Bernhard Meyer, entered the office and bowed.
“Good morning, my lord.”
Bernhard's expression was stiff. Contrary to his grim appearance, he was a man of gentle disposition who always wore a faint smile, but now his face was so rigid that even she could notice. He must have overheard the conversation between her and Ulrich.
‘I was careless.’
She chided herself inwardly.
So engrossed in the conversation that she hadn't even noticed the sun rising, it was no wonder she hadn't heard the approaching footsteps. Bernhard must have heard his master speak of his intention to leave.
But he forced his stiff expression to relax into a smile. Acting the part of a steward who had heard nothing, he approached his master as he always did.
“You are not alone today.”
“And you are not alone today, either.”
A boy stood beside Bernhard.
Fritz Meyer, a boy approaching his sixteenth year. As his surname suggested, he was of the same house, but he was not Bernhard's son. He was the fourth son of Bernhard's younger brother, currently in training to assist the lord and eventually succeed Bernhard.
“Yes. From now on, this boy will be joining me.”
“You're teaching him already? Isn't it too soon?”
“It is not too soon. It is too late.”
Bernhard smiled, telling him to consider his own age.
“I see.”
“Do not worry. Even if I am gone, this boy will remain.”
Watching the two of them converse, Roberta suddenly understood the meaning behind Bernhard's actions.
Think about it. Ulrich was not one to deceive others. Nor was he one to hide things. Could Bernhard, who had served him for far longer than she, be unaware of such a change in his master?
With a wrinkled hand, Bernhard took the boy Fritz by the shoulder and pulled him forward, so that Ulrich could reach out and stroke the boy's head.
The sight, she thought, was like a mother dog carrying her pup to her master, as if to imprint upon him that this was her child. It was also his way of asking Ulrich to watch over him, at least until this child's time. Bernhard's ancestors must have done the same.
But it could not last forever. As Ulrich had said, at some point, he would decide to part ways. She did not know when that time would come, but Roberta felt it was not so far away.