Chapter 21
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: The Journey
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#
The Hilderson Clan is the bloodline that rules the Osnover Kingdom.
The clan's origins lie with the Ducal House of Dithmarschen. This house, which governs the arctic region of the Osnover Kingdom, ended a civil war years ago to establish a new dynasty, forging marriage ties with the nation's principal nobles.
“A wedding?”
Roberta asked. She was tearing off a piece of bread.
It was noon, and she was having a meal with Ulrich in the lord's manor. Since her appointment as head priest, the two of them had shared a meal at least once a day, almost every day.
It was unavoidable, as they lived in the same space. She couldn't very well ask for separate meal times when she was living in someone else's home. After all, the temple had been burned to the ground due to the civil war and the deeds of her predecessors, forcing her to live in the lord's manor. Whenever the lord or his vassals had a meal or tea, she would join them.
Humans truly are creatures of adaptation. Living in the same space as the peculiar lord had been endlessly awkward, but after more than a year, it had begun to feel comfortable.
“The Crown Princess is to be married.”
A royal wedding. Roberta asked as she tore at her white bread.
“A royal wedding? Who is the groom?”
“The eldest son of Marquis Quile. I suppose they decided that with the civil war not long over, it would be more stable to welcome a son-in-law from within the country rather than from without.”
He added that the son stood to inherit the kingdom's southwestern breadbasket.
“Oh... That's a sound idea.”
The Osnover Kingdom had endured a civil war for thirty-two years. The incredibly long conflict had ended just five years ago, so as Ulrich said, it was a time to prioritize stability.
“Then you'll have to send a gift, my lord. Her Highness the Crown Princess is, from your perspective, your granddaughter, is she not?”
“I suppose I must. But the gift isn't the immediate problem.”
“Pardon?”
“Richard has sent an invitation, asking for my attendance.”
Richard. The name of the King of Osnover.
And also Ulrich's adopted son. For the one who had ended the civil war was the very young man—no, the old man—sitting before Roberta.
Ulrich had brought the civil war to an end, but he had not worn the crown. He sent one of the clan's own to the faction that had secured the crown, and that person was his adopted son, Richard.
Roberta dipped a piece of bread into her soup, placed it in her mouth, and thought.
*I heard he didn't even attend the coronation.*
Hadn't the old priest she met on her way to her post said as much? That on the day his adopted son ascended the throne, the Lord of Dithmarschen had not stepped outside his domain.
Would such a man leave his domain for his granddaughter's wedding? It would be more believable if he went into the ice peninsula to procure a gift.
“You won't be attending this time either, will you?”
“No. I intend to attend this time.”
Instead of asking why, Roberta tilted her head.
“There seems to be a troublesome problem.”
A troublesome problem?
“He wasn't clear about it in his letter, so I don't know the details. It seems that boy, Richard, doesn't fully grasp the situation himself. However, he must have judged from experience that it's something he cannot resolve on his own.”
“And that's why he invited you, my lord?”
“Correct.”
A problem that required the domain-bound lord to act personally? Because the king of a nation—of all people—couldn't resolve it himself? Roberta narrowed her eyes. This was no ordinary matter.
“The reason you're telling me this is...”
Was he giving her a heads-up because he would be absent? Roberta was the head priest. The authority she held could influence the domain as much as the lord's. Of course, it wasn't authority she could actually exercise, but he might at least be telling her to manage well in his absence.
But his reply was slow in coming. Dipping a piece of bread in her soup, she felt a slow-creeping anxiety and turned her head to look at Ulrich. As always, he held a teacup filled with pine pollen tea, quietly meeting her gaze.
“...Do you wish for me to accompany you?”
*Surely not.*
“I do. Roberta, I would like you to come with me.”
“Are you being serious?”
she asked with a strained smile.
When was the last time she had left the domain with Ulrich? It was when they had headed to the ice peninsula with the visitor from Cabonihar—a few months ago.
Looking back, it had been uncharacteristic of her. She had been swayed by emotion and taken an absurd risk. Not that she regretted it; in fact, it had been a rewarding experience.
The journey to attend a royal wedding was practically a pleasure trip compared to the expedition on the ice peninsula. She had spent nearly a year mending the parish her predecessors had ruined, and she had completed major rites like the Infant Sacrament. Leaving her post for a short while would not be a problem.
But was there really a need for her to attend?
Her duty as a priest was more important than her curiosity about the lord.
“I'm sorry, but—”
As she was about to refuse, the butler, Bernhard Meyer, who had been attending the lord, handed her a neatly folded letter. It was a letter written on paper so fine it seemed too precious to be used for mere correspondence—pure white and unlikely to tear easily even if wet.
“...”
Roberta read the contents and froze, her mouth agape.
“It's His Holiness's permission for you to leave your post for a time.”
She blinked several times, checking if she was seeing things, but she had no choice but to acknowledge that the seal stamped on the paper was indeed the Pope's.
It was an order. A direct order from the Pope, no less, and it was entirely different from what Ulrich had said. It wasn't permission to leave her post for a time, but an order to follow all requests made by Ulrich, the Lord of Dithmarschen.
How could the Pope place a priest of the Ecumenical Church—a priest managing an entire parish—under the authority of a secular lord? And how had he obtained such an order?
“H-how did His Holiness...”
Instead of answering, Ulrich gave a gentle smile.
Roberta suddenly recalled that he often wrote letters. He was a light sleeper and frequently wrote letters in the early morning. Alonso had said it too—that the lord sent letters more often than she did. It was impossible that none of those letters had been addressed to the Pope.
The Pope was the one who had appointed her head priest in the first place. Bishop Alonso of the Nuah Grand Temple had made the recommendation, but the Pope himself had given the approval. The Parish of Dithmarschen itself was a domain under the Pope's direct administration. It was only natural that he had a connection to Ulrich.
*Just what other pasts does he have?*
It was astounding, yet she could feel herself starting to accept it. *Right, it's better than a dragon. At least the Pope is human.* The fact that she was thinking this way struck her as rather funny.
After living and working alongside him for over a year, she must have been too influenced. She let out a hollow laugh of resignation, rationalizing in a way her past self never would have.
“...You're not leaving right this instant, are you?”
“We depart tomorrow morning. If you have matters to attend to, finish them today.”
She let out a small sigh and picked up the piece of bread she had torn. A journey could only be undertaken on a full stomach. Shoveling the food into her mouth, she soon rose from her seat.
#
“Are you leaving, my lord?”
Bernhard asked just after Roberta left the dining hall.
The butler, who had stood silently beside him throughout the lunch, finally spoke once they were alone. Ulrich took a sip of his tea before answering.
“Well, I haven't decided yet.”
"Haven't decided" did not mean "not leaving." It implied that he was considering a farewell, and Bernhard, knowing this, trembled. He had never spoken to him like this before.
He had always known it could not last forever. Everyone who served the master knew he would one day leave. But it was an ending Bernhard had prayed he would not have to face in his lifetime.
Ulrich would not return. He wanted to deny it, but Bernhard had served his master for too long. By not speaking of farewell, he was merely leaving a sliver of hope that he might return.
Bernhard opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated and closed it again. Could persuasion even sway his will? And should they once again bind a man who had already stayed with them for so long at their request?
“But preparations must be made.”
Ulrich set down his teacup and looked up at Bernhard.
“Bernhard, descendant of Hohenlohe. If I do not return, you are the master of this place. Then, you will not be Bernhard of Meyer, but Bernhard of Dithmarschen.”
“Could I possibly... take your place?”
His voice trembled. It was faint, as if crushed by fear or by the weight of the burden. It was only natural. Bernhard knew more of his master's past than Priest Roberta did.
For hundreds of years, since the Hilderson Clan, including the Meyer family, had first emerged, they had served one man, piecing together his identity from the words he let slip.
Thus, the clan had come close to understanding that their founder was a being so wondrous that even the Pantheon coveted him. Living under the protection of such a being stirred indescribable emotions. And now he was in the position of having to let him go and take his place.
“Do not worry.”
Ulrich smiled as if he understood Bernhard's feelings. It was a benevolent smile. It was also a faint smile that only a select few could perceive.
Some might call their master a man without emotion, but that was the talk of ignorant fools who had only seen a fragment of him. The passage of time had simply dulled him by making every experience familiar.
Didn't even Priest Roberta catch glimpses of his emotions as their time together grew longer? The more one knew him, the clearer his emotions were, and the softer his heart. He was especially soft on children. And to him, all humans in the world must seem like children.
“You may be distressed for now, but you will be fine. I have taught you all the qualifications needed for this position. Bernhard, you are more suited for this position than anyone.”
“I would rather be an incompetent fool.”
“Then someone else would be in your place.”
Bernhard lowered his head for a moment, then looked to the side. The boy, Fritz, stood there, not knowing where to look. Confusion had consumed his thoughts.
He was soon to take Bernhard's place in serving the master, and now the master was saying he would leave. Just like Bernhard, the boy's life had likely been taught nothing but to follow the master.
Bernhard had at least spent decades by his master's side, but he felt a pang of pity that Fritz had experienced nothing at all. So he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and spoke.
“If you are to go, would you not take this child with you?”
Ulrich looked at Fritz. The boy shivered as his eyes met the master's. It was from fear. But not because he was afraid of his master. It was the look of a young animal afraid of being abandoned.
“This brings back memories. Hilde was the same.”
Ulrich nodded.
#
The next day, the party left the city of Freiche.
Ulrich took Roberta and Fritz as his companions, and the three of them steered their horses toward the warm south. But as they crested a hill, Ulrich reined in his horse and looked back at Freiche.
More than three hundred and several tens of years ago, he had visited that place with a young lord he called a friend. Memory insisted that snow had covered everything, piled higher than a man's head. And the snow from the previous year had remained unmelted even in summer.
He had only planned to stay for a short while—a few days or weeks at most. But fate had led a girl to him, and her name was Hilde.
It was then that Ulrich of Dithmarschen first made his name in history. Ulrich pulled himself from his memories and looked at the Freiche of today. The summer sun beat down, and there was not a trace of last year's snow.
Yet Ulrich was still Ulrich of Dithmarschen, and his departure from Freiche was just as it had been when he first arrived.
“...”
He smiled and gave a slight, silent nod toward someone unseen. Then he urged his horse on and descended the hill. He could no longer see Freiche, and Freiche could no longer see him.