Chapter 29
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 29
Chapter Title: The Meyer Clan
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#
Roberta pulled on the reins, bringing her horse to a stop on the hill. Ulrich and Fritz flanked her on her right. The three of them had followed the tail end of a mountain range that curved down from north to east like a crescent moon.
Below the mountain, a city came into view. It was bordered by a wide, long river to the south and farmlands that stretched to the western horizon.
“That’s Witten!”
Fritz raised his voice, pointing to the central city of the Meyer County.
“Look! It’s a fine place, isn’t it?”
“I heard it was the most prosperous city in the region, and I can see why.”
She saw a small boat sailing down the river. An awning embroidered with a vibrant pattern hung over its stern, and beneath it, a man and a woman in brightly colored clothes whispered to each other.
They were enjoying the summer scenery with a leisureliness she had not witnessed since her arrival in Osnover.
“Not just this region. It’s probably the finest place in all of Osnover.”
Fritz said with pride. The fourth son of Count Meyer, born and raised in Witten, seemed elated to see his hometown after several years away.
“Isn’t that right, Lord Ulrich?”
“Hm.”
Ulrich calmly took in the view. He was likely comparing the image in his memory to the one before his eyes. On the way to Witten, Fritz had asked him a question.
‘Lord Ulrich, when was the last time you were in Witten?’ To this, Ulrich had replied that the most recent time was more than a century ago.
His ties to this place ran as deep as those to old Luman's village, yet they stretched even further into the past. This journey must also be a walk down memory lane for him; she wondered what was on his mind.
“How is it? Does any of the old city remain?”
Ulrich stroked his chin and began with a thoughtful, “Well…”
“I’m not sure. As I’ve said before, I never paid much attention to landscapes.”
“Well… you did say it’s been over a hundred years.”
He pointed with his right hand toward the river below the city.
“About the only thing that comes to mind is that the village down by the river wasn’t there. The bridge existed, but I don’t recall there being a walled residential area like that.”
Beside him, Fritz chimed in with agreement.
“That’s right. It’s a recently expanded district.”
“A great deal of time has passed. To think it’s changed this much.”
The three urged their horses on and began to descend the hill.
“When the child born in Dithmarschen, who took the name Meyer, inherited this land, Witten was nothing more than a large village. It was land barely inherited by a countryman from the north.”
At the word ‘village,’ Roberta looked at the city again. He was talking about two centuries ago. The village, which must have been similar in size to Luman’s, now appeared to her as nothing less than a thriving city.
“As Fritz says, this is now the most prosperous place in Osnover. Even the capital, Eisleburg, or Solna with its Grand Temple, probably can’t compare.”
“Is that so?”
“It’s had wise rulers for generations and suffered little from the civil war. Had that child not refused, the Meyer Count would be the one wearing the crown.”
That child? The crown?
Roberta’s eyes widened as she looked at Ulrich.
“What… what do you mean by that?”
The current king of Osnover, Richard, was Ulrich’s adopted son. Ulrich had ended the thirty-two-year civil war and, instead of taking the throne himself, had placed his adopted son upon it.
But did this mean that the candidate Ulrich had originally put forward was someone else, and that someone was the Meyer Count?
“You know the story. The secular lords of Osnover gathered and commissioned the dwarves to forge a new crown, which they then insisted on presenting to me.”
She had heard the story so often her ears ached.
“And you refused it, I heard.”
“Yes, I did. I sent that crown to the Meyers first.”
But the crown was returned, he said.
“The count, Fritz’s father, Willem Meyer, refused the throne. It was the best choice, but if the will isn’t there, nothing can be done.”
This was the first she had heard of it. Delving into Ulrich’s past, she had only learned that he had refused the throne and that his adopted son, Richard, had ascended. She never imagined there was such a story behind it.
“That is why my adopted son, Richard, had his coronation. The boy said he would take the Meyers’ place. And so, a boy without a single scrap of land to his name founded a dynasty.”
With that, Ulrich headed toward the outer castle gate.
#
Not long after passing through the outer gate, the three were met by a welcoming party. Someone recognized Fritz. Word was immediately sent to the lord’s manor, and vassals came out to greet them.
Their demeanor was similar to that of Mathias, the lord of Kir Castle. They showed more concern than relief at the sight of the young master they hadn’t seen in so long.
“We received no word of your arrival, young master…”
Fritz answered the butler’s question as if he had expected it.
“We’re just stopping by on our way to Eisleburg.”
“Ah… so you’re on your way to the royal wedding.”
The butler let out a sigh of relief. He must have been worried that the young master had been cast out of Dithmarschen. Fritz gave a bitter smile.
“And these are—”
Fritz then introduced Roberta. Seeing no need to hide her identity, she was wearing her priestess’s robes and made it clear she was a priestess of Ganymea.
“This is Armin Dithmarschen.”
Ulrich, however, was different. He introduced himself with an alias. Having received no prior warning, looks of momentary bewilderment crossed Roberta’s and Fritz’s faces. Was there a reason to use an alias when visiting as a mere guest?
No, more than that, the thought that someone might not know him occurred to her, and Roberta watched the butler’s reaction.
“Are you perhaps related to Duke Dithmarschen…?”
He didn’t know. He sounded as if the thought that his master’s own lord was standing before him had never crossed his mind. He simply wore a questioning look, trying to place the name Armin.
“Armin is Lord Ulrich’s adopted son.”
Fritz quickly added.
“Ah, I see.”
And just like that, any suspicion vanished at Fritz’s words.
Roberta narrowed her eyes at the reaction.
In this country, Osnover, there was no one who didn’t know of Duke Dithmarschen. Yet, strangely, very few people knew what he looked like. Not only Mathias, a vassal of the Meyer Count, but even the acting steward of the manor regarded him as a stranger.
Normally, nobles would have many encounters, even at a distance. This was even more true for a lord and his vassal. Even if Duke Dithmarschen never left his domain, vassals should have come to see him. And those vassals would have been accompanied by no small number of people, yet the only person who had recognized him so far was the chief of a small village called Luman.
“Lord Armin, welcome to Witten.”
He didn’t even question the alias. It was a fact she had learned only after Ulrich used an alias at Kir Castle, but Ulrich had many adopted sons. Besides King Richard of Osnover, several lords were his adopted sons. This, it seemed, was why the butler was even less suspicious.
“Is Father inside?”
The butler shook his head.
“He has gone hunting… He will likely be late.”
“Then please tell him this at once. If you tell him I have come with the elder’s adopted son, he will understand what it means.”
After agreeing, the butler moved to lead the party into the manor. But Ulrich stopped him, saying, “I would like to visit the crypt first.”
The butler, thinking he had misheard, asked again, then looked at Fritz with a bewildered expression. Who wouldn’t be dumbfounded when a guest they had never seen before asked to visit the cemetery first thing?
Fritz, however, was not surprised. He followed Ulrich’s words as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The three dismounted and descended to the crypt located beneath the inner castle.
#
The crypt was the family cemetery, located beneath the inner castle.
The three descended the stairs. Fritz led the way, holding a lamp. As they went down into the chilly underground, Roberta wondered.
‘Why visit the tomb first?’
She had never seen Ulrich visit a grave before.
She had only heard about it once, through the butler Bernhard. And that was just before they left on this journey, when he had visited Hilde’s grave.
“…”
The crypt was not a public cemetery.
Assuming it was a common graveyard, she had expected a vast space with many tombs, but it was a rectangular room about the size of a bedchamber, with only a single grave.
And in front of the grave stood a statue.
‘Hohenlohe Dithmarschen.’
That was the name carved on the statue.
Hohenlohe, the eldest of Hilde Dithmarschen’s adopted sons and the founder of the Meyer line, was sculpted as a young man. It was exquisitely crafted, as if by a master artisan.
“It’s well cared for.”
“Father tends to it himself. When he is absent, we do, and we don’t allow the servants to come here.”
Ulrich stood before the statue. The sculpture, with a gentle smile and its chin slightly raised, seemed to look up, its gaze meeting his perfectly. It was intentional. The one who commissioned it had known who would come to visit.
“Hohenlohe was the only one of Hilde’s children to leave the domain.”
He caressed the statue’s cheek.
“As death approached, he came here, built this tomb, and was buried.”
She cautiously asked why.
“He must have known I would seek him out.”
He added that Hohenlohe had wanted him to find him, and to see his descendants.
“He was a brilliant child. So brilliant it was a pity his circumstances were so poor, and that the focus of his talents had to be me and Hilde. The reason Hilde cherished him was not because he was the eldest.”
Ulrich revealed that the ones who had bound him to Dithmarschen were Hilde and Hohenlohe. Hilde had asked him to stay, and Hohenlohe had left behind children.
“Hohenlohe sought out a fallen branch of the Dithmarschen line and had his child marry into it. And from the children born of that union, he showed me the one who most resembled Hilde.”
That, he said, was the beginning of the Meyers.
It happened on the day Ulrich visited Hilde’s grave. Fifty-three years after her death, he had visited her tomb with Hohenlohe, and upon returning to the manor, he met the children.
“I berated him. Those children, Hohenlohe’s descendants, were not an end, but a means. Hadn’t he created children solely as a means to bind me?”
But Ulrich had forgiven Hohenlohe. The Meyer family line had continued to this day, after all. If he had not forgiven him, if he had rejected Hohenlohe’s children, would this family even exist?
“What could I do? I had known that child, Hohenlohe, for a long time, and he was the only other person who remembered Hilde. I intended to stay by his side, at least until he passed. And as always, even after I saw him off, the connection continued.”
And so it continued, and continued, and repeated, leading to this day.
“They are a bloodline created solely to uphold me. They inherited that disposition and were raised that way. The will to continue a lineage, even for just a few hundred years, is a powerful thing indeed.”
Just then, the sound of urgent footsteps echoed. Someone was descending the stone stairs. Roberta and Fritz looked toward the entrance. A lantern’s glow spread faintly from beyond the dark stairway, and a moment later, a man stood before them.
Roberta thought he resembled Fritz. It was only natural. He was Count Willem Meyer, the boy’s father. His face was flushed, and he was breathing heavily.
Ulrich was still looking down at Hohenlohe’s statue. With his back to the boy’s father, the direct descendant of Hohenlohe, he spoke.
“It’s been a long time, Willem.”