Chapter 30
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 30
Chapter Title: The Meyer Clan
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Willem Meyer.
He was the younger brother of Bernhard, Dithmarschen's steward, the father of the attendant Fritz, and the head of the House of Count Meyer. And he was a descendant of Hohenlohe, Hilde's adopted son.
A hint of Fritz could be seen in his features. He looked as Fritz might at forty, his brown hair sparsely streaked with gray, with wrinkles etched around his forehead and mouth.
He trembled as he looked at Ulrich.
“Lord Ulrich...”
His voice trembled as well. His light-brown skin, already tinged red by the lamplight, flushed a deep crimson as blood rushed to his face in his excitement.
He was also breathing heavily. He must have returned in a hurry. He had likely gone to the hunting grounds at his leisure, only to hear that his fourth son had returned. And he would have also heard of the young man accompanying him—the adopted son of Dithmarschen.
At that moment, Willem must have known by instinct. Otherwise, there would have been no reason for him to come in such a rush. Was he not the man who had gone hunting instead of attending the Osnover royal wedding?
The name Ulrich used on the surface, Armin, the adopted son of the Duke of Dithmarschen, held no value. King Richard of Osnover was also the Duke's adopted son. Would he, who had not attended for Richard, change his attitude because another adopted son had come to visit?
Willem had figured it out. When he heard that his son, who served the lord, had returned with an adopted son he'd never heard of, he knew that adopted son was Ulrich.
“I heard you went hunting. You've returned early.”
“Yes... I thought Lord Ulrich had come.”
Ulrich did not turn around. Looking down at the statue of Hohenlohe, he greeted Hohenlohe's direct descendant with his back still turned.
“I knew you would come one day. And yet, this unworthy and foolish one is sorry to receive you without having made any preparations, Lord Ulrich.”
After watching him for a moment, Willem prostrated himself. He knelt and touched his forehead to the stone floor of the crypt. The man reputed to be the wealthiest in the nation humbled himself without a hint of reluctance.
“Rise. Your actions are excessive.”
“No. How could anything I offer you be excessive?”
The sound of a long, drawn-out sigh echoed in the crypt. It was a small sound, but it resonated softly in the quiet space. And the sigh had come from Ulrich. He turned and approached Willem.
“Willem, have I not always told you? Excess is worse than insufficiency, and that is why Bernhard, not you, remained by my side. Have you already forgotten?”
Willem's shoulders trembled.
“My apologies.”
“If you truly think so, then stand and look at me properly.”
Ulrich watched Willem rise hesitantly, then embraced him.
“It is good to see you looking healthy.”
“I am not what I used to be. I already fear the passing of each day.”
“That cannot be helped. It is something all who live must experience.”
“But that is not the case for you, is it?”
Willem smiled, saying that nothing had changed at all.
“You have changed your name. Are you still trying to hide yourself?”
“I always have. How many times have I revealed myself to anyone but you and yours? I have used 'Ulrich' for too long, and it has become too well-known. You know I do not wish for that.”
“Of course I know. You raised me, after all.”
Afterward, Willem was introduced to Roberta and paid his respects at Hohenlohe's tomb. Though he likely visited daily to honor his ancestor, according to Fritz, he was still solemn.
“Lord Ulrich, has my child disappointed you in any way?”
A stern gaze fell upon Fritz. The boy flinched. Ulrich placed a hand on the boy's head, stroking it. “Not at all. Your child is doing his part well,” he said with a gentle smile.
“That is a relief. He only ever shows his shortcomings in front of me... I was very worried when I sent him to Dithmarschen. When I heard he had returned, my first fear was that he had been cast out.”
“You are this child's father, yet your eye for people is worse than mine.”
“Who could be a better judge of character than you, Lord Ulrich?”
Willem shook his head with a smile.
“But why did you leave your domain? I heard it was to attend the wedding of that fellow Richard's daughter, but is that true?”
“That is the plan.”
His reaction showed he did not believe Ulrich's answer. The look in his eyes changed slightly.
“It seems there is a problem I am not aware of.”
“I am not certain. But it requires my personal confirmation.”
“And there are no other reasons?”
That was all? Willem asked.
“...”
Ulrich did not answer.
The conversation died, and silence pressed down on the crypt. Willem glanced at his son again. Fritz flinched again, but this time, he also averted his gaze. It was unmistakably the reaction of someone hiding something.
The boy's father, as if struck by a sudden realization, widened the eyes that had been glaring at his son. His fingertips trembled. Then he spoke cautiously.
“You intend to leave.”
He asked with a tone full of conviction.
“Are you going to discard your current name?”
“I have not decided. I may yet return.”
“You are not denying it.”
The question was sharp, but his expression was soft.
“Why? Is it because I have disappointed you?”
Ulrich shook his head.
“Or is it because I have shown you my failings? Because I did not follow your will? Did my refusal of the Osnover throne, which you offered me, bring about your anger?”
“You know that is not the case.”
“Then why... why do you intend to leave so suddenly?”
“I told you the reason long ago. You have already heard it.”
A calm gaze met an agitated one.
Willem, who was about to continue with a "But," closed his mouth again. Soon, his head dropped listlessly.
His expression clearly showed his inability to accept it, but he asked no more.
“...This will be the last time I serve you, then.”
Not necessarily, Ulrich said, but Willem, as if he hadn't heard, asked how long he would be staying. And Ulrich, as always, replied, “One day.”
#
Willem immediately left the crypt with the three of them.
And he summoned his servants and held a banquet. For just three people, he had several livestock slaughtered, summoned musicians and jesters, and brought out wine that was not taken out even on special occasions.
The sudden order bewildered the servants, including the steward, but when the Count seated Ulrich in the seat of honor and attended to him personally, it ceased to be an issue.
“My Lord Count, we should be the ones to serve Lord Armin...”
The steward cautiously tried to dissuade him.
But the Count grew angry. He stated firmly that he would personally attend to the young man named Armin. The steward retreated, his face stiffening.
It was a natural reaction. Everyone in the banquet hall, except for the three—Willem, Fritz, and Roberta—did not know Armin's true identity. Who would dare to think that young man was Duke Ulrich?
No one could imagine that an old man who had lived for over three hundred years would be before them with the appearance of a twenty-year-old. It was said that when the Meyer family visited Dithmarschen, only close relatives accompanied them. Very few people outside of Dithmarschen had heard his name or seen his face.
Thus, the reaction of the servants, including the steward, was one of utter bewilderment and doubt: 'The Count is waiting on him personally? On an adopted son whose name we've never heard? The same Count who ignores His Highness Richard, who is also an adopted son?'
It was a question that would remain unsolved unless Armin's identity as Ulrich was revealed.
‘He doesn't care about his dignity at all.’
Roberta observed the scene and clicked her tongue inwardly.
‘He's only hiding his name. He's practically shouting to everyone that he's someone important.’
She watched Ulrich as she tilted her glass.
He was calm, as always. He accepted and drank the cup Willem offered, ate the food Willem served, and watched the play performed by the jesters Willem had summoned. He occasionally humored Willem and even smiled.
To a complete stranger, he would appear to be politely enjoying the banquet. However, Roberta thought Ulrich was not particularly pleased with this treatment. If he were someone who desired such treatment or position, he would have taken the throne long ago.
“It's a good thing only my father is here right now.”
Fritz said from beside her, cutting his meat.
“A good thing? What do you mean?”
“My older brothers and sister are the same. When the whole family gathers... it's like having four fathers.”
Roberta, turning her gaze back to Willem, imagined a situation with four of him and let out a groan.
“That would be overwhelming.”
“Yes, very. Very overwhelming.”
Though they themselves have no idea, the boy muttered to himself.
“In the past, we used to visit Lord Ulrich whenever the weather warmed up. We even stayed for a whole year once. We pretty much... lived like his attendants. Then my father had a huge fight with Lord Bernhard, and Lord Ulrich, unable to watch any longer, barred him from entering.”
“...Barred him from entering? You mean he wasn't allowed in the domain?”
That kind old man?
Roberta scoffed in disbelief.
“I think it's too much.”
“That the lord barred him from entering?”
“No. The way my father treats Lo— I mean, Lord Armin.”
Fritz was about to put the meat in his mouth, but sighed heavily and set it down.
“He said it earlier, didn't he? That excess is worse than insufficiency. Isn't what my father is doing right now a perfect example of that?”
It probably is, Roberta replied.
She had witnessed a similar situation during her time as an apprentice priest.
A poor son supported his ailing, elderly mother with the wages he earned from the temple, and he even cut back on his own meager portions to provide for her. The mother, being blind, did not know this at first, but when she later found out, she became furious.
When she told this story to Bishop Alonso, he said this:
- A heart that wishes to provide for another is not always a good thing. You must also consider the feelings of the one receiving. If a child starves to give their portion to their mother, or a mother starves to feed her child, do you think the other party would be simply happy?
Of course, the Meyers were wealthy. They could hold countless banquets without making a dent in their fortune. And yet, she thought, Ulrich would not like it.
Because Willem's attitude toward Ulrich resembled that of someone who serves their parents or raises their child without a single thought for themselves. The Count showed blind affection and loyalty, but would Ulrich appreciate it?
She studied Fritz's expression.
The boy's face showed a faint hint of discomfort. Like her, he must also feel that his father's attitude was excessive. Even the son who followed Ulrich so devotedly saw his father in that light.
“Earlier... Lord Armin mentioned it, didn't he? That Lord Bernhard remained by his side, not my father. My father was sent to Lord Ulrich several years before Lord Bernhard was.”
The reason, naturally, was for him to become a steward, just like Bernhard and Fritz. And just as naturally, Willem became a Count, not a steward.
“My father thinks Lord Bernhard used some sort of trick, but that can't be true. If anything, if Lord Bernhard hadn't renounced his title, someone else from the clan would have been chosen. Then we wouldn't have been able to face our ancestor.”
“That must put you in an awkward position.”
“Ah, yes...”
Fritz gave an awkward smile.
“It's alright. I've seen it my whole life. The future is the bigger problem.”
Roberta understood his meaning and nodded.
‘I thought his reason for leaving the domain wasn't just the wedding.’
A short while after returning from the ice peninsula, Ulrich had said it. That he would be leaving soon, that he would not remain as Ulrich of Dithmarschen forever. At the time, she had felt that day was not far off.
But now that day had come, and she found herself accompanying Ulrich on what could be his final journey. Perhaps she was overreacting. Hadn't Ulrich said it? That he hadn't decided.
“Right. The future is the problem.”
Although she had countless unanswered questions about that strange lord, she set them aside and looked at Willem. The forty-year-old head of the house was waiting on a young man who looked much younger.
There was not a shred of dignity in his actions. Like a child begging for an adult's attention, he chattered endlessly, refilled the cup before it was empty, and stayed by his side as if ready to offer everything he had.
- Having lived so long, don't you grow attached to people?
She recalled the question she had asked on a day that had just welcomed summer. What had he answered then? That's right. He had answered that of course he grew attached. He had expressed his feelings by comparing it to a dog named Iba and its descendants.
At this moment, recalling that conversation, she thought.
If that was the master's heart, what about Iba's descendants?
What must be the heart of a bloodline that has served one person for hundreds of years?