Chapter 32
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: The Meyer Clan
-----------------------------------------------------------------
A summer breeze stirred over the castle walls, where the shadows of night had deepened. Roberta shivered as if she’d mistaken it for a winter wind. Her eyes trembled even more.
As the orange glow of a torch illuminated her face, it revealed an expression of bewilderment. And her slightly parted lips swallowed a breath.
She mulled over Ulrich’s words. The Pantheon? Cormillius? They tried to hand the throne of Osnover to Ulrich?
*The Pantheon, in a civil war?*
The backdrop of this affair—what was the Osnover Civil War?
It was a civil war that had lasted for thirty-two years. When the crown prince died of an illness, a squabble over the succession erupted among his siblings, which soon spiraled into a war engulfing all the people of Osnover.
The result of the struggle, which washed blood with blood, was the annihilation of the direct royal line and the end of many powerful noble houses. The most fertile land in the country, the western breadbasket, became the poorest region.
The war had continued until just five years ago. It had lasted until four years before Roberta was assigned to Dithmarschen, and it was Ulrich who had brought it to an end. He had quelled the civil war, bringing peace.
*Why is the story unfolding like this?*
But the story was strange.
It was so different from the conclusion she had known.
At first, she’d been told that Ulrich had passed the throne to his adopted son. After pacifying the civil war, he did not ascend the throne himself but instead installed his heir as king. This was the history known as common sense to all in the country, and she too had believed it.
But just a day ago, the first secret had been introduced. Ulrich had revealed that he had first offered the throne to Count Willem Meyer, but because he had refused, his adopted son, Richard, had received it instead.
And now another secret was layered over the story. The Pantheon had tempted and deceived Willem into refusing the throne, all so that the crown of Osnover would fall to Ulrich.
“Don’t tell me… the Pantheon started the civil war?”
“The beginning had nothing to do with them. It was a problem unique to this country.”
Ulrich shook his head.
“The Pantheon extended its hand midway through, orchestrating events to its liking.”
“...To place you on the throne, Lord Ulrich.”
“Yes, they pruned away anyone who might receive the throne other than me. Then they guided the remaining candidates into one place to be dealt with all at once.”
How had the civil war ended again?
In its thirty-second and final year, a neighboring country had intervened. They had put forth a man, barely worthy of being called an Osnover royal, as their puppet and backed him with an army of mercenaries.
The puppet conquered Osnover. The nation, with no strength left to fight after the long war, surrendered. The coronation was just around the corner. No one doubted it.
But the puppet had then turned his horse toward the poorest land in Osnover, or perhaps the world, and was defeated.
*They said no one knew why he attacked Dithmarschen. If the Pantheon had intervened and was controlling the puppet... that would explain it.*
The puppet had Osnover in his grasp, and no one else could claim the throne. The one who defeated him would naturally inherit his position.
“I knew the Pantheon harbored such intentions. Someone confessed it to me, though a bit late. For though the Pantheon has one name, it holds many minds within it.”
Like Alonso, Ulrich muttered as if to himself.
“So I conveyed my intentions early on and tried to stop them, but.”
He didn't finish the sentence. There was no need. The result spoke for itself. The Pantheon, or the Cormillius family, had ignored him. They had pursued their goal, regardless of Ulrich’s wishes.
What should Ulrich have done in such a situation?
Roberta guessed he wouldn't have just watched idly, but she also guessed he couldn't have intervened openly. To step forward to stop the conspiracy would be to play right into the Pantheon's hands, would it not?
“The civil war grew beyond control. The Pantheon refused to yield, and its influence took deep root. I had to make a choice. To abandon my name and leave, or to bear my name and stay.”
Ulrich, he stayed. He revealed his name as the master of Dithmarschen. The master of a backwater, dismissed by wagging tongues as merely an old man who had lived for centuries, had brought the civil war to an end.
At that moment, the people of Osnover must have wished for him to sit on the throne. Thirty-two years of civil war—the time it takes for a child to become an adult. There must have been countless people who had grown up never knowing peace.
“The Pantheon gave me no room to breathe. They offered me the crown as if they had been waiting. They already knew the outcome, so they had the dwarves craft it in advance. And it was a replica of the one worn by the Emperor.”
Roberta gasped.
The Emperor’s Crown referred both to the one worn by the current emperor and the one worn by the very first emperor. Though made at different times, both had the same form. They were made identically to signify continuity, even when dynasties changed.
Since the rise of the Third Empire, the Yocester dynasty, the Emperor's Crown had been bestowed by the Pope. A candidate for emperor had to visit the Pantheon, kneel before the Pope, and receive the crown while reaffirming the Pope's authority.
“That means—”
The Pantheon had offered Ulrich a crown modeled after the Emperor's Crown. What could that mean? Though it was not publicly declared, and the true Emperor's Crown was with the Emperor of the Empire, the meaning was clear.
“That’s right. It’s exactly as you suspect.”
“But… you refused, didn’t you?”
“I sent it to Willem.”
Ulrich stated it calmly, as if it were nothing.
“I have taught many children in Dithmarschen. Every one of them is a fine child. Willem was the best among them. He was qualified to wear the crown in my stead. But he was bewitched by a fleeting temptation.”
Willem had wanted his master to sit not on the cold stone floor of a remote region, but on a golden throne, Ulrich said.
“Willem wasn't the only one bewitched. It was faster to count the children who weren't. And among them was Richard.”
And so, his adopted son Richard founded the new dynasty of Osnover.
Richard of Dithmarschen ascended the throne with nothing to his name. Besides his adoptive father’s surname, he truly had nothing, so Ulrich personally melted down the Emperor’s Crown to forge a new one for him and took various measures to ensure the Hilderson Clan would support him.
“Willem's reluctance to attend the wedding may be partly because he doesn't get along with Richard. But it seems he's feeling a regret greater than that.”
What would come to mind when he saw his adopted brother wearing the crown his master had made? Would he not be reminded that the crown, which should have been his, had gone to another, and that it was his own fault?
“Yes. The Count seemed deeply disheartened.”
“Even at his age, Willem has a childish side to him.”
Ulrich shook his head, looking troubled.
“Were you also greatly disappointed, Lord Ulrich?”
“It would be a lie to say it didn't affect me at all. But that's all it was.”
“You’re so composed. I think I would have been quite angry.”
“I performed Willem’s Infant Sacrament myself. His father was just as stubborn.”
He made a gesture as if holding a baby in his arms.
As he told it, Willem’s father had rushed to Dithmarschen with his son, who had just turned one and whose body was ready to contain mana. And he had asked Ulrich to perform the Infant Sacrament.
“He hovered around me more than his own father did. Like all the children I’ve taught, though we share no blood, he is like a son to me. If only his temperament were a little more relaxed, Willem would be by my side, and his older brother, Bernhard, would have inherited the title of Count Meyer.”
How could he be angry at such a child, he said.
“Besides, this isn't the first time I've experienced something like this.”
That was likely true. He was a man who had used many names over a long time. He must have encountered all sorts of people—those who clung to him, those who tried to pull him to greater heights.
“It’s not surprising. To me, it’s a trivial matter that doesn’t even require forgiveness.”
“Still, perhaps you should tell him that for certain?”
Instead of answering, Ulrich looked at Roberta.
“Because I don't think the Count sees it that way. If you truly feel it’s no big deal, you shouldn't just let it pass as if it’s not a problem. It would be better to say a word or two.”
Roberta brought up how Ulrich had spoken to Willem earlier, saying something along the lines of, *You know me, don't you?* Her point was that even if the other person knows your inner thoughts, receiving forgiveness through words is entirely different from simply guessing.
“I had forgotten. Yes, you are right.”
At that, Ulrich fell into thought for a moment, stroking his chin.
“Hilde said something similar. That I was cold. It was a joke, of course, but not entirely wrong. When I assess others by my own standards, I tend to miss the most basic things.”
He tapped his temple with his index finger.
“Thank you for the advice.”
Hearing that, Roberta flinched.
“Ah, yes… I’m glad if I was of help.”
Though his expression and tone hadn’t changed in the slightest, she hadn’t expected to hear such words, so she was quite surprised. She gave an awkward smile and cleared her throat.
Afterward, the two walked along the castle wall. Ulrich admired the night view of the city of Witten, talking about how it used to be and how it was now, before heading down the stairs.
“…”
Roberta remained on the wall. She looked down at Ulrich's back, thinking about the conversation they had just had.
“The Emperor’s Crown, he said.”
The Pantheon had offered Ulrich the Emperor’s Crown.
Because he had refused and melted the crown, very few people knew the truth. But just because the truth was hidden did not make it a lie.
Giving Ulrich the Emperor’s Crown meant more than just making him an emperor. His surname was not Yocester of the Third Empire. As Ulrich of Dithmarschen, if he took the throne, the dynasty would change.
Furthermore, a change in dynasty also meant the end of an era.
“What on earth were they thinking…”
Why had they done it? She couldn’t even begin to guess.
This was an entirely different matter from dethroning an unsatisfactory emperor. Not even the Pantheon could overturn the Empire. If it could, the Pantheon would have become the Empire itself.
Above all, a change of era was always accompanied by circumstances that made it inevitable. The ends of the First and Second Empires were unwanted demises. No one had tried to bring down the Empire. They had simply risen after the Empire had fallen.
The Pantheon knew this. And yet, they had tried. Why? What had driven them to make such a bold choice? Perhaps the reason the Emperor was at odds with the Pantheon was because he, too, knew this secret.
“…I should send a letter to Lord Alonso.”
Bishop Alonso, the man she regarded as a father and a high priest of the Pantheon, might know the answer to her questions. However, she wasn’t sure if he would willingly tell her.
Roberta let out a long sigh, feeling a headache from the unresolved mystery. She looked out at the night view beyond the wall. The city, built by the child of a man who might have become an emperor, was brilliantly bright.
#
“We will follow as quickly as possible.”
Early in the morning, Count Willem Meyer came to the front of the manor to see them off. Ulrich, Roberta, and Fritz sat atop their saddles, receiving his farewells.
He had wanted to escort them farther, but Ulrich had refused. He was concealing himself under the name Armin, but Willem’s presence would render that meaningless. After the previous night’s banquet, some were already whispering about Ulrich’s true identity.
“Be prepared for any contingency.”
“Do you think things will escalate significantly?”
“As I said, we will only know once we get there. I could be wrong.”
But it never hurts to be careful, Ulrich added.
“I understand.”
Ulrich pulled on the reins, turning his horse.
“Willem.”
“Yes, Lord Ulrich.”
“There is no need to worry.”
Willem looked up at Ulrich in silence.
“A name is just a name. Even if I lay down the name ‘Ulrich,’ I will not disappear. Nor will I change. You know this, do you not? Unlike the celestial beings, I do not depart for a place where you cannot find me.”
“…”
“The world is wide, yet it is small. As long as we live on this land, our connections are not so easily severed. Did Yudebora not find me in the end? Recall once more how I treated her children, and how her children treat me.”
And with that, the three of them departed. Willem watched their backs as they passed through the inner gate. He remained in place long after they were out of sight. After a long, long while, he reached into his coat and took out a tobacco leaf.
It was a gift from Kuiania, a deep forest in the far, far east. Ulrich hadn't said it, but Willem knew the meaning contained in the gift. It was a memory.
Just as Hilde had left the name and land of Dithmarschen to ensure Ulrich would not forget her, this connection from a distant land had sent a catalyst to awaken memory.
Because memory is what suddenly asserts the past, as vividly as if you were placed in that very moment, even when you try to recall it and fail, even when you’ve forgotten so much you can’t even try to remember.
And so, they beseech the eternal one.
Just as we remember you, please remember us as well.