~Chapter 29~

Nikolai stood alone in an empty void. In that emptiness, only the Abyss existed.

He stepped closer and reached out. The Abyss flowed like water and wrapped around him.

[Darkness will rule the world.]

“Who is ‘Darkness’?” Nikolai asked urgently.
The god he served was fickle—appearing in dreams, saying a few words, then leaving. Nikolai had to get all the information he could.

[The one blessed with water’s healing, earth’s might, wind’s immortality, and fire’s grace.]

Larvihan!

[Beware of him. Do not be fooled by his wicked tongue. Darkness is always a step ahead of you.]

“Just one more answer, please—just one!”

Nikolai cried, but the Abyss around him slipped away into a deeper dark.

He snapped his eyes open, drenched in sweat, a deep crease in his brow. He stripped off his clinging clothes and went to the bath.

Under the cool stream, he reviewed the dream. His dreams were always clear.

The god he served had marked Larvihan as an enemy and kept whispering, Eliminate him. From the way the god described Larvihan, Nikolai felt fierce hatred—hardly the tone of a god of mercy and love.

“Ugh—”

A stabbing pain shot from his stigmata. He braced against the wall, panting. Gradually the pain ebbed. It always came without warning—

Whenever I think irreverent thoughts.

Nikolai took it as punishment from his god. The god was closer than people thought. He finished bathing with a prayer.

Since he had received a message, he would go see Lovelace.

“What can you do, Paolo?”

Larvihan asked the boy sitting up straight before him.

“A little Franzic, basic arithmetic, an introduction to Archides’ philosophy, beginner Old Tongue, beginner Divine Tongue…”

“Pathetic.”

Larvihan clicked his tongue.

“Forgive me, my lord, but for a seven-year-old, that’s quite advanced,” Maxmuel cut in.

“He’s not just any seven-year-old. He’s Lovelace’s brother.”

At Lovelace’s name, Paolo tensed.

“Maxmuel, bring the books.”

Muttering that this was too harsh for a child, Maxmuel still stacked the prepared books like a mountain.

“Ten volumes of Imperial History. Two of Philosophy. If you know Franzic, Amerique will be easy—master both while advancing Franzic. You can digest this in, say, three days?”

Paolo stared at the stack blocking his view and felt faint.
Read all that in three days? No, he said digest—so understand it too.

“It’s too much, Teacher Larvihan.”

“Do it anyway. With will that weak, how will you protect your sister?”

Sister.

That was Paolo’s sore spot. Not long after meeting Lovelace, he had heard of her hardships in the slums from Larvihan.

While he hid at a not-so-grand villa—still far better than the Count’s ruined life—under the butler’s care, Lovelace had lived on candy picked up off the ground.

“So listen to your sister,” Larvihan had added, after telling the tale.

And what had Paolo answered then?

“I’ll make Sister happy.”

Lost in thought, Paolo jolted at Larvihan’s voice.

“Can’t do it?”
He said it like Paolo’s failure was certain. Paolo met his eyes; the childlike gaze vanished, replaced by a defiant spark.

“I can do it.”

Larvihan’s lips curved. The Harmelda house matched him well. Paolo, who didn’t whine, pleased him a little.

“Drink cocoa while you work.”

“I won’t!”

The cute lie—Paolo still hadn’t fully dropped his guard—but Larvihan let it pass with a smile.

While Larvihan was “tormenting” Paolo with lessons, Lovelace interviewed Becky and Nora.

She asked the questions she and Larvihan had prepared the night before. Becky and Nora gave answers almost identical to Larvihan’s model solutions. Lovelace decided to hire them.

“Good work.”

Larvihan returned from teaching and handed her a cup.

“Oh!”

Lovelace brightened and took it.

“You know this drink?”

“Isn’t it coffee?”

She blew on it to cool it.

“How did you know? It’s hard to import—few taste it.”

“Do I look like ‘just anyone’?”

She wasn’t, but coffee was a luxury the Harmelda budget could barely afford. Larvihan didn’t pry into how she knew it.

“As long as it suits your taste.”

“It’s not delicious—but it’s good when you’re tired.”

He said growers drank coffee as medicine, not for flavor.

“It’s not undrinkable,” she said. The bitter, toasty taste ending in a little sourness wasn’t bad.

“Thank you, Larvihan.”

“For what?”

“For teaching Paolo.”

She lifted the cup with a smile—adorable enough to jab his conscience. Maxmuel had just told him, ‘Even a fifteen-year-old would struggle with that load.’

When I was young, I handled more, he thought. With himself as the standard, nothing seemed enough.

“Larvihan.”
“Mm?”
“I’m a little worried.”

He set the cup down and moved to stand before her.

“What worries you?”

“Is it all right for me to clean out vassals like Viscount Nerk however I want…?”

Vassals ran territorial affairs—and formed the house’s political power. She had cut them off and hired people from lesser families or commoners instead.

She’d purged the corrupt, but if politics got rough, the Harmelda house had also lost a supporting bloc.

“You didn’t purge everyone. Other houses remain.”

True.

Among the influential, she kept good relations with those who hadn’t caused problems. Fearing they might feel threatened, she even sent letters explaining her reasons and small gifts.

“What are you afraid of?”

Lovelace spoke honestly about her fear.

Larvihan always seemed to know everything—and he usually did.

“If that’s the problem, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m on your side. I’m a Duke of the Empire—someone even the Emperor can’t push around.”

“That’s… oddly comforting.”

“You don’t understand at all, do you?”

She didn’t. Or rather—she didn’t believe. There was no guarantee Larvihan would treat her well forever. One day, after reaching his goal, he might leave.

Bitter thought.

Her face dimmed—and so did his.

She doesn’t trust me? His pride pricked.

“Want me to show you, Rey?”

“Show me… what?”

“How great your future husband is.”

Self-praise wasn’t his style, but if she wouldn’t believe otherwise—

“How will you show me?”

“Open the lawbook on your desk. Read any article.”

Suspicious, she did as told.

“Criminal Code, Article 22: Punishment for theft is as follows. When a noble harms a noble, he repays with an equivalent item. When a commoner harms a noble, he repays double and serves three years of labor…”

That’s wrong. Her brows drew together. Larvihan snapped his fingers.

“Let’s change it. Even if a commoner harms a noble, repayment is equal—no double—and no forced labor. How about proposing the amendment under Count Harmelda’s name?”

“The nobles will explode.”

That was how class society worked: nobles thought their privileges were natural rights. Touch those, and shockwaves followed.

“I said I’d show you my power, Rey. Try it.”

His confident smile woke her competitive streak—and she disliked the current law anyway.

“Confident? Let’s bet.”

“All right. I’ll grant a wish.”

Surely even Larvihan couldn’t easily change a law all nobles would oppose.

She had already forgotten he had just changed the law about married women’s names and titles.

“How about it? If you’re not confident, give up.”

“Fine. Grant a wish.”

She agreed at once.

“Rest up, Rey. We’ll need to fit your wedding dress soon.”

Larvihan laughed, waved, and disappeared.

So confident it spills out of him.

She smiled at his retreating back. It was confidence born of skill—but sometimes it felt like cute bluster.

Cute? Larvihan?

Even after reading the original novel, to think that… I must be losing it.

She pushed away the stray thought and bent to work—when it happened.