Chapter 23
Ironically, it was a priest of the Old Church who officiated Randolph’s funeral mass.
“You laid the sinner to rest, and he found peace in a tranquil place.”
A fair number of people gathered at the Old Church cathedral.
Randolph’s family and relatives.
The guards who had favored him.
His friends.
On top of that, there were the Count, Jonas, the Steward, and their escorts—altogether more than forty people gathered in the chapel.
Randolph lay in his coffin, dressed in the chainmail and surcoat he wore in life, a sword across his chest.
All traces of blood had been cleaned away.
Thanks to preservation magic, his body had not decayed much.
He looked rather comfortable in the coffin.
“A noble of the Empire almost ran over my son with his carriage. Everyone around us was trembling, but it was Sir Randolph who saved him.”
Everyone who spoke of the deceased looked sorrowful.
“He must have been deeply respected.”
“Ralph was that kind of man.”
Carlson responded to Isaac’s comment.
Carlson’s face showed neither grief nor emotion.
“You should go up and say a few words. At least tell them how Sir Randolph died.”
“Death is just death. No matter how grandly you describe it, it’s still death. I’ll take my leave now.”
Carlson wiped his dry face and left the chapel.
Randolph was buried in the cemetery of the Old Church.
A place where only clergy or knights were laid to rest.
It had a proper gravestone, too.
Shovel after shovel.
As Isaac watched the coffin being buried in the earth, he turned to look at Randolph’s family.
He saw a woman hugging two young siblings.
The children were crying, but the woman’s face was expressionless.
It seemed she still hadn’t come to terms with the reality.
‘What could she be thinking right now?’
Isaac wondered.
Even though there had been no mana explosion, someone around him had died unintentionally.
If she learned that her husband died because of Isaac’s plan, would she feel anger? Would she curse him?
What if he had predicted the bishop would arrive with the holy knights?
What if he had prepared for that?
Could Randolph have survived?
Was Randolph one of the people Isaac was meant to protect?
Or was he a pawn to be sacrificed for the sake of those he had to protect?
For some reason, the sunlight today pierced Isaac’s eyelids more sharply than usual.
He wanted to collapse and fall asleep that very moment.
But the sunlight shone down, as if demanding him to bear this death and the ones yet to come.
It seemed to tell him not to sleep or seek rest but to keep his eyes wide open.
That guilt, that gloom.
Isaac knew it was what they called a wizard’s melancholy.
An exhaustion that came from drawing too much mana to overwhelm the bishop, affecting his mind as well.
He knew it, but there was no way to lift his heavy heart.
“Brother, can I ask you something?”
Jonas had come over to Isaac from the Count’s side at some point and asked.
“What is it?”
Isaac replied with a cracked voice.
“What is death like?”
Jonas, only nine years old, asked with eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“Well, that’s…”
Isaac started to answer but closed his mouth.
Then, he gently placed his hand on Jonas’s head.
“It’s like sleeping for a long time. A sleep no one can wake you from.”
“No one can wake you?”
“Yeah.”
“So, that’s why they bury people like that—to keep them from being disturbed.”
“Yeah.”
Jonas nodded as if he understood.
“Then, don’t die, okay?”
“Huh?”
“It’s okay if you don’t play with me, but I don’t want you to fall asleep forever.”
“…Alright. I won’t die.”
Isaac stroked Jonas’s head.
Then, with squinting eyes, he looked up at the dazzling sky.
Since the moment he killed Nias.
No—since the moment he killed the deserters in his past life.
He had already started down this path.
To protect his family and his house.
To repay the emotional debts he owed.
To dirty his hands.
To give up peace.
It was the path he had already begun to walk.
Suddenly, Isaac felt a small hand grasping his left hand.
It was Jonas’s hand.
Randolph’s wife and children had started sobbing quietly.
Seeing that, Jonas had instinctively grabbed Isaac’s hand.
“I wish no one had to die.”
Jonas murmured.
Isaac looked down at Jonas’s hand holding his own.
His right hand.
The same hand he had once caused Jonas to lose in a mana explosion.
It was the hand he feared to take again, afraid of seeing Jonas cry as he had before.
Softly—
Isaac let go of Jonas’s hand.
“Brother?”
“I’ve got something to do.”
He couldn’t afford to be swallowed up by a wizard’s melancholy.
As he wandered around the graveyard, Isaac pondered his next move.
He had to.
He couldn’t allow himself the luxury of being weak.
His aimless steps came to a halt at the rear gate of the cemetery.
Carlson was standing there.
“Did you follow me?”
“I just ended up here.”
At the rear gate stood a massive stone monument, inscribed densely with names in the common language.
“Do you recognize any of these names?”
“They’re the names of those whose bodies couldn’t be recovered from Winterband. The monument was erected by the order of the Supreme Commander—His Excellency. Though honestly, the real number is far higher.”
Isaac looked over the names on the monument without replying.
There wasn’t a single familiar name.
They were all people who had disappeared into the back alleys of Winterband’s history.
“They could have been saved.”
Flap—
As birds suddenly took flight, Carlson spoke.
“Ralph could’ve lived. If I had done my best.”
“You’re saying you didn’t do your best?”
“Until I kill that man, I must remain just an ordinary soldier. With terrifying skill and terrifying fame comes terrifying consequences.”
Much was left unsaid, but Isaac understood immediately.
It meant that until his revenge was complete, he had to stay hidden.
“The paladins the bishop brought were highly skilled.
In a situation where even one of them might escape, I had no choice but to remain as Carlson, not Kyle.”
“If you had done your best, you could have saved Randolph and killed all the paladins.”
“That lies in the realm of possibility. And…”
Carlson trailed off, a complicated expression on his face.
“You didn’t trust Randolph either.”
“It’s not that I didn’t trust him. It’s just that what I have to do going forward was more important.”
It meant that revenge was more important than his comrade’s life.
Isaac couldn’t criticize Carlson for that. Because he, too, had accepted the sacrifice of others for his goals.
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“To let you know in advance.”
“Know what?”
“If, by any chance, you end up in a similar situation, I will act the same.”
“You’re telling me not to expect anything of you, even knowing your background, purpose, and abilities.”
“Exactly.”
Carlson nodded heavily.
“Even if I’m someone helping with your revenge?”
“Yes. The day I reveal everything about myself will only come once.”
That day would be the day he acts not as Carlson, but as Kyle, and carries out his revenge.
“I see. You and I both… we’re not people who deserve to witness Randolph’s funeral until the end.”
“……”
Isaac and Carlson silently stared at the monument until the sun dipped below the horizon.
There was still plenty of space left on that large stone to engrave more names.
***
“You seem to be hiding a lot.”
Only Isaac and the Count were inside the carriage.
The Steward rode ahead on horseback with Jonas and the guards.
Isaac didn’t answer immediately to the Count’s offhanded remark while gazing out the carriage window.
The Count had already heard the general account through the Old Church’s priest.
Everything had happened just as Isaac had told him.
But the Count didn’t feel at ease.
“I had no idea the rituals of cultists were so cruel. I’d heard of paladins, but didn’t know there were thirteen of them.
I didn’t know the bishop was creating cultists and doing such vile things. I didn’t know he was hated by the Vatican.
And I certainly didn’t think the deacon was involved. There’s so much you knew… and I didn’t.”
“……”
“What happened? Until I went to the fortress, you were just a child suffering from a strange constitution. Now, you are…”
The Count paused before speaking again.
“I can’t understand what you’re thinking.”
“I’m only trying to protect our house.”
A short silence followed Isaac’s answer.
Only the sound of wheels scraping the ground, horses’ hooves ahead, and wind slipping through the window filled the space.
“Schiller once said something.”
The Count spoke again. The red hue of the sunset through the window lit his face.
“To other lords, family is no different from private property. It can be called upon at any time, replaced, and used as a means. But I can’t do that.”
“……”
“That’s the reason why Goethe can’t develop further, and also why Winterband never falls. I married Adele at fourteen. A wild girl who didn’t speak the same language, who didn’t share culture, customs, or even ways of thinking. We had a hellish time together. Because we were tools to stop a war.”
Isaac looked at the Count.
The Count still gazed out the window, at the ridgeline where the sun was sinking.
“Back then, Adele and I made a promise. That our children would never become tools for the family. I still don’t fully understand what life is, but we agreed to help our children live their own lives.”
The Count sighed.
“I thought I’d tell you this story years from now…You’ve grown up too quickly.”
Isaac didn’t know what to say.
The last memory of his father from his previous life.
Limping toward him with a bundle and scissors to cut his hair.
Until the aged man’s back faded away. He couldn’t say a word.
Even after reading so many books, he couldn’t find a single word to speak. And even now, it was the same.
‘Was he always this talkative?’
Isaac felt slightly confused at seeing this new side of the Count. He wasn’t the type to say or do anything carelessly.
Was it Randolph’s funeral that moved him? Or was it simply the melancholy of a fading sunset?
To Isaac, this version of his father felt unfamiliar.
“I’m not saying this to make you frown like that.”
The Count furrowed his brows and placed his heavy hand on Isaac’s head.
A thick, weighty hand.
“It means…You can remain a child a little longer. It means…
You’re allowed to act spoiled. It means… You don’t yet have to burden your brilliant mind with the family’s troubles. Do you understand?”
A father not even halfway through his own life, already full of worry.
Isaac wanted to say something.
But what had risen to his throat remained undefined.
Decades of unspoken emotion that couldn’t be expressed in just a few words.
And so, what came out of Isaac’s mouth was extremely simple and concise…
“Yes.”
That was all.
“Good.”
The Count ruffled Isaac’s hair.
At that moment, the low sun’s dim light brushed directly over Isaac’s eyes.
Squinting at the brightness, he saw a faint smile cross the Count’s face.
A bitter, yet somehow warm smile.
Perhaps it was just his imagination. Because when the red light passed and Isaac’s vision returned to normal, the Count’s expression had returned to its usual blankness.
But the pale, icy blue gloom that had consumed Isaac— Melted into the setting sun. Melted into a fire even greater.
‘I’ll be busy from now on, Father.’
Isaac smiled as he looked out the window in the same direction as the Count.
