novelraw Chapter 173 : Chapter 173
Chapter 173 : Chapter 173
Chapter 173: Succession (5)
Demian Fernando von Farenheit was a monster.
Or a freak. Or perhaps a crybaby. At least until his childhood. Monster, freak, crybaby. It was enough to call him by one of the three words as an excuse. Even if he was the heir who would inherit a prestigious family of swordsmanship, those words held no meaning for children barely ten years old. Except for young Ernst von Tresckow.
"Hey, Demian."
Perhaps that was why.
Ernst could not forget.
The day he first spoke with Demian, who was a monster, a freak, a crybaby, or the heir of the Farenheit family.
"What are you doing?"
Demian was standing in the middle of the training grounds.
It was a time when he was learning swordsmanship with children from a small number of noble families, before entering CIAR.
"Just standing."
Demian said while turning to face Ernst.
It was true. Demian was standing still.
"I fought……"
Like a monster,
After beating down the group that had picked a fight with him,
"I used my sword……"
Like a freak,
While gripping a wooden sword with an iron core embedded in it,
"Right now I feel like crying a bit."
Like a crybaby,
He was merely tearing up.
"So why are you about to cry?"
Ernst interrogated in a dry tone.
He had been observing the situation from a distance. A group among his fellow students who had been jealous of Demian's skills had tried to intimidate him, and Demian had merely defended himself legitimately. There was no reason whatsoever to be sad.
"I……"
Demian's gaze tilted downward.
He seemed to be looking over the children who had fallen around him. Every one of them was covered in dirt and groaning. Not a single one had managed to land an effective blow on Demian.
- Ugh……, damn bastard! This is cheating.
- How is that thing supposed to be our age?
- This makes no sense. Five of us ganged up on him and still……
Demian closed his eyes tightly.
"They look like they are in pain."
Then he muttered.
"These children look like they are in pain. That is why I am sad."
"That is absurd."
Ernst shrugged his shoulders.
Was that fellow really the heir of the Farenheit family?
Of course it hurts. He must have struck them with not just a simple wooden sword but one with an iron core embedded in it. Something about the wooden sword being too light so he modified it to match the weight. No matter how he thought about it, that fellow was not normal. In the first place, since he was born as the eldest son of the Farenheit family, since he decided to learn swordsmanship……
"Listen carefully, Demian."
Swish, and,
Ernst extended his arm.
"We have no choice but to wound others. Once we have taken up the sword."
Whoosh, and,
A wind blowing from somewhere.
"Even if we do not handle swords, it is actually the same. My parents picked up medicinal herbs rather than weapons, and died while caring for the sick. Thanks to that, I became a person without parents. My heart received a slight wound."
Flap, and,
The pages of the book Ernst held out unfurled.
"Killing, wounding……, you must become accustomed to doing such things."
Demian looked at the book Ernst held out.
Was it chivalric literature? He was not accustomed to reading thick books, but at a glance it seemed to contain tales of a knight's adventures.
"If you think it will be difficult to become accustomed to it……"
Try reading this, and,
Ernst whispered while jerking his chin toward the book.
"I do not understand why this sort of thing sells, but……"
Written by Altria Amnesia.
'The Merry Adventures of Sir Abraxas'.
Demian took the book Ernst held out. He stood there blankly while looking at its cover. The figure of Sir Abraxas drawn in a lively style caught his eye.
"……It might be helpful for you."
Ernst turned around without caring.
While waving his hand, not knowing that Demian would become enthusiastic about chivalric literature.
* * *
"Demian."
Ernst opened his mouth.
Red carpet had been laid out continuously. Leading toward the altar prepared in the square of the Tresckow territory. Ernst would step onto the altar and declare. That he was the legitimate successor of his grandmother, Brunhilde von Tresckow, who had passed away not long ago.
"I am not particularly curious, but I will ask anyway."
Demian was following behind Ernst.
A long cloak wrapped around Ernst's body, while Demian was mixed among the guards walking along the hem of the cloak. With an expression befitting a knight at first glance.
"What did you find interesting? About Altria Amnesia's book, I mean."
"Everything was perfect."
At Ernst's question, Demian asserted without hesitation.
"When I was young, I was impressed by Sir Abraxas's authority. I kept reading because it was interesting. By the time I entered CIAR, I could not merely be impressed. From then on, I came to respect Sir Abraxas's chivalry."
And now, and,
Demian muttered softly.
"Sir Abraxas does not seem like a single knight to me. It must be the result of creating the ideal of all knights as a person. It feels not like one person but like one ideal. Perhaps that is why. Altria Amnesia must have once been a knight."
"Why did you think so?"
"If she had not been a knight, she could not have created such an ideal protagonist."
I can be certain now.
The code of knighthood was created by knights who knew that it was a problem that could not be solved by mere codes.
Therefore, Altria Amnesia must have been a knight. Because she was a failed knight, she must have been able to create the successful Sir Abraxas.
"That is what I think. Although nothing is known about that person's identity, surely……"
"One must know reality inside and out to glimpse the ideal, and if one did not hold an ideal in one's heart, one could not feel reality either."
You seem to want to say that, and,
Ernst whispered with a smirk.
"I agree too."
It was my grandmother, Demian.
Altria Amnesia. The person who wrote the chivalric literature you love so much……
"Was my grandmother Brunhilde von Tresckow."
"Your joke goes too far, Ernst."
"It is not a joke. This Ernst von Tresckow, no matter how skilled I am at boasting, I do not play tricks with my grandmother's name."
"That may be so, but Count Tresckow was a commander who never failed……"
"It seems our grandmother did not think so."
Have you read it, and,
Ernst asked Demian.
"It was published not long ago. 'The Vile Adventures of Sir Abraxas'. My grandmother's posthumous work."
"I only purchased it but have not read it yet. I plan to read it bit by bit when I depart on my pilgrimage."
"Be sure to read it. Because it is truly a mess. And also……"
While she was alive, Brunhilde von Tresckow said,
Ernst muttered thus.
"She thought she had dreamed of becoming a knight all her life, but in truth she had only wanted to write chivalric literature. She realized this fact too late. Because she possessed both talent as a knight and talent as an author, she could not know at all what she truly wanted."
I inherited the dream my grandmother mistook.
This territory is the reality my grandmother faced as a knight, as a commander, as a count. The members of the family are fools blinded by power, and my grandmother's life ended here stained with regret.
I decided to inherit that.
Because I never once enjoyed reading the books my grandmother wrote.
"You are different, Demian."
If it is you who joyfully read my grandmother's ideals,
You will be able to shine like the protagonist in chivalric literature.
Even if the code of knighthood is truly meaningless, even if it is merely a shallow ideal compared to reality,
"I alone believe. That if it is you, you will be able to remain upright like the protagonist in chivalric literature. That you will be able to become not a mere ideal, but a knight who seems to place ideals in reality."
So go and return safely.
The pilgrimage, I mean. I will be waiting here.
Toward Ernst who whispered thus,
"……Yes, Ernst."
Demian could only answer briefly.
Because only questions, not answers, existed in his mind.
Whether it was all right for him to depart on his pilgrimage like this, whether he had reached a realm suitable for becoming a Holy Knight, whether it was permissible to persist in upholding the code of knighthood, Demian could not properly answer any of it, but……
"Conviction becomes firm through anguish."
Suddenly, Abel whispered while following beside Demian.
"Therefore Demian will go and return well. There is no need to worry, Ernst."
"I have never worried. Truly."
"That must be so."
Abel nodded his head.
He tilted his eyes and looked around.
"It seems you must worry about your enemies right now."
The power struggle does not end.
Because Ernst had come to claim his title at too young an age. The gazes of those who found this unpleasant or looked down on him were clear. The inner thoughts of the visitors who wore faint smiles were dark beyond measure, and Abel let out a small sigh.
"Let us meet briefly after the Succession Ceremony ends."
Ernst and Demian.
I have something to give you two as gifts.
Because you successfully passed the Practical evaluation.
At the same time Abel whispered thus,
"Clear your throat, Ernst."
Christophe stood facing Ernst.
As they reached the altar of the Tresckow territory in an instant, Christophe, who had been standing with his back to it, greeted Ernst.
"Harden your expression and act a bit more like an adult. You will stand before all as a count."
"I am well aware, old man."
The guards who had been following Ernst.
Along with them, Demian and Abel stopped.
Only Christophe and Ernst headed toward the altar.
"Although I am accompanying you as your guardian, you have no intention whatsoever of relying on me."
Christophe whispered.
While climbing the stairs leading to the altar.
"Of course."
Ernst agreed.
While stopping and facing the altar.
"I do not trust anyone. Especially nobles. Because I have been watching the power struggles of noble society since childhood."
"Hmph."
Do not be arrogant, fledgling.
You do not even have a title worth praising.
Christophe whispered thus.
"You are still young. You are far too lacking to become my prey. Who would devour a tiny chick? I am not that starved. If it were a chicken I would have cooked it carefully, but you do not yet have even such value."
So say it, and,
Christophe's whisper reached Ernst's ear.
"That you are the master of this territory."
Ha, and,
Ernst laughed bitterly.
Christophe's words were correct in a way. Even if Ernst succeeded to the countship right now, he would be too lacking to become prey for Christophe. He would merely be regarded as an endlessly laughable and young existence. Merely a fledgling who would become frightened at the hand of a person gently brushing over him. Ernst knew his circumstances well.
"I declare!"
Therefore he was still weak.
Although he cleared his throat and shouted with all his strength,
To fill the ears of all those gathered everywhere.
"I am Ernst von Tresckow. Of my grandmother Brunhilde von Tresckow……"
But he could be certain.
The reason his grandmother had entrusted him with the title as if foisting it upon him,
Was because he possessed the qualities to do so.
"……I am the legitimate successor!"
Applause and cheers.
Amid the acclaim that contained not an inch of sincerity,
"So let all know! Realize without exception!"
Ernst shouted desperately.
"From today onward, I……"
Am the master of this territory,
Count Tresckow!