novelraw Chapter 97 : Chapter 97
Chapter 97 : Chapter 97
Chapter 97: The Old Soldier Dies, He Does Not Fade Away (1)
“Grandma.”
Ernst opened his mouth.
“Are you dying now?”
Ernst was sitting facing a table.
It was a large, angular table. It seemed spacious enough for ten people to lie on. Although there wasn't much to put on the table, his grandmother lived with a large, heavy table in the middle of her bedroom.
In the first place, his grandmother's bedroom was somewhat strange. Compared to the vast space, the bedding was shabby. There were no decorations either. The windows were always blocked by blackout curtains. There was no comfort in his grandmother's bedroom. As if it was more comfortable not to be comfortable.
“Ernst.”
Meanwhile, his grandmother, who was sitting opposite him, spoke.
“You're right.”
Brunhilde von Tresckow.
Ernst's grandmother, and once one of the empire's top field commanders.
She declared quietly.
“This old woman is dying soon.”
The eastern part of the Holy Numeros Empire, Tresckow Castle.
Ernst had just arrived in his hometown for the weekend.
It must have been around late autumn. He had heard from Abel that Brunhilde was sick. At that time, he had thought it was a bluff. It couldn't be helped. His grandmother was mischievous and had often feigned illness to summon Ernst.
If you repeat a bluff, you lose trust. Ernst didn't believe it. Brunhilde had bluffed too many times and was as strong as a lie.
“Look, Ernst.”
Look at this old woman, she said.
Brunhilde whispered with a smile.
“Does this body look normal to you?”
Of course not.
A malignant tumor was eating away at Brunhilde's body.
It was visible to the naked eye. Beyond her withered skin, a blackish, hardened, lumpy tumor was revealed.
“But it's not so bad.”
Brunhilde laughed.
“This old woman, you see. I have lived a life where I could not think of death as a bad thing.”
On the contrary, she had considered it right. She had lived such a life.
Brunhilde said so. The death of an enemy is right. The death of a rebel is right. Sometimes, even the death of the weak is right. Since she had always considered it right, therefore, the death of Brunhilde von Tresckow must also be right.
“You, of all people, should know. This damn house is full of people who affirm death.”
“……How could I not know.”
Ernst let out a sigh.
He took off his glasses and contorted his face.
“I know it all, Grandma.”
I was just pretending not to know, he said.
Ernst muttered softly.
“Where else would you find a shithole like our family? Siblings holding knives to each other's throats, and locking up a child who hasn't even been weaned in exile and being satisfied. Saying that their scheme worked. What's the use of being smart? A good head is one that's used for good things.”
“That's right. You are very smart.”
Brunhilde smiled faintly.
“In this rotten family, your mother and father were the dumbest ones.”
Was that why? They did the best thing.
Brunhilde whispered so. Ernst decided to pretend he hadn't heard. Is it right to die while doing relief work in an area where an epidemic has spread? Or is it good?
He didn't know. You have to be smart to pretend you know something you don't know perfectly, but you have to be even smarter to pretend you don't know something you know perfectly.
“Anyway……”
Suddenly, Brunhilde extended her arm.
Thud. A notebook on the table.
Brunhilde pushed it. The worn notebook slid towards Ernst.
“I've finally finished it.”
Ernst read the words written on the cover of the notebook.
Written by Altria Amnesia, ‘The Vile Adventures of Sir Abraxas’.
So she finally finished this damn thing. Ernst thought, swallowing a sigh. Demian would like it. The new book by his favorite author would be released.
“This old woman wanted to be a soldier. So I became a soldier. I thought I was born with the talent to be a soldier. It was all a misunderstanding.”
Demian didn't know, and others didn't know either.
Only Ernst knew.
“Actually, I wanted to write knightly literature. I thought I was born with the talent to be a soldier, but it turns out I also had a talent for writing. So I……”
Altria Amnesia.
A popular and masked author of knightly literature.
Only Ernst knew that her true identity was Brunhilde von Tresckow, a field commander with cool judgment and bold tactics.
“……this old woman has failed.”
His grandmother's old age was filled with romance and pain.
Ernst thought so. While repeatedly writing romantic knightly literature, she would suffer from nightmares and scream. While writing stories that helped the weak, she would suffer, remembering the deaths of the weak. While happy with a fountain pen in her hand, she would obsessively wash her hands that had been stained with blood.
“That's not true, Grandma.”
Ernst said quietly.
“Your life was not a failure. Your writing changed my friend's life. Although I think the expression 'ruined' is more accurate than 'changed'……”
So it's okay, he said.
Ernst smiled, picking up the notebook with his grandmother's posthumous work.
“Your last work, it might not be my taste, but everyone will like it.”
“No, that's not it……”
Brunhilde shook her head.
Her eyes reddened and she lowered her head. Her face, covered in wrinkles, trembled with tears.
“That……, that is not my last work.”
Listen, Ernst.
Remember, my grandson.
This old woman's last work is…….
“It might ruin your life.”
That night, his grandmother passed away peacefully.
Brunhilde von Tresckow had died.
* * *
Damn it.
Why is it raining again?
Ernst thought, looking up at the cloudy sky.
The sound of the church bells could be heard. His grandmother's funeral was being held. After the funeral at Tresckow Cathedral, his grandmother would be buried on the land owned by the family.
There were many mourners. So many that he was out of breath. He couldn't stand it and was standing blankly outside the cathedral, when suddenly a shower began to pour down, soaking Ernst's body.
‘It also rained…… on the day Fleur was being carried.’
He was sick of it.
He couldn't stand it because he was sick of death.
His parents died when he was young, a classmate also died, and now his grandmother too.
No, that's wrong. It wasn't because of that that he was despairing. Ernst had a sneer. Death must be rampant everywhere. That must be why he was sick of it.
‘How pathetic.’
The moment Ernst smiled bitterly and shook his head,
“Ernst.”
Suddenly, an umbrella was held over Ernst's head.
“I heard the news.”
It was Abel.
Ash-gray hair and dull dark blue eyes.
Ernst looked up at Abel. A demeanor that was hard to distinguish between weak and indifferent. You can't read any emotions from that man's face. Thinking so, Ernst lowered his head.
“Thank you, Professor. For coming even though I didn't send a letter. You can sign the register and go in.”
“Alright. Let's go in.”
“I'm not going.”
To Ernst's words, Abel was silent.
Does he mean I should explain why? Ernst guessed Abel's intentions and continued.
“I don't like being in a crowd of humans.”
“There are also elves, dwarves, orcs, and trolls among the mourners.”
“Anyway. Why do they all gather as if dying is such a big deal?”
“It's probably not a big deal. Death is common.”
“That's what I'm saying. I can't understand it.”
“They've gathered to make it uncommon.”
“Oh, is that so? There are probably few people among them who are genuinely mourning my grandmother.”
“There are also elves, dwarves, orcs, and trolls besides people.”
“Don't be annoying, Professor.”
Haa.
Ernst let out a sigh.
“I'm sorry for speaking rudely. I seem to be agitated. Please let me cool my head like this. I beg you.”
He must be very upset.
Abel thought, narrowing his eyes. Although he was making a sharp expression, it was easy to guess Ernst's inner thoughts. He always seemed to be annoyed, but he was probably actually gentle. You could tell just by looking at how he was always swayed by Demian.
“Alright. But……”
Abel held out the handle of the umbrella to Ernst.
“At least use the umbrella. I bought it for you.”
“I'll stay like this.”
“……Alright.”
The moment Abel's umbrella was lifted and Ernst was about to get wet,
“Er.”
Again, an umbrella was held over Ernst's head.
“I heard the news.”
It was Demian.
Wavy blond hair and intelligent gray eyes.
Ernst glared at Demian. A demeanor as if he had run straight from the capital. That guy's expression is so transparent it's a problem. Thinking so, Ernst let out a sigh.
“Demian, Ernst said he wanted to be alone.”
“Why is that? Sadness should be shared.”
“There is also sadness that is reluctant to be shared.”
“I see……”
Demian nodded his head, then tilted his gaze towards Ernst.
“But Er, I'm also really sad. Countess Tresckow was friends with my father, and I also met her a few times……. I'll try not to be sad, but I don't think it will work. I'm sorry.”
“Do whatever you want with your sadness.”
Ernst swept back his wet hair.
“You're the same as Professor Argento. Why did you come when I didn't even call you……”
Wait. Why am I doing this?
Why on earth am I saying this?
Even while thinking so, Ernst opened his mouth, and,
“Young Master Ernst.”
he thought it was a relief.
That an employee had come and interrupted him.
“It's time to open the master's will.”
“……Alright.”
Ernst took a step.
He went forward with his back to Abel and Demian.
“He's gone.”
“He's gone.”
A brief silence.
Abel and Demian faced each other.
“It seems Ernst was on good terms with Countess Tresckow.”
“Ah……, of course.”
Demian nodded his head.
“After he lost his parents when he was young, he has been under the Countess's protection all along……”
“Protection?”
“Yes.”
A shadow fell over Demian's expression.
“The Tresckow family is a household stained with power struggles. The Countess was well aware of that. That's why she kept Ernst by her side. He was the eldest grandson, but he had lost his parents.”
Was that so.
Abel nodded his head.
During the student interview, Ernst had not seemed greedy for power.
It must have been because he was sick of it. Even as the eldest grandson, if he had lost his parents, he would not have been able to maintain his position in the line of succession. The fact that Countess Tresckow had protected such an Ernst means…….
“Demian, I want to ask you one thing. What is the possibility of Countess Tresckow passing on the title to Ernst?”
“That's……”
To Abel's question, Demian thought for a moment.
“……I don't know. Ernst isn't even of age yet.”
“Then I'll ask you one more thing.”
What is the possibility of Ernst wanting the title?
To Abel's question,
“There is none.”
Demian answered without hesitation, and,
“Let's go.”
Abel took a step.
“Go where? Where are you going?”
“To hear Countess Tresckow's will.”
“Outsiders probably can't enter the place where the will is being opened.”
“I know that well.”
We can just sneak in.
Abel muttered so.