How to Survive as the Second Son of a Mage Family - Chapter 544

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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How to Survive as the Second Son of a Magic Noble Family (544)

“I can go alone, Luise.”

“No. You can’t.”

“I can.”

“No!”

Ulrike keeps pushing my back while covering my eyes with her hand. I gave up after having a meaningless argument.

I don’t know which hallway we’re walking through, but it’s clear that I’ve come to the Munich Residenz. At 6 AM, after leaving Mimesis, I headed straight to Bavaria. Since my residence changed to the Imperial Central Hospital starting today, I negotiated with the Imperial Court to personally retrieve the luggage I had left at the hospital in Bavaria.

It hasn’t been long since I came to Bavaria with my friends, and I saw with my own eyes how I ended up at the Munich Residenz after stopping by the hospital, brought here by Ulrike.

“How long are we going to walk like this…”

“Just a little more…!”

Since Ulrike spoke in a soothing voice, I had no choice but to walk awkwardly with her, until we finally stopped at some place.

Creak, the heavy sound of a door opening can be heard. Ulrike carefully pushed me inside.

“Ah.”

I knew where this was from hearing the change in the sound of my shoe heels. It’s the banquet hall. Ulrike brought me to the banquet hall that was being used as an art room. He removed his hand covering my eyes and shouted.

“Ta-da!”

I squinted and looked around. It didn’t take long. A familiar face came into view. I called the name of the expressionless French painter standing there.

“Count Lamour?”

“Lucas.”

It wasn’t Count Lamour’s answer. I looked back at Ulrike standing beside me.

“I trust you’ve organized your thoughts while having fun.”

Ulrike answered with a serious face.

Organizing thoughts – it was a short phrase, but I could guess why Ulrike brought me here. It was natural. The anguish that remained with me until yesterday afternoon gradually disappeared. Not completely, but still.

Ulrike grabbed my arm and spoke gently.

“Still, none of us have experienced your situation. Before you start working in earnest in Prussia again, I wanted to give you time to talk with someone who could empathize with your feelings.”

“I see.”

“You know they say that kind of thing helps. The sense that you’re not alone.”

Ulrike spoke while restlessly moving her hands here and there. She seemed worried about whether she had done something unnecessary.

“Of course. I actually wanted to have one last conversation with Count Lamour anyway. I wanted to organize my thoughts too.”

“Right?!”

“Yes. It’s as if you read my mind exactly. Thank you.”

I smiled and expressed my gratitude. Ulrike patted my back with a “what are you talking about” expression. Then she cast a soundproofing spell and whispered.

“And… if the conversation goes well, ask if he has any thoughts about returning…”

I burst into laughter at those words. I smiled gently and approached Eugene Lamour.

Unfortunately for Ulrike, Eugene Lamour would never paint again. I extended my hand to Eugene Lamour.

“How do you do.”

“I thought you were dead, but it’s surprising to see you alive.”

Lamour shook my hand and immediately let go as he answered.

How harsh. The death he speaks of isn’t physical death but spiritual death. I looked down and then looked at him.

“I wanted to feel surprised too.”

Lamour’s spirit is not yet alive. He was one with his paintings and is someone who cannot live without them. If I properly understood the artistic characteristics he spoke of. Eugene Lamour nodded and left the banquet hall. He moved to the adjacent reception room and sat on the sofa first. He raised his eyebrows, clasped his hands, and spoke in a comfortable posture.

“You went in a different direction from me. Well done. If you had sincerely urged for their change like I did, you would surely have died.”

This death is physical death.

Eugene Lamour knows that I didn’t say everything I had to say to the public. Unlike Eugene Lamour, who vented the passion boiling inside him on the day he retired, I strategically chose only selected words to utter. He knows this fact.

Even so, Eugene Lamour didn’t seem to think of reproaching me for not understanding him. I looked down, then stroked my chin and asked.

“What makes you think I did well?”

Just as he knows I agonized over the compromise between conviction and reality, Eugene Lamour seemed to have decided he should say something for me, pondering for a moment before opening his mouth.

“There is no correct answer to what happens on canvas. If there were a correct answer to painting styles, genealogies of art should not exist. Everyone should remain with cave painting styles. However, Count Burnel Geret believes there must be a correct answer.”

“That’s right.”

“I understand why he holds that opinion. Neither he nor I was wrong, but he forced his beliefs on me and is forcing them on the art world. He says that ‘art’, ‘paintings’, ‘paintings submitted to salons’ must absolutely be this way. Saying it must be so means not allowing counterarguments, and the moment counterarguments aren’t allowed, criticism ceases to be criticism. Until newspaper public opinion changed, people criticized you under the guise of criticism while refusing to listen to any counterarguments. They only accepted counterarguments after media intervention and multiple information injections.”

Eugene Lamour must have been there too. All humans were there. I smiled slightly and tilted my head.

“Still, luckily they did accept it.”

“You’re optimistic.”

Eugene Lamour wasn’t satisfied with my answer. He seemed to think I was being complacent. He spoke while drinking tea that had been prepared in advance.

“Criticism can only be criticism when it can accept third-party criticism of my critique.”

“That would be so.”

I couldn’t predict what story he would tell, but I answered calmly for now. I wasn’t unaware that it connected to what he was saying earlier.

“What cannot tolerate third-party criticism of one’s own criticism can only be condemnation, not criticism. First, criticism is for discourse, and discourse is discussion toward improvement. Therefore, by nature, any personal criticism of any canvas must presuppose that counterarguments can be freely attached. It’s the same on an ideological level. Those who say their right to speak freely in this salon was violated just because rebuttals came – such people were making condemnations from the start, not criticism. Those liberals, valuing their own freedom so much, paradoxically violate others’ freedom to criticize criticism. The problem is that Count Burnel Geret became indignant the moment he heard my position.”

“Became indignant. He certainly did.”

“He had no intention of criticizing. Count Burnel Geret won’t admit it, but he hoped to be able to kill me continuously with words and writing.”

The 100 million people you’ll face won’t admit it either. He’s telling me that with his eyes. He says that ‘100 million critics who believe they’re criticizing while actually condemning’ will someday kill me, just as they did until recently. Eugene Lamour seemed armed with his characteristic indifference, but he’s asking me if I can endure such a future.

Eugene Lamour didn’t come here just because Ulrike asked either. He had something he wanted to tell me. So I have no choice but to listen more and more to his words.

“Meanwhile, Count Geret firmly believed that what he was doing was right. He believed that since my paintings were problematic, he had to attack the painter to correct the work’s wrongness. Amazingly, in the same way… people forced their beliefs on your life while saying you should die. If you had said the right thing in that place, citizens would have reacted like Count Burnel Geret, still arguing that your death would certainly be a just thing. Not believing they themselves were wrong, they would have tried somehow to find fault with you, and you had no way to win. Even things that aren’t wrong become truly wrong when three people say they’re wrong. Revealing that it was the era’s injustice, condemnation rather than criticism, would have been work for descendants to accomplish after you were already in your grave.”

“It would have been so. Most people cannot recognize when things are overheated while they’re happening. Even if they recognize it, they would remain silent.”

“To be able to give a speech even anticipating that – you have remarkable nerve.”

Count Eugene Lamour spoke with a genuinely curious face, without other intentions.

He’s not being sarcastic. Didn’t Eugene Lamour also say at his retirement ceremony that he hoped they wouldn’t get red-faced with each other as fellow citizens, that he wished for reconciliation? He would have been angry at Count Burnel Geret’s words and actions, but he doesn’t hate him. He just states facts without condemning Count Geret as an outsider who doesn’t know the first thing about art and should go to hell. In that sense, Eugene Lamour can understand me, and I can understand him too.

“Speculation is easy, jokes are easy, agreement is easy. Silence is also easy. All those humans tried to lead you to execution by firing squad, but the reason for it is laughably weak. That’s how controversies start. Things that aren’t problems become problems. When each person thinks about what they themselves did, they think there’s no reason to be criticized that much, but what others did easily becomes something deserving criticism. You’ll have to endure that going forward too.”

“That’s right. Being the subject of gossip will continue even after death. Because it’s already been remembered and recorded…”

Eugene Lamour nodded at my words. Just as I overlapped my situation with Eugene Lamour’s words, Eugene Lamour also overlaps his situation with my words. He muttered with an expressionless face.

“If I had known it would be like this, I wouldn’t have done artistic activities.”

“You said that before too.”

“That’s right. What I regret most is starting to show my paintings to others, and what I wish for most is a chance to turn back time to the day I submitted paintings to the salon.”

“I understand. I’ve had such wishes too.”

“Is that so.”

Eugene Lamour answered dryly. Then he looked down and put his arm on the backrest.

“At least it’s quite fortunate, isn’t it? For example, if I were an opera singer, it would be difficult to retire before finishing the performance schedule of assigned works unless I died, but since each canvas completes a work for me, I could retire when I made up my mind like this. And what I’m concerned about now is that there’s no sign of the work you’re creating coming to an end.”

Eugene Lamour straightened his posture and asked me.

“Won’t you regret it?”

“…”

“You’ve decided to walk before the public. Do you think you won’t regret it?”

“Right now, there’s something I need to see a bit more.”

Eugene Lamour nodded. He closed his eyes with a face that said he didn’t care what happened to others, but that was only on the surface – he stared at me intently and took several breaths.

“I hope you’ll be a bit more cautious. Do you remember? My exclusive story.”

“Of course I remember. I wondered what sensational article you were trying to publish…”

“That’s right. An article came out saying I painted again in academic style.”

Eugene Lamour said with a chuckle. His absurdity reaches all the way here. I laughed with the same expression while waiting for his next words.

“Then do you also remember what the critics said? Their belief that ‘Eugene Lamour listened to our opinions and finally returned to academic-style paintings’?”

“I naturally remember that too.”

“Right. After making my retirement declaration and returning home, the more I thought about it, the more absurd it became and indignation welled up.”

I carefully swallowed and looked at him at those words. Since it hadn’t been long since he retired, there was a possibility he was experiencing severe emotional turmoil. I had to be careful with my response too.

However, contrary to my concerns, Eugene Lamour smiled and said.

“The painting done in academic style. That was proof that I had become able to fully accept memories from when my wife was alive. It meant that I could now recall that time when I dreamed of a happy future with my wife, and that I had just escaped from those aftereffects and could now capture memories in my hands.”

“…”

“But what did the critics say? I shouldn’t have listened to that. The fact that they think that way is unbearably creepy. From my perspective, it’s an utterly shocking way of thinking. First, it’s rudeness toward me as a human being, and second, it’s also a movement that blocks me as a painter. Perhaps I had no choice but to retire because of such people.”

“Why is that?”

“Because in the face of this terrible rudeness, I have no freedom at all, and a situation arises where all my freedom of will as a painter is perceived as imitation, and to prevent that, if I have to avoid everything they say and not paint still lifes or use transformation techniques derived from academic styles, then ultimately no objects or techniques would remain for me to use.”

I nodded. Eugene Lamour doesn’t regret retiring at all right now. The answer to Ulrike’s question ended here.

“That’s not what I’m trying to say. What’s important is this: if you place an apple in someone’s hand in the darkness and ask what this is, what would someone answer?”

“They’d say it’s an apple or some other similar fruit.”

I answered with a smile at this blunt person bringing up a childlike story for the sake of the masses.

“That’s right. Someone will say an apple is a subspecies of pear, and someone else will say it’s a fig. When people who believe it’s a pear gather together and their stories about what kind of pear it actually is, what taste it has, and what fragrance it carries echo around, that apple becomes an unshakeable pear to them, with no possibility of ever being an apple again, no matter how hard you look. There was only themselves within it. Because they saw their usual thoughts overlapping with my painting, they jumped to conclusions about my will and intentions as well. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I slowly nodded at those words. It was a fresh experience. Eugene Lamour was concerned that I wouldn’t understand because he believed I hadn’t had such experiences. However, I understood it well enough. This was something that happened everywhere, regardless of the era.

“However, just as we discovered that some call the same Earth a rectangular solid while others call it a sphere, the thoughts people produce from seeing the same phenomena and clues are vastly different, and among them, the possibility that one’s own thoughts aren’t the answer is countless and high. Yet even critics never consider the possibility that they might be wrong and release their beliefs unfiltered to the world, to those around them, to me. But the people you’ll be dealing with aren’t even critics.”

“….”

“No matter what you do from now on, people will believe the ridiculous echoes they share among themselves as truth. No matter how much you tell them this is actually an apple and put the apple in their mouths, because they already believe it’s a pear, they’ll say it tastes like a pear, and when you hear their stories, they’ll be completely unfamiliar and absurd to you. However, in society, only those echoes will be regarded as truth.”

I fell silent at those words. Eugene Lamour doesn’t speak now either. He seems to think he’s said everything he needed to say. I looked at Eugene Lamour’s eyes steeped in fatigue, eyes tinged with a liberation that was perhaps only half-functional, and answered.

“Count Lamour. I am happy right now.”

“Why?”

“I’m relieved to know there’s another person in this world who knows what I’ve experienced.”

Then Eugene Lamour smiled faintly and returned to an expressionless face. He extended his hand to me once more.

I held his hand for a long time before letting it go. Eugene Lamour respected my will. He truly hoped I wouldn’t walk the same path as him, but he also respected my current will.

And I was simply grateful that there was someone who warned me with all their heart about the path I wanted to take. The same went for Ulrike, who had torn out Mimesis for me and arranged a meeting with Eugene Lamour beforehand.

Even though many things seemed to overlap with the 21st century, they didn’t. Many things were different from back then. It was different only after coming to this place. I didn’t know whether I should remain expressionless or smile.

One thing was certain: I resolved to express more gratitude to Ulrike when I returned.

* * *

What I need to do from now on is clearly separate the work of Nicolaus’s identity and Lucas’s identity.

As Nicolaus, I need to deal with the Pleroma remnants. Now that all their entry routes are blocked, I don’t know where to go to attack them, but the Kingdom of Bavaria can obtain information to deal with the remnants by examining the brains of hundreds of thousands of Pleroma collected at 6 PM on Easter evening. Until the kingdom provides useful information, Nicolaus Ernst plans to only issue statements and not reveal himself.

“And as Lucas?”

Leonard asks under the sound-blocking magic. After meeting Eugene Lamour, I was sitting in Bavaria with Ulrike and Leonard having a meeting. We’d have to depart for Berlin soon, so it couldn’t go on for long.

After meeting Eugene Lamour and expressing gratitude for quite a while, Ulrike was now a bit more excited than usual. I looked at Ulrike preening beside me, chuckled, and answered.

“That’s the most urgent thing. Nicolaus Ernst is safe right now, but Lucas Ascanien isn’t. Branding is necessary.”

“That’s such a you expression. Image making?”

Leonard asks while only looking at his notes. When I gradually returned to a topic appropriate enough for everyone to discuss definitively, I broke the sound-blocking magic and said.

“Similar. Recently, when people think of ‘Lucas Ascanien,’ the focus has been on abnormality, so it would be important to make them recognize that I’m no different from them.”

“Cruel.”

Leonard answers simply. Ulrike frowns and asks.

“Why can’t you be abnormal? Isn’t the real you okay?”

“Those are kind words. I live because I have a friend like you.”

When I said that with a smile, Ulrike narrowed her eyebrows briefly then patted my back. I shook my head.

“But the rudeness directed at me came from difference. So first, how about emphasizing the image of being a student? Also, how about planting an image of being a good child? A good daughter, good son, good grandchild, nephew… that kind of image.”

“That’s specific. The word Human came up.”

Ulrike said with sparkling eyes.

“Right. Most of this country is Human. The voters are Human too. Since humans look like humans, you guys might not feel much alienation from appearances, but actually, few people have the same family environment or social status as us. Humans consider family communities important, and their preferred children’s character and duties are also clear. To make them see me not as some vampire but as a human like them, I need to give them familiarity.”

Then Leonard gestured with his hand.

“What politicians do is all the same anyway. Schedule volunteer work. Since you probably don’t plan to do it just for show either, make it something you can sustain long-term.”

Then Ulrike said with sparkling eyes.

“It would be good to volunteer in places where rampage incidents are frequent.”

“Good idea. That’s killing two birds with one stone. I should send some letters around.”

“I want to go too!”

I nodded in response and picked up the letter basket placed beside the table. It was what Leonard had brought from Prussia to Bavaria.

“Thanks for bringing it. Let’s first look for something useful here before sending directly.”

Then Leonard smiled. I unfolded a letter that had been opened with a letter knife and read it. I put it back on the table with a satisfied face. Ulrike grabbed it first and asked.

“Can I read it?”

“Yeah. It’s good content.”

“Oh~”

Ulrike happily took the letter.

By the time I unfolded the fourth letter, all the friends sitting around the table were already reading my letters. Everyone’s mental strength had been drained by recent events, but they were now relieved to know there were people who believed I wasn’t Pleroma and supported me. Seeing the smiles on my friends’ faces made me happy too. Ulrike tapped the table and said.

“Next one!”

“Oh my…”

I handed what I’d finished reading to Ulrike and unfolded a new letter. Until I read the third line, I was reading it with a smile.

“…?”

And the moment I moved to the next line, I had to check once more whether what I’d read was real. After staring down at it for a while with my sluggish brain, I made up my mind. I can’t show this. I felt my spine grow cold as I folded the letter and put it in the opposite pocket. Then I unfolded a new letter. I thought I’d been natural, but…

“What was that just now?”

Ulrike looked at me with eagle eyes and placed her hand on my shoulder.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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