How to Survive as the Second Son of a Mage Family - Chapter 577

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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 (577)

Leonard and Narke walked in silence for a long time. Only the sound of wind fluttering their collars and passing by remained between them.

Leonard felt uneasy in this place. Though Adrian Ascanien wouldn’t come looking in the middle of the night, just standing on the same peninsula as that bastard was distasteful. With a face remarkably similar to Nicolaus Ernst, he had tormented his similarly-looking younger brother to the point of killing him without hesitation, yet now acted as if he had cherished his younger brother his whole life, constantly saying Luca, Luca, Luca…

While Elias had rebellious defiance against the S sound attached to his name, Adrian Ascanien’s arbitrary modification of the already short name Lucas clearly showed his intention. No one shortens the name Lucas to Luca. This was a kind of… stubbornness. The disgusting history of an elder family member calling his younger brother by his own preferred name instead of the name given by family elders, and having it accepted within the palace, was nothing new now.

He didn’t particularly want to call his friend Luca to wash away those memories. Leonard didn’t place much meaning on such abbreviations. There was no need to leave traces in another’s footsteps. There was no need to find uncharted territory and create forced nicknames. Doing things the orthodox way was rather uncharted territory for him—the calculating thought that briefly crossed his mind was probably a thought created afterward… Certainly, it wasn’t for such reasons that he had come to call him by his name all along.

Above all, for other reasons, Lucas Ascanien had to remain Lucas forever to Leonard.

Why?

Leonard closed his eyes and slowly pressed his brow bone. Fatigue gradually flowed in.

Adrian Ascanien and his ilk were done with now. If Narke Farnese thought of Lucas even a little, at least today there would be no unwelcome guest showing his face. What remained was his Italian friend who was acting uncharacteristically like a wooden puppet upon coming to his homeland.

Leonard, absorbed in thought, snapped his fingers loudly at the back of his friend walking ahead.

“Hey.”

Narke stopped abruptly, raised his head and looked back. Was it calculation or truth that his friend, who never showed surprise, was showing surprise? Leonard glanced at him and fell into thought.

“…Ah, right. Leo.”

“Walk with your head on straight.”

“Of course.”

Narke spread both hands to his sides as if to show he was paying attention. Having watched him since school, Leonard couldn’t help but know he wasn’t the same as usual. Also, Narke and Leonard had already performed cooperative operations to save Lucas and Ulrike, and he hadn’t been like this then. He had moved with fire in his eyes and full of determination, not drooping his shoulders in contemplation and worry like now. It was a subtle difference that wouldn’t be easily noticed, so Narke was just making excuses.

They wandered looking for where the explosion had occurred, but had no expectation of finding it. They strolled through a city that had preserved its ancient scenery for incomparably longer than Berlin. Had the market closed by now? Everyone was asleep under nature’s black curtain. When Leonard looked at the ruins here, he recalled the end of the Pleroma space he had entered with Lucas, the collapsed temple and plains. What was that? Now he felt he might know where it was, but why was it there? Did the bishop who died so futilely and powerlessly from Lucas’s momentary power know? He couldn’t ask the already dead, and even asking the living Pleroma brought to Bavaria yielded no proper answers. When such questions arose, Leonard realized they were still outside the labyrinth. They hadn’t even entered the maze.

Still…

He could give up knowing and not enter the maze. He could choose to know and compete with death. Was the strange stickiness felt under his skin touched by the cold night wind disillusionment, or the floating sensation of one who waits for the unknown until the trial date without closing his eyes? Leonard was wide-eyed, waiting for the day disaster would crash down upon him. The ticking of the pocket watch in his hand would be forgotten on that day.

He wasn’t particularly disillusioned now. Though the time in Rome couldn’t be entirely comfortable, that was the same for everyone. Even Ulrike, who seemed most excited, was rigid as if in a hunting ground of bitter cold. She might smile occasionally only when seeing golden clover and plains. What was certain was that even if disaster deafened his ears like the departure sound of a steam locomotive, he would someday be able to remember the ticking he heard during this time. His friends shouldn’t know he thought this way now, yet they should trust him.

Leonard grabbed the arm of Narke Farnese, who was gradually moving away, and pulled him toward himself. He was becoming increasingly anxious. While Leonard was becoming calmer compared to the day he had pressed about the Ismailov matter, Narke Farnese was heading in the opposite direction. People couldn’t remain the same person as time passed. The two were gradually departing from the selves they had known of each other. Would there be a day when they would meet and hold hands on this diverging path, or would they continue on parallel lines? Would they meet days when they threw glances at each other during brief encounters, then moved outside each other’s field of vision wondering if such a person had existed? He didn’t know. He had no intention of dwelling on the question.

Leonard saw some differently colored soil fallen in front of his shoe, bent down, and rubbed the soil between his fingers. He recalled the dust powder made of blood that he had heard about through Narke. It wouldn’t have clumped like this. And this was complete soil. Leonard looked at the clump of earth and put slight force into his eyes. With crackling sounds, the clumped soil scattered from his hand and all kinds of grass and flowers grew long. Behold, ordinary soil. Leonard’s hand gently stroked the bundle of stems. As if nothing had happened, the plants returned to their seed state. Leonard scattered the tiny dot-like seeds on the roadside where there was soil and walked in step with Narke.

“There were bleeding hearts.”

Narke spoke about the flowers that had bloomed from Leonard’s grasp. Leonard answered nonchalantly.

“There were. Want one?”

Narke didn’t answer. Instead, he asked.

“What was your favorite flower among those that bloomed earlier?”

“I don’t particularly like flowers, but if I had to choose, it would be chamomile.”

“Why?”

“I liked its widely known meaning. That’s all.”

If it were Lucas, he would have burst into light laughter asking if Leonard was someone who even cared about flower meanings, but Narke didn’t. He already knew about what Leonard hadn’t said. Only Leonard knew what story he had taken as his life’s guidance until before last Easter came. Though he had casually written about it in passing essays, he had never spoken of it seriously.

Leonard had gained teachings from the Book of Job his whole life. The story of the righteous Job, who stood firm with faith as his lighthouse even through storm-like trials that shook everything he knew, had brought Leonard to today. Without the Book of Job, he wouldn’t have excelled in combat magic as he did now, nor would he be in this position. Even now, his feelings toward the Book of Job were no different. He was ambivalent before the Book of Job and didn’t feel much contradiction in himself. Who wouldn’t know that it was a compatible ambivalence?

Leonard’s saying he preferred chamomile meant that. Because it was famous for meaning patience that overcomes adversity. Elias would probably know the other meanings of flower language better. Had Narke traveled back to those spring days when he was five, turning the pages of Job? Had he passed through the days when he was eight, twelve, seventeen, dimly grasping the meaning contained in Job? How far had he explored and returned while Leonard was unaware?

There was no need to think hard about it. Narke might have simply accepted it by grasping Leonard’s nature, because Leonard had never seriously read flower language books, because he was far from assigning meaning like divination. Such casual or polite kindness doesn’t make two people close. Lucas throwing such trivial jokes while knowing full well that Leonard doesn’t assign meaning to flower language is meaningless chatter that proves their intimacy. Close friends are like that. Even if there were occasions of hearing nonsense and ignoring or being ignored, such nonsense was tolerated without ill feeling in their relationship.

Coming back to the point, Leonard knew the reaction that followed Narke’s insight ability. Everyone who dealt with Narke Farnese, once they became even slightly deeply acquainted with him, would be swept up in displeasure and wariness that he might be looking into them now. Regardless of whether Narke Farnese actually pried into someone’s life or not, he was misunderstood. Truth wasn’t important to people. Once suspicion began, even if it was merely possibility, regardless of the truth, it would persist between their inner selves and their mouths until it was believed as fact, and then the relationship was doomed. There was no way back. No one wanted to restore such relationships. Perhaps depending on the person, while feeling displeasure at being read by Narke who couldn’t give definitive proof to their doubts, the counterpart would circle around Narke.

Disgustingly revolting. He only wanted it to end.

So Leonard, who had appropriated the displeasure Narke might feel, turned his head so Narke couldn’t see his eyes at times like this.

Leonard knew himself changing day by day. The high school student Leonard he had known might have started breaking from the time he began listening to Lucas’s words without prejudice. He said nothing for Narke’s sake and didn’t stop thinking for everyone’s sake. If there was something to be careful about, it was that such thoughts should never become truth within him, and Leonard, having already passed through time with Lucas, no longer held confirmed assumptions within him. He no longer operated that way.

“I liked that too.”

Narke answered about chamomile much later, when Leonard was about to erase chamomile and such from his mind.

Leonard newly recognized the perfect German that couldn’t find a trace of the accent of one whose native languages were Latin and Italian. He could have shuddered at that precision, but instead he politely grabbed Narke’s sleeve and pulled him back while asking.

“Past tense?”

“Yes.”

Narke murmured quietly. He created a shining chamomile in his hand through illusion. There was no feeling of affection or identification that Leonard might have for Job’s patience—chamomile’s patience. That chamomile was strangely objective. Was it because the perfectly white, softly curved leaves following the grain and golden pollen didn’t seem much like real chamomile? Leonard’s gaze turned to the end of the chamomile.

The chrysanthemum with its end messily cut scattered from his hand as shining powder. The two wandered the alleys without any gain. Narke asked.

“When did Elias usually finish his travels and return?”

“At most, half a year including vacation.”

You were lucky to see the time when Elias was in front of us. That kid isn’t a friend who stays rooted in one place but a soul that wanders anywhere, and because he’s been that way, he’s alive today.

Such intimate words didn’t need to come out. He had neither the will to speak them nor the thought that he should. Leonard looked at midnight Rome with his usual cold eyes.

He didn’t particularly feel like wanting to see that friend. It was the same with Elias. It was the same principle as not constantly wanting to see one’s own brothers. Above all, he had just visited the building where he was kept the day before yesterday. What need was there to see a friend he’d seen the day before yesterday again? That friend had also just scolded them to stop coming, so it was mutual understanding. They got along well having spent so long together. There were things he knew from spending so long together, but should he recall them now? Rather, he thought of Lucas, who had to undergo another long surgery when his injuries hadn’t fully healed, and Ulrike, who was mentally cornered for making Lucas that way.

Leonard’s gaze touched Narke’s uniform robe.

And the question arose of why this friend looked at Lucas with eyes steeped in debt after every major incident, or with a strange light of ecstasy. Was it the inevitable debt felt as one with the ability to see the future, guilt that he should have prevented the future he had foreseen, yet also admiration for Lucas who made the impossible possible by breaking through and overcoming such crises, or was there some other unknown reason? For instance?

Leonard didn’t bring the list of possibilities spread like a catalog in his mind to consciousness. The priest had asked Narke about his plans. They said the problem was that Pleroma had grounds for designating a messiah, speaking as if Narke knew those grounds. To us, Pleroma’s biased grounds were Lucas’s blood-sucking ability. Though he’d never told Narke, if it were him, he would know enough, so truly Narke knew the grounds, and therefore the priest asked such a Narke about ‘Pleroma’s next plan based on the grounds.’ It was the most convenient interpretation.

But thoughts didn’t stop there. If His Holiness knew the future, there would be no reason to ask Narke the same thing unless for purposes like verification. If he had honestly said verification through comparison was the purpose, there wouldn’t have been such a heavy conversation as today. But what was their purpose? Knowing they wouldn’t get an answer, they showed us Narke’s difficulty. He was ostensibly interrogated. In that situation, it appeared as if responsibility for the future lay with Narke, causing bewilderment in the listeners.

Taking their behavior that caused such bewilderment as unreasonable demands to break through walls with one’s head was the most convenient interpretation. One should naturally think of what comes next.

Are you involved in ‘this matter’ enough for the Papal States to ask you about future plans?

Did you come here to take Lucas to the Papal States before Pleroma? But why didn’t you do that? It’s not that he wanted that. Even if he said he’d take Lucas to Italy, Bavaria wouldn’t allow Nicolaus Ernst to go to foreign countries now. He was only thinking about the dimension of duty Narke might have had. If this reasoning were true, Narke should have envisioned something beyond appointing Lucas as cardinal. Or was the original plan beyond that, but his thoughts had changed by now?

He didn’t ask. Leonard left all those speculations only in the realm of speculation and stopped in front of a plaza. Narke took three steps and turned around. In front of the fountain, before the calm sound of water, Leonard said.

“Can we crush and kill that old and long regret?”

“…”

“Living like oak caterpillars, wriggling, struggling… regret that feeds on us like larvae that gnaw on the dead.”

Leonard asked Narke, who was looking at him with a calm face.

“Can we suppress it?”

Then Narke looked at him silently for a long time, then nodded slightly.

“I’ll have to decode this poem too.”

Leonard smiled at that faintly joking answer. Narke closed his eyes as if meditating, took a deep breath, and answered.

“You’ll regret it.”

As if asked what, Narke continued.

“You’ll regret coming to Germany. And before that…”

“…”

“You’ll regret everything.”

Leonard didn’t ask what everything meant. The time for asking whether you’re really this or that had already passed. The answer about human affection, hoping he would deliberate and make no more regrettable decisions, came back like this. Since he had expected no answer would come at all, this was rather unexpected.

Narke opened his mouth unusually under the sound-blocking magic.

“I don’t know how far is me. I briefly thought whether Count Mikhail Ismailov might be the same, but I was wrong. That friend isn’t like that. Though he suffered hardships to become everyone, except for having an unusually extreme period, he doesn’t have many similarities with me.”

“Becoming everyone.”

Leonard muttered that and asked himself once more at the certain thought that suddenly crossed his mind. He’s the result of Pleroma’s experiments to make Lucas like that. They plan to make Lucas into everyone. He already knew enough. But hearing it again so directly from Narke, the weight was far from what he’d felt in the realm of reasoning. No matter how much evidence that reasoning had. After the messiah proclamation incident, Ismailov’s existence approached quite differently. It was falling more directly, more existentially, like a downpour of blades over his head.

Leonard stopped speaking. He knew Narke would have suffered from the weight of his own words his whole life. Narke’s words were tantamount to confirmation of truth, so he couldn’t speak carelessly in Rome. When going down to the root ends driven along a human’s center, he silently retreated. He observed while retreated.

Narke answered.

“Yes.”

“But you don’t talk about it when asked then.”

At Leonard’s quiet words, Narke smiled slightly, furrowing his brow. He moved his lips, looked down, then turned his gaze to human eyes.

“My mind is gradually changing.”

“Well, yes. That’s what you’re saying.”

“You probably won’t believe my words. I wouldn’t believe my own words either.”

It wasn’t said meaning he didn’t believe. Narke would know that too, but he wasn’t speaking to the current Leonard. Leonard intuited that.

Narke quietly continued.

“I shouldn’t ask you to believe me. You don’t have to try to believe me. Even this isn’t something I’m saying for you. Do it for me.”

Leonard smiled while narrowing his eyebrows toward his eyes.

“For you, don’t believe you?”

Narke didn’t stop looking at his eyes despite Leonard’s cool gaze. Leonard read in Narke’s gaze that he wanted to close his eyes. He would know that himself, but Narke didn’t avoid his eyes until the end.

“Yes. It’s a request.”

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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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