How to Survive as the Second Son of a Mage Family - Chapter 590

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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 (590)

“I would have already answered that, wouldn’t I?”

Hildegart Wittelsbach spoke without hesitation.

I stared intently at Hildegart Wittelsbach, then nodded my head. Then I began casting mind manipulation magic on the others lying on the floor. Since magical studies in this era weren’t as advanced as in 1898, if I manipulated them carefully, it would be impossible to tell whether they had been interrogated. Being cautious, I implanted a script and finished the job, then took out a handkerchief from my pocket and wrapped the jeweled artifact in it. I held it out to Hildegart Wittelsbach.

“Please forgive me for not being able to present it more cleanly.”

“An impressive gift.”

He accepted the blood-clotted jewel and raised one corner of his mouth. Though he would know what it was, I spoke once more.

“It’s what Henri planted in my arm. It served as a restraint.”

Hildegart Wittelsbach would want to ask if I had forgotten even that. However, he simply sat comfortably and looked at me. He didn’t ask.

Of course, he would have already heard everything. Even after the meeting with the King ended, Prince Hildegard didn’t summon me. It was because he intended to see how Henri would treat me, and how I would treat Henri. That’s why he followed. This was my second reason for going to meet Henri. No matter how much I proved my innocence before Prince Hildegard and begged for trust, seeing is believing – witnessing it directly is best. I smiled politely while looking at Prince Hildegard’s eyes filled with amusement. He now rested his elbow on the side table, pressing his temple. Without a single question about when I would sit, without any urging melted into his gaze, he made me take a seat.

“Call for a physician when you leave.”

I blinked to show I understood.

With this, Hildegart Wittelsbach learned that interrogation wouldn’t work on me. Torture might work, but I wasn’t an easy opponent. In other words, to obtain information from me, he would have to spend 30 days with me. I rearrange the weights on the tilted scales. Now we could finally look at each other as somewhat equals. However…

“I know how Your Highness regards me.”

“You speculated that I regard you positively.”

“You think of me as a jester.”

Hildegart Wittelsbach still looked at me with a smile.

The fact that our gazes began to meet didn’t mean we had come to cherish each other. He had confirmed twice that I wasn’t some boring fellow not worth watching, and he was more delighted at this moment than when he drank the medicine and didn’t lose.

“Even this moment of insight is an entertaining spectacle for Your Highness. That’s all. Isn’t that right?”

“Do you want more?”

Do you wish to escape from being ‘just that’? I answered.

“No, since I’ve just revealed that I’m a spy, I don’t want more. That would be… an unreasonable desire.”

Deciding not to deceive him was an excellent choice. Hildegart Wittelsbach had never been fooled by me. While never being fooled, he said nothing and just watched me, thinking ‘let’s see what nonsense he babbles.’ So his laughter fundamentally contained leisure.

Therefore, I don’t regret planning the confession. The 30-day reprieve was the only solution and my last method to thrust a sword into a gap. If I hadn’t promised to speak, I would already be dead.

So, what comes next?

If he intended to take me in, he would have to speak from now on. I had nothing to say. As I quietly looked at Prince Hildegard, he opened his mouth.

“I believe there must be something specific needed to recover your memories.”

“I had a dream.”

“Hmm.”

“I plan to investigate what appeared in that dream.”

When the word ‘investigate’ came up, Hildegart Wittelsbach burst into laughter. Satisfied with my candid statement, he asked.

“How do you plan to write the scenario?”

He was saying he didn’t believe what I was about to tell him actually appeared in a dream. What connection could investigating something from a dream have with finding lost memories – I needed to explain. When I didn’t speak, he pondered with a ‘hmm,’ then readily opened his mouth.

“Don’t you have something properly conceived? Then let’s say it was a dream you had while unconscious after being hit by a carriage.”

I still hadn’t grown close to him. It remained the same. Just as Leonard saw Narke as a kind of prey to hunt, just as Narke ‘used’ Leonard according to his intentions, we were circling step by step in opposite directions with our sword tips aimed at each other. I didn’t know what kind of relationship those two friends wanted…

In my case, fine. Even if Hildegart Wittelsbach intended to grab my throat and bite me to death, I wanted to try competing with him.

“I saw fire in my dream.”

“Fire.”

“It was fire rising from soil made of blood. I don’t know what materials were used to make fire catch so well, but it was a finely ground mass of blood that looked like red earth. That fire absorbed everything. From magical power to life force, even words and memories… I’m not certain, but that was the impression I got.”

“France must have developed such soil?”

I stared wordlessly at Hildegart Wittelsbach’s reasoning that had immediately pressed in. He said quietly.

“Dreams reflect your unconscious. You must have seen France’s invention. You’ve completely forgotten the report and are telling me about it.”

“Your Highness could have chosen not to tell me that’s what you’re thinking now. I’m pleased that you’ve told me so.”

“Not at all.”

Prince Hildegard spoke with an attitude that didn’t quite match ‘not at all.’ He was indifferent.

“Soil made of blood and absorbing fire. An interesting object. If that’s a clue to finding your memories, I should gladly cooperate. Now, don’t you remember something? Not memories. I mean, isn’t there something from your background knowledge that connects to this topic…”

Soil made of blood produced fire and absorbed something like Pleroma. Doesn’t that seem familiar, as if I’ve seen it somewhere before? Vitriol rises in my heart. I think such thoughts. Thoughts of Pleroma, whose existence Hildegart Wittelsbach doesn’t even know. And thoughts that Terminus Yukairya’s goal probably wouldn’t differ greatly from Pleroma’s goal.

“Only things I cannot speak of.”

“Wrong.”

Hildegart Wittelsbach leaned forward with a regretful expression.

“Not that kind of thing, Laplase. I’m not trying to dig out your secrets now. Didn’t you feel a more essential symbol?”

“If you have something in mind, please tell me.”

“The soil made of blood would be Abel’s soil.”

At those words, I tensed one corner of my mouth. My mouth opened slightly on its own.

“It appears clearly in the Bible. ‘The voice of your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground. The earth opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand.’ After Cain killed his brother Abel, his brother’s blood soaked into the soil and wailed toward heaven. The brother killed by his elder brother remained as blood soaked in the soil, crying out to God.”

It was the story of fratricide from Genesis. Adam and Eve had two sons – the eldest was Cain who farmed, and the second was Abel who herded sheep. When Abel offered the firstborn of his flock and their fat to Yahweh, Yahweh accepted Abel and his offering but did not accept Cain and his offering.

So the elder brother Cain struck down his younger brother Abel in the field and killed him. Thus Yahweh said to Cain: [What have you done? The voice of your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground. The earth opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand, so you shall be cursed from the earth. When you till the ground, it shall no longer yield its strength to you. You shall be a fugitive and a vagabond on the earth.]

“To me it looks exactly like Abel’s blood-soaked soil scattered about. And also… absorbing fire. It might be a symbol of God, but I have a different thought – it’s alchemical fire. As you know, in alchemy fire is a purifying entity.”

Prince Hildegard, lost in thought, tapped his temple with his finger.

“What if it eliminates corruption from the earth by devouring it?”

He slowly smiled as he looked at me.

“Then, wouldn’t it become purifying fire?”

I couldn’t help but admire his brilliant reasoning. This is why a third party’s perspective is necessary. When I was trapped by countless background knowledge and couldn’t see the essence of the absorbing fire, unencumbered, he thought much more freely than I did. When I first saw the blood-made soil, I too briefly thought of Abel’s story, but after the absorbing fire appeared, it quickly disappeared to the other side – that shouldn’t have happened. This hypothesis was worth considering as is.

“It must have been excellent reasoning.”

“It was.”

“I’m pleased you answer so readily.”

“I have no reason not to.”

Your Highness. The ending disappeared in my mouth. No matter how he treated me, knowing he wasn’t the King Hildegart of 1898, I couldn’t help but feel favorable toward him. Was it because I knew this person today would become that person in 1898? Or did I like him even without certainty toward the future?

“Good. Now you just need to use that to find your memories.”

Hildegart Wittelsbach leisurely tapped the chair’s armrest and asked.

“Do you have a method in mind? I’ll give you the opportunity.”

“This is the first time you’re giving me a choice.”

“It’s been that way since the first day we met, Laplase. I should say this instead: you’re recognizing my goodwill for the first time.”

Just saying that. That leisure wasn’t leisure containing love. Sometimes being tolerant of things you don’t expect is as easy as breathing. It was leisure only possible by still regarding me as a foreign parrot. Because he said it, I wasn’t moved. I smiled and said.

“Give me a salon.”

* * *

Three more days passed from then.

I manipulated their minds so they believed Henri had ordered Laplace to become friends with Hildegard. After adjusting their memories several times and parting from Hildegart Wittelsbach, I couldn’t meet the Prince for three days. It felt empty not seeing someone I had dined with daily, but it was also what I had wanted.

During that time, I only communicated with the servant Prince Hildegard had assigned me. It was naturally expected that he would report my news to the Prince, so I didn’t mind much. I couldn’t even stay attached to the palace because I was visiting craftsmen’s workshops everywhere. I only needed to finish preparing to enter the salon.

When the scheduled time for going out arrived, I stood before the mirror.

Though I exercised whenever I had time, I didn’t gain weight easily, so there wasn’t much change in my physique. What could I expect in three days? I needed to build a body suitable for survival battles, because the dangerous factors I might face ahead would be stronger than three medical student seniors who only studied. I borrowed Wittelsbach’s elixir for this. Though it wasn’t as excellent as the medicine from 1898, it did provide the basic stamina to exercise without rest.

The suit newly tailored to fit my body perfectly used expensive fabric made by the royal family, so at a glance I looked like a wealthy bourgeois or nobleman. Normally that wouldn’t be good, but this time it was fine.

I considered tanning my face a bit… but it didn’t fit the concept, so I gave up. That was a little disappointing. I quietly looked at my blue eyes and snapped my fingers.

Then I took a deep breath.

From now on, I had to be with the human masses that felt so distant to me. I wasn’t inclined to. If there was any consolation, it was that people here were more naive compared to 21st-century people, but even so, I couldn’t trust people’s naivety and go out carelessly. There are suspicious people everywhere, so I had to prepare thoroughly.

I slowly picked up the wax.

* * *

“Mathilde.”

At the voice calling her, Mathilde, who had been reading in the garden, turned around. Her friend came running lightly while holding her skirt, then without proper greeting, tried to take something out of the small bag she was carrying. Mathilde already guessed what her friend was trying to hand her, frowned, and grabbed her friend’s hand.

“Ah, stop now. Stop. That’s enough. I told you I’m not going out anymore.”

“No, just today—”

“What do you mean no? I’m sick of it now. That damn spirituality! What’s the point of sitting together when nothing comes of it?”

Her friend didn’t mind that Mathilde had forgotten her dignity as a bourgeois and used words like ‘that damn.’ She gently grabbed Mathilde’s forearm and soothed her displeased friend.

“Hey. No, it’s because you haven’t been there many times yet.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve already gone ten times.”

What her friend was talking about was the weekly séance salon. Having attended ten times but not growing attached, Mathilde no longer wanted to go there.

“Since it’s ten times, you can soon become a real member of our knightly order. Even I thought only boring performances continued until now. But today is different. Madam Kruger told me to bring you. Definitely. This time there’s something only revealed to our knightly order.”

“I’m not part of the knightly order yet.”

Mathilde still answered with a fed-up expression. Goosebumps rose on her forearms while speaking. That damn ‘knightly order’! Because she mistakenly set foot in some séance salon, she had to see all sorts of ridiculous names. The knightly order was what the séance salon people called their special members. There was a longer name for what knightly order it was, but it was so childish she forgot after hearing it.

“But you can participate this time! Madam specially selected only a few people to let them participate in the knightly order’s secret meeting.”

Mathilde looked at her friend with disdain. He tried to open his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t stop his friend who was already flushed and completely absorbed in necromancy, speaking only of his own interests. Mathilde clicked her tongue in sorrow, wondering how her angelic friend had ended up on such a wrong path involving necromancy and such things. Their gatherings were interesting and mysterious, but fundamentally bizarre, displaying such single-minded aspects that she didn’t want to participate. They covered their faces with black cloth, held each other’s hands, made strange sounds, and repeatedly raised and lowered their hands. The skull of unknown origin placed in the center of the table seemed safer and more dignified than their ritual. Such occult salons were quite popular among the bourgeoisie and were accepted as somewhat refined, but Mathilde couldn’t view such people favorably. However, when her friend grabbed hold of her and went on for minutes, she couldn’t easily refuse the request. Above all, very occasionally their primitive rituals did seem interesting, so Mathilde had to sigh and follow her friend once again.

Their ritual took place in a secret room in the basement of Madam Kruger’s manor. The salon was composed of the same nouveau riche class, half women and half men, which made Mathilde uncomfortable in that setting. If her conservative parents knew that she, still unmarried, was attending the salon without a chaperone, they would be greatly saddened. Mathilde was sick of such implicit restrictions but didn’t want to disappoint her parents either. But what could she do? Separate from her guilt, she had transgressed ten times. The eleventh transgression weighed heavily on her heart as she followed her friend out of the carriage. The flowers on her head made her bow her head repeatedly as if they were made of lead.

Madam Kruger’s servant guided Mathilde and her friend underground. As they entered the dark room deep in the hallway, Madam Kruger and the salon members welcomed them with smiles.

“You’ve come.”

“Have you been well, Madam?”

“Of course. Please, sit down.”

After that, five or six empty seats were filled, but no matter how much time passed, one seat remained unfilled. The grandfather clock announced the hour as an angel statue holding a trumpet popped out from within. Mathilde swallowed as she watched the grotesque angel statue blow its trumpet before going back inside.

“It is time.”

“The reason I called you all today is because I have something to show you. Our medium Sofia has worked hard to present us with séances. What people have we met? We met a fat businessman who died twenty years ago, and we also met a pitiful young man who died at Napoleon’s hands. That young man sadly consoled himself by considering it an honor to have died at Napoleon’s hands. You’ll remember. Earlier, we also met an ancestor wearing a judge-like wig on his head!”

The madam looked around at the people and nodded.

“The person I’m introducing today is far more… so symbolic that we cannot even raise our heads. There’s no need to say more. Please, come in!”

Mathilde stared blankly at the madam who was passionately speaking alone, wondering what on earth this was about, then looked at the door that slid open without making a sound. Her mouth fell open. It wasn’t just Mathilde. The friend sitting beside her covered her mouth with one hand while grabbing Mathilde’s hand with the other. Everyone sitting at the huge round table, except for the madam alone, widened their eyes in surprise.

The person who had just entered was a considerably tall and handsome man. Mathilde fixed her gaze on the vampire-pale face of the guest. It was difficult to look away easily. His striking features that were rarely seen captivated her attention, but in fact, another factor overwhelmed everyone present. His eyes had an ordinary amber and brownish yellow tint, but his hair and eyebrows were as white as his skin. Was such a hair color even possible? Northern Europeans do have blonde hair that appears white. However, this person had truly pure white hair as if he came from the Papacy. Moreover, he wasn’t just tall. He was abnormally tall like a giant from Northern European mythology. A ghost? An Esper? Mathilde reflexively thought so, but since there weren’t many Espers in the world, he was definitely human. Was this necromancy salon now planning to claim they had brought someone who inherited giant blood? Mathilde wasn’t being sarcastic. She wasn’t being sarcastic. He was mysterious enough that such a claim would make sense. Judging by his height and clothing, if he was human, he would be male, but his face was strangely boyish and androgynous. Mathilde, who had just come of age, trembled at the strangeness as she recalled her own boyhood face.

Perhaps the several accessories he was wearing created such an atmosphere. He wore a monocle with a thin velvet ribbon mainly used by women connected to his jacket along with a chain. The suit and robe he wore were masculine, but the leather fur gloves on his hands were women’s accessories only enlarged in size. What was this unconventionality? His appearance that forgot norms made him seem like a foreigner from the opposite side of the Earth rather than someone from here. Or perhaps a ghost from ancient times. Mathilde was dazed by the visual shock that hit her all at once. The monocle was of a form not seen in ordinary people. Black glass blocked one eye from the side, and above it was a brass-framed magnifying glass that manually adjusted magnification. One might think such things existed in the world, but Mathilde could only gape without thinking of anything else until the handsome man with legendary appearance took his seat.

“Please introduce yourself.”

“My peace I give unto you.”

The saint-like figure spoke in a low voice. Normally Mathilde would have been filled with questions, but now she widened her eyes once again. His voice resonated majestically as if he were alone in a vast cathedral, which was different from the voices of the madam and other participants in this place. John 14:27. Someone frantically searched through the Bible they were holding and spoke urgently as if spitting. Then the saint showed a faint smile. Mathilde, who had been looking back and forth between the participants and the saint in bewilderment, turned pale. Her fingers stiffened like a corpse under the warm velvet gloves. Could this person be Malak? For some reason, Mathilde couldn’t move anything under the strange pressure that overcame her body. The fact that he didn’t reveal his gender on his face and had a tall, beautiful appearance made him feel exactly like the angels who serve Yahweh. According to what Mathilde had heard from the priest, angels were spiritual beings, so it was meaningless to consider physical gender, and this person exuded exactly that atmosphere from head to toe.

“I am truly glad to meet the children of Yahweh in this place. I have come today to speak the name of Yahweh’s mercy from everlasting to everlasting to those who fear Him.”

Mathilde couldn’t understand what he was saying. From everlasting to everlasting? Someone whispered that it was Psalm 103:17. She still couldn’t understand, but Mathilde and the audience were frozen by the sacred voice.

“If it’s not rude, please first tell us what you can do, brother.”

The madam leaned forward and clasped her hands together as if praying. Looking at the madam warmly with a benevolent face, he willingly opened his mouth.

“Though I died, I am with Him who is still spoken of through that faith.”

Hebrews 11:4! Someone whispered urgently. Mathilde immediately recalled the verse. By faith Abel offered God a better sacrifice than Cain and was acknowledged as righteous. Though he died, thanks to that faith he still speaks…

“That’s right.”

The madam boldly widened her eyes and respectfully pointed to the sacred figure.

“The soul of Abel, the second son of Adam and Eve, dwells within this person.”

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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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