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Through a crystal-clear pane of glass—so pristine that it alone hinted at the wealth of its owner—Frontier Count Aulanthia gazed at the brilliantly glowing full moon, enjoying a quiet nightcap.

Despite his title as one of the most powerful nobles of the Livitium Imperial Kingdom, whose land and authority rivaled that of a mid-sized nation, the Count was known as a mild-mannered man with a preference for avoiding conflict. In fact, his father had once been the king of the independent kingdom of Aulanthia, but when it came to his generation, he swiftly relinquished that status, choosing instead to become just another noble of the Livitium Imperial Kingdom. For this, he was often mocked behind his back as a weak-willed opportunist, a mere shadow of a king.

He was frequently underestimated and ridiculed in whispers, but in truth, he didn’t care in the slightest about his standing in society or court. Such opinions bothered him no more than the buzzing of summer mosquitoes.

In fact, from his own perspective—and from the viewpoint of the empire’s most astute powerbrokers, who operated from the shadows and were often referred to as the “raccoons” or “unknown horrors”—his current position wasn’t a bad compromise.

Around thirty years ago, during the founding of the Livitium Imperial Kingdom, his father, in collusion with hardliners from the Eunice Theocracy, had attempted a coup to take over the newly formed empire. Aulanthia’s kingdom would provide the military might, while Eunice would assert legitimacy by promoting the then-teenage Shrine Maiden Princess Clara as a figurehead for the ‘Livitium Royal House.’ However, unforeseen events caused the plan to fail, and when it came time to assign blame, his father bore the full responsibility, while he himself managed to retain his status by swearing loyalty to the Livitium Imperial Kingdom.

Thus, his current position was the result of that compromise.

Though his official title as a Count ranked slightly below that of a duke, the Count could keep his former kingdom as his personal territory. While he was not permitted to involve himself in key governmental matters, it was an unspoken rule that he remained in the capital as a hostage.

It wasn’t a bad position. He wasn’t so insignificant as to be ignored nor considered important enough to be closely watched. It was an exceedingly comfortable place to be.

“The question is when to make my move…” he mused. Or perhaps it was fate that he would waste away, keeping his claws and fangs hidden until the end. Lately, the Count had begun to feel the weight of age more acutely and smiled wryly at himself.

Has he grown soft? There was a time when such thoughts would never have crossed his mind.

When did things change? After Clara passed away? No, at that time, he had worked tirelessly to fulfill her dream in her place.

“Perhaps it all started with Syltianna,” he muttered, downing the glass in his hand.

Incidentally, the drink he held was a herbal liqueur that high society, especially nobles, typically avoided. Strong in both alcohol content and its distinctive color and aroma, it was a favorite among artists and poets, though its addictive nature meant it was not widely recommended.

Why did he feel the need to drink it tonight? As he pondered, he realized it must have been the discussion he had earlier with Euphemia about the Eunice region, where Clara hailed from. That, and perhaps the full moon had enticed him.

“If only I could have gained the power that surpassed that Immortal King, or Saintess Snow, then no matter how much outsiders clamored, I would have had the justification to silence them…”

He pondered this thought, then shook his head. In his younger days, he had been captivated by power, but now, he knew that a power too great—especially something unknown and uncontrollable—was not to be trusted.

In hindsight, it may have been a stroke of luck that he hadn’t broken the seal. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but somewhere within, he must have sensed something suspicious and had distanced himself from it early on. Now that he thought about it, it was unusual how deeply fixated Clara was with that matter.

Pouring another glass, the Count placed a sugar cube on a spoon, letting the alcohol soak through before setting it aflame. Watching the soft blue flame flicker, he fell deeper into his memories.

Given Clara’s famed beauty, it had seemed natural that she would pursue the research of immortality, though now the Count wondered if her reasons had truly been so superficial. After all, his wife had a rather tumultuous life. Perhaps she had foreseen her premature end and taken steps in anticipation.

— Simon! Simon, look at her!

The vivid memory of Clara’s radiant smile surged forth. She had been holding their newborn daughter, Syltianna, her face glowing with unclouded joy.

— Look! This child is me. She’s my other half!

She cradled her beloved daughter like a true Madonna… But just as the memory reached that point, an unexpected shiver ran through him.

Was that smile truly the smile of a mother, purely celebrating the birth of her child?

“…This isn’t good. I must’ve drunk too much.”

He placed the glass down on the table.

There was no way that could be true. Syltianna was undoubtedly his and Clara’s child. Even if she had her flaws… No, it was precisely because she was so unlike Clara, so flawed, that he felt so certain of it.

“It’s the contradictions that bring me peace. But, what if…?”

What if Syltianna had been the spitting image of Clara? No—what if she had surpassed Clara in every conceivable way? Could he have ignored the possibility that Syltianna’s birth was part of a contrived plot?

“…I’ve been nothing but contradicting myself, haven’t I? Either way, it’s all in the past…”

He knew well how twisted his affections had become. There was a sense of relief when his precious jewel had slipped from his grasp, yet also a hollow emptiness that wrapped him in sorrow.

Perhaps the alcohol was taking its toll, for his mind wandered aimlessly to improbable thoughts. What if Syltianna had been a regular, beautiful girl, resembling her mother? What if he had treated her like any normal father would, free of any misgivings? By now, perhaps she would’ve introduced him to a man she fancied…

He probably would make Syltianna leave the table to run on some errand to give himself some time alone with the man she brought along — he imagined it would be someone like Prince Lucas, a member of the Graviol Imperial Family whom he’d already met. And then, with an amiable smile, he would say:

“Well, you see, I’ve had quite an unruly phase when I was growing up. I’ve actually killed a number of people before.”

Yeah, that would be about right for a stubborn father who didn’t want his daughter taken from him. Perhaps tonight, it would be a good idea to spend some time tending to the sword he had used and cherished since his youth.

With that thought, a sly smile spread across the face of Count Corrad Simon Aulanthia, the border lord of the Livitium Imperial Kingdom.

Unaware of how strange his thinking was, he remained a father who did not understand what a proper parent-child relationship should be.

♦♢♦♢

At the same time—

“Whoa—!”

Lucas, who was desperately controlling the wind spirits to protect the academy’s students, suddenly felt a terrifying chill down his spine. He almost tumbled from the bell tower but managed to cling on, barely steadying himself with both hands and feet.

“What… was that just now?”

Still feeling the unnerving sensation, as if a killing intent was reaching him from somewhere far away, Luke nervously scanned his surroundings.

“Mew?”

His winged cat, puzzled, looked up at its shaken owner.

“Oh, it’s okay. I don’t really know what it is, but it feels like I shouldn’t run away from this pressure… So, I’ll hang in there.”

Bracing himself against the eerie cold, Lucas struggled to stay put.

Author’s note:

This is a follow-up to the previous chapter. By the way, the alcohol the Count is drinking is supposed to be absinthe, but you can think of it as a similar drink.