Chapter 41:
Why So Quiet?
What’s driving Deon right now isn’t rational thinking but rather regrets from the past.
Regrets like, “If only I had used my powers before Lady Ludwick stopped breathing, could my mother have been kept alive?”
But that was also Deon’s delusion and regret. There was no way Deon, who couldn’t even handle simple tasks, could have done anything back then when his powers first manifested.
Moreover, using powers on Liche now would be pointless. Liche’s condition couldn’t be improved by controlling her breathing.
So Blake was stopping his son’s actions.
“Don’t worry too much, Young Master. Miss Liche is still breathing, isn’t she?”
Jedd separated Deon from the bed.
Since that day, one chair placed against the wall became Deon’s designated spot. It had a clear view of Liche lying on the bed.
Deon didn’t leave the room where Liche was, even as he smelled the scent of Zekebert and the people.
“I almost died once, but I lived.”
“How did you live?”
“I don’t know. Did I pray to God?”
“God?”
“Yeah. I asked him not to let me hurt anymore.”
Certainly, didn’t Liche tell me in the Demon Forest? She almost died, but God saved her.
God may not be on my side, but maybe he’s on Liche’s.
“…”.
Deon watched Liche’s fluctuating state of life and death for several days, determined that if Liche woke up safely, he wouldn’t let such a thing happen again. He resolved to protect Liche himself.
“So, Gerwer shouldn’t.”
Putting down his pen, Deon turned his head towards Robenhaf sitting next to him.
“Why is that?”
A sheepish Robenhaf asked Deon. Deon warned him like a caution.
“You too.”
—
Dessert club meeting room.
Liche, Ian, and Zekebert were sitting on a plush sofa.
And on the opposite sofa.
“…”
A nobleman sipping tea.
His neatly arranged sky-blue hair and his impeccably dressed appearance seemed to reflect his refined nature perfectly.
“It’s cold.”
Watching the faint shimmering aura enveloping the upper half of the nobleman’s body, Liche shivered slightly. Hebetzman Viscount, a manipulator of cold.
“We’ve never had a conversation besides greetings.”
It was the first time Liche had sat next to Hebetzman Viscount like this.
Although Viscount Hebetzman had occasionally visited the Ludwick mansion, they had only exchanged brief greetings.
“I have a feeling I know why.”
Though nobody spoke outright, Liche thought that Viscount Hebetzman didn’t particularly like her.
Being from a prestigious family, Viscount Hebetzman probably valued lineage. He might not appreciate the fact that she, a commoner, occupied the position of a lady.
So, the current situation was a bit difficult for Liche.
Liche and Viscount Hebetzman’s eyes met as they glanced at each other.
“Oh.”
Eyes as cold as his abilities.
If Robenhaf’s eyes resembled the refreshing blue of midsummer, Viscount Hebetzman’s eyes resembled the icy flowers of midwinter.
“This tea isn’t very good. I’ll send you some better tea soon.”
“Thank you… very much.”
Liche awkwardly replied.
It seemed not only Liche but everyone felt the awkwardness. Ian, who was playing with his teacup, gave Liche an ambiguous smile when their eyes met.
Zekebert, released from his transformation, sat next to Liche, occasionally yawning and staring blankly.
“I hope Robenhaf comes soon…”
It seemed like this situation would end only when Robenhaf arrived.
Meanwhile, Viscount Hebetzman was observing Liche while pretending to savor his tea.
Before he came to the club room.
During a visit to the principal’s office regarding scholarship sponsorship, the conversation turned to Twareche.
The principal pulled out a letter from the drawer and asked Viscount Hebetzman about it.
“Viscount Hebetzman, have you been able to reach Duke Gerwer?”
“Duke Gerwer?”
“Yes. I’ve been trying to contact him several times regarding a consultation about a student, but I’ve only received responses saying he’s unavailable.”
“Consulting with Duke Gerwer about a student? …May I know the name of the student?”
“You would know, Your Excellency. It’s Twareche Ludwick. A remarkable student who will shine the future of the Rocha Empire.”
Blake’s daughter and Gerwer. Not a good feeling. Didn’t that guy already have a history of targeting Derkedion Ludwick?
Viscount Hebetzman casually asked, looking at the letter handed to him by the principal.
“Are you planning to send that to Duke Gerwer?”
“Yes. Even if he’s unavailable, he can still receive the letter. When you have time, please reply.”
“I’ll deliver it myself.”
“Oh, no need, Your Excellency, for such trouble—”
“I’ll deliver it.”
The letter, snatched from the principal’s office, was now safely tucked into Viscount Hebetzman’s inner coat pocket.
“I should tell Blake about this.”
Viscount Hebetzman put down his tea. The sound made Liche and Ian flinch.
“Thank you for the tea.”
“Are you… leaving?”
“Viscount Hebetzman, if you wait a little longer, Senior Robenhaf will come.”
“…Hmm.”
Viscount Hebetzman looked at the children getting up from the sofa as he rose.
He hadn’t come to see his son, but rather, at Blake’s request, to see Twareche.
When he heard there was a club room the children had made, he came to see it and happened to meet them by chance.
“Twareche Ludwick.”
“Yes!”
“How are you?”
“Uh, I’m doing well.”
Viscount Hebetzman, who was close to Blake, and being the leader of a prestigious family, didn’t want to create unnecessary tension.
But because of that, Liche’s voice, strained with tension, sounded oddly stiff.
“I see.”
He had something to tell Blake.
Without hesitation, Viscount Hebetzman left the club room.
The raging snowstorm seemed to have subsided. The three of them looked at the closed door.
Then, from the corridor, came Robenhaf’s scream.
Robenhaf rushed in, breathless, and opened the club room door.
“Liche! Our father…”
He had rushed over, worried that Viscount Hebetzman might have said something severe to Liche.
Confirming Liche’s usual appearance, Robenhaf finally relaxed and sat down heavily.
“What’s up?”
Deon, who greeted Viscount Hebetzman and followed him, looked at Robenhaf with a serious expression.
Then, he glanced at Liche and smirked.
“Hey, pup.”
“…?”
“Do you like that?”
Deon pointed to a shelf filled with puppy dolls.
Liche trembled at Deon’s words.
Her brother may have grown taller, but he still had a long way to go.
—
Blake’s study.
After leaving the academy, Viscount Hebetzman went straight to the Ludwick mansion and sat on the sofa, sipping tea.
“Good tea.”
On the opposite side of Viscount Hebetzman’s line of sight was a desk. Blake sat there, reading the letter brought by Viscount Hebetzman from the principal.
“…Would you like me to verify Twareche Ludwick’s future?”
Hngh.
Viscount Hebetzman narrowed his eyes as he saw the letter crumple in Blake’s hand. It was going to be destroyed by him anyway, but it seemed it would disappear from Blake’s hand on its own.
“Blake, do you know who initiated this?”
“I don’t.”
“Rumbla Izmatic. The woman you saved on the battlefield fifteen years ago.”
Blake tapped his finger on the arm of the chair.
Viscount Hebetzman continued his explanation.
“Rumbla Izmatic claimed that Twareche’s talent was dangerous. So Gerwer approached that woman to verify whether your daughter would become a threat in the future.”
Of all people, Gerwer.
If his eyes landed on Liche, it was dangerous. He would uncover what his daughter was trying to hide.
But it was not appropriate for Viscount Hebetzman to discuss Liche’s identity.
“Of all people, Rumbla Izmatic. Blake.”
Viscount Hebetzman clicked his tongue.
He wasn’t bad, but he strongly pushed his beliefs.
Whether it was considered strong conviction or authoritarianism depended on one’s perspective. He believed only in his opinions and enforced them as right.
Fifteen years ago, during the war, a whole unit was wiped out due to Blake’s abilities.
It was to protect a small village in the Rocha Empire, and one of the survivors of that village was Rumbla.
“If she’s a survivor, why sympathize with the enemy? What a joke.”
Since then, Rumbla had been claiming for a year that abilities were dangerous. Not many people paid attention to her opinion, but she was undoubtedly a troublesome person.
Even now, Viscount Hebetzman seemed uncomfortable with Rumbla’s name.
“If it’s Gerwer’s words, will Rumbla Izmatic change her opinion? Listen, Blake. It might be better to show your daughter to him—”
“No.”
Blake firmly shook his head.
“But think about it. Your daughter still has eight more years to graduate from the academy with Izmatic as a teacher. It’s not a job to entertain his accusations every time.”
There was logic in Viscount Hebetzman’s words.
He even advocated for banning Liche’s magic. It would be better to present solid evidence to Professor Rumbla and shut her down.
But Gerwer was out of the question. Blake threw the letter completely crumpled into the trash.
“Blake?”
“There must be another way.”
Gerwer’s favor wasn’t his alone.
—
Friday afternoon. Club room.
Liche leaned over the table, carefully inspecting the wooden blocks in front of her.
“Miss, pull out that block.”
“That one?”
Liche carefully removed the wooden stick hanging precariously on the top of the Zen block.
She succeeded in pulling out the stick, but—
“Gasp.”
“Eek.”
The tower made of wooden sticks collapsed with a clatter.
“Ah-. This time, Miss could have won against Master for sure—!”
Philip lamented, hitting his thigh in frustration.
Once again, Master won. As Miss’s attendant, he felt ashamed.
Soon Master would come in triumphantly with his—
“Why so quiet?”
“…Why?”
“Well.”
At this point, they should have heard mocking voices saying they expected this.
Liche and Philip raised their heads to look ahead.
Deon sat on the sofa, his head bowed like a deflated bear doll.
‘Scary.’
Philip swallowed hard.
Clearly, he was angry. Why? Was the game not fun because he couldn’t win?
“Brother, what’s wrong? Are you hurt somewhere?”
Courage often comes when one knows nothing. Philip looked at Liche, who touched Deon’s cheek, with horror.
“Ah, Miss. Master is not in a good state to be touched so casually—.”
“Gasp. He has a fever!”
“What?!”
Liche quickly touched Deon’s forehead and neck.
His body was hot like a fireball, but it didn’t seem to be a condition that would cause harm.
Then maybe healing him with a star fragment might help.
‘What to do?’
Seeing Deon in such pain was the first time since the forest of demons.
Liche checked his aura.
It wasn’t rippling and coalescing into a fist, but it seemed to be solid and firm, not indicating any serious issues.
Then maybe healing with a star fragment—
Liche took out a star fragment from her pocket and clenched it in her hand. Then she tried to hold Deon’s hand, but—
Thunk.
Deon pushed away Liche’s hand.
