Chapter 110

Leona Bleiss attacked Count Bertholdt, made off with the family's most important documents, along with cash and jewels.

"My — my niece would never do such a thing!"

Günter Bleiss defended his niece, but he couldn't deny the evidence as it kept coming out. After attacking Count Bertholdt, Leona Bleiss had walked out of the manor bold as anything, saying she was going on a trip abroad at the count's request, and slipped out of the country.

Unable to accept what his niece had done, Günter Bleiss, caretaker of the old Bertholdt manor, took his own life four days later.

Günter Bleiss's funeral was modest. He had no surviving family, and despite his niece's crime, the count's brother oversaw the service out of long acquaintance.

Count Edgar Bertholdt had barely escaped with his life. Whether he would actually live was another matter.

Albrecht Bertholdt's carriage accident. His younger brother Harold Bertholdt's murder. And now Edgar Bertholdt.

The string of misfortunes had drawn no shortage of ugly curiosity. Count Edgar Bertholdt's younger brother, Edwin Bertholdt, closed up the manor. Everyone who had worked at the old manor was let go.

Everyone whispered about the tragedy that had struck the venerable Bertholdt family.

"..."

The old manor stood empty.

Footsteps rang through the empty house.

Thud.

"..."

The young man went through the rooms one by one, meticulously. Checking whether anything that would spoil, like food, had been left inside. Whether valuables had been left where they'd draw needless attention. Or whether anyone had stubbornly stayed on despite the generous severance he'd given them.

Once he confirmed there was nothing to worry about, he checked the window latches. Only after making sure they weren't broken and were properly locked did he draw the curtains. The light was shut out.

Out in the corridor, the young man locked each door with an old key.

He repeated the process. From the top floor of the manor down to the basement. Every room was sealed.

Every room but one on the second floor.

The room was old, but not shabby. The wallpaper, the carpet, even the fireplace, cold and swept clean — all of it plainly showed years of careful upkeep. The young man stepped inside and stood at the foot of the bed.

"Edgar."

Edgar Bertholdt hadn't died. Leona Bleiss's dagger had missed the heart by a hair. That didn't mean the wound wasn't fatal.

"I never meant to use time-stop for this."

The moment Edwin had found his brother lying in a pool of blood, he hadn't had many options left.

Edgar Bertholdt hadn't died. But could you call it living, being frozen inside time? He didn't know.

But magic worked miracles.

Just a little more, just a little longer. Hold on until then. Edgar just had to stay alive until then.

Until the day humans could work miracles themselves.

"This was the one thing I wanted to avoid. Maybe I didn't try hard enough."

Edwin bit at his fingernails with an anxious face. His fingertips were already shredded, and blood welled up the moment his teeth touched them. He didn't feel the pain. There was no reason he should. Edgar must have been in so much more pain than this.

Edwin reached toward his pale brother lying on the bed, then jerked his hand back with a start. Bright red blood had bloomed on the cut like a flower. He never again wanted to see Edgar lying there in blood. Even if it wasn't Edgar's.

Edwin wiped his hand roughly on his trousers. The fine fabric was ruined. Only after making sure no more blood was seeping from his hand did Edwin touch his brother.

"Or was the method wrong from the start?"

There was no one to answer him.

If Edgar had heard, he'd have laughed and said Edwin was talking nonsense again. That was how he'd always been. Edwin used to blurt out deliberate nonsense just because he hated watching that small face scrunch up in thought.

He shouldn't have let it go, thinking it was cute, thinking it was funny. He shouldn't have taken his brother's worries lightly or brushed past them. If he'd known Edgar had been taking all of it that seriously...

Regret had no end.

There was still work to do.

The things he'd prepared were on the bedside table. A length of white cloth, a quill pen, and special ink the western magic institute had sent.

Edwin cut the white cloth into a long strip. The cloth itself was soft as silk, but under his fingers there was a fine, sandy grit to it, as if it had been rolled in sand. He'd done the work in the small hours of the night. Even one flaw wouldn't do.

Edwin dipped the quill deep in ink and inscribed the cloth, one character at a time. He was so focused that sweat rolled down his jaw.

The characters didn't form sentences. They weren't even drawn from a single language. No one would be able to read that writing. Edwin himself, the one writing it, couldn't have said for certain.

That was fine. This wasn't written to be read. Each character had meaning on its own. The meanings only needed to link together.

Only after he'd checked that no character was miswritten did Edwin turn back to Edgar.

He'd been at it since before dawn, closing the manor down. By the time he'd gotten this far, it was already late afternoon. He had to finish before the sun set.

With a grim face, Edwin rolled up Edgar's sleeve. The pale skin was bared. Edwin wrapped the character-covered cloth around Edgar's arm.

"You just can't die."

Edwin whispered to his brother.

"As long as you don't die, I'll figure something out, Edgar."

He tied a knot so the cloth wouldn't come loose. Where the knot lay, the cut edges of the cloth overlapped and the lines joined up. Two lines running out from a single point. One short, one long. Edwin checked once more that the lines hadn't gone crooked.

"There. No one will be able to touch you."

Edwin gave a faint smile. But the smile he had forced onto his face didn't last long.

"No matter what happens, I'll protect you."

The old manor of the Bertholdt domain.

Where Sir Bertholdt had died. Where the young count had been betrayed by the caretaker he'd entrusted with running the domain.

The young count lay asleep inside the desolate manor.

The sunlight coming through the windows slowly kindled into scarlet. Through the sunset, Edwin watched a carriage racing toward the old Bertholdt manor. There was no crest on the black carriage, but there was no doubt about who was inside.

Edwin didn't go down to greet his guest, only waited quietly. The carriage stopped at the front entrance, and a man stepped out in a hurry. He half-ran toward the manor. Beyond that, the window didn't show.

But the sound reached him. The sound of someone crossing the empty manor at speed. Not hesitating over where to go, running straight up the stairs and up to the door of the master's bedroom.

"Come in."

He could sense the hesitation outside the door. Even now, being this careful was frustrating, and yet Edwin couldn't help smiling. After all this time. After everything.

"It's been a while."

The door opened cautiously. Edwin greeted him before he'd even seen his face.

Pale blond hair, no different in color than before. The reply had come back almost the moment Edwin had sent word — he'll come down right away. Edwin had gotten it yesterday, so the man must have boarded a train the instant he'd sent the reply.

"Grisha."

"...Edwin."

Grisha Lambert looked at Edwin with a tired face. Edwin didn't fall for what showed on the surface. Grisha's green eyes were sunk in the same deep gloom as when Edwin had gone up to the capital with his young twin, all those years ago.

Looking at Edgar on the bed, that gloom only deepened.

Grisha couldn't even bring himself to approach Edwin — he sank down where he stood and buried his face in his hands.

"I can't face your uncle after this..."

"It isn't your fault."

"If only I hadn't told your uncle to go down to the domain."

"Grisha."

Edwin smiled faintly.

"I'm the one who spoiled Edgar. I should have stopped him. I thought trying something was better than doing nothing, so I let him do what he wanted."

"..."

"I should have said we should stay in the capital."

"...He wouldn't have listened."

"That's true."

Edwin nodded easily at Grisha's words.

"Edgar always wanted to go back to the domain."

There'd been no stopping him. He should have. If he'd taken hold of Edgar and told him he didn't want to go back to the place his uncle had died, would his brother have listened?

Staying in the capital, or, as Grisha had once suggested, leaving the country and starting a new life abroad — either would have been fine too.

But it was all in the past now.

"I'll be taking the title of count, as I wrote in my letter."

Edwin said it firmly, as if he didn't want to talk about that part. Taking the title from a brother in a coma wasn't a problem. And if it was, Grisha would help him work it out.

Grisha didn't object, but he looked at Edgar with a worried face.

"For that, you'll have to come up to the capital. You said you were closing the manor, but — Edgar. Will he be all right?"

"He'll be fine. No one can touch Edgar."

Edwin gave Grisha a small nod. Reading the permission in it, Grisha carefully reached toward Edgar. He tried to take his hand, but by the faintest margin, his hand didn't meet Edgar's. He couldn't reach.

Grisha looked up at Edwin, startled.

"It's magic."

"...Ah. That's what this is. Albrecht used it too."

Grisha murmured.

"Right. This should do it. But shouldn't you at least put a guard on?"

"That would look more suspicious."

"I suppose..."

Grisha gave a weak smile. He looked frail, and Edwin had worried he might cry, but thankfully he didn't.

Edwin looked at Edgar. He didn't want to leave him alone. Of course he didn't. But there was no one he could trust with him. He didn't want to leave Edgar in anyone else's hands.

"I'll be back soon, Edgar."

With that goodbye, Edwin left the old manor with Grisha.

Grisha didn't say anything more, gathered up Edwin's few things, and got into the carriage. The carriage headed for the train station, and the two of them boarded the train to the capital.

The busy Duke of Lambert had come all the way down just for this moment. So that Edwin wouldn't be alone. To stay by his side the whole way to the capital.

"If you need my help, tell me any time. All right? Doesn't matter what it is."

Grisha didn't ask Edwin to stay in the capital. Even though it was plain on his face that he wanted to.

Probably because he knew what Edwin's answer would be. Edwin would never leave Edgar on his own.

"Same for you, Grisha."

"Me?"

"If you need my help, tell me."

"..."

Grisha smiled dimly. In that smile, Edwin realized Grisha would never call on him.

"Oh."

"Hm?"

"About..."

Edwin started to ask about the book he'd once tried so hard to find, then stopped. Bringing it up now would only feel hollow.

"Never mind. Be careful. Take care of yourself."

"...You too. Be well."

Edwin didn't look back, and Grisha didn't hold him back either.

Edwin became Count Bertholdt.

For three years after that, no word came from Grisha. Droughts and typhoons got worse with every passing year, and Edwin dreamed of a day somewhere in the future. The day a miracle would come for his twin.

Then one day, Edwin saw an article in the newspaper about a new king ascending the throne.

Carlisle Adler.

Since he held the title of count, an invitation to the coronation arrived for Edwin too. Edwin threw it out without even opening it. Whether the king changed or not, Edwin's life wouldn't change. The day Edgar opened his eyes wouldn't come, either.

Looking back later, it had been something he should have paid attention to. Edwin's life changed drastically from that coronation onward.

Unfortunately, that was the day the world ended.