Chapter 122

"...Magic?"

"Yeah. This world is basically built on top of mana."

The word choice was suspect right from the start.

Edwin's loaded tone didn't help either. If he hadn't been beloved family, Edgar would have taken him for some con man angling for investment money.

His fever had gone down, sure, but now he had a headache.

"And mana's a stable kind of energy—temperature and stuff don't affect it at all! But the moment you use it as a power source, it gets contaminated!"

"Power source, meaning?"

"You need mana to cast magic, right? Once mana's been used, you can't use it again until it's been purified."

"......"

At least during the years Edgar had been Count Bertholdt, Edwin hadn't been this passionate about magic. He'd taken an interest as a child, but no more than that.

Did someone con him after I died?

It was a fair question, and Edgar studied Edwin.

Edwin had doggedly insisted he hadn't died—but who could really say? If he'd never woken up after that, he'd have been as good as dead.

"The Eshan Empire era was the golden age of magic, right? They purified the polluted mana on a schedule so it didn't build up too much."

"Build up?"

"Polluted mana soaks into the ground. But the ground can't hold mana forever, so once there's too much of it..."

Edwin brought his palms together, then spread them apart.

"Boom. It blows."

"Hmm..."

"That's why the mages back in the empire kept purifying mana—to stop that from happening. But between wars and other reasons, the number of mages kept dropping, and the methods for purifying mana were lost along with them."

Edgar wasn't buying it.

He trusted Edwin. There was no way he wouldn't. But he didn't trust that Edwin would share everything. After all, Edwin hadn't even told him how much longer he'd lived after Edgar died. If he'd meant to lay it all out from the start, he would have said so the day they came back to the past.

"But mages stuck around longer, didn't they? And magic isn't completely gone even now."

If he really pressed, he could get Edwin to talk. Edwin had always given in when Edgar dug his heels in. But Edgar didn't want to.

Because he'd felt just how badly his own "death" had wounded Edwin.

Edgar couldn't be that cruel to him. Didn't want to be. If their positions had been reversed, Edgar wouldn't have been able to tell his own dead self what had happened after death either.

And honestly, Edgar didn't want to hear it. That the world had rolled on just fine after one person died? That his only family had lost his mind over that death?

Nothing he heard would satisfy him. He was afraid.

So he'd just listen to whatever Edwin had worked up the nerve to say. For now, at least.

"But without a way to purify it, mana just keeps building and building! And then it explodes! Edgar, you remember all those droughts and typhoons, right?"

"Yeah."

"Polluted mana was doing that too."

"......"

Edwin had lived longer than Edgar. He'd been vague about it, but not by a year or two. Ten years longer, at least, maybe more.

And magic.

The magic Edwin had loved so much.

The passion he brought to Benito's magic lessons was too real to be him just keeping up a childhood interest. Even now, asked why Grisha had to be king, he'd launched straight into talk of magic.

The day Edgar had realized they'd come back to the past—he'd thought of it as a miracle.

Benito had said magic was the power to bring about "miracles."

...If Edwin had fallen into a coma, Edgar would have done anything to bring him back too.

He'd have made whatever miracle it took to save Edwin, however long that took.

"All right."

"All right?"

If Edwin didn't want to talk about that "miracle," Edgar wouldn't push.

Because he trusted Edwin. Because they were family.

Edwin was Edwin.

"But I still don't get what any of this has to do with the Duke of Lambert becoming king."

That was what mattered most to Edgar.

He'd decided as much while lying in bed under the pretense of his cold. He'd never imagined Edwin had come back from the future too, and it had thrown him, but...

Still, it was a relief that he wasn't the only one carrying those memories of failure. Uncle dying, Adelheid dying—there'd been plenty of terrible things, but there'd been good ones too.

Knowing Edwin shared those memories was such a relief. Even if Edgar strayed off course, Edwin would pull him back.

"You're not supposed to call him Duke of Lambert anymore, remember."

"Fine, fine. Mister Grisha, then."

"Well. Uncle Grisha, technically."

And Edwin had said it himself. Don't try to do everything at once. Take it one thing at a time.

"Sure. Whatever we call him."

Edgar pulled his thoughts back before they could wander further.

One at a time. In order.

For now, he'd go along with whatever Edwin wanted. Edwin needed time to adjust too.

Edgar wasn't the only one on edge about this conversation. Edwin had probably been waiting for Edgar to work it out on his own. That was why he'd asked what the last thing Edgar remembered was.

"Even if the methods for purifying mana were lost, the knowledge that polluted mana was dangerous couldn't have vanished along with them."

"It's news to me."

"...At least when Alharn was founded, people still knew. There were still mages around then."

Edwin fussed at the bedsheets for no particular reason. Edgar blinked, then picked up the teddy bear at the head of the bed and pressed it into Edwin's arms.

Edwin glared at the bear, displeased, then squished it hard in his hands. It crumpled into a ridiculous shape.

"It was obvious that polluted mana was going to cause a disaster... and the mages just kept dwindling. So the founding king pulled a trick."

"Does that have something to do with Grisha being King Waldemar's hidden son?"

"Very much so. More precisely, the fact that he carries the Alharn royal bloodline. The current king isn't actually of the Alharn royal line, is he?"

Edgar couldn't guess where this was headed, and nodded warily.

"The founding king gathered up the remaining mages and cast a spell on his own bloodline."

"...A spell."

"Yes. A spell. The founding king really was descended from the Eshan Empire—that's what made it possible. As long as that bloodline sat on the throne... how do I put it. It would work like a... talisman? For purifying polluted mana."

"......"

"Yeah, I know. Sounds weird, right? I know! If I hadn't seen it for myself, I wouldn't have believed it either!"

Edwin threw the bear in a fit of temper. The innocent bear tumbled across the bed.

"How else would every single king have ended up blond? Even if two blonds marry, the odds are low! Obviously magic was involved!"

"Hmm..."

"Both King Waldemar and the king before him died unexpectedly. That's why it never got passed down properly—the reason the Alharn bloodline had to inherit the throne! Well. Maybe it got broken even before then. Either way, King Waldemar died, and things held out as far as Ryan Adler. But how long has Ryan Adler been on the throne? Even at this point it's already been over thirty years! The Alharn bloodline is only enough to act like a charm that keeps things from boiling over—it doesn't actually have the power to purify all the mana!"

Edwin flopped forward, tugging at his hair. The way he squirmed made him look a bit like a small child throwing a tantrum for a toy.

But his face had flushed bright red, and Edgar started to worry. He carefully took Edwin's hand. Edwin had gripped his hair so hard that loose strands had fallen out onto the sheets.

"That's why everything went to hell when Carlisle Adler took the throne! One held on, but the next couldn't!! Nobody knew. Nobody..."

"...If nobody knew, then how did you find out?"

"Mister Grisha told me."

Edwin muttered it curtly.

"He said if he'd known, he wouldn't have given up partway and would have kept fighting. But—well. Nobody knew. Who could have guessed that changing one dynasty would set off something like that?"

"......"

"Anyway! You see? Uncle Grisha has to be king."

Not a bit of it.

Honestly, all this magic and mana talk didn't really land for Edgar. Mana exploding, the founding king doing... whatever he'd done to his bloodline. And whatever "something like that" was supposed to be. If anyone but Edwin had been telling him this, he'd have nodded along and forgotten about it.

But Edwin was the one telling him.

"Got it."

"......Really? You don't even like magic stuff."

"It's not that I don't like it. I just don't care about it."

Edgar shrugged and patted the empty spot on the bed with his palm. While Edwin blinked, not catching his meaning, a patter of paws sounded and a solid weight came bounding up onto the bed.

The big sheepdog wagged his tail. If Linda saw, she'd scold them for letting him up on the bed.

"But you wouldn't make things up."

"......"

"I'll help."

Edwin's eyebrows drooped. He claimed he hadn't been crying, but the shine in his eyes made that hard to buy. It was the same face he'd made earlier.

"Not that I have any idea what a couple of eight-year-olds are supposed to do."

"......"

"Honestly, I don't think there's anything we can do."

"Have a little more confidence than that."

"It's true, though. Anyway, if that guy becomes king, then at least Uncle won't be in danger, right? Oh! Do you know who killed Uncle?"

"......"

Something complicated crossed Edwin's face. Edgar reached over Nabi's head and gave Edwin's shoulder a light tap.

"What. Did you think I was going to give up on Uncle? I told you I want to save him."

"No. That's not it. I meant it when I said I want Uncle to live too."

Edwin stroked Nabi. Perhaps satisfied at having gotten the attention he wanted, the sheepdog stretched out flat on the bed. Dust rubbed off onto the white sheets. They'd get caught for letting him up, and Linda would definitely scold them for it that evening.

Maybe if he faked still being sick, she'd let it go.

When Edwin's silence stretched on, Edgar toyed with Nabi's forepaws, kneading them.

"Uncle... if Uncle Grisha becomes king, Uncle will be fine."

Edgar noticed that Edwin had sidestepped the question about who had killed their uncle.

But he nodded as if he hadn't caught it at all.

"But like I said, Edwin. What could we do? Uncle's in the capital too."

"Because Uncle Grisha's in the capital too?"

"Yeah. I heard he's coming out here once Founding Day is over."

"......"

Edwin beamed.

If not for everything they'd just talked about, Edgar would have fallen for that smile again.

"There's something we can do."

"......What?"

"Clutch a doll and pretend to cry?"

"Oh, come on."

"No, seriously. There is something we can do."

"What?"

At Edgar's exasperated tone, Edwin snickered. He flopped back onto the bed. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were hidden from view.

His voice still full of mischief, Edwin answered.

"Save Adelheid."