Chapter 9

Harold was eight years younger than his brother.

Harold had been bigger than the other children from the day he was born, and never once growing up had he been smaller than his peers. He'd grown fast, too.

But eight years is a lot when you're young. Harold might have broken a doorknob the moment he stood on his own two feet, but his eight-years-older brother had by then already won debates against every university professor in the country and celebrated with a slice of chocolate cake.

And the next day, published his third paper — one that would shake the world.

With a brother like that, a younger sibling was bound to fade into the background.

But Harold Bertholdt was famous, for good and bad. Far from being overshadowed by his brother's name, all Harold heard was people shaking their heads and muttering that of course a brother like that would have a brother like this.

"Harold. You picked another fight with an Academy professor?"

"I didn't pick a fight."

"Right. You just happened to bump into an Academy professor?"

"The training grounds are too small. You went there yourself, you know how it is."

...Well. If he was being honest, it hadn't only been about talent.

Either way, his brother was the family heir, and apart from being a bit slight in build, there was no one who could match him at anything else.

So Harold had been able to choose his own path with an easy mind. After graduating from the Academy, he'd disappointed everyone's assumption that he'd join the Prince's guard and had picked the life of a wandering knight instead.

Only his brother had nodded and slipped him pocket money.

"Come home now and then, at least."

"When I get bored?"

"What am I supposed to expect from you."

All the tiresome things, he'd pushed off on his brother.

All he'd ever felt was lucky not to have been born the eldest. If he had, he wouldn't have been able to roam around like this.

After the first six months, he'd stopped taking the pocket money. Working as a mercenary paid enough to live on.

"Harold. Your sister-in-law's pregnant. Show your face."

That's what the letter said when he'd finally made it back from the backcountry.

By the time he'd hurried back to the capital, a lot of time had already passed. His brother had smiled, as if there'd been nothing to be done about it, and introduced him to two children just starting to walk.

"Your nephews. Edgar and Edwin."

"This is it, Lord Bertholdt."

Viscount Manfred, the caretaker of Lily Manor, stopped in front of a heavy door.

"Harold. You okay?"

"...Just give me a minute alone with him."

"Take as long as you need."

Anne stepped away with Viscount Manfred. They'd be in the drawing room, or somewhere.

Harold had let his brother handle every annoying, complicated business, but that didn't make Harold a fool.

However long he'd been away from the capital, his connections were still there. People who'd drop everything if Harold asked. Outside the capital there were even more.

Whatever had happened to his brother, only one thing came before the rest in Harold's mind. Hadn't his brother said the same?

Take care of Edgar and Edwin.

Harold opened the door.

The scent of fresh flowers hit him.

What kind of scene he'd been expecting, he didn't quite know himself. But the room inside was calm to a point that threw him.

The window was screened by a curtain, but a soft light lit the space. Vases everywhere — on the tables, on the sofa, even on the floor. Fresh flowers were the source of the scent filling the air.

And there was his brother. Lying neatly on the bed.

If it hadn't been for the pale face and the clothes ruined with mud and blood, Harold might have thought he was simply asleep.

Harold stood in the doorway a long while, staring at him blankly. His brother never opened his eyes, only lay there.

"...Brother."

At last, the fact that his brother was really dead landed.

---

"Actually."

Inside Lily Manor, all was quiet.

Far from the bustle of the capital, and only a minimal staff worked there — fewer still since the place had started being used to hold Count Bertholdt's body.

Anne, who'd been on the case from the beginning, knew that perfectly well. Which was why it was all the stranger.

"I didn't know you'd be here in person, Viscount."

"Hm. There have been unsavory sorts sniffing around, haven't there."

"And the other staff?"

"You mean the one who nearly opened the door for him last night?"

Viscount Manfred replied sharply. Apparently there were internal circumstances the letter hadn't fully conveyed.

Anne wisely didn't press it. Whoever had been on duty, if only they'd handled themselves right, they could have caught Adrien Renard.

"Not something Lord Bertholdt will be happy about."

"If they'd actually let him inside, it would have been much worse."

But what had happened had happened, and it was another department's problem. The city watch wasn't about to step on toes for nothing.

"He couldn't have gotten near the Count anyway."

Viscount Manfred nodded quietly and tipped the teapot.

For a moment the two of them sipped their tea without a word.

"Hm."

It was Viscount Manfred who broke the silence.

"Are the Count's children all right?"

"Fortunately Lord Bertholdt got to them before anything serious happened. They're staying with my family now."

Viscount Manfred tipped his teacup. With his mouth hidden behind it, there was no telling what he was thinking.

"Have you heard anything yet about what happens to the title?"

"Well... the Count always said whichever of the boys wanted it could take it."

"Couldn't it go to Lord Bertholdt?"

The heirs were the dead Count's children, but they were still years from coming of age. If the Count's own younger brother took the title, few would raise their voices against it.

But at Viscount Manfred's words, Anne snorted.

"Good grief. Viscount, you've never actually met Lord Bertholdt, have you?"

"Hm."

"Even if he took the title, he'd hand it right over the moment his nephew came of age. If he'd ever wanted a title, he'd have founded his own house."

"...He has the ability for it, certainly."

Anne shook her head.

"When he joined the northern base, I thought maybe he'd finally started thinking that way."

"He hadn't?"

"I heard he was friendly with the northern commander, and the man practically dragged him into it."

"...."

Viscount Manfred's expression didn't change, but Anne didn't miss the faint look of dismay around the man's eyes.

The rumors about Harold Bertholdt were plenty enough that of course he'd know them. To this straitlaced man, Harold must be exactly the sort of person he'd never want anywhere near him.

"More to the point — did you happen to hear anything from the Count yourself, Viscount?"

"Anything like what?"

"You know — surely one of the boys might have fit... whatever the Count had in mind more than the other?"

This time it was Viscount Manfred who snorted.

"Captain, you don't know the Count that well either. He never held family to that sort of standard."

"But I heard one of them managed to surprise even Count Bertholdt himself. I don't know which one."

Anne's tone was casual, but she wasn't hiding her curiosity.

Harold had been away from the capital long enough that he wouldn't have picked up on these small bits of gossip, but as the Bertholdts' neighbor, Anne had watched the boys for years.

When Albrecht Bertholdt's children had been born, every scholar in the kingdom had taken notice. Once word got out that they were twins, expectations had swelled.

Had the boys inherited their father's intellect?

"What surprised him is what matters."

Viscount Manfred sipped his tea, dodging the question, but in the end he did answer.

"The Count said he didn't care which of the boys inherited, but he was quite clear about which of them was better suited to it."

Seeing Anne's face full of curiosity, Viscount Manfred took another sip of tea.

But before Viscount Manfred's mouth could open again, or Anne could press him —

A man stepped into the drawing room.

Tousled black hair, glinting blue eyes.

"Harold?"

Harold Bertholdt approached Anne and Viscount Manfred with his mouth pressed tight.

He looked at Anne, his lips parting to say something, then closing again. The senior who used to be so infuriatingly easygoing every time they spoke had, since returning to the capital, been unfailingly full of anger.

"Everything all right?"

Harold looked at Viscount Manfred.

There was no sign of anyone else in Lily Manor. If this man was guarding the place alone, he wasn't just a caretaker.

But Harold didn't know Viscount Manfred. Anne he could trust; someone he'd only met that day, he couldn't.

"...Pardon me."

Before Anne, who was still tilting her head, Viscount Manfred caught what Harold was struggling with.

"Allow me to introduce myself properly, Lord Bertholdt."

Viscount Manfred rose from his seat and gave Harold a slight bow.

"Gauss Manfred, of Intelligence. I was... the Count's aide."

Anne finally realized what had been bothering Harold.

"Ah, right. The Viscount and I have been investigating the Count's accident together. Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of him."

"I personally hold the Count in the deepest respect. Whether his death was an accident or not, what has happened since is not something I can forgive."

"..."

"And it isn't only me. Intelligence will do whatever it can to help you, Lord Bertholdt."

A strange gleam flashed in Harold's eyes.

For a moment it was as if a wild beast were standing in front of them, and both Anne and Gauss found themselves careful even about the way they breathed.

After a long silence, Harold looked Gauss straight in the eye and asked:

"Why?"

"...Sir?"

"What did my brother do at Intelligence?"

"..."

Gauss nodded.

"It's not something that was widely known, but Count Albrecht Bertholdt was the Director."

"...Right. I figured he wasn't just another officer."

Harold's shoulders sagged.

At the same time, the taut edge of menace that had filled the drawing room drained away.

Harold tipped the teapot on the table, filled the empty cup, and drank it down in one go. The lukewarm tea didn't quite settle him, but it did help him rein things in a little.

"I got a bit worked up. My apologies, Viscount."

"No. In your place I'd have done the same."

Harold ran a rough hand through his hair.

"The two of you are waiting to hear the cause of death, aren't you?"

"...I won't lie to you, Harold."

"What does it look like to you, Lord Bertholdt?"

Harold sighed.

"I'll be honest. If there'd been clear evidence of murder, things would have been simpler."

"...Which means."

"At least, I don't see any. The physical marks don't go beyond what you'd expect from a carriage accident."

But there were plenty of ways to kill someone. Harold didn't bother saying it, and the other two didn't need to hear it to be thinking the same thing.

Once the spell was released, they'd know for certain.

He was exhausted. But Harold couldn't rest. Not yet.

"And there's this."

Harold held out a crumpled piece of paper. A large red stain had soaked through it. There was no mistaking what it was.

"It's a report that was in my brother's coat pocket. Was there anyone else from Intelligence among the dead?"

"...Yes. He was riding in the Count's carriage with him."

Gauss reached instinctively for the report, then jerked his hand back. It was important evidence.

Harold unfolded the report. The first thing they saw was the stamp marking it as an Intelligence document. But what caught Anne and Gauss's attention was something else.

The man who'd had the audacity to turn up at Lily Manor in the middle of the night. That very butler who had locked Harold's nephews away and left them — Adrien Renard. His portrait was there, along with several unfamiliar names.

Gordon Devlin.

Dustin Glenn.

Nicola Rowell.

And.

The Kingdom of Barun.

The name of the neighboring country, underlined.

Harold scrubbed his face with his palms and muttered.

"There isn't a single thing in this that's easy."