Chapter 3
Victor, lost in thought for some time, reached out and grasped the silver bell on the table, giving it a gentle shake.
A clear metallic tone echoed quietly throughout the study.
Through the half-open window, summer air drifted in, lightly stirring the curtains. The warm breeze carried the scent of grass and the heat of the sun-soaked garden.
“Bring me the newspaper.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
Hearing the bell, Willen, the butler, quickly came from the bedroom. He immediately sensed that his master was in an unusual state.
It seemed that affairs in the capital were not going smoothly. Well, that would explain why he hadn’t visited his estate in so long.
With that thought, Willen efficiently retrieved that day’s newspaper and a refreshing glass of water. After all, his duty was to serve his master, not to concern himself with the tangled politics of the capital.
“……July 1st, 1867?”
The absurd date drew a hollow laugh from Victor, but only after he had emptied the glass. In the midst of war, drinking a single cup of uncontaminated water had been a luxury. He instructed his butler to bring him more, adding that a cup of coffee should also be prepared.
‘Have I finally lost my mind?’
His last memory was the temporary field hospital for the wounded. There had been a bombing, and he had likely died there. Yet here he was, limbs intact, back four years in time.
Calmly reviewing the newspaper articles, recognizing the events as ones he had witnessed firsthand, he moved toward the mirror.
A full-length mirror, which he had rarely paid attention to except when dressing for a banquet, now proved invaluable.
“…….”
In the reflection, a man of imposing stature glared back at him.
Surprisingly, the scar by his eye from the great war with France was gone. Well, it hadn’t yet appeared at this time. The knee that had been grazed by a bullet was fully healed, and above all, his gaze had changed.
The eyes of someone who had survived countless near-death experiences inevitably carry a certain edge. Yet the man in the mirror appeared… presentable.
In other words, he didn’t look like a walking explosive.
“So this is what I looked like back then.”
He began unfastening the buttons of his shirt.
Even at home, he had always fastened his collar to the neck and wore a vest, a habit born of his fastidious nature, but now it was necessary—he needed to inspect his body.
“The gunshot wound here is gone too. But my body feels… off.”
The butler, arriving late with water and coffee, ignored his master’s muttering.
It must have seemed odd to see his master strip in broad daylight, casually examining his chest muscles while criticizing them. But in the historic Bavarian estate, it was beyond a servant’s authority to question the head of the house. Instead, the butler bowed immediately in compliance.
“Go summon a journalist from the most renowned newspaper.”
“Yes, sir. Would you prefer a political daily, or a gossip paper?”
Victor considered the question briefly before speaking softly.
“Both. I’m going to place a matrimonial advertisement.”
Even the most experienced butler couldn’t hide his widening eyes this time.
The next day, Victor remained acutely aware that he was still in his estate.
He had never imagined returning in this manner. Perhaps the gods had scraped together whatever mercy they had left.
Indifferently, he began his next task: taking out paper and meticulously recording everything he knew.
From minor details, like the identities of officers and soldiers, to larger matters, like where battles had taken place. On the final pages, he wrote about why he had been abandoned and how he had ended up in a fatal situation. He described in detail why survival had seemed impossible.
‘At this point, I alone know of the war between France and Richter that will unfold in the future.’
If preventing it was the gods’ will, he was willing to comply.
Even during war, it was an international convention not to attack hospitals with wounded soldiers. Violations would prompt neighboring countries to collectively condemn the offenders.
But France had blatantly ignored such rules and launched their assault.
‘In other words, it must have been with the blessing of dear King Richter.’
Caught in the crossfire of two kings’ vendettas, his officers, soldiers, and medics had perished.
A sudden cramp in his hand caused the fountain pen he was using to snap. Bowing briefly to the remnants of the pen he had cherished, he discarded it without regret and picked up a new one.
It didn’t matter now. He wasn’t holding charcoal, giving guerrilla commands on the battlefield.
‘First, I need to identify the most loyal of my subordinates.’
War exposes the true nature of people. Some desert, some betray, but many comrades fought alongside him until the very end.
‘Abel.’
His elegant fingers paused on the pen.
The only non-combatant who had tried tirelessly to keep him alive.
‘What did he say at the end…? That I should survive?’
He didn’t know why this miracle had occurred. Surely it wasn’t a dream.
After long contemplation, his thoughts turned to Abel.
‘If it wasn’t me who caused this miracle, it must have been Abel. Perhaps he also returned with me.’
If Abel had indeed resurrected him… Bavaria would repay the debt.
But how to do it? Where could one possibly find a commoner like him? The school he had graduated from was documented, but that alone made locating him difficult.
‘Abel has always been clever in hiding the truth.’
Victor had left him be, impressed by how Abel concealed certain truths without detection. Hiding selective truths is not quite the same as lying.
Yes, that would suffice…
“Woof! Woof!”
“Ah! Stop this at once! That the bloodline of Bavaria would behave like beasts!”
“Grr, woof! Woof!!!”
“Do you think I wouldn’t notice you doing this on purpose? I said stop! Oh, God!”
Victor’s expression instantly hardened at the sounds outside.
The softening of his mouth that had appeared while thinking of Abel stiffened, and his posture became rigid.
Yes. Victor von Bayern also had secrets. Secrets he wished to share with no one.
“That boy—when are you finally sending him to the mental institution?”
That evening, after Victor had fully assessed his situation, at the dinner table, his aunt, Genevieve von Bayern, flew into a rage, scratches clearly visible on her face.
“The eldest is clever enough, but why is the second one like this?! For the sake of that child, he must be admitted immediately. At this rate, the name of Bavaria will be ridiculed.”
Despite her age, Genevieve had long hair and remained unmarried.
Her continued presence at the estate was because she had lost her inheritance after a near-scam investment, around the time Victor’s younger sister, Seosanna, had passed away. She had come to live here, partly to care for Seosanna’s twin sons. Victor had agreed willingly.
‘But it wasn’t quite what I expected.’
The nine-year-old twins had a terrible relationship with Genevieve. Mention of a mental hospital alone made her furious.
‘What did I do at the time?’
Victor stared silently, giving no answer. Genevieve flinched, swallowing her words.
“No, the reputation of Bavaria won’t be ruined because of one child… but the second one’s condition is serious. You’ve only been back for two years, so you might not realize it.”
“A mental hospital… huh.”
