FEFR 17

Episode 17

Lanje soon realized that she had lost control of the magic she failed to manage. Just as Erna had feared, overexerting herself had caused her grip on it to loosen.

“Simone, was it…”

Petra, being a key player in the succession dispute, was a mage of considerable skill.

Even if she hadn’t been expected to take the field in real battle, a prince-elector was traditionally descended from powerful mages since the founding of the Empire.

Due to this long-standing tradition, magical aptitude was one of the requirements for a successor.

Since Petra made no attempt to hide her own power, Lanje could gauge her level easily. With that level of ability, there’s no way Petra wouldn’t notice Lanje’s depleted mana.

“Why isn’t she saying anything?”

Meanwhile, Petra’s silence made Erna increasingly uneasy. The atmosphere felt as if a confrontation could break out at any moment.

“You want to know what I’m doing here?”

Lanje was still trying to figure out how to answer that.

In the Empire, mages were sometimes used as spies. Their communication and detection spells made them useful on missions, and if things turned hostile, it was easier for them to escape.

Petra was likely wondering if Lanje was such a case. Knowing this, Lanje was at a loss for where to start explaining.

To clarify, she would need to reveal everything about their journey west—starting from the incident back in Swanheald…

“Too long.”

Lanje slumped her shoulders and stared at Petra with sleepy eyes.

“Obviously, I didn’t come here to do anything bad. I was just looking for something. Things got a bit tangled up, and one of my companions was captured by some thugs while I was searching.”

Lanje pointed toward the man being dragged away by Petra’s subordinates.

Petra frowned, chewing over the vague explanation, then shifted her gaze to Erna.

“If your companion was captured, you must’ve been up to something.”

Her suspicion hadn’t lessened one bit.

While Lanje merely looked more annoyed than troubled, Erna felt she had to step in before anything got worse.

“If I don’t do something now, who knows what that girl might do…”

Lanje would’ve argued the unfairness of that thought, but it wasn’t entirely unfounded.

“But what can I even say…”

Erna racked her brain—and soon recalled something important.

There were only a few people nearby: Petra, Lanje, Renart, and Calisa.

“…Come to think of it, this doesn’t really have to be a secret, does it?”

Petra’s subordinates were busy transferring the prisoners out of earshot, possibly trusting Petra’s strength—or simply being too relaxed by her appearance.

“Um, Lady Petra.”

Erna cautiously opened her mouth.

“We came to Simone for another reason—not with any suspicious intent. Couldn’t you give Lanje the benefit of the doubt?”

Compared to the brash and poorly-mannered Lanje, Erna’s delicate and gentle tone seemed to soften Petra’s expression slightly.

“But why should I?”

“I know it might sound shameless… but… Lanje is your sixth cousin.”

The sudden revelation made Petra tilt her head back. Lanje, too, blinked rapidly, looking between Erna and Petra before raising a hand.

“Can I ask something?”

Erna had hoped Lanje would stay quiet, but she nodded anyway.

“Sixth cousin? That’s the first I’m hearing of this. Is it true?”

Petra addressed Lanje directly.

“If this is just a lie to get out of trouble, you could’ve at least played along.”

Unlike the clueless Lanje, Erna’s cheeks turned red as she hastily interrupted.

“It’s not a lie. Both Lanje and Lady Petra are from the Morigen line… cough.”

She choked on her words from excitement and embarrassment. The whole thing was mortifying, and she wanted to flee the scene.

Claiming kinship out of nowhere, without building up to it, made her sound like a con artist.

But Petra hadn’t missed what Erna said.

“Morigen…? So they’re related to that branch?”

She had recently heard news about that family and quickly recalled the details.

Petra’s mother was the niece of the Marquess of Morigen. That family was small, and her mother’s cousins were only two in number—one of whom had married into the Count’s family in Swanheald.

And just recently, there had been rumors of a strange incident at Swanheald.

“Now that I think about it, they’re using an eastern dialect.”

Petra placed a hand on her chin and lips, gazing down at the shrinking Erna.

“I heard that the Swanheald Count’s granddaughters ran away from home. One of them was named Erna. Am I remembering that wrong?”

“You probably have it right.”

Lanje answered in Erna’s stead.

“It’s a bit of a complicated matter.”

Now Lanje could roughly understand what Erna had meant earlier.

“So we’re sixth cousins through our mothers.”

Lanje had never cared about relatives, but she knew the names of at least a few up to the sixth degree.

Several years from now, when Swanheald’s direct line would be wiped out in war, she would hear those names repeatedly.

But her mother’s family was still a mystery. She had only found out ten days ago that her real mother was someone else.

Still, for Erna, it was something she had always known and naturally memorized.

Petra, too, seemed to be piecing it together, her brow furrowed in thought.

The runaway incident was known among close relatives. It wasn’t the kind of story a bunch of imposters or criminals would likely bring up.

She turned to Lanje and asked in a quiet voice:

“I suppose I’ll have to hear what that ‘complicated matter’ is.”

Lanje shifted her gaze beyond Petra’s, still in a loose, disinterested posture.

It wasn’t something she couldn’t talk about, but she just didn’t feel like it. She lacked the energy for a long explanation—and more importantly, Erna was bothering her.

Just Erna saying that Lanje was Petra’s sixth cousin—without her own confirmation—had visibly wounded the girl.

Her previously flushed face had gone pale, and now her tightly bitten lips looked bloodless.

Even if Lanje suggested moving the conversation somewhere else, Erna would obviously know what it was about, which made Lanje hesitant.

“Sir Friede. It’s been a while.”

Just then, a polite voice cut in, as if reading Lanje’s mind, drawing Petra’s attention.

Lanje turned in surprise.

“I saw you at the New Year’s banquet. I wonder if you remember me.”

Renart, who had been observing from the shadows, now stepped forward before Petra.

Lanje watched as a look of shock washed over Petra’s face.

It took her a moment to remember a key fact she had previously ignored.

Petra abruptly lowered her rifle and stepped closer.

“Your Highness Renart—what are you doing in a place like this?”

“What?”

“Your Highness?”

Erna and Calisa reacted simultaneously, while Lanje quietly gasped inside.

“Oh, right… that’s true.”

It was still hard to believe, given how he had always been treated, but Renart Edyn—Luschetta—was the only child left behind by the previous emperor.

Lanje dug through her memory. Her mind wasn’t working right, perhaps due to poor physical condition.

When she first heard this, she had been as shocked as Erna.

At school, it was only rumored that one of the upperclassmen was royalty. No one told her it was Renart, and she only found out a week after becoming his partner.

—“Is it true that you’re actually a prince?!”

—“Why are you suddenly bringing that up?”

Renart had responded with disbelief.

His identity was so well known that no one made a fuss about it anymore. Aside from the occasional wild underclassman, even his peers rarely brought it up, and the higher-ups were busy keeping it quiet.

To him, Lanje’s reaction had seemed outdated.

—“But no one told me!”

—“Don’t you have any friends…?”

Renart had stopped mid-sentence.

He couldn’t imagine anyone close enough to Lanje who would tell her such rumors—and he himself wasn’t exactly the social type.

So Lanje had learned the truth much later than most—but directly from Renart.

It was a rather blunt, even cold story, but she remembered it clearly in her own words.

“So…”

When Renart was a young child, his mother—Empress Luschetta—died in a tragic accident.

The electors immediately convened an emergency council.

At the time, the eligible heirs were eight-year-old Renart and his ambitious maternal uncle, Duke Agreta.

As history shows, the latter won.

After Count Simone, a supporter of Renart, died mysteriously, Duke Agreta gained the support of four electors—Lumière, Serin, Baden, and Parr–Adessa—and was crowned emperor. Renart was given a hollow title, a barren estate, and a stipend.

Being too restless to live quietly, he enrolled in the military mage academy, joined the border defense forces, and eventually partnered with Lanje.

“I totally forgot…”

Petra, being the daughter of the late Count Simone—Renart’s former supporter—naturally had a connection with him.

Lanje folded her arms, trying to recall more of their past conversations.

Meanwhile, Calisa and Erna were still flustered, while Renart calmly offered Petra a delayed answer.

“A place like this? Isn’t this still part of Simone?”

“Your Highness.”

“I don’t intend to interfere in western matters, but since I can offer some testimony… and you seem to have a lot to ask our companions… This might take a while. How about continuing the questioning tomorrow? It’s getting late.”

His voice was calm, but there was a clear edge to his words. He had openly taken Lanje’s side.