Chapter 62
To decide the heir of Baron Lesvar.
However, there must be a convincing reason.
Lanzhe burst out laughing at the condition set by the marquis. He was essentially being handed an important task while the authorization document was being held hostage. And even that document wasn’t guaranteed to come into his hands.
Although the stated reward was his mother’s inheritance, this was also a test for the baron’s son and the doll—and at the same time, an assignment given to Lanzhe.
He recalled the subtle smile that had crossed Marchioness Morigen’s stern face.
“That old lady… she’s got a sly side.”
Even if he made the wrong decision, the final approval lay in the hands of the marquis, so there would be a chance to revise it. Morigen’s prestige wouldn’t suffer any serious blow.
After all, even though she was his granddaughter, Lanzhe wasn’t an official member of the family, so the one who would lose face was Swanhild, who had been in charge of his upbringing.
If Lanzhe managed to resolve this troublesome matter with some brilliant wit, it would be to Morigen’s benefit. If not, the current situation would simply remain unchanged, so there was no real loss.
She could save money and ignore an annoying request, so perhaps she was even hoping for him to fail.
Feeling stifled, Lanzhe, Erna, and Heine left the mansion the next morning. Gunne had said he would inform the Baron’s household of Lanzhe’s mission, so staying at the estate would inevitably lead to bothersome situations.
Walking ahead with his hands shoved into his pockets, Lanzhe sighed several times. Even after thinking about it until right before falling asleep, he hadn’t come up with any solution that felt right.
Since Lanzhe wasn’t showing his usual cheerfulness, the mood naturally sank for Erna and Heine as well.
They had walked far enough from the estate to see the village when Lanzhe finally spoke.
“What was it like when you got your inheritance?”
Erna blinked in surprise.
“Me…?”
“I was wondering if something like this ever happened to you.”
Realizing that he was sincerely asking for reference, Erna shook her head.
“It must have been before I turned ten. I’m not sure of the exact time, but I remember being told that the land and jewels owned by Lady Videllia were transferred to my name. There wasn’t any procedure like this. If there had been, I would have remembered. The only thing that comes to mind is that Grandfather seemed a little disappointed.”
“Why would he?”
“Because only the name changed. Full ownership, including the right to dispose of it, was supposed to pass to me after I turned thirty.”
At the time, there weren’t many people confident that Erna would live to see even twenty, let alone thirty. If she had died, Videllia’s inheritance would have returned to Morigen.
Lanzhe shifted his weight onto one leg, looking uncomfortable.
“Did they add this task because I don’t look like I’ll die young?”
He wasn’t so out of sorts as to say that aloud in front of Erna, so he rephrased it.
“They probably figured there’s little chance of reclaiming it from me. I mean, the moment I hit thirty, I’d sell it all off. And honestly, I must seem unreliable to the adults.”
It was only natural. Once wealth is passed down, how the heir uses it is their right, but from the marquis’s perspective, watching it vanish wouldn’t be pleasant.
Besides, Lanzhe had never received any education on how to manage assets and had always shown every impulse without restraint.
Thinking back on his past behavior, Lanzhe awkwardly brushed his bangs aside.
Erna and Heine exchanged glances at the same time, both wearing looks of mild shock.
They hadn’t expected Lanzhe to be capable of such self-awareness. Knowing that Gunne must have shared the story from the luncheon made them feel a twinge of quiet betrayal.
Meanwhile, Lanzhe brought the conversation back to the main topic.
“Anyway, let’s drop the inheritance talk. That’s not why we came all the way out here.”
He put emphasis on here. No matter how warmly they dressed, the season and location made it bitterly cold. The three of them shuffled to a spot with a bit more sunlight.
“The problem is… even if I come up with a brilliant conclusion, I still might not get the authorization.”
Since they were all worrying about the same thing, Erna and Heine nodded.
“Did you tell them why you’re looking for the documents?”
“There were too many ears listening, so I just said it was for personal research.”
“Did they believe you?”
“They said I didn’t seem like the scholarly type.”
Heine inwardly regretted that the marchioness’s judgment was perfectly sound. Erna shared his sentiment and offered a suggestion.
“What if you just tell the truth now?”
“Wouldn’t they think I made it up?”
Unlike Eirik and Claire, who had worked in the capital and were recently involved in several incidents, Morigen was a family that rarely interfered in central affairs.
Even if Lanzhe explained about the society in question, there was a higher chance she wouldn’t believe him—and he had missed the right timing. At this point, it would only sound like a hastily concocted excuse, and he might lose even this flimsy opportunity.
“…I at least wanted to take some documents with me.”
Lanzhe lamented in a drawn-out tone. He wanted to abandon the theory part with a clear conscience, but as Eirik had said, this research was still meaningful.
“We might end up fighting them again.”
The more he understood their techniques, the better he could respond. He didn’t want to blunder blindly like during the preliminary exam and put Erna in danger again.
He also knew that simply avoiding it wasn’t a solution.
His sigh came out as pure white breath, betraying his mood.
Watching him, Heine carefully offered an idea.
“The baron’s son seemed… well, let’s call it ‘cooperative.’ How about negotiating with him by promising to name him as heir?”
“What do you mean?”
Since it wasn’t exactly an honorable approach, Heine averted his gaze as he continued.
“The research materials are technically Lesvar’s property. While they intend to deal with the doll according to the rules, that man should have the right to access the archives as well. It’s not like we’d be sneaking out with the deed and selling it. Even the marchioness herself doesn’t really have the right to stop a direct descendant from reading the family secrets.”
“…And if we just happen to accompany him while he does so, huh?”
At the moment, Heine’s idea seemed like the easiest path. Even Erna couldn’t help but feel drawn to it.
But Lanzhe’s blunt summary doused them both with cold water.
“So basically, we trick him and run with the goods?”
It was an exaggerated shorthand, but he wasn’t trying to criticize.
Lanzhe was just speaking in his own way, and although he didn’t seem keen on it, he bore no ill will toward Heine.
Just as his hesitation earlier had shown, Heine knew this suggestion carried risks.
The baron’s son had no qualifications whatsoever.
The late baron had passed over his own son to name his nephew as heir. And then, once the nephew was in place, the son tried to hand the title to a doll. That alone said enough about his character.
Heine wouldn’t feel too guilty about using him.
But when he considered the worst-case scenario, he couldn’t act lightly.
What if the marchioness intended to let Lanzhe make the decision unchecked?
The mines were managed by the marquisate, so the region of Lesvar itself might not matter to her.
Or—this was an extreme thought, but not impossible—what if she was waiting for Lanzhe to prioritize “common sense” and pick the son, and then simply let him ruin Lesvar?
If the man made a mess and died young, the marquisate could take the entire region for themselves. The timing and manner of that death would, of course, be in the marchioness’s hands.
Even if they made a decision and withdrew, taking only their gains, the locals could suffer for years.
No matter how times changed, nobles were still landlords. Who held the title could drastically affect the lives of many.
Fully aware of the weight of his assignment, Lanzhe deliberately added conditions in his mind.
That the marchioness wouldn’t allow a foolish choice. That she wanted Lesvar to be well managed.
But none of these things were certainties, and the realization made him curl and uncurl his toes inside his boots.
“…I really don’t like the idea of scheming with that guy. We have our pride.”
He gave a light conclusion and started walking again.
“Let’s find somewhere warm. I came out here to avoid the noise, but the cold is worse.”
Erna and Heine, who had also been thinking it was getting unbearable, agreed.
They weren’t ready to return to the mansion just yet, so the three naturally headed toward the village.
Though shabby compared to a city, it was the busiest settlement in the area, with a few shops and eateries.
“It’s about lunchtime, right?”
Since all three had skipped breakfast, they didn’t hesitate to pick the nearest place and step inside.
There weren’t many tables, and one happened to be empty. As they sat down, a server set down bowls with a curt gesture.
“We haven’t even ordered yet…”
Only then did Erna notice that the menu on the wall listed a single dish. She had never even heard of its name before.
The steaming broth with chunks of meat gave no clue as to what kind it was, leaving her confused—while Lanzhe, unfazed, simply picked up his spoon.
Catching Heine’s equally baffled look, Erna gave a small nod. They were already inside, and more importantly, they were starving.
The meal, in its own way, yielded useful results.
They wordlessly agreed to stop wandering and head back to the estate. All three longed to rinse their mouths with tea or coffee, anything at all.
The thought of eating anything else in the village was unbearable, leaving them no choice but to return.
However, the moment they stepped through the main gate, they were swept up in a commotion before they could even have a cup of tea.
