Chapter 64
Morigen was by no means a region with a gentle climate. Its culture had developed accordingly.
Any tendency to tremble at violence would have been weeded out long ago, and most people here were temperamentally cold.
Lanje had understood the people of this land, at least superficially, and did not find such traits strange.
She was not exactly a model soldier, nor did she act like someone deeply disciplined in military order, but she had spent several years on the battlefield.
Her career had disappeared due to going back to the past, but her way of thinking remained in her mind.
Earlier this year, she had fought in Simone to help Petra. She hadn’t checked with her own eyes, but the aerial assault back then had killed and injured enemies.
To say that no kind of violence can ever be tolerated is nothing but empty rhetoric.
But is that the same as saying we should allow savagery to run rampant?
People draw lines to maintain society—or to protect their own sanity.
Just as a noble title is passed down from person to person, those lines are called common sense.
If what the baron’s son did could have been put within the bounds of common sense, the elders of the North would not have gone so far as to make such an accusation.
And elders, by the very fact that they have survived to such an old age, are bound to have a rough edge or two.
“I’d like to hear the details,” Lanje said.
At her words, the elders finally poured out the story they had long suppressed.
“You know that the young master has been away from Resbar for quite a long time. You probably haven’t heard the reason why, though.”
“Wasn’t it just because he hated the countryside?”
“No. It began with exile.”
The baron’s son had a habit of using his hands recklessly from an early age, and the older he grew, the more violent he became. The servants were constantly covered in bruises, and after he turned ten, every few months someone ended up with a broken bone.
The decisive incident occurred when he was fifteen.
“…He ended up making someone a half-wit.”
And after nearly shoving the baron himself to his death when rebuked for the incident, no one could shield him any longer. He was forced to leave Resbar, practically driven out.
The elders did not lower their voices as they explained this. They did not care that the person in question was under the same roof.
Fortunately, the baron’s son was too busy gathering his supporters—and flattering himself with empty chatter—to notice or care.
Lanje gritted her teeth as she guessed where he might be.
“This is worse than I thought.”
It was, as expected, no ordinary matter.
Of course, there are plenty of men who commit such crimes and still inherit their titles. Normally, the elders would have kept quiet and obeyed without question.
But the baron’s son was too dim-witted to realize the gravity of a situation where elders—old enough to remember his past—had stepped forward, and besides, Resbar had an alternative.
Lanje closed her eyes for a moment.
People say it’s wise to cling to your own advantage with all your might—but if that’s the case, sometimes it’s better not to live at all.
Just because her pride didn’t align with that logic didn’t mean she was ignorant of honor.
Looking back, it seemed ridiculous, but when she was truly sixteen, Lanje had wished for a duty worthy of pride. It was a hope she later gave up out of exhaustion.
After sending the elders away, Lanje turned to Gune with a question.
“What we just heard—is it true?”
The stern-faced watcher answered with silence that signified assent.
“Then the marquis knows, too.”
Her words carried an undertone of reproach—You knew and still did nothing?—but Gune cautiously offered a defense.
“It wasn’t formally dealt with. This only came to light during the current investigation. No one intentionally ignored it.”
Considering that a puppet had been nominated as a proxy, the marquis’s favored candidate was clear.
Lanje fell into thought.
Making a deal with the baron’s son was now out of the question—neither logically nor emotionally could it work—so the only option was to focus on how to justify the puppet’s succession.
The key wasn’t the choice itself, but the reasoning behind it—the compelling logic the marquis could wield like magic.
“So today’s story still wasn’t enough. The marquis knew the truth but didn’t think it sufficient grounds to disinherit him…”
Lanje rubbed her forehead. She had believed she wasn’t the type to think long and hard about things, but with so many problems piling up, what choice did she have?
“How did this all get so tangled?”
She had only wanted to gather information—and now she was buried in their mess…
“Wait.”
Lanje suddenly stood up.
Even at the abrupt movement, Gune kept her composure. At that age, such big gestures and mood swings were to be expected.
But Lanje’s next move was startling—she stepped in close without a sound and whispered, which was enough to catch Gune off guard.
The words themselves were even harder to grasp.
“Tomorrow, keep an eye on the young master for me.”
“…What?”
“Don’t let him go outside carelessly. If he runs into anyone or starts scheming, it’ll be trouble.”
Interpreting Gune’s look in her own way, Lanje added,
“Don’t worry. He won’t run away.”
She bit back the words “Not yet…” but Gune sensed them and found no comfort in her reassurance.
But Gune couldn’t refuse Lanje’s request.
She was assigned by the marquis as a watcher, but if Lanje planned something, she was also obliged to assist.
While Gune kept the baron’s son occupied with pointless documents and false hopes, tying him to the mansion, Lanje went out with her companions.
Erna and Heine were tense, worried that lunch would turn out like yesterday’s disaster, but thankfully, Lanje didn’t head for a restaurant. Instead, she walked deeper into the village.
She stopped in front of a house that hardly looked like a shop.
After glancing around as if confirming the location, she knocked on the gate.
They had heard no explanation—other than that she had reached a conclusion and needed preparation to wrap things up—so the two followed her with puzzled eyes.
They had braved the cold not because they understood the purpose of this outing, but because they feared getting dragged into trouble if they stayed behind—and worried that Lanje might stir up a storm if she went alone.
Neither of them had forgotten what happened the day she went for a walk with her uncle.
A short while after Lanje knocked, someone inside called out.
“Who is it?”
“Is the village chief home?”
The woman who opened the door looked wary. Lanje’s face was unfamiliar, and her speech clearly marked her as an outsider.
“I have something to discuss about Skadi.”
When Lanje stated her purpose, the woman finally stepped aside and invited them in. She knew why the chief had hurried out yesterday and thus led the three to the parlor.
Though modest compared to the baron’s manor, the room was neat and well-kept, with a large cat sprawled across the sofa, dozing.
The woman scooped up the cat and carried it out. Not long after, the village chief appeared.
“How did you come all the way here, young lady…?”
Lanje didn’t want to waste time nitpicking that form of address, so she got straight to the point.
“What you said yesterday left an impression. It’s not like I’m fond of that young master myself. But this alone isn’t enough to resolve the situation.”
As she diluted the tea with water to cool it, Lanje met the old man’s eyes.
He was filled with hope and tension—and an even greater fear.
Erna and Heine still hadn’t heard the full story from yesterday, but they knew what task had been given to Lanje, so they read the mood as best they could.
Lanje drained the teacup in one go. She needed to steel her throat for the heavy words to come.
“…To make everyone accept the conclusion, I need your help.”
When Lanje made it clear she was on their side, the chief’s face eased with relief as he asked,
“What kind of help do you need? If you’ve chosen Skadi, I’ll do everything I can.”
Lanje fiddled with the empty cup. What came next was a request so weighty that even the first words gave her pause.
But the longer she delayed, the heavier the air would grow. So she could hesitate no more. Meeting the chief’s eyes again, she said,
“The victims you mentioned yesterday—they’re still alive, aren’t they?”
A week later, Lanje summoned people to the Resbar baronial manor.
To be precise, she had a message sent out: the heir would be determined, and anyone curious was welcome to attend.
On the appointed day, the manor was packed with onlookers. Even after opening the largest banquet hall, the space overflowed with people. More were standing than sitting, and most seats—aside from a few exceptions—were given not by rank but by age, with the eldest first.
Of course, some were displeased, but for today, no one voiced a complaint. Even the viscount himself had come to witness the outcome.
Lanje touched her nose, feeling a little awkward.
“If everyone cared this much, they could’ve handled it themselves…”
Suppressing her irritation at the marquis, she let her gaze sweep over the assembly.
At least the plan had worked: there were plenty of eyes and ears here.
Whatever was said in this hall would spread far and wide.
Fixing her gaze on the man and the puppet standing before her, Lanje spoke.
“You all know that the marquis has long deliberated over the matter of Resbar’s barony—whether to follow the will or uphold tradition.”
She raised the will she’d received from Gune.
“But that deliberation—and the reason the late baron left such words—was rooted in careful thought about who would best care for this domain. His Excellency entrusted me, an outsider, to make a fair judgment. So, today, in front of everyone, I will hold a trial that will allow us to gauge the two candidates’ capabilities.”
