Chapter 68
“Senior!”
Lenart treated the voice he heard behind him as though it were a hallucination.
The place was noisy, and since they were outdoors, sounds dispersed quickly. If he tried to pick out and cling to each one, his nerves would only grow unnecessarily sharp.
He had a far more pressing matter to focus on.
The parched, cracked ground was covered with barley sown in autumn, now yellowed and dead. The nearby fields were in much the same state.
He’d long known that the conditions of his domain were poor, but hearing reports and seeing it with his own eyes were two completely different things.
Unlike the farmers, who accepted it with practiced indifference, Lenart felt a flicker of anger rise within him.
Just yesterday the sprouts had been fine, and now overnight they looked like this. The absurdity of it refused to sink in.
Having toured the reported areas, he found that nearly a third of the cultivated land was in the same state.
As his frustration began to tip into grief, the farmers, who had been uncomfortable in his presence, awkwardly tried to console him.
“Your Grace, please don’t be too disheartened. This… well, around here, it’s common enough.”
Even if it was nominally bound together as a duchy, Lusheta had always been little more than barren wasteland.
The nearest territory, Baden, and even the imperial family—the land’s original owners in name—had attempted development several times, only to give up. It was this forsaken land that had ended up in Lenart’s hands.
That they could even attempt farming now was thanks to the support he had provided over the past ten-odd years.
By sustaining the land with his pension, the people stayed rather than fleeing, and at least they could plow the soil, however slowly.
Realistically, it would have been better to cut off the aid and abandon it—there was no income, no return on investment. Instead of collecting rent, he had to open relief stations every season.
The earlier failures at development had been due not only to the nobles’ abandonment but also to the residents’ deep-seated resignation.
Strangely enough, under Lenart’s ownership, Lusheta’s population had begun to grow, little by little. Rumor spread that the land was run more like a charity project than a proper domain.
Those who could no longer endure exploitation, or those with nowhere else to go, drifted in, and for years a sluggish, shabby peace continued.
Lenart monitored affairs from his manor or from the capital, treating the reports as numbers on a page. The people, meanwhile, spoke of him as though there were no other lord in the empire like him.
In truth, he was the only one in the empire stubborn enough to hold on to such a “domain.”
Anyone with sense would have settled in the capital, sustained by their lifelong pension. Fallen royals, deprived of the throne and not granted rich lands, usually chose that path.
The residents of Lusheta were mostly uneducated and ignorant of history, but they weren’t fools.
When Lenart returned from the military academy that winter and announced he would personally inspect the domain, they thought it meant the end of charity.
However truthful the words on a report may be, seeing the reality with one’s own eyes was entirely different.
Few could recall the last time Lenart had personally walked the farmland.
Passing glimpses didn’t count, and until now, Lady Miria had acted as his steward, so most of the residents had never seen his face.
This was natural for a noble. It would have been just as ordinary for him to shut himself up in his manor, weighed down by gloom and frustration, never appearing outside.
But for some reason, this year he had chosen to see things with his own eyes.
To expect a good outcome was not pessimism but the height of reason.
As many anticipated, Lenart never once showed a pleasant expression.
He sighed habitually, and people braced themselves, knowing expectation would soon become reality.
They tried to cheer him, but reviving a sinking mood proved impossible.
That was when the cheerful call pierced through.
“Senior!”
The steward beside him was startled at Lenart’s reaction.
The last time he had seen the boy was when he was still a pretty-faced child, but now the lad had grown tall and fully into adulthood. What surprised him was how Lenart’s tightly furrowed brow relaxed at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, his expression shifting instantly.
Because it was a voice he had never imagined he’d hear here, Lenart turned in haste.
At first, drowned out by the noise, he hadn’t reacted properly. But now, with the surroundings quieter, it was different.
From afar, Lanze was waving vigorously. Sunlight spilled over her loosened hair, crowning it with a silver glow like a halo.
Lenart steadied himself and walked slowly. Lanze, on the other hand, ran toward him heedless of the stares around her.
“You didn’t say you were coming.”
“I told you I’d come fetch you. I think I even wrote it in the letter.”
“If you mean that slip of paper with no mention of when—yes, I received it.”
Lanze’s first and only letter sent from Morigen had safely reached Lusheta.
Much as he hated to admit it, seeing his name on the envelope had briefly lifted Lenart’s spirits—only for him to feel let down by how short it was.
She was always so talkative in person; why was her letter like that? Even the tone was almost as cheeky as her spoken words.
“I had no time to send letters while traveling. Honestly, rather than wasting time on formalities, wasn’t it better to hurry here so I could join you sooner?”
Smiling, Lanze circled around him once.
“Anyway, you’ve been well, right?”
“What could possibly happen to me here.”
Lenart’s reply was unintentionally curt. Her question had stirred up memories of past days.
Physically, there was nothing wrong with him. That winter holiday, he hadn’t overexerted himself.
But his lack of energy, his sour temper—those were purely the results of stress.
He brooded on recent events.
Returning after so long, he had grown more proactive, perhaps thanks to his lively junior. He’d even shown concern over harvests he had once only known through paperwork.
Yet when he saw the barley withered, his motivation had shriveled as well. He had long known the land was flawed, so he had installed multiple auxiliary wards, and still the results were this.
While Lenart sank into gloom, unaware Lanze spun around him again.
“Oh!”
She let out a small cry of wonder.
“You cut your hair?”
This time, Lenart only gave a helpless laugh. He had chopped off hair he’d grown for nearly a year, and she noticed it instantly.
“Why?”
She asked with a curious, slightly disappointed tone, and when no answer came, she changed the subject.
“Erna and Heine are here too. We ran into some trouble on the way, so I came ahead first… oh, there they are.”
Lenart felt relieved as he looked where she pointed. He had no desire to explain that it was his governess’s insistence that made him cut it.
At the far end of the road, a cart approached.
The cargo bed carried goods ordered from the nearest city—newspapers, letters—and between them sat Erna and Heine quietly.
Since trade records weren’t his concern, Lenart followed Lanze toward them.
“How have you—”
“No.”
Before he could complete a polite greeting, Erna cut him off, her face pale.
Taken aback, Lenart watched as she only heaved a deep sigh, unable to bring herself to complain.
Heine bowed his head in greeting, then fixed his gaze on the merchants who owned the cart.
Lanze openly glared at them.
Lenart had been about to ask what had happened on the way, but soon realized the reason and fell silent.
Compared to his juniors, Lenart knew far more about the situation in Lusheta and its surroundings. It wasn’t hard to guess.
“I don’t like those people…” Lanze muttered under her breath.
When Lenart didn’t answer, she pursed her lips in dissatisfaction—then realized his silence was actually agreement and blinked in surprise.
“So, what happened to you on the way here?”
Only once they had distanced themselves from the cart did Lenart finally ask.
“Do you also have bad blood with them, Senior?”
“I wouldn’t call it bad blood, exactly…”
There was a subtle shade in his voice. Lanze, for now, answered his question.
Unlike the sluggish journey northward before, Lanze’s group had chosen only the fastest routes to reach Lusheta.
But as soon as they arrived at Erenosa, the nearest station to Lusheta, they hit a wall.
For some reason, there wasn’t a single coach headed there.
They even tried offering the drivers extra pay, but no one was willing to go.
The excuses varied—that the road was rough, that conditions were bad—but within half a day, rumors must have spread, because at the mere mention of “Lusheta,” drivers turned tail and fled.
No matter how rough, could it be worse than Morigen in midwinter? They were offering enough to make the trip three times over, yet all refused. Something was decidedly abnormal.
With transport cut off, Lanze’s already thin patience began to crack.
“Our horses,” she said.
“Yes…?” Erna answered nervously but obediently.
“Do you have some brilliant idea?”
“Should we buy a few horses?”
And she was perfectly serious.
