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Ascendance of a Bookworm (LN) - Volume 5.1 - Chapter Ep




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Epilogue

In the common room of the Dunkelfelger Dormitory, Lestilaut monopolized a desk within full view of the hall and used the papers before him to sketch out draft illustrations for A Ditter Story. Ideally, he would have been in his room where he could focus, but archduke candidates had a duty to oversee the other students.

For the past few days, many of the dormitory’s students had been fairly rambunctious due to A Ditter Story and the Dunkelfelger history book. Lestilaut could hardly tell them to stop reading the books, though, for he knew they would soon be future trends.

“As attendants, it is our duty to ensure that our interactions with other duchies progress smoothly, so we must read the books before socializing season begins.”

“No, we scholars should read them first. We deal with the borrowing and lending, after all.”

“Scholars merely check them for threats before passing them on. You have no need to know their contents.”

The argument between the students was growing louder. Lestilaut looked up from his sketches just in time to see some of the apprentice knights try to wedge themselves between the apprentice scholars and attendants vying for priority access to the books.

“Given our involvement in the joint research project, it is necessary that those of us with multiple divine protections read it first.”

“Oh, be quiet! Go play ditter or something!”

Hmph. I need not speak on this matter.

The books they were fighting over were those Lestilaut had borrowed during the tea party with Ehrenfest. He could not risk damaging them, so he had initially arbitrated these debates. He was a short-tempered young man, however, so he had soon grown irritated by the daily, unchanging arguments. In the end, he had declared that he would hold on to the books until whoever won their dispute came to borrow them—and that he would observe them until they finished reading. His main concern was ensuring that no harm came to the borrowed books.

“Is Hannelore not back yet?” Lestilaut asked his nearby retainers. He was currently stuck serving as an overseer, but it would not be long before his little sister finished her classes and returned to the common room. That would allow him to return to his own room and draw there.

Unfortunately for Lestilaut, his retainers responded only with a dismissive “Not yet, it seems.”

In an attempt to vent his building irritation, Lestilaut pointed his pen at those arguing and said, “Do you all not find this shameful? We have apprentice knights who would rather read than play ditter.”

“It may be a peculiar sight, but the bliss that one feels when reading A Ditter Story is truly remarkable,” replied Kenntrips, a fourth-year apprentice scholar. He looked at the papers on which Lestilaut was drawing and gave a wry smile. “Furthermore, hearing that the story is gripping enough for you to have offered to provide illustrations has greatly increased the students’ interest. One could say that you brought this upon yourself.”

Those serving Dunkelfelger’s archduke candidates had already read the books to ensure that their tea parties with Ehrenfest went as smoothly as possible. This war in the common room was no sweat off their backs.

“A Ditter Story really makes one want to play treasure-stealing ditter,” said Rasantark, an apprentice knight. “It fills one with fire during training. Perhaps we could interpret this as an invitation from Ehrenfest to play ditter?” He was eagerly leaning forward, his chestnut eyes sparkling at the very idea. Although he would normally prioritize training over books any day of the week, even he had devoured the new story.

“Calm down, Rasantark,” Kenntrips chided. “Ehrenfest has only asked us to confirm that none of the descriptions are incorrect. They have not challenged us to ditter.”

Rasantark deflated a little, his eyes downcast, looking like a scolded dog. He was in the same year as Hannelore, but even Lestilaut thought he was still immature in many regards. At times like this, it was hard not to want to muss his bright-orange hair.

“Don’t feel so down, Rasantark,” Lestilaut said. “I can understand your interest. This is the first time I’ve read of someone aiming for victory with the help of apprentice scholars. There has not been a story like this before.”

He looked down at his sketches so far. No modern students had experienced treasure-stealing ditter; instead, current classes were based entirely on the speed version, so knights saw no reason to seek the assistance of scholars or attendants. They did everything themselves. Dunkelfelger was something of a special case with its many scholars and attendants of the sword, who spoke about ditter more than the scholars and attendants of other duchies, but even then, Lestilaut struggled to imagine the three groups working together. In that sense, A Ditter Story imbued its readers with profound admiration for the treasure-stealing ditter that had been commonplace for the knights of the past. Or, at the very least, it had imbued Lestilaut with such admiration.

“Indeed, while there are historical stories about knights, there are few describing the modern Royal Academy,” Kenntrips noted. “There are only Ehrenfest’s Royal Academy Love Stories and perhaps personal research diaries.”

Lestilaut nodded. Highly important events were often turned into books, but the same certainly couldn’t be said for regular everyday occurrences. In his opinion, Ehrenfest had managed it precisely by making their books so thin and affordable.

“It’s unfortunate that A Ditter Story didn’t already have illustrations,” Kenntrips mused. “Lord Lestilaut, you long to see what Ehrenfest’s artist would have drawn as well, do you not?”

The illustrations in Ehrenfest’s previous books had all been splendid, so Lestilaut had indeed been looking forward to more of the same. It was a true shame.

“I was told that the artist is a commoner,” Lestilaut said. “That is why she could not illustrate a story about ditter.”

“And also why the task has fallen to you, Lord Lestilaut?” Rasantark asked, flipping through the papers that Kenntrips had organized with a look of unrestrained excitement. On the pages were illustrations of several scenes that Lestilaut had found the most impactful.

“Yes. Look forward to seeing my finished work.” He intended to draw every scene that had caught his interest, carefully select the best five among them, and then show those to Rozemyne. Then she would say, “Oh, I wish for these illustrations to be in the books more than anything!”

“Well, I’m most looking forward to the next book in the series! The first one ended at such a gripping moment, so I’m terribly curious for what comes next. I need to find the author, Lord Shubort, and ask him to start writing as soon as possible!” Rasantark declared, clenching a fist in determination.

Lestilaut gave him a look of exasperation. “He is an Ehrenfest noble, no? One who wrote about treasure-stealing ditter, at that. It is unlikely he is a student, and you will surely struggle to find an adult from another duchy.”

“Could you not ask Ehrenfest to have him brought to the Archduke Conference?”

“I could, but you are underage and would not be able to meet him. I, myself, am going to be attending from next year onward—though that matters little for you.”

Lestilaut was in his final year at the Academy, meaning he could participate in the next Archduke Conference, but Rasantark was still a third-year. The other retainers laughed as he put his head in his hands and groaned.

“I understand how you feel,” Kenntrips said consolingly. “Were I able to meet this Lord Shubort, then I would tell him to keep writing works like A Ditter Story. It is so unlike other stories that I find it quite gripping.”

Lestilaut crossed his arms. Now that Kenntrips mentioned it, A Ditter Story truly was unique, even compared to previous Ehrenfest books. Knight Stories had contained legends and religious tales, not accounts of the present day. And whether they placed an emphasis on battles or on the more romantic aspects that girls tended to prefer, there were only one or two truly new stories; the rest were already common knowledge. The books were by no means bad, but Lestilaut felt that their true value was in their illustrations.

Royal Academy Love Stories featured tales from the present day. Perhaps this, coupled with the familiar backdrop, was the reason that Hannelore and so many other girls had become completely absorbed in them and would discuss their thoughts and hopes for a sequel during tea parties. Lestilaut found these ravings to be no more interesting than the lengthy rambles of gossip-loving women. To him, the stories were uninteresting channels through which the illustrations could thrive.

In contrast to these fanciful tales, the Dunkelfelger history book had been wonderful indeed. The original text found in the duchy’s castle was exceedingly rare—it had never been lent to anyone in our duchy, and its text was written in an archaic language that almost nobody could read. It had thus become common practice for the history within to be passed down orally, which had in turn led to the flow and the details changing according to the speaker.

Rozemyne’s translation, however, was written in modern language. It was easy to understand and followed the precise flow of the original text, without the inclusion or removal of particular events or details. The books themselves were also much thinner and easier to read than the original, owing to the text having been spread across several volumes.

“We must make similar history books in Dunkelfelger as well...” Lestilaut mused. He was unsure whether it was because the laynobles of their duchy had previously lacked opportunities to read or because the other students merely hadn’t realized that their history was splendid enough for another duchy to want to publish it, but those who read the book all seemed to take a lot more pride in their heritage after the fact.

“That would be ideal, if possible,” Kenntrips remarked. “I must say, I find the technology used to duplicate books quite impressive indeed. It seems far superior to transcribing. If we had it ourselves, then there would be no need for that squabbling in the common room.” He gestured to the students still passionately fighting over who would get to read the books first.

Lestilaut had been told that Ehrenfest was attempting to spread a new technology that would allow for the production of multiple copies of the same book. There was no doubting its existence as he, Clarissa, and the royal family had all received identical copies of A Ditter Story at the same time.

“It seems that Clarissa is the subject of much envy for having already secured an engagement to one of Lady Rozemyne’s retainers,” Kenntrips said.

Lestilaut found Clarissa’s rampaging tendencies bothersome, to say the least, and the last thing he wanted was for people to assume that her actions were normal in Dunkelfelger. Still, Rozemyne had successfully managed to calm her down during their tea party, and it appeared that Clarissa’s potential as a future retainer was fully understood. After all, she had received a copy of A Ditter Story from one of Rozemyne’s retainers.

“First Mother, now Clarissa...” Lestilaut muttered. “I find the sharp noses and general acumen of our duchy’s women to be genuinely terrifying.”

After seeing Rozemyne play ditter in her first year at the Royal Academy, Clarissa had immediately resolved to serve her and then taken all the necessary steps to ensure it came to be. And in a similar vein, Lestilaut’s mother, Sieglinde, had started paying close attention to Rozemyne the moment she saw the book that Hannelore had borrowed from her at the end of their first year. At that time, Lestilaut had seen her as nothing more than an archduke candidate who was somewhat audacious for someone from an almost bottom-ranking middle duchy.

“You should be terrified not of them, but of Lady Rozemyne,” Kenntrips said. “It seems that she—not Lord Wilfried, the future archduke—has the ultimate authority over whose illustrations are put in Ehrenfest’s books.”


Lestilaut thought back to when Wilfried and Rozemyne had been discussing the illustrations. Indeed, it was Rozemyne who had taken the lead.

Which reminds me—according to Father, Rozemyne’s thoughts were also prioritized during that discussion about publishing rights that was decided through a game of ditter.

Rozemyne had been the one to seek publishing rights in the first place, and all eighteen of the large golds that were spent on the modern translation had apparently come from her pocket. Lestilaut had heard that Rozemyne also negotiated with Aub Dunkelfelger herself, with Aub Ehrenfest only stepping in to grant his permission.

Is this truly a duchy industry, or is Ehrenfest just using Rozemyne’s personal interests for its own benefit?

Lestilaut frowned and crossed his arms as several facts came together in his mind to form a troubling conclusion. The new cooking methods, sweet recipes, hairpins, books... It was said that all of Ehrenfest’s new trends had started with Rozemyne, but had she truly sought to spread them? Even if not, as an adopted daughter, she would not have been able to refuse.

And so Lestilaut’s thoughts took a dark turn, in part due to The Story of Fernestine. The tale of an unfortunate archduke candidate suffering abuse for not being the first wife’s true daughter certainly brought Rozemyne to mind. Furthermore, it was odd that Rozemyne, an adopted daughter, knew whom the story was based on while Wilfried remained in the dark.

“Apologies for the wait, Brother,” came Hannelore’s voice. “I can take your place now.”

“You took your time.”

Lestilaut had not been able to leave his post as overseer even after running out of paper for his sketches. He had stressed when Hannelore was leaving that she was to hurry back, so he couldn’t mask his displeasure about her painfully slow return.

Hannelore flinched upon sensing her brother’s frustration—a reaction that caused Rasantark to put a cautioning hand on Lestilaut’s shoulder and Kenntrips to murmur, “Please do not take out your anger on Lady Hannelore” from behind him. Although they were younger than Lestilaut, they were his cousins, so they did not hesitate to reprimand him.

“Apologies,” Lestilaut said. “My eagerness to draw has me feeling a little anxious.”

“Is this about your illustration of Lady Rozemyne whirling?” Hannelore asked.

“Yes. My attendants will inform you of the status of the books and the order in which they are being lent out.”

After entrusting an attendant with bringing Hannelore up to date, Lestilaut brought his other retainers back to his room in a hurry. He had his scholar, Kenntrips, prepare the paints he needed, then took his brush in hand. In the common room, Lestilaut would draw illustrations for A Ditter Story to pass the time... but in his room, where he could properly focus, he would draw Rozemyne whirling.

Lestilaut shut his eyes and took a deep breath. That alone was enough for a perfect recreation of the moment to arise in his mind—the moment when his full attention, which had previously been on Hannelore, was unconsciously drawn to Rozemyne amid the group of a dozen or so whirlers. Let it be known that he was far from the only one to become so enraptured—Rozemyne’s whirling had been so dominant and overwhelming that every spectator in the room had ended up watching her.

The overwhelming focus in Rozemyne’s golden eyes had made it clear to all that she was in complete control from her head to her fingertips to her toes. In truth, Lestilaut could not quite put his finger on what about her had stolen his attention. And then, she had started to shine—or more precisely, a faint light akin to saturated mana had started to envelop her. Lestilaut had strained his eyes, thinking it was a mere illusion, but then the feystones she was wearing had also begun to light up one after another.

First was her feystone ring, which drew blue arcs as her fingers gracefully sliced through the air. Then the feystone on her bracelet came to life, seeming to dye her whirling outfit a plethora of radiant and ever-changing colors. Her necklace followed soon after, then finally her hair ornaments. All the while, Rozemyne continued to spin without so much as the slightest falter, streaks of the most dazzling light following her every move.

Lestilaut had been too awestruck to manage even a quiet gasp—he could only stare at the sight before him. At that moment, but one name could adequately describe the woman dancing for them: the Saint of Ehrenfest. The spectacle had been so divine that Lestilaut felt he was seeing a proper whirl offered to the gods for the very first time.

It was then that Lestilaut was struck with his all-consuming urge to draw Rozemyne. His pen had danced across the page as soon as he returned to his dormitory, yet he still hadn’t finished the illustration.

“Is it done?” Rasantark asked the instant he saw Lestilaut set down his brush. He and the other guard knights had spent days watching him paint in his room when they would have much rather been training and playing ditter. Lestilaut understood that he was boring them but had no intention of compromising his painting for their sake.

“No, the lighting needs work. It is far from done.”

“I have never seen you put so much effort into an illustration before... Are you seeking Lady Rozemyne as a first wife, perhaps?” Kenntrips narrowed his gray eyes in concern. “Have you—gods forbid—fallen in love with her...?”

Lestilaut scoffed. “What a foolish notion. How can anyone fall for a child who has not even developed mana sensing?”

“True, but...” Kenntrips looked at the painting of Rozemyne, clearly not satisfied with the answer he had received.

“I have not fallen in love with her,” Lestilaut reiterated, having deduced what Kenntrips wanted to say. “My only intention is to capture the beauty and serenity I witnessed on that day. Until then, the tireless movement of my hands and the pounding of my heart will not stop. That is all.”

Lestilaut’s retainers all exchanged glances.

Kenntrips fell into thought for a bit, then sighed and scratched at his light-green hair. “Putting aside any discussion of romantic inclinations, might I suggest courting her regardless? Such a union would clearly bring tremendous wealth to our duchy. Everyone would welcome Lady Rozemyne as your first wife.”

“What are you even saying? Rozemyne is already engaged,” Lestilaut replied, recalling how his mother had bemoaned the engagement. Rozemyne wasn’t even available to be taken as a first wife.

“But at this rate, she will soon be stolen by the royal family, will she not? It will make no difference whether they take her or we do. If you court her and then perform bride-taking ditter, then the royal family will not be able to interject.”

The king had approved Rozemyne’s current engagement, but Kenntrips was right that the royal family could still take her at any moment. Rozemyne had formed the hypothesis that performing religious ceremonies increased the number of divine protections one received and was aiming to publish her findings at this year’s Interduchy Tournament. Considering that her familiarity with religious ceremonies was beyond compare, she likely had the most protections herself, even among adult nobles. It seemed obvious that the royal family would want her for themselves and that it was only a matter of time before the king dissolved her union with Wilfried.

Nothing good will come from her announcing how to obtain more divine protections at the Interduchy Tournament.

“The first prince is already married to one woman, and it has been decided that he will make Adolphine of the greater duchy Drewanchel his first wife,” Lestilaut mused. “If the royal family were to take Rozemyne, then she would perhaps become his third wife...”

The third wife of a royal family member was kept from the public eye under all but the most severe circumstances—but at the same time, they held enough influence that they were at risk of being harmed by those who feared a shift in the internal power balance of the royal family. Given that Rozemyne’s influence grew with each new year at the Royal Academy, if she were to be sought after as the third wife of a prince, then she would need to live a life fraught with danger.

“Is there any chance she would be taken as the second prince’s second wife?” Kenntrips asked.

“Assuming that Prince Anastasius truly does not seek the throne, then he would have no reason to take such action and invite suspicion upon himself. It is hard to imagine a prince who abandoned the kingship to obtain Lady Eglantine would take such a risk.”

Anastasius prioritized Eglantine over everything—over the throne, and over his relationship with his elder brother. If a situation came about where he would need to sacrifice Rozemyne for Eglantine’s sake, he would do so without a moment’s hesitation.

“Then we will only need to be on guard against the first prince,” Kenntrips said. “But... do you intend to court her, Lord Lestilaut? If not, then attempting bride-taking will prove a little more difficult. It would turn into bride-stealing.” It was clear from the look in his eyes that he thought such a move would be impossible.

Lestilaut glared at his cheeky, ever-too-realistic apprentice scholar. Frustratingly enough, Lestilaut’s graduation was right around the corner, meaning he only had this one year to get closer to Rozemyne—and if one reflected on his words and deeds up to this point, he had quite a way to go. To make matters worse, there was the looming threat that she would be stolen by the royal family depending on the quality of their joint research. It would be one thing for Ehrenfest to refuse such a request from Dunkelfelger, but turning down the royal family was unthinkable.

In short, there was an overwhelming lack of time. Lestilaut knew that better than anyone.

“If we extrapolate from how she is being treated in Ehrenfest, then there is some hope of victory here,” Lestilaut said. His head had cooled now that the discussion about “love” and “romance” had been set aside. Now, what mattered was proving that it was more beneficial for Rozemyne to marry into Dunkelfelger than remain the archduke’s slave in Ehrenfest or be in constant danger among the royal family. “Seek opportunities. Gather intelligence. However, do not speak a word of this to Hannelore.”

This last instruction caused Lestilaut’s retainers to stare at him in surprise; it was because of Hannelore’s great efforts that Dunkelfelger had so many avenues to socialize with Ehrenfest. At the very least, none of the credit rightfully belonged to Lestilaut, who had continually belittled Rozemyne as a fake saint. If not for his younger sister, even inviting her to a tea party would have been a struggle.

“Should you not form an alliance with Lady Hannelore, as she has the closest relationship with Lady Rozemyne?”

“No. Involving her is bound to cause any number of tedious problems.”

Hannelore held no ill intentions, but there was no denying that her timing was tragically unfortunate. Lestilaut had already endured countless experiences where involving his younger sister had made him struggle more than was necessary. Thankfully, as their cousins, Kenntrips and Rasantark understood exactly what he meant.

And so everyone agreed to go forward without informing Hannelore.

Rozemyne’s value was only going to increase come the Interduchy Tournament. She was engaged in joint research projects with several duchies, had a tremendous number of divine protections, and was responsible for more and more new trends. This was Lestilaut’s only chance to beat out the royal family and the other duchies for her.

“Other duchies may shy away from Rozemyne’s current engagement, but we must get her into Dunkelfelger before the royal family discovers her true value and claims her for themselves,” Lestilaut declared.

“Yes, my lord!”



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