Ascendance of a Bookworm (LN) - Volume 5.2 - Chapter 9

Tea Parties and Negotiations

“Hartmut,” I said, “if you do not hurry back to Ehrenfest, sixth bell will ring.”

In general, sixth bell marked the end of the workday. There were knights on duty at the teleportation hall at all times in case of emergencies, but after they clocked out, they wouldn’t do anything for us without very good reason or an order from the aub. This was especially troubling because Hartmut, an adult and the Ehrenfest High Priest, was permitted to be in the Royal Academy only for the day of the ritual. He needed to leave in time, or else he would be soundly punished.

I forced Hartmut, still in his High Priest robes, into the teleportation hall, alongside a wagon stuffed with boxes and the like.

“Please inform Sylvester that we will send our cleaned ceremonial robes at a later date,” I said to Hartmut. “Also, be sure to personally deliver a report on today’s ceremony.”

“Understood.”

Things had started to get busier, but Hartmut safely managed to teleport away in time. Sixth bell rang as I saw him off, then I returned to my room.

“It’s time for dinner, Lady Rozemyne,” Lieseleta said. “Let us get you changed.” She and Gretia wasted no time undressing me and putting me in the normal clothes I wore around the Royal Academy.

As I arrived at the dining hall, I found that Wilfried and Charlotte were already eating. “You took a while, Rozemyne,” said the former.

“We just supplied mana to the library’s foundational magic tool,” I replied, “but it was located somewhere that students cannot usually reach, quite out of the way. Still, it was fun. There were many magic tools there.” I intended to make note of any beneficial ones mentioned in Raimund’s report and incorporate them into my own library. “How did the cleaning go?”

“Let’s see... What to say...?” Wilfried mused aloud. “Ah, right. Lord Lestilaut requested a tea party. We need to finalize our research, including the parts related to today’s ceremony, and decide how we’re going to present it all during the Interduchy Tournament.”

I’d made a similar promise with Hannelore. I looked around at my attendants, wondering when would be a good time—and it was then that Charlotte started to giggle.

“Sister, Wilfried and Lord Lestilaut actually—”

“Charlotte!” Wilfried snapped, sounding a little hysterical. He was acting a lot like one of my childhood friends from my Urano days; I’d found his stash of dirty books, and he’d desperately tried everything in his power to keep his mom from finding out about them.

“Come on then, Wilfried,” I said. “Tell me where you were hiding them. I wouldn’t recommend under your bed; that’s far too predictable.”

“Uh, what are you talking about...?”

After blinking at Wilfried, surprised at his surprise, I turned to Charlotte for an explanation.

“There is no reason to hide it, Brother. In fact, it must be reported. Sister, Lord Lestilaut is going to bring several of the illustrations he has drawn to our next tea party. He has asked that you buy whichever ones you find most suitable for A Ditter Story. It seems that he wishes to read a ‘complete’ version of the book as soon as possible.”

Wilfried met Charlotte’s remarks with a slight frown. “I’ve been looking forward to it, since Lord Lestilaut told me his illustrations have turned out really heroic and all that, but I was going to wait a bit before telling Rozemyne. She just doesn’t understand the hearts of men like us. Also, once the tea party becomes the subject of conversation, you’ll hear about it from your attendants anyway.”

I was overwhelmed with the urge to sigh. “Wilfried, the actual transaction may take place here in the Royal Academy, but the payment will not come from the dormitory’s funds. Instead, it will come either from my own money or from that set aside for the printing industry.”

“Hm?”

“We need to correspond with Ehrenfest to decide which budget the funds will come from—and communication by letter takes time.”

I’d written to Elvira as soon as we’d confirmed that we were buying illustrations from Lestilaut, but we’d yet to come to an agreement. First of all, our choice would depend on whether we could use Lestilaut’s illustrations in our books. If we couldn’t, then I would purchase them with my own money and print only a few copies specifically for Dunkelfelger. If we could, then we would use the printing industry’s funds and distribute the books more widely.

Of course, in the latter scenario, we would need Elvira’s permission.

“Book-related payments always seem to come from you, so I didn’t even realize...” Wilfried said.

Now that Ferdinand was gone, Hartmut was overseeing my finances. Although I might have money to throw around, I never had any on hand.

“Indeed,” I replied. “That is why you must give proper reports at all times.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing that from you, of all people... You need to do the same, you know. Like today—that wide-scale healing thing wasn’t part of the plan. I assume you’re going to explain your reasoning to Father. You have to give a proper report, after all.”

I slumped my shoulders. In an unexpected twist, my own lecture had come back to bite me.

After sending my report to Ehrenfest, I ended up bedridden with a fever.

Plans for the upcoming tea party were gradually decided in my absence. Even from my bed, I tried to find out what was going on and what the budget was looking like, but Rihyarda just gave me a look of exasperation.

“Milady, focus on getting better before the tea party with Dunkelfelger.”

Brunhilde nodded. “It was wise not to schedule any tea parties for immediately after the ritual.”

They continued to observe my health carefully, assisting with preparations for the tea party all the while. In the meantime, Philine and Muriella came with a report.

“Money has arrived from Lady Elvira,” Philine said. “It seems to be your own funds, Lady Rozemyne. We can use this to buy Lord Lestilaut’s illustrations.”

If the illustrations were of a high enough quality, then our printing officials would simply buy them from us.

“For now, Lady Rozemyne, rest and recover.”

It was only two days before I could move again; my fevers were much shorter now than before. It was reassuring to know that my health truly was getting better—and on that positive note, I went to the dining hall to eat, then moved to the common room to find out what I had missed.

“Wilfried and I were invited to Professor Gundolf’s laboratory while you were bedridden, Sister,” Charlotte began. “Everyone from Drewanchel is very serious about obtaining divine protections.”

“Right. I don’t think any other duchy has every single one of its students preparing charms,” Wilfried added, a serious look in his eyes.

“I see that Drewanchel more than deserves its position as a greater duchy,” I said. It was impressive that they had distributed charms to all of their students within two days—or at least given them the ingredients they needed to make their own.

“Yeah. Ehrenfest knew all this before them, but none of our students made charms marked with the sigils of the gods. Our apprentice scholars who experienced the same ritual didn’t even take the initiative to make charms to give out. There’s a pretty clear gap between our duchies.”

To be clear, the only Ehrenfest apprentice scholars to have participated in the Dedication Ritual were those serving Wilfried and Charlotte. My apprentice scholars were all mednobles and laynobles, so they hadn’t been able to join.

“As we speak, Ignaz and Marianne are making charms in the brewing room,” Wilfried continued. He then lowered his voice to a whisper and said, “To be honest, I’ve been feeling a little down about it all. We had the intelligence before anyone else and still couldn’t use it well. I’m not leading my duchy as well as Ortwin, even though we’re the same age.”

Charlotte tried to console him by saying that such skills were far from easy to master. Then she continued, “I have plans for a tea party with a middle-ranking duchy tomorrow. There, I will see what other duchies thought of this event. You and Sister can focus on the tea party with Dunkelfelger.”

I nodded in response.

And so came the day of our tea party with Dunkelfelger. Wilfried and I went to their tea party room at the agreed time, exchanged greetings with Lestilaut and Hannelore, then took the seats we were offered. Everything was proceeding normally... that is, until Lestilaut gave his retainers some kind of signal.

“Now, have a look at these.”

“Brother, your illustrations can wait until after we have discussed the research and—”

“We will only be able to focus once this matter has been dealt with,” Lestilaut replied, waving away Hannelore’s attempted protest. He then got one of his apprentice scholars to spread ten or so illustrations on the table, positioned so that Wilfried and I could see them in all their monochrome glory. “As I was unaware of what degree of black-and-white contrast you would prefer, I determined it best that you decide yourself. Pick whichever ones will suit the book most.”

My favorite was a close-up illustration of a knight atop their highbeast, brandishing their weapon; it was so evocative that I could practically hear the fluttering of the cape. Lestilaut had presumably adopted a thing or two from Wilma’s artwork, as his lines were well organized and nicely suited our preferred black-and-white style. However, while Wilma’s work was kind and gentle, Lestilaut’s was particularly energetic, befitting a battle over treasure.

To be honest... I underestimated Lord Lestilaut’s art skills.

I should have known that he was an excellent illustrator; after all, he’d been particularly vocal about his talents instead of merely saying that art was something he “dabbled in” or what have you. He truly was on a whole other level.

“Very impressive,” I said, peering down at the illustrations. “These are even better than I imagined.”

“These are wonderful, Lord Lestilaut!” Wilfried exclaimed soon after, his dark-green eyes sparkling with admiration and respect. “With such amazing illustrations, we can make A Ditter Story even more enjoyable. Do you not agree, Rozemyne?”

“I certainly do; they are wonderful. However, I should make one thing clear: as we will need to use a process known as stenciling to prepare these illustrations for print, their atmosphere is sure to change, even if only a little. Can we confirm that you understand this, Lord Lestilaut?”

Lestilaut knit his brows. “What do you mean, their atmosphere will change...?”

“I cannot say any more for fear of revealing our technique, but at some point during the printing process, your art will need to be altered by another.”

Upon hearing this, Lestilaut grimaced. As a pure-blooded artist, he must have found the very thought of someone else touching his work offensive. “I can perform that part of the process myself,” he said.

“That would make you privy to our method, so I must refuse. The current plan is for us to purchase the illustrations and then print them ourselves. If you cannot accept others making amendments to your work, then we will not be able to buy it.”

No matter who bought the illustrations, in the end, we were going to do the stenciling in an Ehrenfest workshop. Putting aside cases when people wed into our duchy or started serving our archducal family, I wasn’t going to allow those from other duchies to do any of the cutting. That was doubly the case for the archduke candidate of a greater duchy like Lestilaut.

My declaration received a panicked response—not from Lestilaut, however, but from Wilfried.

“Hold on, Rozemyne. We won’t get illustrations this good anywhere else! We need to buy these to make A Ditter Story as good as it can be, right? We can have Lord Lestilaut do the altering stuff as long as we contract him not to leak any information.”

Wilfried seemed very invested in Lestilaut’s illustrations. I appreciated that he was so enthusiastic about a book—it really was nice to see—but this wasn’t the time.

“Above all else, Ehrenfest needs illustrations that are easy to print,” I said. “Though we do value their beauty as well, we gain nothing from buying art that we cannot actually use. Furthermore, we do not want to risk a greater duchy like Dunkelfelger stealing our newly researched technique before we have even begun selling books formally.”

“I see,” Lestilaut replied. “That is reasonable.”

Even then, Wilfried refused to give up. “But we have a chance to use such phenomenal art...” he said, his eyes desperately flitting between me and the illustrations he loved so much.

“Indeed” was my response. “These pictures are wonderful. Once we begin selling copies of the book in Ehrenfest, and our buyers start producing their own splendid leather covers, Lord Lestilaut can add these illustrations to his and revel in their glory.”

“But then I—others will not be able to see them,” Wilfried said.

I shrugged. “There is no helping that; keeping our industry secrets from leaking is our greatest concern. If your duchy, Dunkelfelger the Second, were to steal from us, then we would not be able to protest.”

Stenciling was the very foundation of mimeograph printing—yet someone with a sharp eye would probably be able to deduce how it worked simply by cutting out one of our illustrations. On top of that, the wax paper, styluses, and files were all the result of my Gutenbergs putting their heads together and really working hard; I couldn’t let the fruits of their labor be stolen so easily. We would one day spread our printing knowledge to other duchies, but we hadn’t even started selling books yet, so that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Only when Ehrenfest’s position had stabilized more would we consider that next step.

As well as all that, allowing Dunkelfelger to make its own stencils would set an unwanted precedent that future duchies we collaborated with might attempt to follow. Swearing them to silence through magic contracts would surely be a nightmare—and an expensive one, at that. Our actions here were going to have consequences for years to come.

Besides, my aim here was to bring a talented artist into Ehrenfest, not buy illustrations from an archduke candidate.

“Printing is entirely different from drawing with pens,” I said, trying to hammer home my argument. “If nobody else is permitted to touch the illustrations, then I expect Lord Lestilaut will complain when he sees the finished, printed product.”

Even back on Earth, copier machines didn’t create perfect copies—some lines came out incorrectly, or hard-to-control factors like dust caused minor imperfections. In this case, although Lestilaut’s illustration was designed to work in black and white, it had many thin lines. It was unavoidable that its atmosphere would change after it was stenciled.

“This is going to be our first time buying art from another duchy,” I continued. “If we charge ahead with this collaboration only for Lord Lestilaut to express his displeasure with our results, then we will severely damage the reputation of our printing industry. In that regard, not buying the art at all will spare both parties a great inconvenience.”

“True...” Wilfried reluctantly muttered, conceding with a look of severe regret.

Relieved, I turned back to Lestilaut, who was now watching me with an intrigued expression. “With all of this in mind,” I said, “will you sell your illustrations to Ehrenfest?”

His red eyes, which had just a moment ago been evaluating me, crinkled in a slight smile. “I understand Ehrenfest’s position. I will consider whether I am willing to entrust them to another and then give you my response.”

“Your work truly is splendid,” I said, returning his smile, “so I await a positive reply.”

Thus concluded that portion of our discussion. Lestilaut gestured for his apprentice scholars to begin clearing away the illustrations, then watched them work while sipping his tea. Once they were done, he turned back to us and said, “Now, with that settled, let us decide who shall announce our joint research and in what manner.”

It seemed that, if the two duchies working together each presented the results of their joint research, visitors would only visit the greater duchy. Thus, at times, even the lower-ranking duchy was made to present.

“In the case of our research, the only shared element was the questioning of the apprentice knights and your duchy’s students,” I said. “As there were quite notable differences between the rituals we performed, I believe we can announce our findings separately. Don’t you agree, Wilfried?”

“Yeah. I heard that Dunkelfelger’s successfully made pillars of light to obtain blessings, so you can include notes about that. If we publicize Ehrenfest’s rituals, then there should be no overlap.”

Hannelore gave a relieved smile; how one publicized their joint research often mattered most when trying to get the attention of adults visiting the Interduchy Tournament, so it tended to cause disputes between the collaborating students.

“In that case,” she said, “perhaps our scholars can discuss the shared elements. That which is not shared our duchies can present as we please.”

Wilfried and I agreed. We looked across the apprentice scholars present, and those involved in the joint research nodded to express their understanding.

Ahrensbach is going to present Raimund’s findings, so all we need to think about now is negotiating with Drewanchel.

For that project, Ehrenfest was only supplying the ingredients and wasn’t contributing much to the actual research, so perhaps it would be best to leave most of the announcements to Drewanchel. My only concerns were knowing their findings and securing more kinds of paper made from feyplants to use.

“It seems we have finished our discussion sooner than expected. Hm...” Lestilaut turned to Wilfried. “How about a game of gewinnen?”

Most girls could spend forever chatting at tea parties, but boys found that exceptionally boring.

Wilfried nodded, a broad smile on his face. “I might have lost last year, but I want to win against you at least once before you graduate, Lord Lestilaut.” He was said to be rather skilled at gewinnen, and I’d heard that he often played against Ortwin of Drewanchel.

“Unfortunately for you, if you still cannot consistently beat Ortwin, then you will never beat me,” Lestilaut scoffed, lighting a competitive fire under Wilfried.

Dunkelfelger’s attendants got straight to work setting up a game of gewinnen on another table, showing neither surprise nor any sense of urgency. They must have planned it from the very beginning, in case we ended up having time to spare.

Not having anything else to do, I watched their preparations while eating sweets. My eyes soon came to rest on a blue gewinnen piece, which I noticed was modeled off of the clear, crystal statue also decorating Dunkelfelger’s tea room.

“I see Dunkelfelger loves not just ditter, but gewinnen as well,” I said. “That piece is based on that decorative statue, is it not?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. We, um... use gewinnen when debriefing after ditter games,” Hannelore replied, looking a little embarrassed.

Those from Dunkelfelger loved ditter so much that not even their pre- and post-game rituals were enough; they gathered together to review each match as well. I had to wonder how much time they spent on ditter-related activities each year.

“Although you did not know what it was, Verfuhremeer’s staff was passed down through the ages,” I explained. “It would not have survived if you did not care so much about ditter and rituals.”

“Speaking of divine instruments... Yesterday, during a tea party of top-ranking duchies, we discussed almost nothing but the other day’s ceremony,” Hannelore began. “Those who did not participate still spoke with those who did.”

Those who had participated in the Dedication Ritual had apparently been deeply impacted by their first proper religious ceremony. The feeling of us all becoming one and the light that had shot up from the chalice had left a great impression on all those present, offering something they had never experienced in their everyday lives. Those who had been unable to join now greatly anticipated their next opportunity.

“Normally, one must be first-in-class to receive direct praise from Zent Trauerqual,” Hannelore continued. “Everyone was moved, though not by that alone—many were also touched by the divinity of your form, Lady Rozemyne.”

“Divinity”? What the heck?

Hannelore was looking at me somewhat dreamily as she described the ritual as she had witnessed it. From her perspective, I had produced one divine instrument after another, performed a religious ceremony that none had experienced before, and even rejuvenated everyone’s mana before healing them all with a blessing. In other words, I had come across as quite the saint, despite all the panicking I was doing on the inside. My calm and composed act had paid off.

So, in other words, nobody noticed that I was sweating bullets trying to keep my mana from leaking out? Wow, I really have grown!

“It has become something of a trend to make charms for prayer, and many are looking into whether they can wield the divine instruments as you do,” Hannelore said. Some wanted to use Flutrane’s staff so they could heal groups of people at once, while others were fighting hard to get Leidenschaft’s spear. “However, as of yet, none have succeeded. They are producing the same spears with their schtappes as before, and offering one’s mana as per the ritual remains the most reliable way to earn blessings.”

That said, there were still people dying to wield Leidenschaft’s blue-glowing spear—including Aub Dunkelfelger, who had heard about it through a report.

“Thus, um, unless it is a secret that you must keep to yourself, might I ask how you learned to create multiple divine instruments?” Hannelore asked. She looked extremely apologetic; someone had clearly told her to ask me this.

“Well, how did you learn to create Verfuhremeer’s staff used in Dunkelfelger’s rituals?”

“We watch our parents make it, touch it, then channel our mana into it. Like this.”

Hannelore stood up to demonstrate. It seemed that my on-the-spot question had been interpreted as “If you want our secrets, reveal yours first.”

“Streitkolben.”

Hannelore spoke the chant, and Verfuhremeer’s staff appeared in her hand.

“May I touch it?” I asked.

“Yes, go ahead. Try channeling some of your mana into it, even.”

I touched the staff and channeled a small amount of my mana into it, as instructed. A magic circle rose up into the air... then Hannelore let out a little shriek as our mana rebounded.

“M-My apologies,” she stammered. “That was, erm... a bit surprising. I did not think I would feel another’s mana going inside.”

It wasn’t a big deal when members of the same family channeled mana together, since they had similar mana to begin with, but mine felt particularly strange to Hannelore. I understood how strange it was having another’s mana flow into you, so...

“I sincerely apologize for having made you uncomfortable,” I said.

“Oh, no. I should have known that would happen. Now I understand why the method of creating this staff is passed down only through our archducal family’s bloodline...” Hannelore replied, her shoulders slumped. She then noted that she had thought it would be convenient if everyone could learn to make the staff. Dunkelfelger was a very hot duchy, so maybe she wanted to perform a large-scale ritual to cool things down.

“If we only need the magic circle, we could try looking in the library’s underground archive. I recall seeing a circle similar to the one that arose just now on one of the ceremonial instructions there.”

“Oh my. In that case, we will need to wait for the royal family to summon us again,” Hannelore said with a giggle. She then asked me how I had learned to make the divine instruments—though the process was pretty much the same as how she had been taught to create Verfuhremeer’s staff.

“If you offer your mana to the divine instruments in the temple, then magic circles will arise,” I explained. “If you dedicate a certain amount of your mana to them, then the magic circles end up being... seared into your mind, so to speak. They will naturally come to you when you transform your schtappe.”

In my case, Schutzaria’s shield was the first instrument I’d ever offered my mana to, and the circle that had appeared at the time became my basis for making it. Perhaps the divine instruments in the temple were just there as guides for people to make their own.

“It seems that the first-ever Zent was a High Bishop,” I said. “My current theory is that their children learned to make their own divine instruments by offering mana to the ones in the temple.”

“Following the civil war, there were many from the temple who came to the Royal Academy,” Hannelore noted, “but none of them seemed to be able to use the divine instruments like you can.” She sounded curious, but the explanation was simple.

“I imagine some of them could, but why would they display such a talent when the temple receives so much scorn? Not to mention, as you know, it requires a lot of mana to wield a divine instrument. Former blue priests and shrine maidens would not have learned to compress their mana before arriving at the Royal Academy on special terms, so I presume they would have struggled to maintain the instruments’ forms.”

Damuel struggled even now, and he had compressed his mana to such an extent that he was comparable to a mednoble. It was hard to imagine that students who had formerly been in the temple would have much luck trying to wield divine instruments.

“I would assume that any former priests who performed the temple’s religious ceremonies seriously obtained multiple divine protections, but I cannot say the same for those who reviled the temple and wanted nothing more than to return to noble society or those who resented the gods alongside their situation.”

To be frank, if the life the blue priests had lived under the previous High Bishop was the norm, then they would have been too corrupt to earn any extra divine protections. Not to mention, it was very possible that they hadn’t been able to fill the magic circle during their ceremonies. I kept that all to myself, though, and merely wore a smile for Hannelore.

“Dunkelfelger has stories about divine instruments and gods not worshipped at shrines, correct?” I said. “Your history overwhelms us. Just the other day, one of your attendants said that Clarissa will ‘become Ewigeliebe upon losing Erwaermen.’ What did they mean? Such phrasing does not appear in any stories I am familiar with.”

“The answer is within the book I am about to lend you,” Hannelore replied. “Erwaermen the God of Binding was once a friend and subordinate of Ewigeliebe the God of Life. It was he who assisted the God of Life with proposing to Geduldh the Goddess of Earth and acquiring the permission of the God of Darkness.”

It was because of Erwaermen’s assistance that the marriage came to be, but what happened next was as the bible described: Erwaermen, outraged by the poor treatment that Geduldh and her subordinates received, got into a fight with Ewigeliebe before ultimately deciding to go his own way. Then, determined to save the Goddess of Earth, he brought her subordinates to Flutrane the Goddess of Water.

“To become Ewigeliebe upon losing Erwaermen means to lose a person who supports your engagement—that belittling what you should treasure will only lead you to lose your beloved,” Hannelore concluded.

I see... Now that Hartmut’s our High Priest, Clarissa is going to need a lot of support to marry him.

“But is Liebeskhilfe not the divinity responsible for binding?” I asked.

“Erwaermen felt responsible for binding the threads that caused Geduldh’s suffering. For that reason, he surrendered his position as a god, instead giving his power to Liebeskhilfe.”

“I see. That might explain why the bible does not list him as a god...” My eyes darted to one of Dunkelfelger’s scholars—specifically to what they were holding. “If your book contains even more stories like that one, then I cannot wait to read it.”

“I, myself, have suffered quite a blow. To think The Story of Fernestine would end where it did... I am terribly curious about what will come next.”

So, Hannelore had caught the bookworm bug and was now itching for more. That was a good sign. She told me how her skin had crawled at the first wife’s cruelty, how she had wept for Fernestine’s situation, and how her heart had throbbed for Fernestine’s protective half-brother.

Her praise included the names of many gods, but I think we’re doing okay. I think.

“I really am glad that the story is not based on you, Lady Rozemyne.”

“Had it been, then the aub would not have allowed it to be printed.”

“Yes, I suppose that would be like him informing the world of his misdeeds. Still, there are many similarities between you and Fernestine: your hair color, your coming first-in-class, your history of being taken in before your baptism...” She lowered her voice. “I suspect there will be many others under the same misapprehension.”

“I thank you ever so much for your concern, but the second volume will clear up any such misconceptions. All will understand that Fernestine and I are separate people. It should be out soon, I believe.”

“Oh, please do allow me to borrow it! The first volume ended right after she finally escaped the cruel first wife by entering the Royal Academy and had such a wondrous romantic encounter. I’m simply beside myself with curiosity...”

As it turned out, Hannelore was debating whether she should root for the half-brother who protected Fernestine or the prince whom Fernestine just met, since both were so wonderfully romantic. Naturally, I wasn’t going to mention that the second volume started with the half-brother finding another partner—but Elvira would surely be glad to hear that people were so angry at the first wife and invested in the romance.

Speaking of being glad, Muriella sure seems to be enjoying this conversation. She’s nodding along so vigorously.

“My one concern is that this author sometimes writes bittersweet tales of love. They are very beautiful, but if Fernestine meets a tragic end, well... I just do not know what I will do,” Hannelore said, wavering with unease.

Though I didn’t want to spoil any of the details, I decided to reveal that, in the end, Fernestine finds true happiness. I was sure that would allow Hannelore to relax and properly look forward to the sequels.

“I will support Fernestine until she finds that happiness,” Hannelore declared with a smile—and at that moment, Wilfried stood up from his chair with a clatter, looking outright furious.

“You’re wrong, Lord Lestilaut!”

What the...?!

The sudden exclamation caused all eyes to fall on the gewinnen table. Wilfried was gritting his teeth, staring daggers at his opponent. Meanwhile, Lestilaut waved his schtappe to move a piece, then casually looked up again.

“Wrong about what?” Lestilaut asked.

“I am going to be Ehrenfest’s next aub. Not Rozemyne.”