Marcella, the woman, had been a prostitute, and for her, Bernardi had cast away his social status, knighthood, money, and all else. Bernigi had admonished him, telling him to calm down and think things over. They had fallen out that day, and the next, Bernardi had gone off to the frontier to battle the hydra. After lopping off one of its nine heads, he was no more. His order had suffered enormous casualties, and even Ehrlichia had become quite nervous about the situation. But with the proverbial fire to put out, Bernigi had had no time to mourn his son’s death.
His youngest son had so loved this Marcella; after a month, Bernigi had felt he had a responsibility to inform her of his death and give her a sum of money. However, there had been no signs of that woman in the red-light district. There had been rumors that she had long left her profession, gotten together with someone else, or even gone abroad for work. Bernigi had never gotten hold of her, and after a season had passed, he had given up.
Twenty years had passed since then. Bernigi and his wife had lived long enough. Their other children and grandchildren had grown up in good health, and there was no need to worry on that front. This autumn marked a decline in his health, and he had figured he ought to put his affairs in order and clean out the drawers in his study. Then he had spotted a sheet of parchment—the report he’d received on the search for Marcella. It had long since been time to let go, yet he once again dispatched people to look into the woman. But the results had turned out to be inconclusive, and the people who had been interviewed all those years ago had all forgotten about her. There were no traces of this woman, as though she had never existed. It had seemed too odd to be a coincidence, and so Bernigi had asked the Intelligence Office to find Marcella. Not long after, he had received an invitation to today’s expedition.
“Fine. I shall call off the investigation.” It was now clear as day why she had been erased from the earth. Perhaps if Bernigi had employed the Intelligence Office earlier, he would have found Marcella the knight before the Scalfarottos had taken him in, but it had all worked out in the end. It was obvious that Guido Scalfarotto had more sway with the Intelligence Office than Bernigi, but he was not about to give up.
“Marcella has only recently begun learning magic. I’m sure he would appreciate some advice if you have the chance to visit us next time.”
“Very well. I shall do so when the opportunity arises.” It mattered not what the excuse would be; Bernigi would go to the Scalfarottos. Grade-fourteen, fifteen magic just sitting dormant and untrained for so many years was an irritating waste of good talent. If he had met Marcella much earlier, he could have taught him magic control, advanced earth magic, whatever kind of weapon training, even chivalric combat—he could have personally taught him all that.
“While we are on the topic, Marcella’s children are thought to be over grade eleven. In the future, finding an instructor will surely prove very troublesome.”
Jonas’s tone was terribly dramatic, but it was the substance of his message that was so alarming. To carry a child with a great magical imbalance was very risky to the mother, and despite Jonas glossing over it, Bernigi was seized by worry. “Over grade-eleven earth magic? Marcella’s wife is a commoner, is she not? Is she in good health?”
“Thanks to a special magical tool, both mother and children are now very healthy. With their talent, however, they are sure to attract unwanted attention. Marcella himself said that he was not interested in being adopted, and our family is providing his family protection, so this search... It may cause him to become the subject of rumors.”
Because of Marcella’s wish to remain a commoner, the Scalfarottos had erased all information on him. “What with your poking around within the Intelligence Office, there is the risk of information being leaked to other noble families. So, for your own grandson’s and great-grandchildren’s sakes, help us help them.” Despite the carefully chosen and polite words, it was closer to an order than a request; the Scalfarottos required his obedience, not his assent. Furthermore, their protection of Marcella and their permission for his grandfather from a different faction to meet him could not be had without a price; the Scalfarottos did not operate on benevolence.
There was no point beating around the bush. “So? What do you want from me?”
“We would like to ask you, as former vice-captain of the Beast Hunters, to become a member of the Scalfarotto family’s Weapons Development Team. This team is based out of our villa, where you may find the Rossetti Trading Company as well.”
“Very well. It is important that the squad get good weapons, and I would love to be able to help.” That was the perfect excuse for Bernigi, a noble from a different faction, to lend a hand, and for him to visit the Scalfarottos as well—this had been well planned.
“Still, what a shame...” Bernigi continued. His grandson has as much raw talent as his late son, and his great-grandchildren had hidden talent too. If it were possible, Bernigi would much rather they take up the D’Orazi family name so he could protect them instead. There was a great deal he wanted to teach them in the very little time that remained to him. Perhaps that was why he was so driven by his desires. “Will you not entertain the idea of letting my family take in your knight? I would make the trade fair.”
“We will not—he himself does not wish for it.”
Jonas’s lack of hesitation was somewhat irritating. I would lose the chance to protect my grandson, just as I did with my son. “And if I said I will take him by force?”
“We shall oppose you. Marcella is one of ours.”
Both men’s voices were equally icy, and it felt as though snow would fall inside the cabin. Bernigi had already reached for the shortsword on his left hip, but Jonas—the red-brown pupil of his right eye split into a vertical gash—pressed three fingers to the back of the old man’s hand.
“Forgive my rudeness.” In the midst of their intimidation battle, Bernigi’s reflexes had made his body move involuntarily—his subconscious had identified Scalfarotto’s Blighted as a monster to slay. He very likely would have drawn his sword if not for Jonas.
“I ought to apologize for subjecting you to something so unsightly.” His pupil returned to its original roundness. Although he had almost been attacked, Jonas seemed neither angry nor surprised.
Not only had Bernigi lost this battle, he truly felt he had done wrong. “Is there anything I can give to you as an apology, Jonas?”
“I shall ask Lord Guido—”
“I am asking what you want, Jonas Goodwin.”
When he heard his full name, his gaze went diagonally downward. Five seconds elapsed before he looked back up with an all-too-perfect U-shaped smile. “In that case, on the day Lord Guido receives his marquisate, may I have you take the initiative to speak to him first at the castle? As we shall be cooperating in the near future, I hope you can also address him as Guido.”
When a title was bequeathed to someone, they were to go around paying respect to families of the same rank. To have Bernigi greet him first and call him Guido, sans honorifics, was an immense display to others—it was a big ask of someone from a different faction, despite the old man being retired. But Jonas—or rather, the man behind him, Guido Scalfarotto—was undoubtedly giving Bernigi much more.
“Very well, Jonas. I shall speak to Guido first, and I shall heartily congratulate him on his marquisate.”
“Thank you very much, Lord Bernigi.” His rust-brown eyes were surprisingly emotive—this was perhaps the first time Bernigi had seen Jonas smiling from the heart.
After Bernigi was promised he would be invited to the Scalfarotto villa, he alighted from the carriage. Marcella, who had been waiting outside, bowed deeply again, and he responded with a firm nod of the head. As Bernigi walked back to his manor under the night sky, a heavy sigh escaped his lips. If he’d had the choice, he would have taken Marcella along and introduced him to his wife and sons. He still wished to gather all of his family together. But knowing that his grandson was alive and present was plenty. Until yesterday, Bernigi had thought to straighten out everything, for he would not remain in this world for long. Now, he begged to live for as long as he could. How easily a man could change, how greedy a man could be—he could but laugh.
But the man named Guido Scalfarotto was beyond his title in every respect, whether it came to his capable subordinate, the matter with the Intelligence Office, the expedition, his connection with the Rossetti Trading Company, or Marcella. Guido had long been on the same level as a marquis, namely Bernigi. If anything, Bernigi ought to spur on his son so as not to be surpassed. Or perhaps it would be more favorable for the D’Orazis to make interfactional ties with the Scalfarottos.
There was so much for Bernigi to discuss with his wife tonight; he hurried his steps, only to totter because of his prosthetic leg. His guards rushed to support him, but Bernigi was still sharp, and he managed to remain upright with his cane. If he was going to the Scalfarotto villa, he would need to get his act together. That included figuring out what to bring for gifts, what to wear, and how to explain the situation to his faction. Though Bernigi did not know how far he could or should meddle with their business, he ought to also devise a plan for his grandson and great-grandchildren’s educations. There was so much to think about, to worry about.
Another thing for Bernigi to worry about was writing his hand for his great-grandchildren, who now had bright futures to grasp. Two great-grandchildren, so two hands—it would be embarrassing if one of them featured terrible penmanship. But it would not do to have his wife write both; he yearned to do one himself. Swords and bows were no trouble to him, but the pen?
“Time to devote myself to practice!”
From tomorrow on, his study would be his battlefield.