The Meyer Clan
A summer wind rose over the castle walls, where the night's shadows had thickened deeply. Roberta shivered as if she had mistaken it for a winter wind. Her eyes trembled even more than her body.
As the orange glow of the torch illuminated her face, her expression showed bewilderment. Her slightly parted lips swallowed a breath.
She mulled over what Ulrich had said. The Pantheon? Kormilius? They had tried to hand the throne of Osnover over to Ulrich?
'The Pantheon… in the civil war?'
What had been the foundation of that event—the Osnover Civil War?
It was a war that lasted for thirty-two years. When the crown prince fell ill and died, a struggle among siblings for succession to the throne erupted, eventually spreading into a conflict involving all the people of Osnover.
As a result of a struggle that washed blood with blood, the royal direct line was wiped out, and even powerful noble families were extinguished. The most fertile land in the country, the western granary, became the poorest region.
It was a civil war that had continued until just five years ago. It lasted until four years before Roberta was assigned to Dithmarschen, and Ulrich brought it to an end. By subduing the war, he restored peace.
'Why is the story flowing like this?'
Something about it was strange.
It differed too much from the ending she had originally known.
At first, it was said that Ulrich had passed the throne to his adopted son. After pacifying the civil war, he did not ascend the throne himself but instead placed his adopted son as king. That was the history known as common sense by all the people of this country, and she had believed it as well.
However, just a day ago, a hidden story had emerged. Ulrich revealed that he had first offered the throne to Count Wilhelm of the Meyer family, but because Wilhelm refused, his adopted son Richard accepted it instead.
And then another secret layered over the tale. The Pantheon had tempted and deceived Wilhelm so that he would refuse the throne, ensuring that the throne of Osnover would return to Ulrich.
"Could it be… that the Pantheon started the civil war?"
"It had nothing to do with them at the beginning. It was a problem of this country alone."
Ulrich shook his head.
"The Pantheon reached in midway and adjusted things to suit their taste."
"…To place you on the throne, Lord Ulrich."
"Yes. They pruned things so that no one but me could inherit the throne. And the remaining candidates—they gathered them in one place and led them to be dealt with all at once."
How had the civil war ended again?
In the final year of the thirty-two years, a neighboring country intervened. They put forward a man unworthy of even being called Osnover royalty as a puppet and provided him with an army under the name of mercenaries.
The puppet conquered Osnover. After the long war, the country, too exhausted to continue fighting, surrendered. The coronation was just around the corner. No one doubted it.
Yet the puppet turned his army toward Dithmarschen—the poorest land in Osnover, or perhaps in the world—and was defeated.
'They said no one knew why he attacked Dithmarschen. But if the Pantheon intervened and controlled the puppet… then it explains the reason.'
The puppet had taken Osnover, and no one else could claim the throne. Whoever defeated him would naturally inherit his position.
"I knew that the Pantheon had such intentions. Though it was somewhat late, someone confessed it to me. Even if the Pantheon bears a single name, the thoughts within it are many."
"Like Alonso," Ulrich muttered to himself.
"So I tried to express my will early and stop it."
He did not continue. There was no need. The result spoke for itself. The Pantheon—or the Kormilius family—had ignored him, pursuing their own objective regardless of his will.
In such a situation, what could Ulrich have done?
She guessed he had not simply watched idly. But at the same time, he could not have openly stepped forward either. Acting directly to stop the conspiracy would only play into the Pantheon's hands.
"The civil war grew beyond control. The Pantheon would not yield, and its influence took deep root. I had to choose—abandon my name and leave, or keep my name and remain."
Ulrich remained. As the lord of Dithmarschen, he revealed his name. The obscure lord of a remote land, dismissed as merely an old man who had lived for hundreds of years, ended the civil war.
At that moment, all the people of Osnover must have wanted him to sit on the throne. Thirty-two years of civil war—it was long enough for a child to grow into adulthood. Countless people must have grown up without ever knowing peace.
"The Pantheon did not give me a moment's leeway. As if they had been waiting, they handed me the crown. They already knew the ending, so they had dwarves make it in advance. And it was modeled after the crown worn by the Emperor."
Roberta swallowed hard.
The Emperor's crown referred both to the crown worn by the current emperor and the one worn by the first emperor. Though they were made in different times, their form was identical, symbolizing continuity even as dynasties changed.
Since the rise of the third empire, the Jokuster dynasty, the imperial crown had been bestowed by the Pope. The imperial candidate had to visit the Pantheon, kneel before the Pope, reaffirm the Pope's authority, and receive the crown.
"That means—"
The Pantheon had given Ulrich a crown modeled after the imperial crown. What did that signify? Even if it was not publicly declared and the true imperial crown remained with the empire's emperor, the meaning was clear.
"Yes. Just as you think."
"But… you refused it, didn't you?"
"I sent it to Wilhelm."
Ulrich spoke calmly, as if it were nothing.
"I taught many children in Dithmarschen. Each one was remarkable. Among them, Wilhelm was the finest. He had the qualifications to wear the crown in my place. But he was momentarily swayed by temptation."
Ulrich said that Wilhelm had wanted his lord to sit not on the cold stone floor of a remote land but upon a golden throne.
"It wasn't only Wilhelm who was swayed. In fact, it would have been faster to count those who weren't. And among them was Richard."
Thus, the adopted son Richard founded the new dynasty of Osnover.
Richard of Dithmarschen ascended the throne with nothing to his name. Aside from his adoptive father's surname, he truly had nothing, so Ulrich personally melted down the imperial crown to make a royal crown for him and arranged for the Hilderson clan to support him.
"The reason Wilhelm didn't want to attend the wedding may partly be because he and Richard don't get along. But more than that, it seems he feels deep regret."
What would come to mind when he saw the adopted son wearing a crown made by his own lord? Would he not recall that the crown he should have worn had passed to another—and that it was due to his own mistake?
"Yes. It seemed the count was deeply distressed."
"Wilhelm may be old, but he still has a childish side."
Ulrich shook his head as if troubled.
"Were you very disappointed as well, Lord Ulrich?"
"It would be a lie to say I felt nothing. But that is all."
"You're quite composed. If it were me, I think I would have been rather angry."
"I personally performed Wilhelm's baptism. His father was just as stubborn as he is."
Ulrich mimed holding a child in both arms.
It was said that Wilhelm's father had rushed to Dithmarschen carrying a child who had just turned one year old and whose body had finally become capable of containing mana. And he asked Ulrich to perform the infant rite.
"He stayed by my side more than his own father did. Just like all the children I taught, even though we shared no blood, he was like a son to me. If only his nature had been a little more relaxed, Wilhelm would have remained by my side, and his elder brother Bernhard would have inherited the Meyer countship."
He said, how could he possibly be angry at such a child?
"And this isn't even the first time I've experienced something like this."
That made sense. He was a man who had lived through a long span of time under many names. He must have encountered all kinds of people—those who tried to hold onto him, those who tried to elevate him, and countless others.
"It's not surprising. To me, it's such a trivial matter that it doesn't even require forgiveness."
"Even so, wouldn't it be better to say it clearly?"
Instead of answering, Ulrich looked directly at Roberta.
"It doesn't seem like the count sees it that way. If you truly think it's nothing, then rather than just letting it pass, I think it would be better if you say a few words to him."
Roberta brought up how Ulrich had spoken to Wilhelm earlier, saying something along the lines of, 'You know me, don't you?' Even if the other person understands your feelings, receiving forgiveness through words and merely guessing it are entirely different things.
"I had forgotten. Yes, you're right."
Ulrich fell into thought for a moment and stroked his chin.
"Hilde said something similar. That I'm cold. Of course, she said it jokingly, but it's not entirely wrong. When I judge others by my own standards, I tend to overlook the most basic things."
He tapped his temple lightly with his index finger.
"Thank you for the advice."
Hearing that, Roberta flinched slightly.
"Ah, yes… I'm glad it helped."
His expression and tone hadn't changed at all, but she hadn't expected to hear such words, so she was quite surprised. She gave an awkward smile and cleared her throat.
After that, the two walked along the castle wall. Ulrich admired the night view of the city of Viten, talking about how it used to be and how it was now, before heading down the stairs.
"..."
Roberta remained on the wall. Looking down at Ulrich's back, she recalled the very first conversation they had shared.
"The imperial crown, he said."
The Pantheon had handed the imperial crown to Ulrich.
Because he had refused it and melted it down, only a very small number of people knew the truth. But just because the truth was hidden did not make it false.
Giving Ulrich the imperial crown meant more than simply making him emperor. His surname was not that of the third empire, Jokuster. As Ulrich of Dithmarschen, if he claimed the imperial throne, it would mean the dynasty itself would change.
And the replacement of a dynasty also meant the end of an era.
"What in the world were they thinking…?"
Why had they done it? She couldn't even begin to guess.
It was entirely different from simply deposing an unsatisfactory emperor. No matter how powerful the Pantheon was, it could not overturn the empire. If it could have, it would have ruled the empire itself.
Above all, every change of era had always come with unavoidable circumstances. The ends of the first and second empires were unintended collapses. No one had tried to destroy them—they simply rose again after they fell.
The Pantheon knew this. And yet they attempted it anyway. Why? What had driven them to make such a bold decision? Perhaps the reason the emperor had turned against the Pantheon was also because he had learned this hidden truth.
"…I should send a letter to Alonso."
Bishop Alonso—the man she regarded like a father, a high priest of the Pantheon—might know the answer. Though she wasn't sure if he would willingly tell her.
Roberta let out a long breath, a headache forming from the unsolved mystery. She looked out over the night view beyond the walls. The city, built by the child of a man who might have become emperor—Ulrich—was brilliantly lit.
"I will follow as quickly as possible."
Early in the morning, Count Wilhelm Meyer came out in front of the lord's residence to see them off. Ulrich, Roberta, and Fritz sat atop their saddles and received his farewell.
He had wanted to accompany them farther, but Ulrich refused. Since he was hiding his identity under the name Armin, having Wilhelm by his side would have drawn attention. After the banquet the previous day, there were already whispers about Ulrich's true identity.
"Prepare for any possibility."
"Do you believe matters will escalate?"
"As I said, we'll know when we get there. I may be wrong."
But there was no harm in being cautious, Ulrich added.
"I understand."
Ulrich pulled the reins and turned his horse.
"Wilhelm."
"Yes, Lord Ulrich."
"There's nothing to worry about."
Wilhelm silently looked up at him.
"A name is just a name. Even if I set aside the name 'Ulrich,' I won't disappear. I won't change either. You know that, don't you? I'm not like the heavenly elders who leave for places you can never find."
"..."
"The world is both wide and narrow. As long as we live on this land, bonds are not so easily severed. Didn't Yudebora find me in the end? Think again about how I treated her children—and how they treated me."
And then the three departed. Wilhelm watched their figures as they passed through the inner gate. Even after they disappeared from sight, he remained standing there. Only after a long, long time did he finally reach into his coat and take out a cigarette.
It was a gift sent from the deep forests of the distant eastern land, Kuiania. Ulrich had not said anything, but Wilhelm understood the meaning contained in the gift. It was memory.
Just as Hilde had left behind the name and land of Dithmarschen so that Ulrich could never forget her, those from distant lands had sent something to awaken memory.
Even when one cannot recall it, even when one forgets so completely that one cannot even attempt to remember—something that suddenly asserts the past with vivid clarity, as if one were standing in that very moment—that is memory.
And so, they speak to the eternal one:
Just as we remember you, please remember us as well.
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