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The education of imperial nobles’ children is, in the end, nothing more than a ritual that simultaneously demands the castration of the spirit and the refinement of the instinct for survival.
A person is born alone and dies alone. They wrap this self evident truth in glittering garments and hollow etiquette, disguising it as though it were a privilege granted only to noble blood. That is their way.
They say parents cast away their children because they love them. They cite the tale of the lion that pushes its cub into a bottomless ravine and use it to justify their own coldness. But what is the reality. Is it not merely a lack of affection, or perhaps a fundamental fear of growing old and being driven from one’s seat, papered over with the noble name of education.
In the Guynes Empire, it is customary that by the age of fifteen, a noble child must leave their parent’s lap and be cast into the wilderness. The wilderness meaning dormitory life, study abroad, or the battlefield. To rely on one’s parents is considered shameful, and for parents to shelter their children is deemed a foolish act that heralds the decline of the house.
Independence.
Standing alone.
To live by one’s own strength alone, to survive by one’s own talent alone. That is the imperial temperament, and they believe it to be the source of their strength. This obsessive enforcement of self reliance stems from the memory of the long wars that once engulfed the continent, memories soaked into their very bones. In a world where one never knows when a home will burn, when parents will die, when everything will be lost, the only things one can rely on are one’s own body and one’s own wits. They truly believe that overprotection is a poison that kills a child.
People fall.
From the complete dependency of an infant, they fall into a solitary individual. If that is what they call growth, then what a cruel and hopeless downward slope growth truly is.
Helga Ira Aster, acting matriarch of the Aster ducal house, understood this harsh imperial law, accepted it, and yet struggled against an inescapable sense of dissonance.
She loves Hein.
It is not a noble duty, nor a compulsion born of blood ties. It is something more visceral, more raw, more desperate. Something closer to the passion of a single woman, or even a female. At the end of her frozen, hellish days with her husband Damian, the only warmth she obtained was Hein. For that child, she had sworn that she would not hesitate to burn in the fires of hell.
And yet, the deeper that love ran, the more she found herself facing the wall that was the imperial temperament.
The paradox that one must let go precisely because one loves.
Overinvolvement is poison. Indulgence is a sin. To raise that child to be truly strong and noble, she must harden her heart and push him away. Helga repeated this to herself, forcing the thick, clinging obsession rising in her chest into the cage of reason.
──Lately, that child has been going out often.
On academy holidays, Hein would once have stayed by Helga’s side all day, clinging to her like a shadow and drinking in her warmth. Now, he prepares himself early in the morning and drifts out of the mansion without a word.
He does not say where he is going. His only companion is Feri.
Seen through the eyes of imperial nobility, it should be an extremely healthy and welcome sign of growth.
Hein says he is deepening his ties with other houses. As an explanation, it is flawless. Associating with the children of other families, building connections, or learning the atmosphere of the imperial capital with his own body. He is trying to cultivate, by his own will, the qualities required of a future head.
She understands it intellectually.
Ah, yes, she understands.
But what is this black emotion smoldering in the pit of her stomach.
Loneliness. Anxiety. Or confusion at the thought that a doll she believed belonged only to her has begun to move of its own accord.
No.
It is something more ominous, something like a premonition, that raises goosebumps on her skin.
Hein does not lie. At least, not to Helga.
But that does not mean he tells her the whole truth.
──There is something about the air around that child that smells of blood.
Beneath the refined perfume, she cannot shake the feeling that a dry scent of death is mixed in.
The sunlight streaming through the office window is cruelly bright as ever, illuminating the streets of the imperial capital. Helga stopped the pen that had been moving across the page and lifted her face.
Beyond her gaze, the trees in the garden sway in the wind. It is a peaceful scene. Yet she knows better than anyone that this peace is a fragile illusion built atop thin ice.
「……Hein」
The breath that slipped from her lips reached no one and dissolved into the air.
She must ask.
Not as a mother, but as the acting matriarch of the Aster house. Grasping the actions of the next patriarch is a natural duty. Even if she is accused of overinvolvement, even if she is mocked as a foolish mother who dotes on her mama’s boy son, she cannot move forward unless she removes the weight lodged in her chest.
Helga steeled her resolve.
It may be the first step toward ruin. But is there truly a mother in this world who does not fall to love.
◆
Morning at the dining table.
The polished silverware reflects the chandelier’s light, gleaming coldly.
At opposite ends of the long table sit Helga and Hein. The physical distance does not symbolize emotional distance, rather, precisely because this space separates them, their gazes intertwine all the more densely, all the more desperately.
Hein is perfect again this morning.
His jet-black hair is arranged without the slightest flaw, and with eyes that seem to hold an abyss, he proceeds quietly with his meal. Each movement is beautiful, like a meticulously calculated work of art. Even the sound of his knife cutting into meat carries a musical rhythm.
‘He’s grown up’, Helga thinks.
The small life that once trembled upon her lap has now grown into a young man possessed of such beauty and dignity. And yet, why does that growth tighten her chest so painfully?
Helga sets her teacup down on its saucer, breaking the silence with a sharp clink.
「Hein.」
She keeps her voice as gentle as she can.
Hein’s hand stops.
He raises his face and looks at her with an expression like that of a martyr gazing upon the Holy Mother, eyes mingling rapture and worship.
「Yes, Mother. What is it? Water, perhaps? Or is the room temperature uncomfortable? I’ll have it adjusted at once.」
「No, that’s not it. …Lately, it seems you’ve been going out quite often on your days off.」
Helga touches the heart of the matter.
She does not miss the slight contraction of Hein’s pupils.
But it is not the look of agitation, rather, it is the color of rapid calculation.
「What do you do when you go out? Is it time spent with friends, perhaps?」
She frames the question as if it were merely an extension of casual conversation.
Taking utmost care that it not sound like an interrogation.
Hein smiles softly. It is as warm as sunlight in spring.
「Yes, well. Something like that.」
He answers smoothly.
「I’ve been deepening my understanding of the imperial capital’s history and culture with people I met at the academy. And for the future, something beneficial… yes, you might call it an investment in personal connections. There is absolutely nothing that should cause you concern, Mother.」
A model answer. As an imperial noble, it could not be more appropriate.
Investment in connections. Deepening of knowledge. It overflows with the self-awareness of an independent future head.
And yet Helga’s intuition tells her,
This may be the 「correct」 answer, but it is not the 「truth」.
A mother’s intuition. A woman’s instinct. Still, Helga nods.
She must not press further here. That would be gauche.
Lying, too, is one of the refinements of adulthood. Perhaps this is simply his way of showing love, of not wanting to worry his mother.
「I see… If that’s the case, then that’s fine.」
Helga smiles back.
She forces the murky sediment swirling in her chest down beneath that smile.
「Just don’t overdo it. You’ve always been such a hard worker.」
「I will keep that in mind. Everything I am is for your peace of mind, Mother.」
Hein’s words invade Helga’s ears like a sweet poison.
Just hearing them makes her reason seem to melt, her thoughts growing numb.
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After Hein left, the mansion fell into a silence like a temple abandoned by its god.
Helga shut herself away in her study, facing a mountain of documents.
The management of House Aster.
It was a farce both dangerous and arduous, like holding the reins of a colossal demon beast.
The household finances, once on the brink of collapse, had now recovered in what could only be called miraculous fashion. No, recovery was an understatement. They were enjoying an unprecedented boom. Yet this prosperity was not the result of sound labor or proper domain management.
「Graman」
Helga called to the elderly butler standing by her side.
A man with white hair slicked back, standing as rigid as a statue. A veteran retainer who knew every shadow of House Aster.
「Yes, madam」
Graman stepped forward without a sound.
An iron mask, forged through decades of service, clung to his face.
「I’ve reviewed this term’s report. …It keeps increasing, doesn’t it. This so-called 『special support fund』」
Helga’s finger tapped a single point on the parchment.
There, figures far too large to simply enrich a single noble’s purse were lined up.
Dwarves. Beastkin. Elfen. The names of the remitting parties varied widely, but they shared one thing in common.
They were demi-humans, or those connected to demi-humans.
「Allow me to explain」
Graman replied without changing his expression.
「They are purchasing hope」
「Hope?」
「Yes. The symbol of a new era, House Aster」
Irony and reverence were intertwined in Graman’s words.
Imperial noble society now stood on the verge of being torn apart by two massive currents.
One was the Chancellor faction, led by Chancellor Zigitaris.
They upheld traditional human supremacism and sought to defend noble privilege at all costs. To them, demi-humans were nothing more than tools, objects of exploitation. To preserve the old blood of the Empire, they would crush new sprouts without hesitation.
Opposing them was Helga’s own faction, the demi-human noble faction.
Centered around House Aster and House Sarion, this loose coalition had become a single beam of light illuminating the Empire’s darkness, drawing fervent support from the oppressed.
The demi-humans dream of House Aster and pour their wealth into it. No, this is not wealth. It is their blood, their tears, and their resentment. If House Aster is the spider’s thread that allows them to escape the despair of the present, then they will gladly cast everything they have into it. It is an investment in name only, a prayer closer to a scream.
「…They’re evenly matched, aren’t they」
Helga murmured to herself.
「In numbers and tradition, the Chancellor faction holds the advantage. In momentum and financial power, it’s us.…But it feels ominous」
Yes, ominous. The silence of Chancellor Zigitaris.
That viper would never sit idly by and watch such an expansion of power without acting.
Under normal circumstances, she would already be moving to crush them. Subtle sabotage, baseless rumors, or even assassination. That was her way.
Yet there was nothing.
As if he were quietly waiting for a storm to arrive. Or like a spider, patiently watching its prey sink deeper into a trap.
「One could also call it an opportunity」
Graman said calmly.
「While the enemy remains inactive, this is our chance to solidify our foundation. Using their funds to make House Aster unassailable will ultimately serve to protect Hein-sama」
Helga let out a sigh.
That was true.
This was war. A war without swords, fought with money and intrigue.
To protect Hein, power was necessary.
Pretty ideals alone would never be enough to safeguard the monster she loved.
Even if that money was stained with resentment and carried the scent of blood.
「Very well. …We will accept it」
Helga made her decision.
It might be corruption. It might be the act of becoming drunk on the demonic liquor of power and stepping into a place from which there was no return. But motherhood was a sin-laden thing.
For the sake of her child’s peace, she would join hands even with a demon. If the whole world became her enemy, as long as that child could smile, that was enough.
──To live is to fall.
That thought suddenly crossed her mind.
From the moment a person is born crying, they continue to fall toward death.
Nobles are no different. Drunk on the demonic liquor of authority, their feet caught in the mire of desire, they fall endlessly. The idea of remaining pure is nothing more than a naive fantasy.
A faint smile appeared on Helga’s lips. It was the smile of a saint, and at the same time, that of a wicked woman.
・
・
・
Incidentally, Graman had one thing he had not told Helga. A portion of the special support fund included rewards sent from the guild, earned by Hein himself. The reason he had not mentioned it was because it was Hein’s wish. Still, Graman thought to himself.
──For now, we can keep it hidden, but one day it will no longer be possible.
With a wry smile in his heart, Graman reminded himself that he would need to think of an excuse for when Helga eventually found out. After all, it was Graman himself who had suggested that Hein take up the life of an adventurer.
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