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Chapter Text

When Trauerqual opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a canopy above his bed. It was familiar, yet not the one he was used to.

“…Haa.”

He raised a hand to cover his face and let out a heavy sigh. If possible, he would have preferred not to awaken at all. But such wishes were never granted.

Forcing his mind to settle, he pushed himself upright. His attendant immediately noticed and hurried over. The weight of his body, the face of his retainer—both were undeniably real. This was no dream.

“Good morning, Your Majesty.”

“Good morning… What day is it today?”

The attendant blinked in surprise, perhaps interpreting it as a request for the schedule, and proceeded to recite the date along with the day’s planned engagements.

“I see… Haa…”

“Is something troubling you, sire?”

“…No. Nothing.”

But inside, Trauerqual felt nothing but dismay. Why now of all times?

If only it had been earlier—when his elder brother still lived, before the upheaval began. But there was no point dwelling on what could not be changed. Even so, the sighs would not stop escaping him.

At that moment, an ordonnanz flew in through the open window and perched on his arm, opening its beak. Few people would dare send a message directly to the king, and fewer still so early in the morning. It had to be urgent. And Trauerqual could already guess what the message would contain.

“This is Anastasius. Father, if you know anything about the white great tree, I must speak with you at once.”

He wanted to say he had no idea—but the truth was that he knew far too much. With a sharp tap of his schtappe, he dismissed the ordonnanz back into its stone and imbued his reply:

“Gather those present there at the fourth-and-half bell today.”

The message was directed to Oswin, Anastasius’s chief attendant. Then, exhaling another long breath, Trauerqual leaned back heavily in his seat.

By the fourth-and-half bell, the meeting chamber in the royal palace was filled. To summon royalty with only a few hours’ notice, demanding they come immediately after the midday meal, was unheard of among nobles. But the urgency of the matter was clear to everyone. They had all adjusted their schedules and rushed to attend, and by the time Trauerqual arrived, every face was already pale.

Once the attendants were dismissed, those who remained were: Trauerqual himself, his first, second, and third wives, Magdalena, Sigiswald, and Anastasius. Hildebrand was still in Magdalena’s womb, due to be born any day now. Eglantine, Adolphine, and Nahelache, who would later become the wives of the princes, were currently in their respective duchies as archduke candidates and thus absent.

Confirming that his second wife had activated a magical device to block eavesdropping, Trauerqual finally spoke.

“First—if there is anyone here who does not know of the one called Rozemyne, leave now.”

He waited in silence, watching their reactions. No one moved. With another sigh, he muttered, almost to himself:

“…I had hoped this was only a dream.”

He raised his gaze, meeting the eyes of his gathered kin.

“Each of you has met with Lord Erwaermen, the Former God of Binding… correct?”

Their solemn nods confirmed it.

“…Then let us begin the royal council.”

To speak of “rewinding time” may not be entirely accurate. Still, to Trauerqual, the events that followed felt as though they had happened just a short while ago.

It had been roughly ten years since Eglantine’s coronation as Zent when Trauerqual received the news: Rozemyne had collapsed. He knew full well that Rozemyne likely still held Eglantine’s name. That alone was disastrous. Yet his thoughts at the time were consumed by his own duchy, still unstable and rife with unrest.

Rebellions broke out one after another. Talented nobles fled to other territories. Chronic shortages of mana plagued the land, crops failed to grow, and famine inevitably led to more uprisings. He had lost count of how many times Alexandria had extended its hand in aid.

And yet, they were fortunate their duchy still survived at all. Sigiswald’s Korinthsdaum, by contrast, was in ruins—barely clinging to existence, a single breath away from abolishment. Until then, Alexandria had shouldered much of the burden, and Anastasius had discreetly lent support out of brotherly compassion. But once both withdrew completely, Korinthsdaum became a dying flame in the wind.

Trauerqual knew Sigiswald had done his best. He wanted desperately to help—but his own domain was at its breaking point. There was no room left to worry about another duchy.

Two days after Rozemyne’s critical condition was reported, word came that the lord and lady of Alexandria had climbed the towering staircase. What Trauerqual had not expected was that Ferdinand had accompanied her.

“This is bad,” Trauerqual groaned, clutching his head.

Truthfully, he had thought that even if Rozemyne were gone, things might still be manageable as long as Ferdinand remained. He understood Ferdinand’s ability all too well.

But then came another blow: the news of Eglantine’s passing. Only Anastasius remained.

…How much time passed after that?

At some point, a sound like cascading sand filled his ears, and when Trauerqual looked up, he found himself standing in a wide white plaza bathed in light.

Gathered around the great white tree were those once known as royals: Trauerqual and his first, second, and third wives, Sigiswald, Adolphine, Nahelache, Anastasius, Eglantine, and Hildebrand. All wore the same look of confusion, glancing about as though unsure what was happening. Only Anastasius raised his voice.

“Eglantine!”

“Anastasius? What… what is this place?”

Anastasius, who had been hollowed by grief at losing her, had nonetheless ascended the throne as a temporary measure—for his daughter’s sake. War soon erupted, and before long, he too had been swept here. It had not been long, but to see the one he most longed for appear before him… propriety as a noble hardly mattered. He rushed toward her, while Eglantine only stared back, bewildered.

“I thought I saw the staircase to the heights. What is the meaning of this?”

“I do not know. Where are we?”

“…It looks like the Garden of Beginnings,” she said softly.

“The Garden of Beginnings?”

Though they were royals—the highest authority beneath the gods themselves—only Eglantine had ever stepped into the Garden of Beginnings. She explained briefly, while the others listened in confusion.

Then, before their widened eyes, the white tree shifted shape. Its form slowly condensed until a human silhouette stood there. And before them, a young girl appeared—her face the very image of Rozemyne.

“Are you truly the ones who call yourselves royals?” the girl asked. Her gaze swept elegantly across them, though there was a trace of doubt in her expression. “I pulled you forth using the medallions of royalty… and yet, your vessels seem so very small.”

Her appearance was identical to Rozemyne’s, but from her entire being radiated divine might. Once, Rozemyne had wielded the gods’ power, but this was on an entirely different level. The moment they felt it, everyone dropped to their knees. They had to. In an instant they understood: this was no human, but a god incarnate. Before such overwhelming power, their own strength was meaningless. Their knees trembled; their bodies refused to move.

Only Eglantine, who had met a god before, retained some composure. The others, their noble pride shattered, stared in shock and terror, unable to reconcile the sight before them.

“…Lady Mestionora,” Eglantine said with practiced grace, bowing her head. “Their stations may have shifted somewhat, but yes—these are indeed those once called royals.”

“I see.”

Mestionora’s lips curved faintly, but her gaze soon hardened, brimming with fury and disappointment.

“Do you not realize why you were summoned? Because of you, this world stood upon the brink of ruin.”

The sheer weight of her divine pressure crushed them. They fell to the ground, struggling for breath.

“Mestionora, restrain yourself,” came a calm, echoing voice.

“My, my. To collapse under so little pressure… how pitiful. Even Quinta would have pressed forward regardless.”

The force eased. The royals gasped desperately for air, their faces pale.

“…Mestionora. There is no need to weave anew for my sake.”

“Please, do not say that, Lord Erwaermen. If you were gone, I…”

A sudden gale swept across the plaza, and the royals doubled over once again, choking.

“Mestionora, calm yourself. Wentuchte worked hard to extract these threads gathered here—would you see them scattered to the winds?”

“…No matter what it takes, Yurgenschmidt must endure!”

“…Very well. But this will be the last time. Understood?”

Mestionora gave no reply. Instead, she turned back toward the royals, who were still gasping weakly for breath. Her next words were not a suggestion, but a command—unyielding, absolute, as befitted a god.

“You will redo this world. As royals, you will try again to ensure its survival.”

Mestionora’s lament—no, her explanation—dragged on at great length.

From what the gathered royals could piece together, this was not the first attempt. She spoke as though she had memories of several such “reweavings” of the world.

“The first attempt went rather well. But once Eglantine ascended as Zent, no other candidates appeared, and Myne succumbed to exhaustion. Quinta ascended alongside her, you know. He was furious, and I had quite a difficult time managing him.”

At those words, Eglantine stiffened. She recalled vividly how Ferdinand—Quinta—had argued with this goddess on equal terms upon the road to the heights. To think that he had once stood toe-to-toe with this overwhelming being, when she and the others could not even raise their eyes from the ground now… it was almost beyond belief.

“Forgive me, but to confirm… by ‘Myne’ and ‘Quinta,’ you mean Rozemyne and Ferdinand, correct?”

“Yes, that is how they were called in your world.”

The royals exchanged uneasy glances. They had suspected Ferdinand bore ties to Adalgisa or perhaps even Lanzenave, given his dealings with Gervasio, so another name was not entirely surprising. But why Rozemyne too? Was this some divine epithet, bestowed when she obtained Mestionora’s tome? Or merely a name the gods themselves used? None could say.

The cause of the first failure, it seemed, was overwork. The former royals had never thought they were exploiting Rozemyne—they had believed she was helping of her own will. Yet from a god’s perspective, it was clear: they had leaned too heavily on her. Looking back, even they could no longer deny it. She had carried the burdens of the Zent, supported other duchies in their struggles, and all while managing Ehrenfest as archduchess. For one so frail, it was unbearable. And they had used her kindness, her inability to turn away once she learned of suffering, until she broke.

After that first collapse, the gods had experimented: letting Rozemyne keep her memories, letting Ferdinand keep his, letting both or neither, even pulling Ferdinand’s thread earlier. Nothing worked. Each time, the tapestry unraveled. And each time, Mestionora’s fury fell more heavily on the royals, for it was their missteps that doomed the world again and again.

“The second time, Anastasius and Eglantine worked Mine too hard.”

Her divine pressure flooded the space—and with it came the memory of that cycle. They saw themselves ordering Rozemyne to undertake shrine pilgrimages one after another, her face pale, her body trembling, yet denied rest until she collapsed outright.

“We had no choice!” Anastasius protested hoarsely. “The Grutrissheit was necessary for the royal house, and Rozemyne was the closest to it. For the sake of the nation, it had to be done!”

The others’ eyes turned cold. To Adolphine, who had counted Rozemyne as a precious friend, their actions were nothing short of unforgivable. Even the rest, though less personally attached, knew full well that using up such a treasure until she broke was folly.

Another cycle came to light. Trauerqual had sent Ferdinand to Ahrensbach as a political husband, where Raublut used him mercilessly until poison brought him down. The nation then fell into Gervasio’s grasp, and Rozemyne too was lost soon after.

“Raublut deceived us,” Trauerqual muttered bitterly. “He claimed Ferdinand sought to seize the throne. I believed him… for the sake of the realm.”

But the realm had been seized anyway—by Gervasio, not Ferdinand. In hindsight, surrendering to Ferdinand’s “ambitions” would have been the lesser evil. Not that Ferdinand had ever intended to usurp the throne in the first place.

In yet another cycle, Sigiswald had confined Rozemyne in Adalgisa’s detached palace until she withered away.

“She was ill-suited to social life, and we needed to ensure the Grutrissheit was recognized as belonging to the royals,” Sigiswald argued. “There was no other choice. It was a necessary measure.”

The women who had not known what Adalgisa’s palace truly was looked upon him with horror and condemnation. Those who had known lowered their eyes, unable to meet his gaze.

Cycle after cycle, the outcome was the same. Whenever Rozemyne’s thread was severed, Ferdinand’s followed soon after. Whenever Ferdinand’s thread was cut, Rozemyne’s soon frayed away as well. Each time, the weave dissolved into nothingness.

“When Myne's thread breaks, Quinta’s follows. When Quinta’s breaks, hers does too,” Mestionora sighed. “Even when I and Ewaermen dislike Quinta enough to try removing him first, it always ends the same. The two must remain together, or the tapestry will not hold.”

The goddess tilted her head in troubled resignation. And the royals—remembering the frankly nauseating displays of devotion between Ferdinand and Rozemyne once they were engaged—could only avert their eyes in awkward agreement.

“In the last attempt, Quinta arrived here first. Myne refused to try again. ‘I am too weary. Ask someone else next time.’ And when I asked whom she would suggest, she said, If Yurgenschmidt belongs to the royals, then let the royals manage it. That is why I called you.”

At that, Anastasius felt cold sweat trickle down his neck. He remembered well telling Ehrenfest to handle Ehrenfest’s problems themselves. The words had returned to strike him.

“It is strange,” Mestionora said coolly. “I never thought Yurgenschmidt was truly yours. But if you claim it so, then make it so. I will not see Ewaermen suffer further.”

Her gaze swept across them, carrying the weight of divine command.

“Sustain Yurgenschmidt. Without Myne. Without Quinta. That is your task.”

Light engulfed their vision, and consciousness fled them all.

The royals, having endured Mestionora's long lecture—no, her scolding—gathered in the palace’s council chamber with pale faces.

“We all awoke this morning, correct?”
Trauerqual's voice was heavy, and the others nodded silently. Comparing what they remembered, it became clear: all of them had been returned to this point in time, carrying with them fragments of the “redos” Mestinonora had spoken of. Not every attempt, perhaps—but enough.

“Why now, of all times? If only we had been returned a little earlier…”

The second queen, who had lost her daughter in the purge, whispered with grief. Trauerqual, the first queen, even Magdalena—all of them who had borne children felt the same weight. The civil war had taken not only that daughter, but countless lives. If they could have gone back before it all began… but this was divine business. Their wishes meant nothing.

The “point” in question was when a frail five-year-old Myne collapsed, nearly dying—only to awaken with the memories of Urano. The gods had rewoven the threads from that timing again and again, which was why they had been returned here. But the royals themselves could not possibly know that.

“I, too, wish it were otherwise. But we cannot change the fact that we were sent to this moment. What we can change is what follows. If left unchecked, all ends in collapse. We were granted a chance to begin anew. This time, we must reflect and act wisely.”

Trauerqual's voice carried authority, and the others reluctantly nodded.

They began listing the urgent matters. The library’s head librarian, Raublut’s schemes, Lanzenave's meddling, the worsening mana shortage—the tasks stacked higher than they could count.

“First, the acquisition of the schtappe will return to the third year of the Academy. Anastasius, you must have all attributes by then and work toward obtaining Mestionora's Grutrissheit. From now on, only one who obtains the book may be recognized as a royal.”

“Wait, Father! That gives me no chance at all!”
Sigiswald, who would enter his second year at the Academy that coming winter, had already obtained his schtappe early. The very shortcut taken for his sake had now come back to haunt him.

“Sigiswald, do you truly desire to be Zent? There is little joy in the crown.”

“…Father…”

Anastasius, watching, couldn’t help but grimace. He knew too well what Eglantine had endured in striving toward the throne. To say such a thing aloud was cruel.

“Even so, I was raised as the next Zent. I worked with that belief, that duty… only to be cast aside as nothing more than an Aub. It is bitter beyond words.”

“But one cannot govern without a Grutrissheit. You lack that qualification. You must let it go.”
Trauerqual's tone was firm, unwavering. To him, the crown belonged only to the bearer of the book. To Sigiswald, the crown belonged to him by right of upbringing.

“The problem was that no one had the Grutrissheit! If someone close to me bore it, then there is no issue. For example—if I became Zent, and my wife bore the Grutrissheit, then the realm would be governed just fine.”

“You mean to bind your wife by name-offering and use her as a puppet? I will never allow Rozemyne to become your consort.”

“You cannot have Eglantine, either, Brother!”

Sigiswald flinched under the sharp glares of both father and younger brother, hastily waving his hands. “It was only an example! An example!” he said with a strained smile. In truth, he had no wish to wed Rozemyne, nor did he wish to sow discord by stealing Eglantine from Anastasius. He had only meant: some woman with the potential could serve as his consort. A royal wife, after all, would naturally obey her husband—so he thought. The idea of using a name-offering had never seriously crossed his mind.

“It need not even be a wife. A loyal retainer with the Grutrissheit would suffice. That way, the duties that require it could still be carried out.”

“Brother… in that case, wouldn’t that retainer be the true Zent?”

He had clearly not thought the matter through.

In the first attempt, Sigiswald had indeed worked desperately toward the throne, even if misguidedly. Now, with memories restored, Trauerqual feared what would happen if he was forced to give up that dream. After all, when Sigiswald had been denied and made merely an Aub the first time, he had nearly broken.

“…Very well. If—though I doubt it—you manage to obtain a Grutrissheit artifact before your majority, or earn recognition as next Zent without doubt, then I will consider it. But hear me: Mestionora herself decreed that lives must not be thrown away. Should blood be spilled for your ambition, I will be forced to condemn you.”

“I understand.”

“Furthermore, you will not hinder others who strive for the Grutrissheit. As long as their parents are of the royal line, all children shall be considered royals until adulthood. Your deadline is your majority. Agreed?”

Trauerqual hoped that by then Sigiswald would realize the futility of it all. But his son only straightened, hiding his excitement poorly. To him, it was a chance—and he still believed he alone was destined to be Zent.

Meanwhile, the three women who could not attend this royal council—the princes’ wives from the first attempt—awoke in their own duchies with memories intact.

Eglantine wept in despair, still grieving her family lost to the purge.

Nahelache tilted her head, murmuring, “Oh my, what should I do?”

And Adolphine clasped her hands, compressing mana with desperate fervor as she prayed with all her strength.

Chapter Text

Restoring the timeline, the royals knew their first and most urgent task was to secure the Grutrissheit. But that was a goal that could only be pursued once Anastasius and Eglantine obtained their Schtappe—meaning, even if all went smoothly, the endeavor would take years.

If only they could freely access the Sovereignty Temple. Yet in its current state—reviled as a “graveyard for nobles”—no one could simply send a royal prince there without causing uproar.

And there was another obstacle standing in the way: Raublut. King Trauerqual lived under his constant surveillance, disguised as “protection.” Though Raublut had yet to commit a crime warranting punishment, he remained undeniably dangerous. Should Anastasius make a move toward claiming the Grutrissheit, Raublut would almost certainly interfere.

“Raublut, I have a request for you,” the king said one afternoon from his office.

The knight bowed with practiced deference.

“What is it, Your Majesty?”

Normally, only Trauerqual himself conducted work in this chamber—a flaw he now recognized. His failure to cultivate bureaucrats had left the administration brittle, one of many missteps that had paved the way for tragedy with the trombe. Still, the solitude had its advantage: with no one else present, he could speak directly with Raublut.

(At least… there are no lingering memories of that sweet scent. That means the trombe incident has yet to occur. Good.)

“Reports have reached me that Ahrensbach’s condition is worsening,” Trauerqual began. “As it is the only duchy with an open border gate, further decline would be most inconvenient. I hear that even the lands once managed by the fallen Werkestock family have been left in disarray. I want you to go and see the situation for yourself.”

“As you command,” Raublut replied smoothly.

“…That, however, is merely the pretext,” the king continued, lowering his voice. “Your true mission is to investigate Lanzenave.”

For a fraction of a second, Raublut’s polished mask slipped. He looked up sharply, surprise poorly hidden.

“You are familiar with Adalgisa’s villa, are you not?”

The knight’s complexion drained. “How do you—?”

“As king, did you think I would be ignorant of the Sovereignty'd Knight Commander’s career? I know you once served there as a guard.”

“I see. And what of it?”

“It is said that Lanzenave has already decided upon their next king. In time, they will no doubt demand that we once again receive a princess into that villa. I have no intention of granting approval. That residence has birthed nothing but tragedy. Do you not agree?”

Raublut tried to maintain his composure, but his tightly clenched fists betrayed him.

“Which is why I must understand Lanzenave’s true position,” Trauerqual pressed. “If we refuse them without knowing their aims, we risk unnecessary conflict. I want you to uncover what Lanzenave desires. Choose your own subordinates for the task. Can you do this?”

“…As you wish,” Raublut answered, face drawn taut.

He turned stiffly to leave, only for the king to add, almost as an afterthought:

“One more thing. A petition has come from Solange, the head librarian of the Royal Academy library. After the purges, all three of the archlibrarians were lost. She requests that we appoint at least one replacement so the work can continue. Do you know of anyone suitable?”

Raublut gave a shallow bow. “I will look into it.”

Once Raublut departed for Ahrensbach, Trauerqual wasted no time. With only the handful of guards who had offered him their names—and thus could be trusted—he set off for the Sovereign Temple.

When he entered the High Bishop’s chambers, Relichion looked at him suspiciously but still offered a formal greeting.

“To what do we owe the honor of Your Majesty’s personal visit to the temple?”

“I have a few requests to make,” Trauerqual replied evenly.

Relichion was a strict adherent of the Sacred Text. In his eyes, a king without the Grutrissheit was hardly a king at all. Still, if a monarch with the Grutrissheit were to rise and thereby elevate the temple’s standing, he would surely have no complaints.

“I wish to borrow the Sacred Text for a time.”

“…May I ask your reason?”

“You and your fellows are always declaring that ‘the Sacred Text contains the highest truths, and even the king must abide by it,’ are you not? Then I cannot in good conscience avert my eyes from it.”

What Trauerqual truly desired was the key to the text, but so long as he claimed to be studying it out of piety, the temple could hardly refuse him.

“The Grutrissheit has yet to be found,” he continued, “but if even the king must follow the Sacred Text, then there must be truths within worth heeding. Should that prove true, the temple’s status must be raised accordingly.”

Relichion brows twitched ever so slightly.

“…Very well. I shall grant you permission to borrow and view the Sacred Text. However, it is the duty of the High Bishop to safeguard it. Return it once your copies are complete.”

“Of course.”

That night, with the text and its key in hand, Trauerqual slipped quietly into the Royal Academy Library. Anastasius had told him of the foundation stone hidden there—knowledge preserved in a note from Eglantine, written for the time when she could no longer guide him, just in case Rozemyne rose too high to remain within reach.

At the entrance stood Solange.

“It has been a while, Solange. Forgive me for calling at such an hour.”

“Oh, not at all, Your Majesty. You are most welcome. Ah, about the archlibrarian post…”

“I am already searching for a candidate. It may take time, but I will see it done.”

“Thank you.”

Relief softened her shoulders as she unlocked the door. At this time of year, and at this late hour, the library was silent and utterly empty.

“I shall be in my office, should you need anything,” she said, retreating quietly. She hadn’t been told what he intended, but her understanding eyes made it clear she knew.

“Stand guard here,” Trauerqual ordered the two attendants. “Allow no one else inside.”

“As you command.”

Leaving them at the entrance, he climbed to the second floor. There, behind Mestionora’s statue, he opened the spine of the Grutrissheit carving and slid in the key. The statue shifted aside, revealing a stairway that led below.

(To think such a place existed all this time…)

Regret swelled bitter in his throat—if only he had known sooner! Forcing down the emotion, he steadied his trembling legs and descended step by cautious step. Beyond the shimmering rainbow veil, he found it: the Foundation of the Kingdom.

“…So little.”

The sight made clear why the goddess Mestionora had raged—there was almost no mana left. Collapse was imminent. The divine words had been no exaggeration: without Rozemyne, the kingdom truly would have fallen. Once again, he felt the weight of his debt to her press upon him.

He knelt in prayer, summoned his schtappe, and pressed it to the stone. Mana poured out of him in torrents. Even with potions, he could not keep pace with the drain.

“…To think I would ever long for Ferdinand’s foul-tasting recovery draughts,” he muttered with a bitter laugh.

Resting between attempts, he forced down two potions and gave all the strength he could. Yet still, the foundation showed little sign of replenishment. With a weary sigh, Trauerqual turned and left the chamber.

The seasons turned, and Sigiswald’s second year at the Royal Academy began.

Just before that, after countless nights spent secretly slipping into the library, Trauerqual finally succeeded in dyeing the Kingdom’s Foundation Stone with his mana. He had feared it would be impossible during the winter term when students were present, so this truly was a close call. For now, he would still have to continue supplying mana through the old, inefficient method, but since the foundation had once been filled, it would hold for a time.

(Perhaps Lady Mestionora will forgive me now, since I have at last done as she commanded and “dye the foundation” … though, no, it will never be that simple.)

He gave a slow shake of his head.

The Sacred Text, which had long been demanded back, was finally returned to the Sovereign Temple. At the same time, Trauerqual arranged for Anastasius to begin frequenting the temple as well.

“I have come to understand from the Sacred Text the importance of the divine rituals. To demonstrate that understanding, I am sending Anastasius to the temple. Please instruct him in the ceremonies,” Trauerqual declared.

Relichion, delighted beyond measure, welcomed Anastasius with open arms.

Anastasius, for his part, entrusted political matters to his father and elder brother, and began instead with purifying the temple. He stood alongside the blue-robed priests, performing the ceremonies, pouring mana into the sacred instruments, and offering prayer after prayer after prayer. The first time a magic circle bloomed within his mind, the sheer awe of it nearly brought him to tears.

Some of the blue priests found his fervor almost suffocating, but most viewed him kindly. After all, he provided plentiful mana to the ceremonies, something the temple always sorely needed.

News of Anastasius’s devotion soon spread among the nobility, who drew their own conclusions. If Anastasius was serving the temple, then surely Trauerqual intended Sigiswald to be the next Zent.

Thus, in the Academy, Sigiswald found himself constantly treated as the presumptive heir to the throne. Flattered, he devoted himself all the more to socializing, and in doing so managed to gather a wealth of valuable information.

By the year’s end, Sigiswald once again finished as top of his class. Of course, it was only natural—he had already graduated once before—but the nobles still praised him as “truly worthy of being the next Zent,” and he could not help but bask in their admiration. Only one thing soured his mood: Nahelache still had not accepted his proposal to “join their stars together.”

Meanwhile, Hildebrand was safely born. He appeared in the Garden of Beginnings with the other royal children, but for now, he seemed to hold no memories of his previous life. Both he and his mother, Magdalena, had thus been spared what would have been a most miserable fate—an infant burdened with the mind of an adult. With heartfelt relief, Magdalena offered her thanks to the gods.

More than a year had passed since time itself had been rewound, and once again the Royal Academy’s winter term was upon them.

In the seats reserved for royalty at the Interduchy Fellowship Gathering, Sigiswald—now a third-year—sat beside Anastasius, who had just entered the Academy. Anastasius fidgeted restlessly, unable to keep still. Today would be the first time, since the turning back of time, that he could see Eglantine again.

He already knew she retained her memories. But before her enrollment, there had been no way to summon an archduke candidate to the Academy. It was equally impossible for two young nobles, who by all rights should have had no connection, to exchange open letters. All they had managed was a single, secret missive passed between them. For Anastasius, this meeting had been long, long awaited.

And yet—

When Eglantine appeared, she offered only the barest of greetings, then returned to her seat without so much as a smile. Anastasius was left staring, stunned.

Beside him, Sigiswald wore a complicated expression. He, too, knew this sting: he had reunited with Nahelache the previous year, only to be met with the same cold politeness. Even now, his proposal remained unanswered.

But Anastasius was not the kind to surrender so easily. The library’s staff had only just recovered—three new archlibrarians were appointed in time for his arrival—and he quickly arranged matters so that Eglantine might join him during lectures held in the underground archive.

For a long while she did not appear. Even so, Anastasius continued visiting the underground library. There was no shortage of research to be done, and he poured himself into his studies with fierce determination. He had his memories of the previous timeline to guide him, and he refused to tread the same bitter path: forcing Eglantine into a name-swearing, binding her to an unwanted Zent’s throne, and enduring days of separation from her. Such a fate, he vowed, would never happen again.

Then, one day, she came.

Eglantine entered the underground library alone—her attendants barred from following.

“Eglantine, you came.”

At that moment, with joy swelling in his chest, Anastasius thought he might finally understand what it felt like for Rozemyne to scatter her blessings everywhere. Of course, no light actually poured out.

“In truth, we should have been reading these tomes from the time we were students,” she said quietly.

“That is true,” Anastasius agreed. Memories of their days as Zent and consort, bent over these very shelves in search of answers, stirred within him. He had no desire to return to those days, but the nostalgia tugged at his heart nonetheless.

“I apologize for coming so late, Anastasius-sama,” Eglantine whispered. “I… I have yet to find peace within myself. When time was turned back, I awoke in the aftermath of the purge that stole my family. Worse still, in this timeline, I lost my daughter. I cannot bear to lose anything more.”

“I understand your grief,” Anastasius said firmly. “But if we only despair, then the same tragedies will simply repeat themselves. I will never allow you to suffer again. So—will you not take my hand once more?”

Eglantine’s eyes clouded with hesitation. She knew better than anyone the burden of the Zent’s crown. Asked if she wished to shoulder it again, she could not say yes. And yet… she could not abide seeing the world fall into ruin. Was joining hands with Anastasius the right choice? She could not decide.

Anastasius, however, was unwavering. In every memory, in every timeline, Eglantine was what mattered most to him. His clear, earnest gaze bore down on her, and her hand began to rise to meet his.

And then—

“Come with me on a tour of the shrines,” he blurted.

Her hand dropped back immediately. Truly the worst possible line for a confession.

“…And I wish to see my daughter again,” he added, almost sheepishly.

“Anastasius-sama…”

Despite his clumsy words, her heart wavered. And in that moment, Eglantine decided to walk by his side once more.

Chapter Text

From the moment he awakened with his memories intact, Anastasius devoted himself to mana compression, never once skipping his training. He wanted to be a man worthy of standing beside Eglantine. The effort left his body smaller than it had been in the original timeline—frustratingly, he was even a little shorter than Eglantine—but he refused to let that bother him. Increasing his mana was the greater priority.

Together, the prince and Eglantine threw themselves wholeheartedly into the shrine pilgrimage. Their trysts were always at shrines, where they offered mana and prayers. Eglantine already bore all attributes, but Anastasius had to reach that same state before his third year, when he would need to acquire his schtappe. He was only a first-year now, but time was desperately short. And if they wanted to obtain high-quality schtappes, they both needed to gather as many divine protections as possible.

“This really takes a toll,” Anastasius admitted one day.

“Yes,” Eglantine replied gently. “But Lady Rozemyne must be praying in the temple even now, offering her mana. If we were to complain at this level, she would surely scold us.”

“…True enough.”

The cycle was grueling: compress mana, pray, pour it into the shrine, then down a recovery potion and begin again. In his past life, Anastasius at this age had never even considered such discipline. Compared to Rozemyne, who had apparently done this since early childhood, his younger self had lived far too comfortably. Both he and Eglantine could only bow their heads in awe at her dedication.

(Though in truth, at this point Rozemyne hadn’t even entered the temple yet—she was still in the lower city, desperately compressing her overflowing mana just to stay alive. But the royals knew nothing of this.)

Meanwhile, Sigiswald was immersed in social maneuvering. He sped through lectures, earned top marks, and worked tirelessly to position himself as the next Zent. Since he already possessed his schtappe, he couldn’t drastically expand his mana reserves—it was a bitter limitation. But instead of wallowing in frustration, he focused on what he could do: gather information, win allies, and prepare countermeasures with his father.

Trauerqual, Sigiswald, and Anastasius held regular “study meetings”—report sessions in name only. On one such day, after dinner in the royal palace, the three gathered in a tea room with their retainers dismissed.

“Your lectures are going well?” Trauerqual asked.

“Yes,” Sigiswald replied with pride. “I still remember what I learned from my first graduation. During the inter-duchy tournament, I will surely receive Father’s praise as the top student.”

“Good,” the king nodded.

These small, private conversations had become precious. In the old timeline, Trauerqual had been too consumed by duties to spend time with his sons. Now, he cherished every chance to sit with them, just as the princes treasured finally having a father who listened.

“And your shrine pilgrimage, Anastasius?”

“It is…difficult. Eglantine and I are working diligently, but progress is slower than I would like. Still, I will have all attributes by my third year.”

“Good. And you, Sigiswald?”

“I cannot push myself as recklessly as Anastasius, but I, too, am visiting shrines and compressing my mana. From my networking, I have learned Ahrensbach is becoming dangerous. We should secure the former Werkestock lands early.”

“I suspected as much,” Trauerqual said gravely.

The conversation turned to safety. Trauerqual warned his sons about Raublut, who served as his guard and handled central knightly duties as well as negotiations with Ahrensbach and Lanzenave. He was closely watched, but caution was vital.

“I’ll be fine,” Anastasius said, pulling out a handkerchief embroidered by Eglantine. “I carry her gift with me always.”

Sigiswald scowled. He still hadn’t swayed Nahelache to accept his proposals, and seeing his younger brother flaunt his bond irritated him.

“And you, Sigiswald? Both charms and…fiancées are under question, I believe.”

“I carry my charm at all times. As for Nahelache, she insists we wait until her mana sensing manifests. Still, we visit shrines together. I will manage.”

His protective charm, incidentally, had been purchased through Adolphine from Drewanchel. It was costly enough to rival Rozemyne’s pricing, but highly effective once attuned.

Then Trauerqual spoke a name that instantly tightened the air.

“…Rozemyne.”

The room fell into silence. Even he looked tense. They all remembered how, in the first loop, she and Ferdinand had dismantled every royal misstep with merciless logic. Rozemyne called them “advice,” but her sharp words hit like hammer blows—relentless, inescapable, always correct. Against her, no one could win. And yet… she had been kind. Unlike Ferdinand, who might have left them to fail, Rozemyne had guided them—while still profiting handsomely, of course.

“She is…missing,” Trauerqual finally said.

“What?!”

“Ferdinand is confirmed at Ehrenfest’s temple, but there is no sign of Rozemyne.”

The princes turned pale.

The royal intelligence network, weakened after the purge, still scattered agents across the duchies. In Ehrenfest, they had long embedded informants. Those informants now reported that no blue-robed shrine maidens remained—not even an apprentice named Rozemyne.

“If she and Ferdinand vanish, the world ends,” Trauerqual muttered. “That is what the gods themselves told us.”

“Could Ferdinand be hiding her?” Anastasius asked.

“We hope so. But if she is unbaptized, she may have been hidden elsewhere. Until her baptism, we can only wait.”

In truth, Rozemyne was in the lower city, fighting against her mana’s deadly fever while inventing new goods, not yet connected to the temple or Ferdinand. But the royals could not know this.

For now, the king and his two sons sat in silence, sipping tea that had lost all flavor.

By the time the next year rolled around, Sigiswald was in his fifth year at the Royal Academy, while Anastasius and Eglantine had become third-years. At the annual welcome ceremony, the second-year Adolphine, the newly enrolled Lestilaut from Dunkelfelger, and Detlinde from Ahrensbach approached the princes seated on the dais to offer their greetings.

Sigiswald welcomed Adolphine with a charming smile, but she did not meet his gaze even once.
“Adolphine, I am looking forward to another tea party with you this year,” he said smoothly.
“Such an honor is far beyond me, Your Highness,” she replied, bowing with impeccable courtesy.

Sigiswald's smile stiffened. He already knew Adolphine was diligently making her rounds of the shrines. Since she had awakened her memories before obtaining her schtappe, her magical capacity would never quite align with his. Their paths were unlikely to converge, no matter how much effort he put forth.

When Adolphine withdrew, the next in line was Detlinde. The moment she approached, both brothers’ faces stiffened. Sigiswald's handsome expression had been straining for some time now; Anastasius feared his brother’s face might cramp into a permanent scowl.

Detlinde had clearly been schooled in etiquette, for she managed a passable introduction. However, her eyes… they lingered far too boldly on the princes, particularly on Sigiswald. It was obvious she fancied herself charming, angling for the future Zent’s attention.

“Step back,” Sigiswald ordered with a dazzling smile, one so polished it reminded Anastasius of Ferdinand.

The smile worked far too well—Detlinde blushed crimson and retreated only with languid reluctance, casting yearning glances all the way back. The brothers prayed she would never return.

“She seems to have set her sights on you, Brother.”

“Over my dead body,” Sigiswald muttered darkly.
Both of them knew from experience—they wanted absolutely nothing to do with her.

A few days later, in the Academy’s great lecture hall, Anastasius knelt before the altar of the gods, his heart pounding. Today was the day he would undergo the Blessing Ceremony. Behind him stood Professor Hirschur, acting as witness.

“I am one who offers prayer and gratitude to the gods who created this world,” Anastasius intoned, carefully reciting the divine names. His nerves nearly overwhelmed him, and his tongue almost tripped on the sacred words, but the long hours he had spent praying at the shrines bore fruit. He spoke each name correctly, his voice unwavering by the end.

“…May light be granted unto all attributes.”

As Hirschur’s murmur reached his ears, a seven-colored column of light surged upward. Radiance cascaded down, and the altar shifted aside, revealing a hidden passage.

“Well then, Prince Anastasius, do take care,” Hirschur said lightly.

“You don’t seem surprised, Professor. Has this happened before?” Anastasius asked.

“Who can say? Now hurry along. Until you return, no one else may proceed.”

Anastasius swallowed hard and descended the passage. A long staircase led to a familiar space—the Garden of Beginnings. Memories of being scolded by Erwaermen and Mestionora here flickered through his mind, but this time the garden was silent. The great white tree stood motionless, and at its roots pulsed the Divine Will.

Reverently, Anastasius embraced it. A rush of mana drained from him, shrinking the will. He poured more mana into it, steadying its form, then absorbed it fully before retracing his steps.

“What was inside, Prince Anastasius?” Hirschur pressed the instant he emerged.

The question confirmed what he suspected—Ferdinand had never divulged his own experience either.

“I cannot answer,” Anastasius said firmly.

Soon after, Eglantine also underwent her ceremony. Together, they acquired a multitude of blessings and obtained all-attribute schtappes. Relief washed over Anastasius—his long struggle to stand equal at Eglantine’s side had finally borne fruit.

Having finally secured their all-attribute schtappes, the natural next step was—yet again—making the rounds of the shrines.

And once again, Anastasius and Eglantine’s “romantic meetings” ended up taking place at those very shrines.

Anastasius let out a weary sigh. Would it kill the gods to let us enjoy a quiet tryst in a pavilion just once? By now he was so exhausted—both in body and mana—that he half-suspected this shrine duty was some divine punishment for having once forced Rozemyne into her relentless rounds.

Still, there was no skipping it. They prayed sincerely, as was required of royalty.

Meanwhile, far away, Raublut had been dispatched to Lanzenave on Trauerqual's orders. He was expected to return alongside their envoys, meaning he wouldn’t be back until at least the next Archduke Conference. The plan was simple: with Raublut away, Anastasius and Eglantine could work toward obtaining the Grutrissheit without interference.

But the one who gave that order, King Trauerqual himself, was now plagued by doubt—and stomach pains—wondering whether he had done the right thing.

“Rozemyne managed to complete all the rounds in just one day,” Anastasius muttered.

“Yes,” Eglantine agreed softly. “Though we were the ones who pressured her into it in the first place.”

Both of them fell silent, regret pressing down like a weight. They remembered too well: in the second turn of time, Rozemyne had ascended far, far beyond their reach.

“To finish something like this so quickly… What is Rozemyne, truly?” Anastasius sighed.

“She once became the vessel of a god, did she not? Ordinary rules do not apply to her.”

“True enough. It’s pointless to compare ourselves. Haah… The road ahead is long.”

“Yes,” Eglantine admitted with a gentle smile.

“But walking it together with you, Anastasius-sama, makes it a joy.”

“E–Eglantine!?”

The girl’s lips curved in a light, teasing laugh, and though her face was still youthful, there was a radiance in her expression that held his gaze captive. His throat tightened; he swallowed hard, unable to look away. Almost without thinking, he reached toward her with his left hand and braced his right against the wall.

And in that instant—Anastasius found himself alone.

The shrine’s silence closed in around him. His shoulders sagged, and his voice echoed bitterly in the enclosed space.

“...Damn it.”

It was the Shrine of Schutzaria, the goddess who guards against the God of Life.

Perhaps because they had already offered vast amounts of mana over the years—or simply because they had persevered through so many small shrines—Anastasius and Eglantine managed their rounds more smoothly than expected.

Of course, it was nothing like Rozemyne’s impossible feat of finishing in a single day; by the time they finally gathered every stone slate, the Inter-Duchy Tournament was already looming on the horizon.

Recalling how Rozemyne had vanished for an extended period after obtaining the Grutrissheit, they decided it would be safest to delay their attempt until after graduation, when the other students had returned to their duchies. Only then would they venture into the Garden of Beginnings.

Under King Trauerqual's watchful eyes, both Anastasius and Eglantine performed the dedication dance, then reached out to touch the statue of Mestionora within the library. Anastasius had wished they might go together, but in the end, he was pulled through first.

At first, there was only darkness. Then—a vision of Eglantine smiling beside a daughter filled the void. His chest tightened, wanting nothing more than to remain in that peaceful room forever. But with great effort, he pressed on and finally arrived at the Garden of Beginnings.

“You have come at last,” a solemn voice intoned. “Your vessel is still small, but… very well. Offer your prayer.”

Anastasius knelt, heart pounding, and prayed with all the reverence he could muster. Light poured down in a torrent—so much that he faltered.

Wait, what was that? Wasn’t there something really important just now—?

“Do not resist,” the divine voice warned. “Else it will slip away.”

How am I supposed to not resist this?!

By the time the blinding radiance faded, Anastasius was slumped, completely drained.

“You think more than I expected,” the former god observed.

That’s rather rude, isn’t it? Not that he dared say such a thing aloud—he could barely breathe as it was.

“Very well. Do you intend to become Zent?”

“I… do not know yet.”

“Then return when your vessel has grown. Only then may you take the full measure.”

With that, Ewaermen—or rather, his fragment within the great tree—returned to stillness.

“Less than half…” Anastasius murmured. In truth, it was scarcely even a third. Though he now held Mestionora’s Book, its contents were alarmingly thin. Relief and dread tangled inside him.

“So… it isn’t over after all.”

Three days later, word spread that Anastasius had returned. Soon after, it was Eglantine’s turn.

When she stepped into the darkness, the vision that appeared was of Anastasius and a child laughing together. She froze, cheeks coloring—Is this truly what I desire most?

“You as well? It seems lively today,” the former god remarked, sounding faintly amused.

Eglantine’s reception was gentler. She managed to accept nearly half of what was offered before being sent back. Five days had passed when the summons came to Anastasius: Eglantine had returned, and as she was not yet formally royal, he rushed to the deepest chamber to receive her.

“How was it, Eglantine?”

“I received it… perhaps half.”

“I see. That is good.”

“And you, Anastasius-sama?”

“Less than half. But still, I received something.”

Though their harvests were incomplete, the two rejoiced together. At least their earnest efforts had borne fruit.

“Did Ewaermen-sama say anything to you?” Anastasius asked.

“Yes,” Eglantine replied. “That since I received the most, I should hurry and become Zent.”

“Then… does that mean Ferdinand’s book is also incomplete?”

“I cannot say. But… Ewaermen-sama does not seem fond of Ferdinand-sama. Perhaps He does not wish for him to become Zent.”

The thought chilled them both. To be disliked by the gods themselves… what sort of man was Ferdinand, truly?

Still trembling at the enormity of what lay ahead, the two began to discuss their next steps.

Chapter Text

This was the Adalgisa Palace, in one of the wings where collateral members of the royal family lived. Trauerqual sat across from Gervasio, finally able to meet thanks to Raublut's efforts, who had gone so far as to travel all the way to Lanzenave. In the previous timeline, Gervasio had betrayed him, but there was no denying he had once been a capable subordinate. Raublut stood outside the door as a guard—or perhaps guarding someone; even Trauerqual couldn’t be certain whose side he was truly on.

After sending away all others, Trauerqual handed over a magical device designed to prevent eavesdropping.

“This palace… does it feel familiar to you?” Trauerqual asked.

“I couldn’t say. Much has changed since that time,” Gervasio replied.

Years had passed since Gervasio left, and the palace had fallen into disuse. Once, it had been maintained more carefully, but now cleaning was rare. They exchanged small talk, though neither’s tension eased.

With the Grustrissheit now in royal hands, Trauerqual could close the border gates whenever he wished. He intended to wait for the right moment to negotiate.

“To be blunt,” he said, “I have no intention of receiving a princess here in this palace in the future.”

Refusing to host a princess in Adalgisa meant Lanzenave would have no next-generation heir. Yet Gervasio’s expression remained unchanged. In fact, Trauerqual sensed a faint relief emanating from him.

“So, you mean Lanzenave will not send any boys to the Royal Academy?” Gervasio asked.

“That is not my plan.”

“In that case, Lanzenave will perish. That breaks our agreement.”

The “agreement” was only a verbal promise made long ago by their ancestors—what had been upheld until now was almost miraculous.

“I’ve heard that in Lanzenave, commoners have power while those with mana are treated as convenient tools, oppressed and exploited. Is this true?”

Gervasio’s eyes widened slightly. Like Ferdinand, he rarely betrayed his emotions. Trauerqual tried to act as if he held the upper hand, but in a previous timelie, Gervasio had even taken his kingdom from him. On top of that, Gervasio’s features were uncannily similar to Ferdinand’s. His heart raced, and he discreetly wiped his sweaty palms.

Gervasio said nothing, merely watching Trauerqual. Silence, in this case, was likely agreement.

“Lanzenave was never truly a land for those with mana. Perhaps it was fine when our ancestors arrived, but now…”

“It is not without inconvenience,” Gervasio admitted.

“Then… would you consider returning to Yurgenschmidt?”

This time, Gervasio’s eyes widened more noticeably. The lack of expression could be frightening, but the presence of emotion was even more so. Trauerqual reached for tea but hesitated, wary of spilling it with his sweaty hands—and his underarm sweat was no better.

“Please, explain what you mean,” Gervazio asked.
“There are a few reasons,” Trauerqual said. “We lack mana in certain lands. If you govern them, it benefits both sides. For Lanzenave, your people can live without oppression; for us, it restores mana to the land. Both sides gain.”

“You intend to grant me a territory?”

“Yes.”

He cited the precedent of how the nation of Bosgeiz once tried to give Yurgenschmidt the former grand domain of Eisenreich, warning that Lanzenave could take a similar course. In this future, Lanzenave’s invasion had indeed happened, and Trauerqual intended to prevent it if possible.

Additionally, Lanzenave’s mana users, previously exploited as criminals, were now vital to national governance. Losing their mana was not an option.

“Even if Lanzenave attacks and wins, they would inherit a desolate land drained of mana. That benefits no one. It is better to grant them a territory and let them govern it properly,” he explained. He did not add that the land might be reduced to rubble by the gods themselves if left unchecked—something that must be avoided at all costs.

According to Eglantine, who had glimpsed Gervasio’s memories, he simply wished for Lanzenave’s suffering mana users to live peacefully in Yurgenschmidt. His actions, though not entirely innocent, were never purely selfish—they were intended for the sake of his people.

“Additionally, reports say nobles have been disappearing in Ahrensbach. There is reason to believe Lanzenave is involved.”

“Is there proof?”

“None here, but cloth that blocks mana has been found, and witnesses have seen people wearing it. They were from Lanzenave. Have your mana users or non-trade magic stones increased lately?”

Gervasio seemed to recall something, though he gave no answer, merely furrowing his brow. This likely was not a directive from Lanzenave’s royal family.

“As a royal who once caused political upheaval, I cannot condone further disorder. As the future heir of Lanzenave, you surely do not wish to see your people continually exploited, correct?”

“Of course not. If I come, I will be treated as a noble?”

“Yes. Rank will be determined by mana capacity, but you will fulfill your duties as a noble.”

“And those duties are?”

“To fill the land with mana and govern it.”

Gervasio had likely already done more in Lanzenave. Once he seemed to consider this seriously, Trauerqual removed the anti-eavesdropping device and called Raublut inside.

“Raublut, we were just discussing the possibility of relocating Lanzenave’s magic users to Yurgenschmidt,” Trauerqual explained.

“You intend to accept them?” Raublut asked, eyes wide.

“Yes. If Lanzenave agrees, they will govern abandoned lands previously under Sovereign management. Though desolate now, Lanzenave’s mana can restore them. Borders may be redrawn according to the number of mana users if necessary.”

“Redraw… borders?”

Raublut's breath caught. He knew that without the Grutrissheit, border revision was impossible—but Trauerqual had just promised it.

“Wasn’t this impossible for the current royals?” Raublut asked.

“Not impossible, just… never attempted,” Trauerqual replied, keeping his racing heart hidden behind the dignity of a king. Though, of course, he did not actually possess it.

“For details about the lands to be granted, consult Raublut. It may take time, but I expect a favorable response.”

With that, Trauerqual left the room with Gervasio and Raublut in tow, standing tall and proud like a king. Only once he reached his private chambers did he dash to the bathroom.

Ten days later, Gervasio sent a request for a meeting. He accepted the offer. Trauerqual exhaled in relief, and after detailing the conditions, it was decided that, in roughly two years, willing mana users from Lanzenave would begin relocating to Yurgenschmidt.

Sigiswald was in the final year at the Royal Academy, and Anastasius had just entered the winter of his fourth year.

Adolphine, who had been diligently compressing her mana through prayer since the time reversal and had devoted herself to shrine visits after entering the academy, had now obtained blessings of every type and acquired the Schtappe in the Garden of Beginnings. From then on, she wandered from shrine to shrine without hesitation. Occasionally, she joined Anastasius and Eglantine on their pilgrimages. Though Eglantine and Adolphine did not entirely lack complex emotions, in this life they had managed to cultivate a genuine, friendly relationship.

“Are you planning to obtain the Book of Mestionora as well, Adolphine?” Anastasius asked.

“Of course, Prince Anastasius. I am deeply curious about both the method of acquisition and the contents themselves. Surely, it must contain magical circles and knowledge unattainable by ordinary means,” Adophine replied.

In the previous world, Adolphine had divorced Sigiswald and become the Giebe. She had developed her domain into a research city. While its foundational studies could not rival Alexandria’s, her ability to create new magical tools and her managerial skill had even earned Ferdinand’s respect.

“My father intended that those who possess the Grutrissheit should be considered royal, but as for you, Adolphine—”

“I have no intention of becoming royalty,” she interrupted firmly, cutting off Anastasius, who was technically her senior.

Anastasius and Eglantine could only think silently, That figures, while also wondering how marriage would be handled. In the previous world, it would have been a political marriage she could not avoid.

“My father fully supports me, so there is no issue,” Adolphine added.

“Then… very well.”

Anastasius felt a twinge of sympathy for his brother, who could reject so decisively, and was also secretly relieved that no one would suggest him taking Adolphine as a second wife.

Later, Adolphine successfully acquired the Book of Mestionora as well. Though it was not a complete edition, she had received over half of it.

On another day, Sigiswald hosted a tea party at his palace. Present were Sigiswald, Anastasius, Nahelache, Eglantine, and Adolphine.

“I hear the three of you have obtained the Grutrussheit. This allows you to perform your royal duties. Well done,” Sigiswald said. Though he did not possess the Grutrissheit himself, he maintained his position as the highest-ranking member present. His imperious tone prompted Adolphine to compress her mana tightly, imagining turning magic stones into gold dust in her mind.

“My father believes those with the Grutrissheit are to be royalty. Adolphine, will you form a bond with me in this life as well?” Sigiswald asked.

Adolphine's eyes widened. What is he saying? Surely, that couldn’t be true. If those who hold the Grutrissheit are royalty, then this prince would lose his status. Conversely, she herself held the Grutrissheit and thus had the right to be considered royalty, even without marriage. Is he trying to use me to remain royal? Her mental image of gold dust continued to accumulate.

“Prince Sigiswald, isn’t it a bit early for a Schlaftraum's visit?” she replied with a radiant smile, instantly lowering the temperature in the room to near freezing.

“J-Just joking,” Sigiswald muttered, giving a dry laugh. Apparently, it was not a joke he should have told.

“Nahelache's engagement condition requested that you not take other wives. So, regrettably, I have no intention of proposing to you,” he said.

“Then that is most fortunate,” Adophine answered, smiling once more. The tea practically froze in place. Anastasius silently noted: Sigiswald and Adolphine are a dangerous combination.

Nahelache, after enduring repeated proposals from Sigiswald, finally accepted him. Pressure from her domain and Sigiswald's persistent sincerity moved her heart. Though hesitant at times, she still cared enough to want to walk alongside Sigiswald once more, just as she had in the previous life.

Still, despite having endured so much together, she was wary of being made a second wife solely because of her domain. And considering the previous life’s first wife, Adolphine—who never devoted herself to her husband—and the third wife candidate, Rozemyne—who, though uninterested in Sigiswald, still stirred his heart—her request to “take no other wives” was an extraordinary one for a noblewoman. By comparison, both Anastasius and Ferdinand had only one wife.

“Please, I wish to be your only wife,” Nahelache said, blushing slightly and tilting her gaze upward. Her statement, hinting at possessiveness, delighted Sigiswald, and he nodded immediately.

For Sigiswald, having only one wife was welcome. In the previous timeline, he would have argued that a royal could never truly have just one wife. Yet after being rejected by both the first and third wife candidates, and experiencing countless hardships with the other princesses of his domain, he had grown physically and mentally exhausted. Nahelache was the only one who had willingly followed him—and she was perfect. He had experienced enough to be thoroughly tired of women’s complications.

The remainder of the tea party proceeded outwardly smoothly. Though each participant had their own thoughts, cooperation was necessary to prevent this world from ending.

The day of the Inter Duchy Tournament had arrived. The air buzzed with excitement, and the grounds were a kaleidoscope of colorful cloaks. Even on such a lively day, Sigiswald devoted himself to socializing, moving from one tea gathering to another in the order of each domain’s ranking. With both students and adults in attendance, today was a prime opportunity to gather valuable information.

In the research division, Drewanchel, led by Adolphine, presented their findings on the effects of Waschen and received recognition. Adolphine herself was awarded as the top student of her year.

Sigiswald also claimed the top honor, leaving behind a record of being the top student for all six years at the Royal Academy. Time and again, he heard the words, “A feat worthy only of Ferdinand,” directed at him. Achieving consecutive top honors in just his second time at the academy was impressive in itself, but the first-time streak of Ferdinand’s was staggering. Even Rozemyne had been nearly unbeatable. Though he should have felt joy, Sigiswald found himself inexplicably hollow.

Meanwhile, Anastasius, in his fourth year, had finally claimed the top student title from Eglantine, who had dominated until now.

“Congratulations, Prince Anastasius,” Eglantine said politely.

“Will you be happy for me, Eglantine?” he asked.

“Of course. I did my best, but as a fourth-year student, I lost this time. Next year, I won’t let it happen again.”

Rather than begrudge her loss, Eglantine sincerely celebrated Anastasius’s victory, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Only recently, they had sensed each other’s magic, feeling it strongly, and rejoiced together.

Yet, a serious dilemma weighed on Anastasius. Someone so dear was right beside him, yet he was still forbidden to touch her. In the previous life, they had been intimate. He wanted to reach out, even wished he could—no, devour her. Each time Eglantine smiled, he silently prayed for the blessing of Dultsetzen. Her charm was nearly unbearable. Though he would soon return to his domain as winter ended, there was a small measure of relief in that as well. Now, he understood Ferdinand’s feelings when he had been engaged to Rozemyne.

The following day was graduation. Sigiswald escorted Nahelache, striding proudly. With her hair elegantly tied up, Nahelache radiated a suddenly mature beauty. Though he had seen her countless times in the previous life, she was breathtaking.

Together, they performed the ceremonial offering dance, the magical selection circles glowing in the air. With this, the belief that Sigiswald would be the next Zent gained momentum. For now, possession of the Grutrissheit remained secret until adulthood, so both Sigiswald and Anastasius were considered equals in the public eye. This precaution ensured no minor Zent would be revealed prematurely.

After the graduation ceremony, the young lovers faced a brief separation.

“Nahelache, I look forward to the days we can spend together,” Zigisvald said.

“Yes, Prince Sigiswald. I am eagerly anticipating them as well,” she replied.

“Eglantine, parting is painful. I’ll write to you,” Anastasius said.

“Yes, I’ll be waiting,” she answered warmly.

Sigiswald had one year and a season to form a star-bond with Nahelache. For Anastasius, the path with Eglantine would take even longer. Every day together was a treasure, yet unbearable. Parting brought sorrow, but also a faint relief.

Having seen their beloved companions off to their respective dormitories, the prince brothers gazed up at the still-chilly sky and let out a long, grand sigh.

Chapter Text

In the Royal Academy, Anastasius and Eglantine had reached their fifth year, while Adolphine was now a fourth-year student. Eglantine and Adolphine had each been conducting research on the relationship between rituals and divine blessings, involving their respective territories and the Dunkelferger. As part of this research, a dedication ceremony—hosted by Anastasius—was planned.

The three of them gathered to discuss the flow of the ceremony and the necessary preparations. Ideally, Dunkelferger himself would have joined these discussions, but some details could not yet be shared. Thus, the plan was to finalize things among themselves first, then present it to him for approval.

“When Rozemyne performed her ritual, she distributed healing potions,” Eglantine noted.

“Yes, and they were exceptionally potent. Should we do the same this time?” Anastasios asked.

“I’m undecided. At the student-hosted ceremonies, they were distributed, but at the archduke's conference, they weren’t. If we hand them out the first time, it might set an expectation,” Adolphine replied thoughtfully.

Rozemyne's initial dedication ceremony at the academy had been part of a joint investigation by Ehrenfest and Dunkelferger into divine blessings. As a gesture of thanks, she had prepared healing potions. At the archduke's conference, however, they had not been distributed—after all, she was providing instruction in the rituals themselves, and so no extra incentive was necessary.

“I think it would be better to distribute them,” Eglantine said.

“And you, Adolphine?” Anastasius asked.

Adolphine tilted her head slightly. “If the territories have not yet understood the importance of these rituals, telling them ‘be grateful for the instruction’ might not convince many. They might instead see it as forced participation, with their magical energy simply taken by the royalty.”

“I see your point,” Eglantine nodded.

“This ceremony is intended to promote the rituals. Since it is hosted by royalty, we need not humble ourselves unnecessarily. But if we want future participation, we should provide some incentive—something that makes them want to join again,” Adolphine explained.

Having dealt with Rozemyne's methods in the previous timeline—seeing how she ran the territories and taught practical trade—Adolphine knew the value of balance. Rozemyne could be forceful, yet she ensured mutual benefit. The key was to make the other party want to continue the exchange willingly.

“Yes… we cannot allow the perception that royalty merely strips away magical energy. Very well, we shall distribute the healing potions. But we lack the capacity to produce them ourselves. Can we rely on you?” Anastasios asked.

“The ingredients will be gathered by Dunkelferger, and the preparation will be handled by Drewanchel,” Adolphine replied.

“Then I shall attend to healing Dunkelferger’s gathering sites,” Eglantine said.

“You intend to handle the healing alone?” Adolphine asked, her eyes wide.

“No, that would be impossible. I will either bring some from Krassenburg or teach Dunkelferger to perform healing alongside me. This way, he also benefits from the process,” Eglantine explained.

With the royal family’s authorization, both ritual and healing could be expanded from the major territories without issue. Previously, when Rozemyne had conducted them alone in a smaller territory, her prominence had caused ripples—but these had originally been her achievements.

“I feel almost as if we are taking credit for Rozemyne's work,” Anastasius murmured, almost unconsciously.

Adolphine blinked in surprise. “Even among siblings, Your Highness, you are remarkably kind. Prince Sigiswald would likely insist that any accomplishment be offered to royalty without hesitation.”

Anastasius felt a sharp pang in his chest. In the previous timeline, he had thought exactly the same way—and now he remembered painfully. Eglantine felt the same.

“I hope my elder brother is not like that in this world,” Eglantine whispered.

“I sincerely hope so,” Anastasios replied.

The room, with windows and doors closed, seemed to chill suddenly, as though a hidden trap had been triggered. Glancing at Eglantine beside him, clutching her chest, Anastasius breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He was glad that his partner was Eglantine—strong and steadfast. Adolphine, in contrast, wielded her own kind of formidable strength.

Finally, the day of the dedication ceremony arrived. Most territories, though skeptical, participated because it was hosted by royalty. As participants passed through Anastasius’ protective Schutzaria's shield, they were greeted by both the Zent and Sigiswald in person. Many students were astonished—few expected the Zent to personally extend gratitude.

Of course, those who failed to pass the shield had been noted and would likely face an investigation later.

Even though Sigiswald and Anastasius had increased their magical capacities, the royal family still lacked sufficient reserves. Fortunately, having reset the timeline, they now knew which magical artifacts were truly crucial. Unnecessary items or those that could be repaired later were deferred, allowing them to focus their energy effectively. Compared to the previous timeline—when they had haphazardly poured energy into everything—the situation was far more manageable.

With Anastasius serving as High Priest of the temple, the ritual proceeded smoothly. A column of light rose, identical to Rozemyne's previous ceremony, and students witnessing the ritual for the first time were visibly impressed. A few archnoble students, unaccustomed to channeling mana, swayed slightly, but no one collapsed, thanks to careful regulation.

Sigiswald and Anastasius personally distributed the healing potions, and the Zent actively addressed the students. Thanks to these efforts, the ceremony was a resounding success.

“Anastasius, it was a magnificent ritual,” Eglantine said.

“Thank you, Eglantine. But Rozemyne, using her Schtappe, made the holy chalice shine and then, afterward, healed everyone with Flutrene’s staff. We cannot replicate that entirely—we did our best with the resources available,” Anastasios admitted.

“Do not compare yourself to Rozemynr. We must proceed in our own way,” Eglantine advised.

“Yes… indeed,” Anastasius agreed.

Though the ceremony earned him praise, Anastasius found it difficult to truly allow himself joy. He could only hope that, in doing things their own way, they were doing right by all.

The spring following Anastasius’ fifth year at the Royal Academy, during the Archduke's Conference, Sigiswald and Nahelache finally bound their stars. Officially, the ceremony was justified as being performed by a prince, so the ritual itself was conducted personally by the Zent using the sacred divine tools.

Unlike any ceremony held before, this ancient ritual wielded the full majesty of the old ways. The Dark Mantle floated gently, casting the night around them, while the Crown of Light shimmered above, radiating a dazzling, warm brilliance.

The nobles present could hardly conceal their astonishment. Eyes wide with awe, many looked up at the spectacle in expressions more human than aristocratic, as though they were seeing something sacred for the first time.

Sigiswald's heart soared. Not only had he finally bound his star with Nahelache, but he had also obtained the blessing of the Supreme Gods through the same method Rozemyne had used in the previous timeline. His elation made him reluctant to leave the site of the ceremony, and so his departure was delayed.

“Prince Sigiswald, what… what exactly is going on here?”

“This… this is unlike any ritual we’ve seen before!”

“What… what has happened?”

The stream of questions struck him like a cold gust of wind, instantly sobering his celebratory mood.

At the same time, Trauerqual, relieved that the ritual had been executed successfully, had already excused himself and quietly left. Knowing the onslaught of questions would come, Anastasius had accompanied him in retreat.

From the very next day, at the Archduke's Conference, Trauerqual explained that the star-binding had been a faithful recreation of the ancient ritual. He emphasized the significance of the divine ceremonies, stressing how essential such observances were for the well-being of the realm.

Even those who had already attended the central temple—Anastasius, Eglantine, and Adolphine—had only gently hinted at the importance of ritual and prayer. In a culture where temple avoidance was strong, these subtle gestures had little impact. But now, with the research conducted at the academy, the dedication ceremony, and the live demonstration of the star-binding, everyone could see the significance of the divine rites—and the sanctity of the temples themselves.

Afterward, Trauerqual left only the Aubs behind, teaching them the foundational locations of the sacred grounds. With pale faces and wide eyes, the Aubs returned to their territories, fully aware that the world they thought they knew had just expanded in ways they had never imagined.

Now in his final year at the Royal Academy, Anastasius found himself unusually tense at the royal seats during the fellowship gathering.

Today, for the first time in this life, he would meet Rozemyne face to face.

“From 13th place Ehrenfest, we have Lord Wilfried and Lady Rozemyne,” the announcement echoed.

Anastasius felt a twitch in his brow, though he forced himself to act as though nothing had happened. He had turned pale upon hearing that she had been immersed in Jureve, but recalling that she had endured two years of it in the previous life helped him regain some composure. Even so, a gnawing anxiety remained—could she truly withstand two years again? Seeing her now, he felt a faint reassurance.

Eglantine, representing the top-ranked Klassenburg, seemed to share his thoughts, offering him a small, knowing nod. Eglantine had grown even more beautiful. His heart thumped at her sight, and in another way, it raced at the sight of the tiny Rozemyne. His emotions were in constant motion.

She was so small. Had she always been this tiny? Would she be able to walk without collapsing? As greetings proceeded, he found his eyes involuntarily following Rozemyne from the corner of his vision.

When it was Ehrenfest’s turn, they helped Rozemyne down from her chair—her feet could not yet reach the ground. A few onlookers snickered at the sight, but she seemed unbothered, walking with a grace that suggested she was consciously trying to appear elegant.

During his first encounter, Anastasius had been annoyed by the exaggerated rumors that Rozemyne was Ehrenfest’s saint. But now he understood: her small stature was a reflection of her immense magical power, and whatever her personality, she was no mere saint—she was the embodiment of a goddess. Laughable? Not at all. If anything, he wanted to shout at the laughing nobles, “Do not laugh! If she dies, the world will end!”

“Prince Anastasius, please permit me to offer blessings upon this rare meeting, chosen by the God of Life, Ewigeliebe,” a soft voice said.

“Granted,” he replied.

A gentle blessing washed over her, and relief softened Rozemyne's expression. As expected, she seemed to have no memory of the past. After receiving Wilfried’s greeting, it was Anastasius’ turn to respond.

He could not afford to provoke her. Not a word like “Saint? How so?” could escape him. He could not oppose her. One wrong move, and everything could end before it had even begun. Swallowing hard, he focused on the fragile, delicate girl before him. One misstep could send her soaring to unimaginable heights. Even Ferdinand must have been worried to get her through to enrollment.

“Do your best,” he said, forcing a composed tone while his heart pounded violently.

Without speaking further, Wilfried and Rozemyne stepped back, leaving Anastasius with a long, shuddering exhale. The subsequent greetings from lower-ranking territories passed in a blur; he remembered nothing of them at all.

Ever since Rozemyne enrolled, Anastasius had never been bored. Reports poured in daily: Fraularm shrieking in her high-pitched voice about Rozemyne creating a bizarrely shaped highbeast, insisting, “This is outrageous!” Or the first-year students from Ehrenfest, repeatedly passing exams on the first attempt and drawing attention, prompting whispers that some trickery must be involved. Curious, he peeked into the classrooms and found the students with pale, determined faces, furiously studying as if under a curse.

“Prince Anastasius, another Ehrenfest first-year passed their first-day exam with flying colors. Surely there must be some scheme,” came the report.

“Look closely at the Ehrenfest first-years,” Anastasios replied. “Their faces are blue from overwork, muttering incantations as though under a spell. This year, having candidates from the territories adds immense pressure. Honestly, it’s almost pitiable.”

He could picture Rozemyne eagerly throwing herself into her studies, as usual. May fortune favor the Ehrenfest first-years.

Next came news that Rozemyne had stormed the library, declaring herself the master of Schwartz and Weiss through blessing. Anastasius immediately instructed the archlibrarians to reclaim authority, but Dunkelferger, who only heard that she had become the master, apparently challenged them with a “treasure-seizing Ditter.”

“Professor Raufen, what is the meaning of this?”

“It’s a Ditter to determine the master of Schwartz and Weiss, between Ehrenfest and Ditter,” came the reply.

“Impossible. Those are royal possessions. While it’s true Rozemyne became their master, I instructed that authority be returned to the archlibrarians. No matter who wins, the master’s seat shall not change,” Anastasius pressed.

“But... the Ditter has already been scheduled,” Raufen replied, shrugging as if eager for the fight itself.

Hearing this, Anastasius realized he needed to see Rozemyne in person, but approaching her carried a risk: if she collapsed, it would be disastrous. So he made his way to the library, and indeed, she was there.

“Rozemyne,” he called softly.

No response came, as she was absorbed in reading. Her attendants began to fuss, but she waved them off. It was nothing new: once she immersed herself in a book, the world ceased to exist for her. Seeing her so focused brought Anastasius an odd sense of reassurance.

But there was no time to linger. When he took a book from her hands, she looked up briefly, slightly perturbed, before quickly masking it.

“Prince Anastasius, is something the matter?”

“Not something the matter,” he corrected silently. The matter is you. But with all the strange events from the time-reset, perhaps both of them were equally unusual.

“I heard you intend to conduct a Ditter with Dunkelferger. Why?”

“Because I supposedly became the master of Schwartz and Weiss. They said the master’s seat must be contested. I explained that I am not the master, but they insisted the Ditter must proceed,” she confessed, lowering her gaze. Anastasius realized that even she could not resist pressure from the higher territories.

“Just to be clear, Ehrenfest wants to hold a Ditter?”

“Of course not,” she said firmly.

“Very well. I will refuse on your behalf. There is no reason for a Ditter.”

“Are you certain?” she asked.

“There’s no reason to risk havoc at the Royal Academy without cause,” he replied. More importantly, Rozemyne herself could not be allowed to collapse—her safety came first. He knew the real Rozemyne had once accomplished a legendary Ditter that seized the foundation itself, but this situation was entirely different.

Upon hearing that the Ditter was canceled, Rozemyne's expression instantly brightened. She must be thinking, Now I can finally read my books.

Seeing this rare, almost un-noble expression on her face, Anastasius blinked in surprise. Before she noticed, he quietly turned on his heel and left.

The Ditter over the library’s magical tool had officially been forbidden, yet somehow, through a series of grievances and technicalities, it still went ahead. By the time Anastasius rushed to the scene, responding to the ordonnanz that Ehrenfest and Dunkelferger were dueling, the match had just concluded.

“The victor: Ehrenfest.”

A quick glance confirmed that Rozemyne was still alive. Seeing her move, Anastasius let out a long, involuntary breath of relief. He immediately assigned the cleanup to the students and guided Dunkelferger, the Ehrenfest candidates, and Raufen into a nearby small chamber.

“What of the Ehrenfest dormitory overseer?” he asked.

“Professor Hirschur is busy with her own research. Shall I summon her?”

“No, that’s unnecessary.”

As always. Waiting for her to arrive would be a waste of time.

“Lesmstilaut, explain. I specifically forbade a Ditter,” Anastasiys demanded.

“We did not conduct a Ditter involving the library’s magical tools,” Lestilaut protested.

Anastasiys rubbed the bridge of his nose. So it wasn’t a total ban—Lestilaut had taken his words too literally.

“And Hannelore? Did she not stop this?”

“I apologize. The Dunkelfelger apprentice knights were so excited about dueling with the ‘Saint of Ehrenfest’ that first-year Hannelore could not restrain them,” Lestilaut admitted.

Given that Hannelore was only a first-year, it was hardly surprising she couldn’t control the rowdy knights, even though they were under Dunkelferger’s supervision.

“And Ehrenfest? Why did they consent?”

“Fearfully, being a minor territory, we could not refuse the invitation from a major territory,” came the reply.

Anastasius sighed again, as he had anticipated.

“Lestilaut, what benefit did Ehrenfest gain from this Ditter?” he asked, his tone sharp.

“…I—I hadn’t considered that,” Lestilaut admitted, eyes darting nervously.

“If both parties derive benefit and willingly participate, I will not stop them. But as Rozemyne said, using the authority of a major territory to compel a Ditter appears nothing more than bullying the weak,” Anastasios warned.

“N-no! It was never intended as bullying!”

“Suppressing those in a lower position is not the way of a higher one. Protect the lower, and they will follow willingly. What occurred here is shameful behavior for a major territory. Reflect on it.”

Rozemyne's eyes sparkled as they met Anastasios’s. Prince Anastasius is truly a good person, they seemed to say. Meanwhile, Anastasius, fully aware of the giant boomerang of irony he had just thrown at himself, felt his heart splinter.

“Thank you, Prince Anastasius!” Rozemyne said earnestly.

“Uh… yes. By the way, Rozemyne, your complexion seems pale,” he asked.

“Yes. I used both my magical energy and physical strength in the Ditter. I feel somewhat heavy; may I be excused?”

“You may. Go and rest immediately.”

“Thank you…”

With that, Rozemyne collapsed, unable to bear even a moment longer.

“Rozemyne!”

Anastasius’s blood drained from his face, as anyone could have predicted.

After collapsing in front of Anastasius, Rozemyne had been bedridden for some time, and then, citing the dedication ceremony as her reason, she temporarily returned to her territory. During that period, Anastasius had been on edge, constantly worrying over her well-being. Yet Rozemyne returned to the Royal Academy as if nothing had happened.

Today was the Ehrenfest-hosted tea party, inviting representatives from all the territories. Eglantine and Adolphine attended, keeping a careful eye on Rozemyne's movements while enjoying Ehrenfest’s signature quatre-quarts. Aside from shielding Rozemyne from Detlinde’s inevitable barbed comments, the tea party proceeded pleasantly.

“Lady Eglantine, I’m relieved that Rozemyne has safely returned to the Royal Academy,” Adolphine whispered.

“Indeed, Lady Adolphine. Prince Anastasius was terribly worried,” Eglantine replied softly.

For now, Rozemyne was responding with a gentle smile. Many territories wished to speak with her—the Saint of Ehrenfest standing so prominently in the academy drew a crowd too dense to approach.

“Here you are. I’ll explain how to use these later,” Rosemaine said, distributing Rinsham to her “friends.”

Eglantine and Adolphine, already familiar with Rinsham merits, had eagerly awaited this day. Finally, it had arrived. Though they still had to wait for dealings during the Archduke's Conference, the fact that they would soon be able to use it brought them joy.

Adolphine, however, had secretly crafted a similar item herself and had been using it discreetly within her territory.

Meanwhile, Detlinde insisted, “Since I am a ‘friend’ as well, I should receive Rinsham too, right?” Rozemyne gently scolded her, and then attention returned to the surroundings. People were exchanging information quietly, and the tea party continued in a calm, pleasant atmosphere. Even Wilfried seemed to be doing his part, having been invited by Ehrenfest.

Eglantine and Adolphine watched with warm attentiveness as Rozemyne and Hannelore began conversing. Just then, Detlinde approached.

“Lady Eglantine, I heard your escort has been decided—Prince Anastasius. Congratulations,” she said, bowing slightly.

“Thank you,” Eglantine replied politely.

“And Prince Sigiswald has tied the star, correct? Do you know how he is faring?”

Eglantine had heard rumors that Detlinde was after Prince Sigiswald. She didn’t enjoy Detlinde’s blunt attempts to gather information, but she maintained a polite smile.

It was because of this polite exchange that she didn’t notice what happened next.

Thud.

Before Hannelore’s eyes, Rozemyne lost consciousness.

“Rozemyne-sama!!” Hannelore cried, rushing forward.

Though Rozemyne herself looked serene and happy, tears welled in Hannelore’s eyes.

It goes without saying that Eglantine and Adolphine felt their blood run cold.

Chapter Text

For Anastasius and Eglantine, this was their second time witnessing the grand inter-territorial competition—but also their final one as students. The venue was a dazzling sea of colors, with countless mantles swirling like banners in the wind, vibrant and alive with energy. And yet… there was one notable absence.

Rozemyne.

Despite her not being there, the Ehrenfest section was unusually crowded. Apprentices—both scholars and attendants—were running themselves ragged handling the flood of guests. Clearly, Ehrenfest had never experienced such attention before.

When Anastasius approached, the crowd instinctively gave way, though no one was particularly surprised at the appearance of royalty. After all, Sigiswald had once strode these halls with his black mantle, smiling even at the smallest of territories.

The research displays and attendant services were far from perfect, but undeniably improved compared to years past. Even the knight apprentices had performed well in ditter. Though Anastasius, knowing Ehrenfest’s future under the banner of Alexandria, could see flaws all too easily, he recognized the change. This was Rozemyne’s influence.

By the time Anastasius finished examining the research presentations, Lady Sieglinde and Lady Hannelore of Dunkelfelger—who had been conversing with Sylvester—rose from their seats.

“Forgive me, Sieglinde, for making you wait,” Anastasius said.

“No trouble at all, Your Highness,” Sieglinde replied gracefully. “The conversation had just concluded. And please allow me to apologize on Restilaut’s behalf for the incident with ditter.”

“Hm. I understand it must be difficult to restrain Dunkelfelger knights, but I would appreciate if you could remind them not to challenge others so recklessly.”

“I shall try… though it seems even our Knight Commander stormed in earlier, demanding to meet the lord candidate who was Lord Ferdinand’s cherished disciple.”

“…What?”

Anastasius pressed his fingers to his temple. The Knight Commander—an adult, a leader—seeking Rozemyne? Did they intend to thrust her onto an even higher pedestal?

Sieglinde offered a placating smile. “I believe it was less about sparring with Lady Rozemyne herself, and more about drawing Lord Ferdinand out.”

“Hannelore may have already told you, but Rozemyne is frail,” Anastasius warned firmly. “If she were to be dragged into ditter and pushed beyond her limits, she might never play again. Please convey that clearly.”

“Understood.”

When Anastasius glanced back toward Sylvester, he saw the archduke burying his face in his hand as well. Ferdinand and Rozemyne were both his responsibility—no easy burden. A flicker of sympathy welled up in Anastasius’s chest.

Later, as Anastasius returned to his seat, a nervous attendant set tea and confections before him. The sweets were new, though instantly recognizable: nostalgic Quatre-Quarts. Rozemyne’s influence, without doubt.

“I hear Rozemyne is still bedridden. How is her condition?” Anastasius asked.

“My apologies for the trouble she has caused,” Sylvester said with a sigh. “We’ve ordered her to rest. She will not be present today or tomorrow, but she will recover in time. It is a common occurrence—nothing to worry about.”

Nothing to worry about? Anastasius clenched his jaw. He had nearly gone pale when she collapsed before his eyes. His heart couldn’t withstand this becoming “common.”

“And Ferdinand?” Anastasius asked after a pause.

Sylvester gave a wry smile. “You are not the first to ask, Prince Anastasius. Everyone who has visited has inquired after Rozemyne and Ferdinand alike. He chose not to appear today, believing his presence would only add to the commotion. There were even territories that sought to challenge him to ditter.”

A wise choice indeed. Causing a disturbance here would ultimately fall on Anastasius to resolve. He nodded.

“The Ehrenfest students have all worked hard this year,” Anastasius said. “Make sure to praise them properly.”

“I am grateful for your words,” Sylvester replied, bowing his head.

“And praise Rozemyne as well.”

“…Rozemyne? Even after all the chaos she has caused?”

“Yes. For all her recklessness, it was she who raised their performance and drew this much attention to your territory. Credit where it is due.”

Sylvester froze, caught off guard, then quickly composed himself. Anastasius’s words rang true. He bowed again in thanks, though unease pricked at his chest. This prince understood Rozemyne far too well—saw her not as a nuisance, but as someone to be cherished.

“Remember,” Anastasius added gravely, “Rozemyne is frail. Watching her collapse before me drained the blood from my face. Do not call it ‘normal.’ Do not let her fall. If not Ferdinand, then you must ensure she is managed with the utmost care.”

“Y-Yes, of course…” Sylvester stammered, cowed by the prince’s intensity.

When Anastasius finally departed, Sylvester slumped into his seat with a sigh. Everywhere he turned, it was Rozemyne this, Rozemyne that—and Ferdinand, of course. Yet his own son, Wilfried, was working diligently as well. Couldn’t someone praise him, just once?

That wish was granted almost immediately. The next delegation, from Ahrensbach, lauded Wilfried’s efforts with shining words.

Sylvester should have been overjoyed.
Instead, he found himself burying his face in his hands once more.

Despite being awarded first place in the Inter-Duchy Tournament, Rosemine did not attend the award ceremony. Nor did she appear the following day.

“How unfortunate that Lady Rozemine could not be present for the ceremony,” Eglantine whispered.

“Yes… quite unfortunate,” Anastasius replied.

He escorted her with measured grace, yet inside, his composure was unraveling.

First, there was Eglantine herself. Simply tying up her hair had transformed her into someone dazzlingly elegant, even sensual. He had seen her countless times like this before, in his previous life, and yet—his heart beat faster than it should. Why do I want to pull out that hairpin and see her hair tumble down again, even though I just saw it loose yesterday?

And second, the weight of what lay ahead.

Both he and Eglantine had been chosen to perform the Dedication Dance together. He had tried to decline, but there was no avoiding it—no one else could take the place of a royal prince and the top-ranking duchy’s archduke candidate.

Worse still, both of them had already gained fragments of the Book of Mestionora. If they danced with their true power, the altar would stir. Their connection to the gods would become obvious, and who could predict the consequences then?

Anastasius, still smaller than Eglantine until recently due to over-compression of mana, straightened his back. In the past two years, his height had finally surpassed hers, giving the pair the appearance of a perfectly matched couple—handsome prince and graceful maiden. The audience let out collective sighs of admiration as the two stood upon the stage.

But the dancers themselves were not thinking of admiration.

“Do not let any mana slip,” Anastasius murmured.

“Of course. Not a single drop,” Eglantine answered firmly.

With the music’s swell, they began to move. Every step, every turn had been drilled into them through hurried practice sessions, not for perfection, but to ensure control. They danced without heart, without allowing their mana to flow, for to do otherwise risked opening the altar.

Fortune favored them. Unlike Rosemine, who shed blessings like a leaky sieve, neither Anastasius nor Eglantine had that problem. They finished the dance without incident, exhaling in quiet relief before sharing a smile.

Then—several students collapsed.

“What in the world…?” Anastasius asked.

“Overcome, it seems, by the intensity of your performance,” came the answer.

He recalled stories of Ferdinand in his student days, falling maidens with a single song or dance. He had never imagined he and Eglantine would cause the same reaction. The two exchanged sheepish smiles—only to see yet more students swoon.

The afternoon brought the Graduation Ceremony.

Dressed in formal finery, Anastasius waited at Eglantine’s side, reflecting on the years now behind him.

Though it was technically his second time as a student, much had surprised him—forgotten lessons, relearning old texts, and the embarrassment of being stared at whenever he excelled too easily. More often than not, though, it was Ferdinand or Sigiswald who drew attention with their antics, leaving him blessedly out of the spotlight. He remembered his frantic translation sessions in the underground library, and the pressure of being both prince and representative of the highest duchy.

And then, of course, his moments with Eglantine. Their “dates” had mostly been shrine visits, though occasionally they slipped away to a gazebo. They had laughed, argued, worked tirelessly, and in their own way, savored their student lives together. In their previous lives, he had chased after her affection while she bore the crushing fear of how her choices could alter the fate of many. Now, their responsibilities were greater, their burdens heavier—but there was also fulfillment.

The great doors opened. Their names were called.

“Let us go,” Anastasius said.

“Yes, Prince Anastasius,” Eglantine replied.

The moment they stepped into the hall, a warm, shimmering blessing rained down upon them.

In their previous lives, such blessings had always favored Eglantine, leaving Anastasius in her shadow. But this time, the divine light embraced them both equally.

“A blessing from the gods…” the High Bishop of the Sovereign Temple proclaimed, awed.

Anastasius almost laughed aloud, imagining Rozemyne somewhere in a panic over her blessings leaking everywhere. He and Eglantine caught each other’s eyes and smiled softly.

“Is this the Saint’s blessing?” Anastasius whispered.

“No,” Eglantine answered with serene confidence.

“This is the blessing of the Goddess Herself.”

Wreathed in divine radiance, the pair advanced proudly, without hesitation, toward the future that awaited them.

When Anastasius had just begun his duties as an adult member of the royal family, Sigiswald secretly made his way to old Werkestock.

This was his third visit.

He was accompanied by his personal guards knights and a handful of elite knights from the Sovereign Knight Order. Even so, it was by no means safe. But if he ignored this place, then in a year’s time the inevitable would happen: the surprise attack at the Interduchy Tournament, when Ternisbefallen was unleashed during the awards ceremony. That infamous incident when the defeated remnants of the purge hurled themselves at the royal family.

“...I have long desired this meeting. At last, my wish is granted.”

“Well, well. For Prince Sigiswald to personally visit me... What business brings you here, I wonder?”

Facing him was the man believed to be the ringleader of the attack—one of the few former Werkestock leaders who had survived the purge.
Only on this third attempt had Sigiswald finally managed to meet him.

On his first and second visits, he had approached other influential conspirators, doing everything he could to coax and persuade them into abandoning their planned assault.

Several of those groups had already been won over. The territories of old Werkestock that had fallen under Dunkelfelger’s management were in far better condition than those ruled by Ahrensbach, and many had already aligned themselves with the crown. Even the transfer circles in the old Werkestock dormitory had been sealed off. Every precaution had been taken.
If an attack still occurred, its scale would at least be diminished.

But ideally, Sigiswald wanted to prevent it altogether.

“How fares your situation here?” Sigiswald asked.

The man did not bother to hide his disdain.
“How fares it? Look around you. The ruling family is gone, and yet neither the Sovereign Government nor Ahrensbach, our supposed overseer, lift a finger. The land decays, the people starve. We are left to wait for death, nothing more.”

“Indeed,” Sigiswald replied softly. “If nothing is done, that will be the outcome.”

He spoke with just the slightest edge of provocation, tempering his smile so that it carried only a trace of sorrow. He had practiced such expressions in secret—an overly dazzling grin, he knew, would only be counterproductive here.

Sigiswald was confident in his powers of negotiation.

He could never forget that moment, in a past life, when he had faced Rozemyne. Her shocking presence, the sheer weight of every word and gesture—it had been unforgettable.

And after becoming an Aub himself in that life, how many times had he been bested by her again? Those experiences had honed him.

Compared to Rozemyne, everyone else seemed small.

Even the man before him, large and imposing, was nothing next to the sharp gaze and crushing pressure of Rozemyne’s ever-present guard.
Sigiswald let a small laugh slip in his heart. His trembling knees were not from fear. No, they were the excitement of a knight standing before a great foe. The cold sweat, too—it had to be that. Certainly not fear.

“Tell me your demands,” Sigiswald urged.

“My demands?” The man gave a bitter laugh through his nose, though his eyes remained sharp. “You think there is anything to demand in this wasteland? Very well. Return those lost to the purge. Redraw the borders and let us rebuild our duchy. Give us the mana we lack, the food our people need to survive, and the homes that were destroyed.”

“Most of those are impossible,” Sigiswald replied evenly. “The dead cannot be brought back.”

The man slammed his hands against the desk with a thunderous crack, his face twisted in frustration. No doubt his own kin had been among those who had climbed the metaphorical staircase to the gods.

Sigiswald’s body almost flinched, but he forced himself to maintain a composed smile.

“No matter how dearly you wish it, what cannot be done will never be done. Even my father and the current royals lament the past, wishing we could return to the days before the purge. But even the highest gods cannot undo what has already been.”

“It was the royals who caused this ruin!” the man barked.

Sigiswald straightened his posture, meeting the man’s glare head-on. He recalled Rozemyne’s fearless defiance—how she had spoken candidly to him despite his higher status. Back then, he had thought it outrageously rude. Now, he recognized it as the essence of true negotiation: laying bare each side’s circumstances for mutual understanding.

“You are correct,” he said clearly. “The devastation here is undoubtedly the responsibility of the royals—those who survived the purge included. I will not deny it. And because we acknowledge this, I ask that you put aside your anger for a moment and hear me out.”

The man’s eyes widened at how easily Sigiswald admitted fault. Would he reject the conversation outright, or would he listen? The fate of their exchange hung in the balance.

Sigiswald, however, did not intend to abase himself. The royals stood at the pinnacle of Yurgenschmidt—second only to the gods themselves. That truth remained unshakable. He would not bow his head.

And so the negotiation unfolded:
Sigiswald pressed on, explaining the royal family’s exhaustion, their dwindling mana, the desperate measures they were taking daily to keep the nation’s magical infrastructure from collapse. He admitted responsibility without evasion, but also warned that further rebellion would only worsen the suffering.

At the climax of his words, he placed before the man several consecrated chalices brimming with mana, along with grain seeds bred to thrive even with little mana.

“This is the utmost we can spare at present,” he said. “It is not enough, I know. But distribute it among those who might not live to see tomorrow. These seeds may not taste as fine as the grains you once knew, yet they will grow swiftly and reliably.

As someone I greatly respect once said: if it does not exist, then create it. I do not wish for further loss. The duty of the royals is to prevent this country from collapsing.”

His words struck the man like a blow. His eyes darted, his resolve wavering. Sigiswald’s lips curved into a graceful smile—his eyes cold and unwavering.

“Curse us royals if you must. But I have no desire to see yet more nobles fall, nor for Werkestock’s culture and achievements to be erased from history. Though the duchy itself is gone, its legacy can be remembered as either a proud land or a traitor’s stain. That choice rests with you.”

Having sown the seeds, Sigiswald rose elegantly to his feet.

Whether they sprouted into a harvest of peace or were trampled into the dirt was no longer his decision.

As he left the chamber and began the slow walk to the transfer circle back to the Royal Academy, his steps did not falter from fear. No—he walked slowly to etch the ruined scenery into his memory, and to project the image of composed dignity.

For he was Sigiswald, a royal of Yurgenschmidt. The highest of the high.

And he reminded himself once more—he was not afraid. Not at all.

Chapter Text

The second day of the Archduke Conference had just ended when Anastasius, attending for the first time as an adult member of the royal family, was summoned by his father, the Zent. The call had come immediately after the session, and he now found himself in a small chamber not far from the main hall.

“Anastasius, you came.”

“Yes, Father. Did something happen?”

Once the attendants were dismissed and they were alone, Trauerqual dropped his regal demeanor, slumped back in his chair, and pressed a hand to his brow. Anastasius blinked in confusion. From his perspective, nothing particularly problematic had occurred during today’s conference.

Of course, he had been preoccupied. His engagement to Eglantine had already been decided, and during this conference it would finally be made official. He had been floating on air because of it—so much so that he had completely forgotten another looming issue.

“Anastasius… a request for engagement approval has arrived from Ehrenfest. They seek to betroth Rozemyne to Wilfried.”

Anastasius froze, then mirrored his father by holding his head. Right. That matter.

“I have summoned Sylvester. He should arrive shortly. But before then, I want your opinion. Is Wilfried truly capable of protecting Rozemyne?”

“…Frankly, Father, I doubt he is.”

“Then Ferdinand is the proper choice.”

“I believe so.”

Trauerqual sighed heavily. In truth, he had hardly interacted with Wilfried at all—not in this life, nor in the loops before. Beyond the occasional award ceremony, their paths rarely crossed. And yet…

“If we approve this engagement, what will happen?”

“In the previous timeline, Rozemyne ultimately formed a Starbind Ceremony with Ferdinand after a great many twists and turns. But if she neither marries my elder brother, nor is taken into the royal family, nor is Ferdinand bound by Ahrensbach’s marriage politics… then this time, there is a real possibility she will end up bound to Wilfried instead.”

“And what would that mean?”

“…That Rozemyne might ascend far, far beyond our reach.”

“That would be… unacceptable.”

“Indeed.”

Both men exhaled another long sigh.

From Mestionora’s own words, they knew: the world had been rewoven because Rozemyne had risen too high. If she were to die, the world would end. The royal family had internalized this truth.

“…Even so, how could Ferdinand have allowed this engagement? That is what puzzles me most. The Ferdinand I know would never permit it.”

“Agreed. Unless it was forced by Aub Ehrenfest’s order… but even then, Ferdinand is a man who finds a way. There must have been unavoidable circumstances.”

They both remembered clearly how inseparable Rozemyne and Ferdinand had been in the previous timeline—so close it seemed almost improper. Rozemyne had begged the crown for better treatment of him, sacrificed even a foundation stone to save him, and once they were engaged, Ferdinand’s near-obsessive devotion had shocked their surroundings. The protective charms he showered her with, the unabashed way Rozemyne sang his praises to anyone who would listen… Their love story had even inspired a popular “fictional” romance, thinly disguised yet recognized by all.

That those two could have no budding feelings at this stage? Impossible.

“But there is no real reason to deny Ehrenfest’s request.”

“For the sake of the kingdom’s survival, there is.”

“Can we truly use that as justification?”

“…No.”

“Then think seriously. This is the king’s duty.”

“…Urgh.”

Trauerqual groaned. Anastasius privately sympathized—at least Sigiswald was too busy with Werkestock’s aftermath and negotiating with Lanzenave to be dragged into this mess. For a fleeting moment, Anastasius wished he could trade places with his older brother. Trauerqual wished it even more.

A knock sounded at the door. Permission was granted, and Sylvester entered. Anastasius quickly shifted to sit beside his father, posture rigid, while Trauerqu pulled his expression back into regal severity.

“I came as summoned, Your Majesty.”

“Good. No need for further greetings—we already exchanged those at the conference. Sit.”

Sylvester obeyed, slightly out of breath from hurrying. As a mere archduke of what had once been a lower middle territory, chances to speak directly with the king were exceedingly rare. His complexion was pale with nerves.

“My apologies for the sudden call. There is something I must confirm with you.”

“Yes… what is it?”

“Concerning the engagement of Rozemyne and Wilfried. They are still first-years, are they not? It seems rather premature. Why force a betrothal now?”

Sylvester instinctively pressed a hand to his stomach. The question he had dreaded. Was this truly an attempt to pull Rozemyne into the royal family by refusing her current engagement?

During the winter, he had received reports: Rozemyne speaking with Anastasius, Anastasius showing interest in her, and even Rozemyne herself describing the prince as “a good person” in a tone far too casual for royalty. At the interduchy tournament, Sylvester had personally seen Anastasius fretting over her. The pattern was clear enough to make him sweat.

“…To prevent Rozemyne from leaving Ehrenfest,” he said at last, the meaning sharp—we will not hand her to the royal family.

“And why Wilfried, specifically? If it is merely to keep her in the duchy, would Ferdinand not suffice?”

“…Ferdinand?”

Sylvester almost betrayed his surprise. Why in the gods’ names had Ferdinand entered this discussion? Hastily, he smoothed his expression.

“It is also to secure Wilfried’s position as next Aub. By binding Rozemyne’s faction to him, we prevent factional strife within the duchy.”

“And you believe Rozemyne cannot live outside the duchy due to her frailty.”

“Yes.”

Trauerqual frowned. Normally, such reasoning would be acceptable. But Rozemyne was no ordinary girl.

“Is it truly necessary that Wilfried be the next Aub? You have younger children as well, do you not?” Anastasius pressed.

“I… would prefer they not be forced into conflict,” Sylvester admitted.

“Why?”

“Because I myself once fought bitterly with my elder sister.”

“Yet it is common practice for siblings to compete for succession. The most capable inherits.”

“…That is true, but…”

He trailed off. He simply couldn’t bring himself to wish that fate upon his children.

“Do Rozemyne and Wilfried themselves agree?”

“They do.”

“And Ferdinand?”

“…It was Ferdinand who first proposed the engagement.”

“Ferdinand!?” Both king and prince exclaimed at once.

Sylvester blinked in confusion, unsure why this revelation shocked them so much. Ferdinand had been the one to insist upon it. Yet from the royals’ perspective, it was unthinkable. Would Ferdinand ever push Rozemyne toward another man? Absolutely not. Unless… it was a ploy to buy time before reclaiming her himself? But no, Ferdinand would never… would he?

“Impossible,” Anastasius muttered. “Ferdinand would never recommend such a match.”
Trauerqual nodded grimly.

“Archduke Ehrenfest,” the king said carefully, “would it not be better to betroth Rozemyne to Ferdinand instead? You are still young. There is no need to decide the next Aub so soon. As for factions, Ferdinand is more than capable of handling them.”

“…Why Ferdinand?” Sylvester asked cautiously.

“Because Rozemyne’s power is great—but so is her recklessness. She overexerts herself and collapses at every turn. Only Ferdinand has the skill to rein her in. From what I observed at the Academy, Wilfried could never manage it.”

Sylvester’s mind raced. Ferdinand himself had voiced similar doubts. Still, he bristled—surely Wilfried could grow into the role, given time. Yet… if the king himself believed Ferdinand the better match, was it truly about keeping Rozemyne in Ehrenfest, or about drawing her closer to the crown?

“Archduke Ehrenfest,” Trauerqual declared at last, “as king, I cannot approve Rozemyne’s engagement to Wilfried at this time. Not until Wilfried proves he can manage her health and keep her in check. However… if it is to Ferdinand, I would grant approval.”

Sylvester’s face drained of color. Bowing stiffly, he excused himself from the chamber, stomach churning.

When the door closed, Trauerqual and Anastasius exhaled another long, weary sigh.

The Archduke Conference proceeded without incident, right on schedule.

Last year had been chaotic—Sigiswald’s Starbind Ceremony, the revival of an ancient ritual, the revelation of foundation stones. Compared to that, this year’s session felt almost subdued.

The only major change was Anastasius’s coming of age. He had assumed the position of High Bishop in the Sovereign Temple, and in order to “showcase the rituals,” he had presided over the Dedication Ceremony. Having just formalized his engagement to Eglantine, he was a little giddy, pouring more prayers into the gods than ever before. His mana offerings grew so intense that a few of the attendants collapsed… but thanks to that, a magnificent pillar of light soared into the heavens. The sight left the assembled lords wide-eyed, and Anastasius himself was bombarded with questions afterwards.

It was safe to say the ceremonies would spread even further now.

As for the rankings, the top duchies remained unchanged, but Ehrenfest alone had surged—from thirteenth all the way to tenth place.

By the time the conference neared its close, Sylvester summoned Ferdinand, Rozemyne, and Wilfried.

When they transferred from the castle to the dormitory, they were greeted by Sylvester himself, standing tall with hands on his hips, waiting like a guardian statue.

“Uwaaah…” Rozemyne couldn’t help blurting out before clapping both hands over her mouth.

“What is it, Rozemyne? Do you have something to say?”

“Ah, well… When I returned from the Dedication Ceremony to the Academy last winter, Wilfried greeted me in that exact same pose. I just thought, ‘Ah, such a similar father and son.’”

“….”

Ferdinand sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and ushered everyone off the teleportation circle.

“Ferdinand, come with me. Wilfried and Rozemyne will wait here. Ah, Rozemyne—there’s a book entrusted to us by Dunkelfelger. You can read until we return.”

Rozemyne’s eyes lit up instantly. Without a second thought, she darted off toward the promised treasure. Watching her vanish, Sylvester thought Wilfried looked a little pitiful, but paid it no mind. Taking only Karstedt as an escort, he led Ferdinand into a private room and ordered everyone else away.

The door closed. Sylvester immediately slumped over the desk with a groan.

“What happened?” Ferdinand asked.

“It was awful. I’ve had enough. I want to go home,” Sylvester muttered into the wood.

“…That tells me nothing. You summoned me, so something must have occurred.”

Sylvester lifted his head to stare at Ferdinand as if searching for an answer there. If it were Wilfried, it would be useless. But Ferdinand—perhaps he could manage.

“Wilfried and Rozemyne’s engagement… it wasn’t approved.”

“…Why not? Has the royal family set their eyes on her after all?”

“I thought so too, but apparently not. They said Wilfried is no good… but Ferdinand would be acceptable.”

“…What?”

“Prince Anastasius said Wilfried couldn’t possibly hold Rozemyne’s reins. If she is to be engaged to him, then only after he learns to control her.”

Ferdinand frowned. It made no sense. True, Wilfried could never manage Rozemyne on his own—but wasn’t that why he himself served as her support? Why should the royal family involve themselves at all? Refusing approval on that basis could only mean they wanted Rozemyne drawn closer to them.

And according to Sylvester, the refusal had sparked a new storm: other duchies were circling.

“Klassenburg, Drewanchel, even Dunkelfelger. That’s not all. Ahrensbach wants Wilfried as a son-in-law. And then there’s you.”

Sylvester’s gaze narrowed on Ferdinand.

With the temple’s rising importance acknowledged, Ferdinand—once dismissed as a blemished archducal candidate cast into the temple—had suddenly become a man of tremendous value. He knew the rituals better than anyone, and thanks to Rozemyne, his legendary feats at the Academy had been freshly brought to light. Every duchy would claw for him if given the chance.

“At this rate, I won’t just lose Rozemyne to another duchy—I’ll lose Ferdinand and Wilfried as well. Do something!”

Sylvester collapsed back onto the desk, grumbling miserably. Ferdinand pressed his fingers to his temple. None of this made sense—the refusal, the royal meddling, Sylvester’s newfound habit of befriending the furniture.

“Sylvester, whining will change nothing. For now, the royal family has not explicitly said they intend to claim Rozemyne. However… if it is I who am engaged to her, the Leisegang faction will never accept it.”

“And that’s the problem!” Sylvester groaned.

Before Ferdinand could think further, a knock sounded. Sylvester immediately straightened, regaining the stern posture of an Aub.

“Prince Anastasius requests to speak with Lord Ferdinand and Lady Rozemyne. How shall I respond?”

“…How does he know I’m here?” Ferdinand muttered.

“Apparently, word of Professor Hirschur’s… attempts to detain you has spread.”

“Ah.”

He remembered her clutching research documents, trying to keep him at the dormitory. When Sylvester had told her it was impossible, she had left grumbling. Someone must have overheard.

“Shall I say you have already returned to Ehrenfest?” the retainer asked.

“No. A summons from royalty cannot be ignored.”

“Only you and Rozemyne?”

“I asked, and was told Aub Ehrenfest’s presence is optional. As for Lord Wilfried… they likely don’t even know he’s here.”

“‘Optional,’ he says…” Sylvester muttered darkly.

Even as he wore the look of a man wounded, Ferdinand pressed him onward, and the three of them made their way toward the prince’s villa.

In a private chamber of the royal palace, Trauerqual and Anastasius sat discussing the matter of Rozemyne’s engagement to Wilfried. Both had agreed that it could not be approved—but when news reached them of Ehrenfest’s precarious situation, panic set in.

Other territories, it seemed, were already scheming to draw Rozemyne into their lands. Ehrenfest, being only a middle-ranked duchy, had little power to refuse. Even more troubling, there were now repeated requests for Ferdinand as well.

“This is troublesome,” Trauerqual muttered gravely. “If a greater duchy were to formally request an engagement with Rozemyne or Ferdinand—with the aub’s permission, no less—we could hardly refuse.”

“Sending Rozemyne to a land that knows nothing of her... that would be even more dangerous than leaving her with Wilfried. And if her power were to be raised beyond what we could control...”

Anastasius trailed off, his complexion paling.

Just then, Oswin entered with a report.

“It seems Lord Ferdinand has gone to the Ehrenfest dormitory. Lady Rozemyne is likely with him.”

“Summon them both,” Anastasius ordered, only for Trauerqual to wave him down.

“No, don’t make it sound like an order. Tell them I wish to speak with them.”

Anastasius blinked at his father’s sudden hesitation.

Before long, another interruption came.

“Prince Anastasius, they’ve agreed to come—straight to your detached palace.”

“Understood. I’ll go at once.”

“As for me,” Trauerqual said smoothly, “I have a meeting scheduled with the greater duchies.”

“What? Father—”

“I would very much like to attend, but ignoring the greater duchies to prioritize Ehrenfest would be… improper. I leave the rest to you.”

With that, Trauerqual rose with uncharacteristic swiftness, muttering “What a shame” as he left. His words, Anastasius thought grimly, carried not a shred of sincerity. This was no more than a blatant retreat.

Suppressing a sigh, Anastasius dragged himself toward his detached palace to prepare for what was sure to be an exhausting meeting.

When Rozemyne, Ferdinand, and Aub Sylvester were ushered into the chamber, the air grew taut. Anastasius sat with an anxious look, Sylvester rubbed at his stomach as though warding off a headache, Ferdinand wore his usual impassive mask, and Rozemyne blinked about in confusion, wondering why she had even been summoned.

“Thank you for answering on such short notice,” Anastasius began. “To be blunt, my father’s refusal to approve the engagement has created no end of trouble.”

Sylvester sighed. “Indeed. Not only Rozemyne, but Ferdinand and Wilfried as well are now receiving constant engagement requests. At this rate, Ehrenfest may not survive.”

The discussion circled endlessly, going nowhere, until Ferdinand spoke in his calm, cutting voice.

“Might I pose a question?”

“Speak,” Anastasius replied.

“Forgive me if I overstep… but is the royal family considering making Rozemyne one of their own?”

Anastasius’s eyes widened. The thought alone was terrifying—if Rozemyne were taken into the royal family without Ferdinand’s consent, the consequences would be dire.

“Reports say that Your Highness and Rozemyne have spoken often at the Academy,” Ferdinand continued. “With Wilfried’s engagement unapproved, one might suspect you intended her as, perhaps, a third consort.”

Anastasius went white.

“Wha—!? Absolutely not! My goddess of light is Eglantine alone. I could never marry Rozemyne. Impossible!”

“Then perhaps Prince Sigiswald?”

“Never! Even my brother could not handle her.”

Rozemyne, meanwhile, sat with a pitifully bewildered look—having just been dismissed as unsuitable for either prince without a second thought.

“Why not simply have you, Ferdinand, marry her?” Anastasius suggested at last, grasping for a solution. “Would you truly accept Rozemyne marrying another man?”

“I fail to understand your meaning,” Ferdinand said flatly.

“When I so much as imagine Eglantine at another man’s side, I grow sick with rage. Would you not feel the same for Rozemyne?”

Anastasius shuddered inwardly at his own words. If Ferdinand were to experience such jealousy, it would not stop at mere sickness; he would erase the offender without hesitation.

Sylvester, who knew his brother best, stiffened suddenly.

“F-Ferdinand… don’t tell me you—”

“Aub, surely you jest,” Ferdinand replied smoothly, smiling.

That smile alone was enough to silence Sylvester instantly. Anastasius thought despairingly: This man could silence even the Aub… he might as well be Ehrenfest’s true ruler already. Perhaps he could silence the royal family itself. Why not just make him Zent outright?

Attention then shifted to Rozemyne.

“And you?” Anastasius asked. “Whom would you choose?”

“As I am an adopted daughter, I will obey the aub’s decision,” Rozemyne answered politely.

“But if you could choose between Wilfried and Ferdinand?”

She tilted her head. “I’ve never thought about it.”

“Then think on it now.”

Rozemyne considered aloud with innocent seriousness.

“Lord Ferdinand has many more books than Wilfried does. But my brother once promised I could use the castle library freely if we married…”

“Ferdinand is of the archduke’s family too—he could give you access regardless,” Anastasius pointed out.

“Wh—what!?” Rozemyne gasped, her eyes sparkling.

Anastasius groaned. Books again.

Still, Rozemyne continued earnestly:

“Lord Ferdinand is dependable, he cares for my health, and though strict, he is always fair and kind. Above all, if I work hard, he rewards me with books—new ones, even! We are as close as family, so I always feel safe at his side.”

For just a moment, Ferdinand’s mask slipped, his expression flickering with something unguarded. Anastasius stared, aghast. Are they truly unaware of how this sounds? They’re practically flaunting their affection!

Sylvester, too, looked stunned.

Rozemyne, oblivious, pressed on:

“With Wilfried, it is different. If I am reckless, Ferdinand saves me. But with Wilfried, it would be the other way around—I would need to save him.”

Her blunt words left Sylvester wincing and Ferdinand stiff, while Anastasius could only sigh heavily.

At last he declared:

“Enough. Rozemyne, Ferdinand—marry each other. That way both of you remain in Ehrenfest, and the crisis is averted.”

“But what of Wilfried? And the factions within the duchy—” Sylvester began.

“Ehrenfest’s problems must be solved by Ehrenfest,” Anastasius cut him off coldly. “Or do you mean to lose them both?”

Cornered, Sylvester bowed his head.

“Very well. As Aub Ehrenfest, I hereby order Rozemyne and Ferdinand to become engaged.”

The two exchanged a brief look, then bowed in assent.

“I will inform my father,” Anastasius concluded.

“He will approve.”

As the others left, Anastasius slumped back in his chair with yet another sigh—the latest of many that day. He recalled someone once telling him that sighing lets happiness escape. If so, then he was utterly drained.

Why must I play matchmaker to these two?

With one final, weary exhale, Anastasius resolved to complain to Eglantine later. For now, he set off to the palace to secure official approval of Ferdinand and Rozemyne’s engagement.

Chapter Text

Once the Archduke Conference came to an end, Anastasius quietly re-dyed the country’s foundation stone. In terms of mana, that made him Zent—but only in power, not in name. His role was not to take the throne, but to manage the duties tied to the foundation, such as redrawing borders. Naturally, this was done with King Trauerqual's approval.

By summer, the mana-bearers of Lanzenave had migrated into Yurgenschmidt. Their destination was the abandoned land once known as Trostwerk, a sovereign territory left desolate. Anastasius performed the necessary adjustments on the foundation, and with Gervasio’s mana dyeing, a new duchy was born—one with Gervasio as its Aub. It would not be officially recognized until the next year’s Archduke's Conference, however. Though established as a middle duchy, its ranking began from the very bottom.

The nobles who had originally lived there were given a choice: move to other duchies if they wished, or remain and join the new duchy. The dormitory at the Royal Academy was refurbished as well, so that even those who came from Lanzenave could study. There was no strict age restriction, but priority was given to those of typical Academy age, regardless of gender. Allowing adults to attend would place extra strain on the duchy’s finances, so how many could be admitted would depend on Gervasio’s judgment and the treasury of the fledgling land.

Meanwhile, the reigning king of Lanzenave chose to remain in his homeland, even after the border gates were closed. Some of his followers stayed with him. Once the migration had been completed, Anastasius shut the border gate. As part of the agreement, seedlings of sugar plants and spices from Lanzenave were brought into Ahrensbach. Thanks to Sigiswald’s behind-the-scenes arrangements, these crops would not only be cultivated there but also sold to other duchies. While shortages of sugar and spices might occur at first, if planting succeeded in several duchies, prices were expected to drop lower than before.

Raublut relinquished his brilliant career as Knight Commander of the Sovereignty Knights to serve Gervasio as the new duchy’s knight commander. His wife, Hortensia, continued her year-round post at the Royal Academy’s library, unchanged.

“Gervasio, it seems the new duchy is off to a smooth start.”

“Prince Sigiswald, I am most grateful that you came in person. Both King Trauerqual and yourself have granted us immeasurable consideration. The people who migrated from Lanzenave are settling in without incident.”

At summer’s end—half a season after the migration concluded—Sigiswald visited the new duchy. Officially, it was to confirm the state of affairs, but in truth it was also to quietly announce that he was next in line to become Zent.

His father, King Trauerqual, had once confessed that he found facing Gervasio frightening. Sigiswald now understood all too well. In a previous loop of the world, it had been Gervasio who seized Yurgenschmidt and brought ruin to the royal family. And above all else—he looked unsettlingly like Ferdinand. The years had etched experience into his features, lending him an almost predatory cunning.

“My, it has already become a splendid duchy. Hard to believe it’s only been half a season.”

“The first priority is to begin living. For now, we’ve only established what is necessary. We’ll expand the scope little by little.”

In only a short time, Gervasio had expanded and shaped the new duchy’s capital through Entwickeln. To avoid unrest, he prioritized housing for nobles who had originally lived there, and even reinstated former officials into positions of governance. Though stability was still fragile, it was only a matter of time before their ranking rose rapidly.

“The land already feels filled with mana.”

“In Lanzenave, all of us lived with our mana constantly siphoned away. Compared to that, this is nothing.”

“…I see.”

Through the window stretched greenery unlike anything Sigiswald had expected. Those from Lanzenave were overwhelmingly high in mana, and now that their strength was no longer being drained, they poured it freely into the land. No noble of old could complain with the earth so bountiful. In fact, Sigiswald worried the nobles who had left might soon beg to return.

And yet Gervasio dismissed the matter with a simple, “It’s nothing.” Sigiswald’s face almost contorted at that, but he forced himself to maintain composure. To call such an immense torrent of mana “nothing” was unfathomable. Still, as one of high station, he had to smile gracefully and keep his dignity intact.

“If anything troubles you, please let me know. I’ll help however I can.”

“I am most grateful.”

Suppressing the urge to blurt “Then share your mana with me!”, Sigiswald rose with poise. His smile never faltered.

For the first time, Gervasio’s expression shifted; the corners of his mouth lifted faintly. It was meant to show goodwill, to assure Sigiswald of his lack of hostility. But to Sigiswald, that fleeting smile was nothing short of terrifying.

In the autumn, under the guidance of Anastasius as High Bishop, Hildebrand’s baptism ceremony was held.

The ritual took place in his mother Magdalena’s detached palace. Unlike ceremonies of past lives, the guest list was kept deliberately small—an unusual choice for royalty. But there was a reason behind it.

“Whatever happens, Hildebrand, do not let your smile falter until the ritual is complete. Stand tall as a prince should.”

“Yes, Mother.”

He had heard the same warning from Magdalena countless times already, her voice heavy with concern. Straightening his back, Hildebrand mounted the platform. What was going to happen this time? Even with fewer attendees, the hall was still filled with watching eyes. He did his best to stand proudly before them all.

Anastasius, dressed in the robes of the High Bishop, looked on with a trace of unease. At his signal, Hildebrand infused the medal with his mana. He raised the ceremonial staff, let it glow, and pressed it against the medal—

And in that instant, a torrent of memories crashed into his mind.

Memories of the very first timeline that had ended in ruin. Memories of the countless loops that had followed. Memories of lives lived and lost.

“Ugh—!”

Clutching his head, Hildebrand let out a stifled groan at the overwhelming flood. Anastasius’s expression hardened—so it happened after all—and, before the gathered nobles could start murmuring, he quickly pressed the ritual forward.

“Hildebrand, from this moment on, you are officially recognized as the child of Zent Trauerqual.”

Applause erupted through the hall. Anastasius leaned close, murmuring in a low voice so only Hildebrand could hear.

“So, you have returned… We’ll speak later. For now, you know what to do.”

Jolted back into awareness, Hildebrand forced his lips into a smile and maintained his princely composure. He received a ring from Trauerqual and offered his blessings in return. Inside, his mind was still in complete disarray, but outwardly he never once let his posture falter.

Only once the ritual ended and he was ushered into the waiting room did Hildebrand finally collapse like a puppet with its strings cut. His attendants rushed to scold him for such a display, but most softened their tone, understanding just how much strain the young prince had been under. It was, after all, his first time standing before so many.

“I’d like… to be alone for a moment,” he whispered weakly.

But the one who answered was his father, Trauerqual, who entered the room along with Magdalena and Anastasius.

“That is not possible.”

Sending the attendants away, Trauerqual knelt before his son and spoke gently.

“Hildebrand… It seems your memories have returned.”

“Father… what is the meaning of this?”

Pressed for time, Trauerqual gave only the briefest explanation, just enough for Hildebrand to grasp the situation. The banquet and conversations with nobles would soon begin, and as the star of the day, he could not be absent.

“I know you are confused,” Magdalena said softly, “but for now, fulfill your duty. You can sort through your thoughts once the ceremony is over.”

“…Yes, Mother.”

And so, Hildebrand put on his princely smile once more and endured the flood of greetings from nobles. Though he carried the memories of adulthood within him, outwardly he was still seven years old. Balancing both was exhausting. By the end, he barely remembered what he had said.

When he finally retreated to the hidden chamber of his quarters, tears welled in his eyes.

In his previous life, he had been forced into a political engagement with Letizia, then stripped of his royal status by royal decree. The girl he had truly longed for—Rozemyne—had instead been wed into the royal family as Sigiswald’s bride. By the time he had come of age and claimed a schtappe, she was already married.

Crushed by despair, he had fallen for Raublut’s sweet whispers… and from there, his life had spiraled downward.

He remembered it all: how he had been reduced from prince to mere archduke candidate, how resentment brewed around him, how his half-broken schtappe left him unable to advance his mana or blessings, how he endured constant scorn even from supposed allies in the dormitory.

And yet, he had pressed on. If not for his magical shortcomings, he had become skilled in governance by supporting his father. For a fleeting moment, he had found warmth in a kind mednoble who saw his efforts… only to lose her as well.

The regrets were endless.

If only he could start over…

And now, though his memories had returned, the most important opportunities had already passed him by. He was seven again, yet powerless to change what mattered most.

Five days later, after he had steadied himself, he was granted private time with Magdalena.

“Hildebrand, I know your memories must have shaken you. But are your feelings calmer now?”

“Yes, Mother.”

He recalled how, unlike before, she had raised him differently this time—teaching mana compression gently from a young age, giving him charms for prayer. Thanks to that, his attributes had increased; where once he had five, now he had six. She had also taught him to seek many perspectives before making decisions.

“What should I do now?” he asked quietly.

“That is for you to decide,” Magdalena replied with a kind smile. “Without a schtappe yet, you still have room to grow. If you strive, even the Grutrissheit may be within reach. You could aim to be Zent, if that is what you desire.”

“…Zent…”

Hildebrand recalled the reasons he had once sought that throne: to free himself from an unwanted engagement, to claim Rozemyne’s hand. But now—Rozemyne was already engaged to Ferdinand. Not Sigiswald. Not Wilfried. But Ferdinand—the one man Rozemyne herself had chosen. She no longer needed saving.

“…I don’t wish to become Zent,” Hildebrand admitted at last. “But I want to grow stronger as a prince. I want to gain the Grutrissheit—and stand as support for the future Zent.”

The words surprised even himself, slipping out as naturally as breathing. He remembered the exhausted face of his father, both as Zent and as Archduke. He did not desire that burden. But he did desire to help.

Thus began a new future for Hildebrand. No longer would he live as a condemned shadow of his past life.

And when he requested to remain at the Royal Academy that winter, Magdalena only smiled warmly and nodded.

Winter had come, and with it the season of the Royal Academy.

At the noble’s fellowship gathering, Anastasius and Hildebrand sat side by side in the royal seats.

As an adult prince, Anastasius had many duties at the palace and could not remain at the Academy year-round. Yet, considering what had happened in their previous lives, leaving the freshly baptized Hildebrand alone might prove dangerous. And so, Anastasius had been appointed as supervisor while Hildebrand officially took up the royal duty of residing at the Academy.

Of course, it was not because Anastasius was busy preparing his new residence for the starbinding in spring and wanted to offload troublesome matters onto his younger brother. Certainly not.

This is all for Hildebrand’s growth. Experience is essential. If he’s motivated, better that he begin shrine pilgrimages and reading through the underground archives early, Anastasius told himself, carefully masking his thoughts as he glanced at Hildebrand.

The boy’s gaze, however, was fixed on Rozemyne.

…Was she always this small?

Though their heights were similar, his memories from the previous timeline made it feel uncanny.

When Rozemyne came forward to greet them, Hildebrand found her adorable, and for a fleeting instant his chest ached. But the moment passed as his smile froze—Anastasius’s as well.

Rozemyne’s infamous amulet-clattering had already begun.

Though not yet at the level she had reached as Aub Alexandria in the previous timeline, her small frame was already weighed down by ornaments—hairpins, bracelets, necklaces.

What are you doing to yourself…

Though his mana sensing had not yet awakened, Hildebrand immediately recognized the delicate chainwork as Ferdinand’s. The realization, paired with Rozemyne’s calm acceptance of it, made him recall Magdalena’s words:

“If you win fair and square, no one will object.”

Encouraging words, spoken in the manner of a Dunkelfelger woman. But in truth, they had been meant to make him give up. Because no matter how he looked at it… there had never been any chance of victory.

Rozemyne bestowed blessings on him as though it were their first meeting. Wilfried gave the official greeting on Ehrenfest’s behalf, now joined by Charlotte as a new archduke candidate. Three candidates in one year.

“Rozemyne, what is with those trinkets? Ah, no—never mind, I already know. It must be Ferdinand’s work.”

“Yes, Prince Anastasius. He calls them protective charms.”

“…And your health? No changes?”

“None in particular, your highness.”

“…Good. Let’s make sure you don’t collapse this year.”

“I would also prefer not to collapse, truly.”

Tilting her head like a small bird, Rozemyne answered with utter innocence. Hildebrand’s heart tightened again—until he looked at her accessories once more.

There’s no way I can match something like that. No… not now, not ever. She’s far beyond my reach.

When the conversation with Anastasius ended, Rozemyne turned to Hildebrand with a gentle smile. He froze.

It was not the same look she had once given Ferdinand in that other timeline. Though Hildebrand’s mind carried the memories of adulthood, the expression on her face was far more mature than his. Affectionate, yes—but the way one might look at a younger brother, or perhaps at a pet shumil.

So… to her, I’m no more than a shumil? Hildebrandt thought bitterly, forcing a smile.

“I hear you love books, Lady Rozemyne. I too enjoy reading. Perhaps one day we can talk about them together.”

“My, truly, Prince Hildebrand? What kinds of books do you prefer? Knightly tales rather than romances, I presume? Have you visited the Academy library yet? Or perhaps even the Royal Palace library? I—”

“Rozemyne! Settle yourself! One more step and you’ll collapse!” Anastasius cut in sharply as Rozemyne’s eyes lit up and words poured from her like a torrent.

Only then did Hildebrand notice her arm glowing faintly.

“Rozemyne, that light—what is it?”

“Oh, lately I have been fainting more often, so Lord Ferdinand crafted this magical device. It draws out my mana whenever I grow too excited.”

“If it’s glowing, doesn’t that mean you’re already in danger?!”

“Indeed. I was one step away.”

“One step away is not acceptable! I just told you not to collapse!”

Anastasius’s face had gone pale. Hildebrand's as well, for in his mind echoed Mestionora’s words:

“If Rozemyne rises too heights, the world shall be rewoven.”

In other words—the end of everything.

“Prince Hildebrand, may I say a word?” Wilfried interjected stiffly.

“What is it, Wilfried?”

“My uncle, Rozemyne’s guardian, has warned us: ‘Books are both medicine and poison to her. Careless indulgence will bring disaster.’ If she loses herself before a book, she might even commit disrespect against a prince.”

“I would never take it as disrespect,” Hildebrand replied gently, tilting his head. But inwardly, sweat pricked at his skin.

In the previous life, Rozemyne’s love for books had driven her to create them herself. Her zeal for library work had bordered on madness. The last thing I need is for her to collapse right here again…

“I shall look forward to our future conversations, Prince Hildebrand.”

“Y-Yes… as will I.”

Smiling, he waved farewell as Rozemyne, Wilfried, and Charlotte departed.

“Hildebrand,” Anastasius muttered beside him, “the only one who can rein her in is Ferdinand.”

“I know. But Ferdinand will not come to the Academy. While we are here, let me protect her. Surely that much is allowed?”

“…Do you still harbor feelings for her?”

“No. I understand she is far beyond me. But… becoming her friend should be acceptable, shouldn’t it?”

“Do you have a death wish? Ewigeliebe himself might strike you down.”

“That would indeed be frightening,” Hildebrand admitted with a wry smile.

Anastasius exhaled heavily. He had hoped to leave Academy matters in his younger brother’s hands, but it seemed he would not escape involvement after all.

Rozemyne’s second year at the Royal Academy proceeded much as expected: she breezed through lectures and practical exams with effortless speed, all while being completely oblivious to the storm of attention she attracted. Unlike in the previous timeline, the dreaded Ternisbefallen had not appeared. Yet, the absence of her schtappe seemed to take its toll—Rozemyne’s fainting spells grew more frequent, and each report of her collapsing gnawed steadily at both Anastasius’s and Hildebrand’s nerves.

Whenever she became excited, the bracelet magical tool Ferdinand had crafted would begin to glow faintly as it siphoned off her overflowing mana. Thus, whenever Anastasius or Hildebrand met her, their eyes would involuntarily dart to her wrist, gauging the glow like a warning beacon.

This year, without the chaos of the previous life, the library was properly staffed, meaning the infamous Library Committee never formed.

However, Rozemyne still managed to organize a “Book Lovers’ Tea Party.” The participants were Rozemyne, Hannelore, Hortensia, Solange… and, thanks to some persistence, Hildebrand as well. He insisted on joining—after all, he had attended in the previous timeline, and besides, someone had to be there to keep Rozemyne from spiraling out of control whenever books were involved.

For Hildebrand, the tea party was nostalgic, though the memories felt blurred, as if from a distant past life. He couldn’t recall every detail, but as the conversation drifted to the “Twenty Mysteries of the Academy,” he remembered faintly discussing the same topic before.

Hannelore and Rozemyne exchanged books with visible delight. At that very moment, Hildebrand noticed a faint glow coming from Rozemyne’s bracelet. Then, to his surprise, Rozemyne turned to him and presented a book.

“This is a new book produced in Ehrenfest. For Prince Hildebrand, I chose a knight’s tale—easy to read, without complicated phrasing. I think it should be just right for you.”

“I’ll do my best to read it. In return, I’ve brought you a book from the Royal Library. I hope it suits your taste.”

He had remembered there would be book exchanges, so he had prepared one in advance. As he offered it, Rozemyne’s ring suddenly burst forth with a glittering blessing, filling the room with sparkling light.

Solange merely smiled, used to such spectacles. “My, how beautiful.”

But the attendants from Dunkelfelger—and Hildebrandt’s own retainers—stared in wide-eyed shock.

“Forgive me,” Rozemyne said sheepishly. “I became a little too excited, though I tried to restrain myself.”

Her bracelet was already glowing far too brightly. Hildebrand opened his mouth to urge her to calm down—only for his retainer, Arthur, to speak first.

“If Lady Rozemyne is this delighted, perhaps you should obtain permission to invite her to the Royal Library someday?”

The words had barely left his mouth when—flash! Rozemyne’s bracelet shone blindingly, and she collapsed unconscious right before Hildebrand’s eyes.

Chaos erupted. Hildebrand turned pale as a sheet, Arthur grew even paler—nearly white—while Hannelore’s eyes filled with tears. Solange and Hortensia flustered about, trying to manage the situation. Relief came in the form of Wilfried and Charlotte, rushing in as the emergency response team. Charlotte’s hands trembled despite her attempts to remain composed, while Wilfried—far too practiced in such matters—calmly directed the attendants and organized Rozemyne’s transport.

Wilfried’s offhand comments—“Don’t worry, this happens often. She once collapsed from a snowball, and at her baptism, she fainted just from being tugged along”—only made Hildebrand turn paler. Forgetting that he was only seven years old, he launched into a fretful scolding, his voice quivering with panic.

Anastasius, hearing the commotion, arrived shortly afterward. He delivered a lecture that managed to encompass everyone in the room—Rozemyne’s attendants, Hildebrand’s retainers, and Hildebrand himself.

Meanwhile, Rozemyne herself remained blissfully unaware, dreaming of frolicking within the Royal Library, surrounded by books.

Thanks to Hildebrand’s desperate shout—“Get Ferdinand’s permission and have him examine her!”—the Archduke Candidate of Ehrenfest was summoned. Thus, when Rozemyne finally woke, it was to the sight of her mentor’s dazzling smile. Her own face twisted into a grimace, knowing she had overdone it again. Teacher and disciple returned to Ehrenfest together, their expressions stark contrasts: one radiant with cheer, the other burdened with regret.

Chapter Text

After completing the winter Dedication Ritual in Ehrenfest and returning to the Royal Academy, only a few days had passed when Drewanchel hosted a tea party. Though the gathering was meant for the greater duchies, Adolphine had extended her invitation to Ehrenfest as well. Notably, Detlinde had not been invited.

This was Adolphine’s final year before graduating from the Academy. Since her path had not led to a royal marriage, she had arranged for a relative to escort her at the graduation ceremony. Many territories had sought her hand, but among her peers, there had been no suitable match whose mana capacity aligned with her own. In truth, that was largely her own doing. Every time she thought of Sigiswald, her mana compression advanced in leaps and bounds, until her magical power had grown so great that only her father, the Aub, could faintly sense it within the duchy. Added blessings had only further strengthened her. She sometimes thought she should thank Sigiswald for this growth—but of course, she never would.

Although Anastasius and Eglantine could perceive her power, she had no intention of becoming Anastasius’s second wife. After graduation, her sights were firmly set on returning to her duchy to succeed as Aub. With her possession of the Grutrissheit, she knew that contact with the sovereign nobles would be inevitable. Still, once she returned home, her opportunities to interact with Rozemyne would naturally lessen. That was precisely why Adolphine wanted to deepen her relationship with the girl now—before Rozemyne inevitably rose into a figure of great importance.

But more than calculation, there was genuine concern. In a past life, Rozemyne had saved her. Even afterward, as a Giebe, Adolphine had enjoyed warm relations with the rulers of Alexandria. Now too, she considered Rozemyne a precious friend—though, with her memories, the bond felt almost sisterly.

“Thank you ever so much for inviting us,” Rozemyne said, offering her noble’s greeting with that small, delicate body of hers.

“I am so very glad that you and Lady Charlotte could attend,” Adolphine replied warmly.

Rozemyne looked almost unbearably adorable. In her memories, Rozemyne as an adult had been strikingly beautiful, but right now, she was simply precious. Adolphine could not help but regret her past mistakes—if only she had known more back then, she would never have arranged that detached palace in Adalgiza for the girl.

Still… that ornamentation is far from acceptable. Just what is Ferdinand thinking, adorning such a small body with that much mana? Adolphine frowned slightly. Engagement or not, no sane person would burden a frail vessel so.

The tea party began with Ehrenfest’s quatre-quarts pastries, followed by a discussion of Ehrenfest’s increasingly famous books. Inevitably, Ehrenfest stole the spotlight again. When the book talk began, Rozemyne’s arm began to glow faintly. Adolphine recalled Anastasius’s warning—that the glow grew intense before Rozemyne collapsed.

“Rozemyne, would you be so kind as to taste this tea? I think it pairs well with the quatre-quarts,” Adolphine asked smoothly. The light faded as Rozemyne’s attention shifted, and Adolphine exhaled in quiet relief. She had not forgotten how Rozemyne had collapsed at last year’s tea party, sending both her and Eglantine into a panic.

Hannelore and Luzinde were soon squealing over their favorite scenes from a romance novel, joined by Charlotte in lively discussion. Adolphine, more grounded thanks to her past experiences—even a divorce—could not view love stories with the same pure-hearted excitement. Still, she enjoyed them as fiction, and her heart was warmed by the atmosphere.

Then she noticed Rozemyne again. Despite the topic being her beloved books, Rozemyne merely smiled, never joining the conversation. Wanting to speak with her, Adolphine quietly slipped over, handing her a sound-blocking magic tool.

“Rozemyne, do you not care for romance stories?”

“I love all books,” Rozemyne said earnestly. “I read romances as well, but… I often struggle to understand the expressions, and cannot relate to them.”

“Expressions?” Adolphine tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“For example, this scene—why does the goddess suddenly start singing? I do not understand the meaning of her appearance at such a moment.”

“…Ah.” Adolphine’s lips curved faintly. “And no one has explained this to you?”

“I regret to say, I spent two years immersed in Jureve. My studies in that regard are lacking.”

Adolphine felt a pang of unease. Had no one explained such things to her? Could it be that Rozemyne did not even realize the true significance of the ornaments she wore?

“Rozemyne, those ornaments of yours are quite splendid.”

“They are charms,” Rozemyne replied. “Lord Ferdinand bade me wear them.”

“Yes, you are indeed a target for danger. Charms are essential. But… do they not trouble you? No dizziness, no discomfort?”

“Not particularly,” Rozemyne said innocently.

“Though Prince Anastasius worried about the same thing.”

Adolphine was unsettled. “Normally, wearing another’s mana-infused tools feels unsettling—unless your mana is exceptionally compatible. To wear so many at once without discomfort… well, that is most unusual.”

Rozemyne only tilted her head again, like a puzzled bird. So very innocent… Adolphine sighed inwardly. No wonder Ferdinand drowned her in protective charms. Still, it was hardly proper.

“Have you truly never been taught these things in Ehrenfest?”

“…What sorts of things?” Rozemyne asked, guileless as ever.

Adolphine faltered, then clarified: “The significance of mana. The meanings of romance expressions. A woman’s role. The subtleties between men and women.”

“Lord Ferdinand never explained such matters,” Rozemyne admitted.

“That is not something men should teach. Normally, one’s mother would explain… but as you are an adopted daughter, perhaps it is different. You should consult a trusted woman, Rozemyne.”

The tea party ended without incident, Rozemyne thanking Adolphine with a bright smile before departing.

Watching that small back retreat, Adolphine’s chest tightened. How many times across different lives had Rozemyne been crushed by the royals? She knew the effort the princes were making to prevent that fate. Still, she could only pray…

Please… may you walk a peaceful, happy path this time, Adolphine thought, offering a silent prayer to her benefactor, her friend, and the little sister she could never protect enough.

When Anastasius and Eglantine arrived at Ehrenfest’s presentation site for the Inter-Duchy Tournament, they found the area bustling with just as much energy as the year before. This time, however, Rozemyne was actually present, seated beside Ferdinand. She seemed a little excited about her very first tournament, but with Ferdinand at her side, there was no need to worry.

“Prince Anastasius, Lady Eglantine! What an honor to have you here,” Rozemyne greeted them with her usual bright smile. Ferdinand, on the other hand, gave them a sharp, cautious grin that was far more intimidating.

“I’ll fetch the Aub immediately—” Rozemyne began, but Anastasius waved her off.

“No need. We’re only stopping by. So long as there’s no problem, that’s fine. …Ferdinand, I apologize for summoning you the other day. Rozemyne’s collapse seems to have agitated Hildebrand.”

“No, the fault lies with us. I am sorry that Rozemyne caused such trouble. I’ve warned her not to lose control whenever books are involved, but…” Ferdinand glanced sideways.

Rozemyne twitched, averted her gaze, and stiffened her shoulders.

“Even so, it was Hildebrand’s responsibility to stop her when she started spiraling over books,” Anastasius pointed out.

“No, that is the job of Rozemyne’s retainers,” Ferdinand countered smoothly. “I even gave her a magic tool that glows when she gets too excited, but it seems ineffective.”

“And yet, wasn’t it Hildebrand’s retainers who brought up the Royal Library in the first place?”

The two men exchanged quiet barbs, each insisting the blame lay with themselves. Meanwhile, Rozemyne sat stiffly, pretending innocence, until Ferdinand tapped her thigh under the table. “We’re talking about you,” his gaze seemed to say—though his attempts at subtlety fooled no one. Rozemyne puffed her cheeks and looked up at him with a slightly sulky, almost spoiled expression.

The sight was so sweet that Anastasius felt as if he had just swallowed pure sugar, while Eglantine’s eyes sparkled with delight.

“There was no way I could restrain myself when it came to the Royal Library!” Rozemyne protested. “I didn’t even notice the glow.”

“Is that so? Then perhaps I should attach the tool not only to your arm, but also your neck and ankles. Surely you’d notice then.”

Rozemyne paled, hastily shaking her head.

“Ferdinand, stop. That would draw far too much attention,” Anastasius interjected.

“Prince Anastasius, you are so kind! Thank you,” Rozemyne said with a dazzling smile aimed squarely at him.

Cold sweat pricked Anastasius’s back. Please don’t smile at me like that, not in front of Ferdinand. And why won’t Eglantine get jealous at least once? Instead, she only laughed softly at the scene.

“You two will be celebrating your Starbind Ceremony soon, won’t you? How I wish I could see it. Lady Eglantine, I imagine you will look truly radiant in ceremonial dress.”

“Of course she will. She is my goddess of light. She shines even in her daily attire—when she is adorned for the ceremony, she will surely be too dazzling to look upon.”

“…Wait, so you won’t look at her?”

“I will! That was a figure of speech!”

Rozemyne felt full just from listening to Anastasius gush about his fiancée.

“She looked beautiful at graduation, but knowing she will dress just for me at the Starbind Ceremony… I feel as though I can accomplish anything.”

“Yes, yes, how wonderful,” Rozemyne muttered.

“Are you even listening?”

“I am. It’s lovely how close you are.”

“Indeed, no less than you two.”
“…Excuse me?”

Rozemyne blinked up at Ferdinand, who met her gaze with equal surprise. Anastasius, meanwhile, felt an odd sense of triumph. So, despite all the jewelry you’ve given her, your bond is still unspoken?

“When the time comes, we will be praying for your happiness,” Rozemyne added sweetly.
“Stop that,” Ferdinand and Anastasius snapped in perfect unison.

“Do not jinx our ceremony,” Anastasius warned.
“If you pray, something unexpected will surely happen,” Ferdinand added darkly.

“How cruel! I only wish for your happiness,” Rozemyne protested.

“The only cruelty here is your reckless head. Have you forgotten your past blunders?” Ferdinand shot back.

On and on they went, bickering like an old married couple. Anastasius quickly excused himself, unable to stand the strange, sticky tension between them.

Later, he learned that Ferdinand had actually wagered Rozemyne as a prize in a ditter match against Dunkelfelger. Though relieved to hear both had survived, Anastasius buried his face in his hands. Does Ferdinand lack all sense of restraint too?

The award ceremony began soon after. Students gathered in the stadium as the Prince, the Princess, Sigiswald and Nahelache, and finally Anastasius and Eglantine made their entrance.

“In this harsh winter, the season of Ewigeliebe’s strict trials, you too have endured and gathered here,” the king’s voice resounded—

And then the world erupted.

A thunderous explosion shook the arena, pillars of flame rising in several places. The feared attack had finally come.

Anastasius and Eglantine instantly summoned Schutzaria’s shield to protect the royals and students. Adolphine likewise raised her shield around Drewanchel. Though the royals’ shields were expected, Rozemyne’s shining defense drew no small attention.

“False king, without a Grutrissheit! Feel the wrath of those you cast aside!”

Survivors from the losing duchies of the civil war hurled themselves at the royals, their voices raw with hatred. But unlike the previous timeline, their numbers were fewer—and Ternisbefallen was not unleashed.

The Sovereign Knight Order and the countless Dunkelfelger knights present for ditter surged forward, cutting down the attackers one after another.

One knight, however, slipped through. He lunged toward Sigiswald, dodging even the Sovereign Knights who tried to block him.

“…I’m sorry, Prince Sigiswald. I couldn’t stop them.”

The man was none other than the former Werkestock noble Sigiswald had negotiated with before. Though he had sought to minimize bloodshed, many who had lost loved ones could not forgive the royals who had seized power.

The man glanced around at the gathered royals. Then, with a serene smile and steady eyes, he released his mana in a suicidal burst.

“Please… stop them. I leave the rest to you.”

He vanished in light. And though the blast was powerful, not a single royal, student, or spectator was harmed. Only the attackers themselves had perished.

The ceremony continued, subdued but unbroken. Adolphine’s presentation on shrines earned Drewanchel the highest honors, while Rozemyne was also named top achiever, receiving praise from Trauerqual—though she trembled as though barely holding back tears.

The next day’s graduation proceeded without incident, Adolphine dancing as the Goddess of Wind before the unmoving altar. And thus, another winter at the Royal Academy came to a close.

That night, Sigiswald stood beneath the starlit sky, haunted.

“I tried… I did everything I could. And yet, the attack still happened.”

“You worked hard, my prince,” Nahelache said gently at his side.

“…But I couldn’t prevent it.”

“Not everything can be prevented. Still, things ended far better than they did before.”

Sigiswald closed his eyes, remembering the man who had spoken to him so many times—and the faces of all those who had fallen. He clasped his hands in prayer, wishing they might safely ascend the endless stairway to the heights of the gods.

The night was clear and cold, the sky calm and silent above.

On the first day of the Archduke Conference, Anastasius and Eglantine safely completed their Starbinding Ceremony. Just as with Sigiswald and Nahelache's union, the ceremony was conducted personally by Zent Trauerqual, for it was a prince’s marriage. The ancient ritual, solemn and breathtaking in its beauty, concluded with the newlyweds exchanging tender smiles.

Next came Prince Hildebrand’s formal debut.
Though he carried the memories of his adult self, standing before such a vast audience and playing the harspiel left him trembling with nerves. In his previous life, it was here that his engagement to Letizia had been announced. But in this world, that engagement no longer existed. Thanks to Adolphine’s efforts, Letizia had not been taken to Ahrensbach; instead, she had remained in Drewanchel as an archduke candidate, growing close to Adolphine.

Meanwhile, Trauerqual made his way toward the royal council chamber, his steps heavy. Inside, he expected to find Sylvester, Ferdinand, and Georgine waiting. Only yesterday, the Aub of Ahrensbach had petitioned for an archduke candidate from another duchy to be wed into their family. Their first choice: Ferdinand. Trauerqual had rejected it outright, yet Georgine remained persistent—pressuring Sylvester, and even demanding Ferdinand be summoned to hear the proposal directly. Alarmed, Trauerqual had rushed to the palace.

He recalled that in the previous timeline, it had been during this very conference that Ferdinand was commanded by royal decree to transfer to Ahrensbach. That path had ultimately led him to ascend far beyond reach, only for fate to unravel and be rewoven. There was no way Trauerqual intended to repeat that mistake. The royal family could not afford decisions of such weight to be made unilaterally.

Ahrensbach, for its part, was teetering on the brink of crisis, cut off from its trade with Lanzenave. Sigiswald had been assisting with internal affairs to prevent its collapse, but he was currently occupied with other audiences. As for Anastasius… ever since his engagement, the man’s mind had been utterly lost in daydreams of flowers and romance. Trauerqual had been forced to put him on leave.

Suppressing a sigh, the Zent straightened his back as his retainer opened the council chamber doors. Within stood the expected figures, who immediately bowed. At his gesture, each took their seats.

“Georgine,” Traokvar began, his voice heavy,

“where is the Aub of Ahrensbach?”

She curtsied gracefully, her eyes cool. “A matter arose within his domain, and he has returned to address it. He did not anticipate being summoned by the Zent himself. I must beg your forgiveness.”

So. This was her own doing.

“I have already rejected Ahrensbach’s request for a marriage contract. Why, then, does this farce continue?”

“Your Majesty,” Georgine said smoothly,

“Ahrensbach possesses but a single archduke candidate. Is it not natural for them to wish to expand their ruling family?”
“Then they need not look to Ferdinand alone,”

Trauerqual retorted. “The fault lies in their practice of reducing excess candidates to archnobles. If they wish for more, let them change their customs.”

“But surely,” Georgine pressed, “a match with Ahrensbach would benefit Ferdinand more than a union with a middling duchy. It is only proper to hear his own wishes in the matter. That is why I requested his presence.”

Trauerqual cast a sidelong glance at Ferdinand. Rarely did the man’s emotions show so plainly, but his brows were drawn tight in visible displeasure. Good. If he had shown the slightest desire to accept Ahrensbach’s offer, Trauerqual might have despaired.

“Ferdinand,” the Zent asked deliberately, “what say you? Would you set aside Rozemyne and choose to wed Detlinde instead?”

The provocation was intentional. Trauerqual knew full well Ferdinand’s answer. Anastasius had claimed that the two did not appear to share such feelings yet, but Trauerqual had witnessed Ferdinand absentmindedly tugging at Rozemyne’s cheeks during the Interduchy Tournament. If that wasn’t affection, what was?

“I would never,” Ferdinand replied without hesitation. “My Geduldh is Ehrenfest.”

At that, Georgine’s smile faltered.

“Very well,” Trauerqual said firmly. “Georgine, Ferdinand’s betrothal has already been approved once. I will not overturn it, nor will I grant special favor to Ahrensbach. This matter is closed. Leave us.”

Bowing stiffly, Georgine withdrew with a face full of frustration. Sylvester, too, exhaled in relief, though his expression soured again when Trauerqual bade Ferdinand to remain behind.

When the chamber was cleared, Trauerqual produced a magical tool to ward against eavesdropping and handed one half to Ferdinand. His palms were slick with sweat.

“Rest assured,” the Zent said quietly. “I will not nullify your betrothal without your consent.”

“…I see.” Ferdinand’s expression remained unreadable, but his gaze carried a sharp vigilance that made even Trauerqual uneasy.

“There is another matter,” the Zent continued. “A new duchy shall be ratified in this conference, formed from the immigrants of Lanzenave. Its archduke will be Gervasio, the man once named as Lanzenave’s crown prince. Do you know him?”

“I have heard the name,” Ferdinand answered, “but we have not met.”

“Then be warned. He resembles you… so closely that none doubt the two of you share blood.”

Ferdinand’s eyes narrowed.

“You would question my lineage?”

“I suspect you carry royal blood,” Trauerqual admitted. “But I have no intention of pursuing it. If you wished to join the royal family, I would welcome it. But… you do not, do you?”

Ferdinand’s glare was like a blade, and Traokvar’s skin prickled with cold sweat. He hastily raised his hands.

“Peace. I said only that it was your choice. I will not force it.”

“I was baptized in Ehrenfest,” Ferdinand replied coolly. “I am an Ehrenfest noble. My Geduldh is Ehrenfest.”

“Not Rozemyne?”

The words slipped out before Trauerqual could stop himself. He winced under Ferdinand’s sudden look of surprise.

“…Forget I said that,” the Zent muttered. “In any case, take care. Your resemblance to Gervasio will invite suspicion. That is all I wished to warn you of.”

Ferdinand inclined his head. “You have my gratitude.”

With that, he departed the conference and did not return. The establishment of the new duchy was smoothly approved, its groundwork already laid among the great duchies. Yet when Gervasio himself appeared, murmurs of astonishment rippled through the chamber.

Later, Drewanchel under Adolphine presented their research on the ancient shrines, followed by the long-awaited roadmap toward acquiring the Grutrissheit. However, the announcement was postponed to the following year. If unveiled now, it would be attributed to Eglantine, newly joined to the royal family, and might ignite a dangerous clamor to enthrone her as Zent.

Instead, it was proclaimed that henceforth, any who acquired the Grutrissheit would be elevated into the royal family—provided it was their wish. Spouses of Grutrissheit-bearers would remain sovereign nobles unless they, too, obtained the divine text. Children born royal would retain that status only until adulthood, unless they themselves gained the Grutrissheit.

As Ehrenfest climbed to eighth place in the rankings, with Rozemyne’s reforms spreading through the temples and her fashions sweeping across the duchies, the duchy drew ever more attention. Add to that the questions surrounding Ferdinand’s resemblance to Gervasio, and all eyes seemed to fall on Sylvester. The poor man grew more haggard by the day. Anastasius was useless, lost in dreams of marriage, and Traokvar himself could not intervene without stirring a storm. Sigiswald had tried to lend aid, but Sylvester only grew more self-conscious.

No doubt, once this conference ended, Ferdinand would quietly hand Sylvester a recovery potion. For now, Ehrenfest would simply have to endure.

Chapter Text

After the Starbinding Ceremony, Anastasius returned from his flowery daydreams just in time for the winter term at the Royal Academy. He had no choice, really. This was, after all, the season when Rozemyne would return.

At the royal table during the fellowship gathering, Anastasius sat to receive the greetings from each duchy. This year, he was not alone—beside him sat Hildebrand, and also Eglantine, who had taken on the role of instructing the archduke candidates. Their presence was reassuring.

“Once again, the threads of the Goddess of Time, Dregarnuhr, have intertwined, granting us the blessing of this gathering.”

Wilfried delivered the opening greeting, and Hildebrand responded with a carefully neutral line about “looking forward to Ehrenfest’s efforts.”

Anastasius felt a pang of guilt toward Wilfried and Charlotte, but he couldn’t help it—his attention always drifted to Rozemyne. He checked her arms almost reflexively. Good, the magic tools aren’t glowing. Then he noticed something else: she was wearing fewer ornaments than last year. Those were supposed to be protective charms. It had been a problem when she wore far too many, yes—but to see fewer now was worrisome in its own way.

“Rozemyne, what became of your protective charms?”

“Ah… Lady Adolphine taught me last year what it truly means to wear so many ornaments.”

Rozemyne ducked her head in embarrassment, looking almost bashful. She was now in her third year—an age when some began to sense mana. So at last, she’s developing a touch of awareness, Anastasius thought with mild relief.

“So, I wear them where they cannot be seen.”

“What?”

“Lord Ferdinand insists I must always keep them on—and in fact, he has added even more. But it is better, is it not, if they are not obvious? Beneath my clothing, only my attendants know they are there. No one else can tell.”

That is not the point! Anastasius nearly shouted aloud. Did she not realize how improper it was to blithely tell a man such a thing? Saying she wore them beneath her clothes was far more indecent than simply displaying them! He swallowed the urge to cry out and managed only a stiff, “I see.”

“My only concern is that when I get too excited, they might gather mana and begin to shine again. But I’ve learned restraint now, so it should be fine.”

She declared this with her chest puffed out, clearly expecting praise. Anastasius could only bury his face in one hand. Restraint? Rozemyne’s restraint is the most unreliable thing in the world!

Suppressing a sigh, he dismissed Ehrenfest after their greeting. Glancing around as the lower-ranking duchies came forward, he spotted Rozemyne again—already entangled in one of Dunkelfelger’s exuberant exchanges.

“Hildebrand,” Anastasius muttered, “your mother was from Dunkelfelger, was she not?”

“Yes.”

“Then Dunkelfelger is your responsibility. Make certain they do not raise Rozemyne to even greater heights.”

“…What!?”

This year seemed to be going better—at least on the surface. Still, the students of Ehrenfest marched one after another into their first-day examinations with pale faces, clearly weighed down by the crushing expectations placed on them. Each passed on their first attempt, but rather than celebrating, most simply sighed in relief.

Rozemyne, of course, passed every exam on the first day without issue. Beyond her duties as an archducal candidate, she also enrolled in the scholar’s curriculum. Wilfried, for his part, had chosen to balance the archducal candidate path with the knight course.

Then came the day of the Blessing Ceremony.

Since reaching adulthood last year, Anastasius had taken on the role of overseeing the ritual. Another instructor always assisted him, and on this occasion it happened to be Hirschur—likely because Ehrenfest had sent such a large number of students who had successfully passed the notoriously difficult test of memorizing the gods’ names. Though the royal family had grown stricter about religious observances, Ehrenfest’s success rate still stood out: all of their students passed. Next came Klassenburg and Drewanchel, then Dunkelfelger a little further behind.

Leaving the explanations to Hirschur, Anastasius positioned himself at the altar, both to witness the blessings and to record any student who had obtained a multi-attribute schtappe—the only kind that could access the Book of Mestionora.

Unsurprisingly, Rozemyne was the first called. She followed Anastasius into the innermost chamber and gave the room a brief, thoughtful look around.

“So, I must kneel at the center of the magic circle and offer a prayer, correct?” she asked.

“That is correct,” Anastasius confirmed.

Most students required detailed instructions, fumbling nervously through the unfamiliar procedure. Rozemyne, however, stepped with complete confidence into the circle, knelt, and offered her prayer with practiced fluency, all while pouring her mana into the ritual. Her movements flowed so naturally that even Anastasius—well accustomed to sacred rites—couldn’t help but exhale a quiet murmur of admiration.

Just as expected, every attribute responded to her. The lights flared one after another as she invoked the names of the subordinate gods, each shining strand stretching higher and higher.

“Should my prayers find favor in Your sight, may I be granted Your divine protection.”

At her closing words, the light surged upward, then rained down upon her in dazzling brilliance. The altar shuddered—and shifted.

Even Rozemyne’s eyes widened in surprise at the phenomenon.

“Prince Anastasius, what is happening?”

“Those blessed with all attributes always experience this. Beyond lies the Garden of Beginnings, where the great white tree grows. It is there that you will find the Will of the Gods.”

“The Will of the Gods…? Ah, so it will be collected during the practical exercises later?”

“No. Only those with all attributes may obtain it here and now. Normally the process takes a full day, but in your case, I suspect channeling mana will allow you to absorb it much more quickly.”

Anastasius exhaled softly as he watched Rozemyne disappear beyond the altar. He himself had once thrown his all into prayers and rituals after the time reset, even serving as High Priest to grasp more blessings. Yet compared to Rozemyne, it felt woefully inadequate. Her blessings seemed to outnumber his own, her mana reserves likely dwarfed his as well.

Perhaps it had always been this way—even in the world before the time reset. The gulf between them was so wide that he couldn’t even fathom its extent. That tiny girl, who constantly left him clutching his head in exasperation—just how much had she endured to reach this point? Back then, he had never spared a thought for her efforts. She was useful, therefore she should be taken and used—that was the simple logic of royalty.

Another long sigh escaped his lips.

When Rozemyne returned, she bore none of the excitement one might expect from someone fresh from the Garden of Beginnings. If anything, she looked… disappointed.

“Were you able to obtain the Will of the Gods?” Anastasius asked.

“Prince Anastasius… I could not find it.”

“…What?”

“I searched everywhere—around the great tree, above it, even beyond. I thought perhaps it might be something grown upon the branches, but no matter how many times I looked, nothing was there. What is the Will of the Gods supposed to look like?”

That was impossible. The Will of the Gods could never be overlooked—one simply knew it instinctively.

“…It should not be absent. Perhaps it will appear on the day of the schtappe ceremony,” he said at last.

The schtappe rituals were always scheduled after every student had completed the Blessing Ceremony, usually several days later to accommodate those who struggled with memorization. For Rozemyne, who had passed on the first day, this meant nearly ten days of waiting.

Unfortunately, the real trouble came much sooner.

The very next day, during a music practical, Rozemyne accidentally released a flood of blessings. In her first year she had been prone to such outbursts, but this time was different. According to Wilfried, the torrent of light was so overwhelming that it blinded the room, halting the entire class in stunned silence. Rozemyne herself confessed she had been unable to stop it.

The reason was clear: after consuming the bitter Jureve potion, her mana flowed too freely, and now she had gained a massive number of blessings without yet possessing a schtappe to regulate them.

The climax came on the day of the Dedication Dance practice.

Eglantine performed first as a model, graceful as ever. Yet when Rozemyne stepped forward, Anastasius noticed the faint glow already radiating from the charms hidden beneath her sleeves.

“Lady Rozemyne, are you certain you are well? Perhaps you should not overexert yourself,” Eglantine asked gently.

“Your concern honors me. I have been steadily exhausting my mana—healing gathering sites, imbuing stones with power—so I should be fine. Besides, I tell everyone they must pass on the first day; how could I fail to do so myself?” Rozemyne replied with strained determination.

Taking a deep breath, she knelt, and the music began.

Light shimmered over her entire body as she spun gracefully across the stage. Trails of radiance marked her every movement, until at last she collapsed to the floor, still glowing like a living ornament. The dazzling sight drew every gaze—it was impossible to look away.

“I am deeply sorry, Lady Eglantine,” Charlotte apologized swiftly. “Though you warned her not to push herself, she…”

“N-no, think nothing of me! Please, see to her at once—fetch Lord Ferdinand if necessary!” Eglantine replied, flustered.

Wilfried’s retinue moved with crisp efficiency, lifting Rozemyne and carrying her away before silence settled once more.

“…Well then, shall we continue the dedication dance practice?” Eglantine said weakly, her cheeks tinged red. Having seen firsthand the sheer number of mana stones Rozemyne wore beneath her garments, she found herself alternating between paling with shock and blushing with embarrassment. For now, all she could do was force the class back into motion.

At long last, the day to obtain her schtappe had arrived. Yet Rozemyne, unable to grasp the divine will, collapsed within the cave before reaching the goal.

Once her strength returned, Anastasius summoned Rozemyne and escorted her to the Garden of Beginnings.

“Lord Erwaermen…” Anastasius called.

The towering sacred tree stirred, its vast trunk and branches shifting until it took the form of a man.

“Anastasius… and the Quinta?”

Startled, Anastasius turned instinctively, fearing that Ferdinand had followed him unnoticed. But no—beside him stood only Rozemyne, eyes wide with awe at the sight of Erwaermen.

“Lord Erwaermen, this is Rozemyne.”

“…Rozemyne? Come closer and place your hand upon me.”

At Anastasius’s nod, Rozemyne hesitantly reached out and touched the hand of the great being.

“Ah, so it is you—Myne. It has been a long time. What troubles you?”

Rozemyne froze, eyes wide. Was she shocked at being called Myne? Or at being told they had met before? She looked to Anastasius for guidance. He gave her a small nod, urging her to speak.

“Um… I was unable to receive the divine will. Does this mean I am unworthy of becoming a noble?”

“Ah, is that all?”

Erwaermen raised his hand lightly. Anastasius saw nothing, but Rozemyne cupped her hands reverently, as though she had received something of great importance.

“If you have taken it, Rozemyne, then channel your mana. You will absorb it swiftly.”

“Yes.”

She poured her mana into it, and the unseen object rapidly grew smaller until it vanished. Closing her eyes, she whispered:

“…Schtappe.”

A gleaming staff appeared in her hand.

“Thank you very mu—”

“This too belongs to you. Take it. No, as you are now, it will not suffice. Anwachs, assist her.”

At his words, a shower of blue light fell upon Rozemyne.

“Ow! Oww… It hurts!”

“Endure it.”

Confused, Anastasius turned to look—and realized she seemed to be… growing.

“Rozemyne! Are you alright!?”

“Prince… Anastasius… please turn around.”

“What?”

“Quickly!”

The instant he obeyed, Rozemyne hastily loosened her sash and began removing her clothing. Flustered, Anastasius spun around, heart pounding.

“If there is aught I can do—”

“A… a knife, please?”

“A knife!?”

“My clothes are too tight. I cannot breathe!”

“Summon your schtappe, imagine a blade, and say Messer.”

“…Messer.”

Rip! The sound of fabric tearing followed. Her ragged breathing echoed behind him.

“…Better. Then take this as well.”

Another radiance descended, much like when the Book of Mestionora had appeared. Light poured down upon Rozemyne, dazzling Anastasius. But he dared not look back, certain her garments were already ruined.

The glow faded. A dull thud followed.

“Rozemyne!”

Against his better judgment, Anastasius turned—only to see Rozemyne collapsed upon the ground, her noble robes torn to indecency. Though not fully exposed, the sight was improper enough to make her glare weakly at him.

“…You looked, didn’t you?”

“N-no! I didn’t see a thing! Are you hurt!?”

Rozemyne, still conscious, fixed him with a suspicious stare. Anastasius muttered to himself in panic—I didn’t see anything. Nothing at all.

Though disheveled, Rozemyne wore her undergarments, and it was no more revealing than swimwear from her past life. Unlike noblewomen of this world, she did not consider it utterly ruinous.

“Prince Anastasius… might I borrow your cloak? I cannot leave in this state.”

“Ah—yes. But would it not damage your reputation?”

“Which is worse? Appearing like this, or being seen wrapped in a cloak?”

“…Point taken. Though, if Ferdinand learns of this, I fear he may kill me.”

“Then simply make sure he never finds out.”

Left with no choice, Anastasius draped his cloak over her shoulders.

“My thanks. You may turn around now.”

When he did, he found Rozemyne swathed in his cloak, lying weakly upon the ground.

“Lord Erwaermen… what did you do to her?”

“I merely returned what was hers from the beginning.”

“…From the beginning?”

“Her memories, and the Book of Mestionora. Through her, the Quinta will also recover his memories by now.”

Anastasius shuddered at the implication—Ferdinand’s memories, restored? He glanced at Rozemyne, who silently wept.

“Rozemyne…”

“…Forgive my discourtesy, but please allow me time to collect myself. Too much has flooded my mind all at once.”

“Of course. Rest easy.”

As Rozemyne lay trembling, Erwaermen seemed oddly satisfied, already fading back into the form of a great tree.

“Why could Rozemyne not receive the divine will until now?” Anastasius asked.

“Because Myne has been dyed by the Quinta.”

“…What?”

“Their mana is nearly identical. Thus, the judgment was that they are one and the same.”

Dyed by Ferdinand? Anastasius paled. Did that mean…

“Lord Erwaermen! If that is so, then Ferdinand will appear to have… unhealthy interests!”

Rozemyne raised a feeble objection.

“That is not the case…”

“What did he do to you, Rozemyne?”

“Many things, of course—”

“What!? You are not yet wed! How dare he—!”

“Not like that!”

Bit by bit, Rozemyne regained strength, while Anastasius grew increasingly frazzled. She explained her peculiar constitution—that she absorbed influences easily and could not return once dyed. From childhood, Ferdinand’s potions and protective charms had left his mark upon her.

“…So it is a matter of constitution. Considering you once descended a goddess, that is… believable.”

“You accepted that quickly.”

“Is there anything ordinary about you at all, Rozemyne?”

“…How rude.”

Still uneasy, Anastasius ventured:

“…He has not forced you to bare your skin, has he?”

“Ferdinand is also my physician. Naturally, he has examined me.”

“…What!?”

“And yes, there were times I had to remove clothing.”

“…There were!?”

Anastasius nearly fainted. What else had Ferdinand been doing!? Rozemyne sighed at his wild suspicions and explained calmly: Ferdinand had treated her, and when she became the archduke’s adopted daughter, he had guided her through the necessary mana rituals.

“…There was nothing improper. In this lifetime, we are not even romantically involved yet.”

“…I see. Then I will believe you.”

Completely drained, Anastasius gave up on further questioning.

Meanwhile, in Ehrenfest, a storm brewed.

“Sylvester. I am going to the Royal Academy.”

“…What nonsense is this?”

“I must see Rozemyne.”

“She is missing, is she not? I will not allow you to run off simply because you miss your fiancée.”

He had meant it as a jest, but Ferdinand’s piercing glare made him regret it instantly.

“…I know you worry. But Hartmut reported she is safe. We must wait.”

“No. I must go.”

“Do you not understand that adults may not interfere with the Academy? I cannot let you go there with that expression. Hey—wait!”

Sylvester's protests fell on deaf ears. Ferdinand strode toward the teleportation chamber, his resolve unshakable. Just then, a messenger hurried out.

“Lord Sylvester, Lord Ferdinand! News from the Academy—Lady Rozemyne has returned. Prince Hildebrand requests your presence immediately.”

“…I go at once.”

Sylvester exhaled and shrugged. “Take him with you,” he said, nodding toward Hartmut, who was babbling ecstatically about Rozemyne’s brilliance.

“…Useless.”

Ferdinand dismissed him coldly, then vanished into the teleportation circle.

It had been ten days since Rozemyne and Prince Anastasius disappeared into the Inner Sanctum. At last, a message arrived from Anastasius: they would be returning. Hurrying at once, Hildebrand rushed to the deepest chamber. Eglantine was already there, and not long after, Ferdinand entered as well.

“Lord Ferdinand?”

“Lady Eglantine, I summoned him. Depending on Rozemyne’s condition, his presence may be necessary.”

“…Indeed. I believe that was a wise decision.”

“You have my thanks.”

A short time earlier, within the Garden of Beginnings, Rozemyne was struggling to adjust. Supported by Anastasius, she rose unsteadily to her feet, circling the vast tree that had once more become Erwaermen towering form.

“My body feels strange… I grew so suddenly that my senses won’t keep up. I never thought I would have to experience this again.”

“Are you in pain anywhere?”

“No, that is fine. But you are very kind… so different from the man you once were in another life.”

“That is because… I went through much to avoid repeating the same mistakes.”

“I see…”

As they made their way toward the exit, Anastasius noticed the state of Rozemyne’s face—swollen and blotchy from the tears shed when her memories had returned.

“Hold a moment. Heilschmerz—healing.”

A gentle green glow spread across her eyes, soothing the swelling.

“My thanks.”

“No, no… If Ferdinand were to discover you had cried even more while wrapped in my cloak, he would kill me outright.”

“…Perhaps.”

“You are supposed to deny that!”

“Fufu. It will be fine—I shall explain it myself.”

“Your ‘fine’ cannot be trusted.”

“Lord Ferdinand should not be at the Academy just now. If we simply silence those who saw me in this state, it will be enough.”

“…So be it.”

Supporting her whenever she stumbled, Anastasius finally led Rozemyne to the chamber’s exit. But there, waiting, were Eglantine, Hildebrand—and Ferdinand.

The moment he saw him, Anastasius felt his life flash before his eyes. From obtaining the Book of Mestionora in the shrine, to the days spent with Eglantine, he thought he had done fairly well this life… but now, surely, it was the end.

“Rozemyne, are you safe?”

Ferdinand rushed forward, tearing Rozemyne away from Anastasius and glaring daggers at him.

“Wait—there are circumstances—!”

“…You saw her?”

“I did not! I swear I saw nothing!”

“Oh? And what exactly was it that you ‘did not’ see?”

Smiling sweetly, Ferdinand wrapped Rozemyne anew in his own cloak, reclaiming the one from Anastasius. Moving sluggishly, Rozemyne folded it and handed it to Eglantine.

“Lady Eglantine, forgive me. I was in a most helpless situation and begged Prince Anastasius to lend me his cloak. Without it, I would have been forced to appear here in only my undergarments.”

“Oh my! In that case, I am glad indeed that it could serve its purpose.”

“Normally I would have it washed before returning it, but His Highness boasted so fervently about your embroidery that I thought it best not to alter it. Please accept it back as it is. He told me to treat it with the utmost care—it was rather troublesome.”

Anastasius nearly collapsed in relief. She had explained it in such a way that it did not sound like he had volunteered the cloak, but had been pressured into it.

“Rozemyne, I can mostly guess… but tell me. What happened?”

As Rozemyne recounted her experiences in the Garden of Beginnings, the others watched Ferdinand’s expression grow darker, more dangerous. By the end, the demon king had all but manifested before them. Everyone but Rozemyne shuddered.

“I see… I understand perfectly. Then I shall go and fell that ancient tree.”

“Wait, wait, wait! How does it come to that!?”

“It is the root of all this.”

“If Erwaermen disappears, this world itself will end!”

“And? Why should that matter?”

The smile Ferdinand wore was far too genuine. He actually began striding back toward the Garden when, at last, his goddess intervened.

“Lord Ferdinand?”

“…What is it?”

“I too have many thoughts… but it would be such a waste to end this world, just when the royal family has finally begun working together and moving things in a good direction. Besides, I do not wish to start over again. We are already engaged, and no longer at risk of being stolen away by royalty. At least allow me to finish reading the books I have yet to conquer. And surely you still have research you wish to pursue?”

“…Even in a moment like this, it comes back to books.”

The demon’s visage softened, and Ferdinand’s true face returned. The princes, watching, finally understood—Rozemyne truly was a goddess. She shone with such radiance that they could see nothing else.

“And for now… I would like to change my clothes and eat something. Please carry me back to the dormitory.”

“…Very well.”

With ease, Ferdinand lifted her into his arms. The three princes collectively let out a sigh of relief.

“…So the true problem child was Ferdinand after all.”

“…What was that?”

“N-nothing. Rozemyne, be sure to keep a close eye on him. If he decides to wage war against the gods themselves, we are all doomed.”

They had often told Ferdinand to keep Rozemyne on a leash, but never expected it might need to be the other way around. Once more, they were convinced—these two must never be separated.

And so they watched as the pair departed together, Ferdinand carrying Rozemyne as though she were the most precious thing in the world.

Chapter Text

After vanishing into the Garden of Beginnings for ten whole days, Rozemyne finally reappeared. Following another three days of rest, she returned to her lectures at the Royal Academy.
Her absence was officially explained away as “recuperation due to poor health.” Since many had already seen her collapse countless times before, no one questioned the excuse. For now, her acquisition of Book of Mestionora was being kept strictly confidential.

Rozemyne quickly caught up with the coursework. Practical skills that usually took other students three or more attempts, she finished in a single try. It didn’t take long before the supposed “delay” was erased.
What did shock everyone, however, was her sudden growth.

“Even I don’t fully understand,” Rozemyne said with her head tilted innocently whenever asked.

“A sudden shower of blue light rained down upon me, and before I knew it, my body was stretched out. It hurt terribly, I assure you. If you wish to grow taller, you might try offering prayers to Lord Anwachs as well.”

Every time she gave that vague answer, students desperate to add a few precious centimeters to their height began imitating her. Soon enough, it became fashionable among them to craft charms in Anwachs’ name and pray fervently.
Anastasius could only sigh. There is no such thing as a god who personally pulls you taller, Rozemyne. But… I can’t very well crush their hopes either.

The only one to openly object was Fraularm, Ahrensbach’s dorm supervisor. She shrieked, “This is preposterous!” and ignored repeated requests for retests. Even when she was finally forced to administer an exam, she outrageously failed Rozemyne despite a perfect passing score. That alone earned her a suspension. During that suspension, evidence surfaced of her manipulating Ahrensbach students against Ehrenfest as well as committing outright fraud in other examinations. Declared unfit to be an educator, she was promptly dismissed from her post.

Meanwhile, the archduke candidate curriculum was conducted privately, separated from the others thanks to Eglantine’s consideration. Rozemyne passed in record time. Truthfully, there was no need for her to even take such exams—she had already served as an Aub in another lifetime. Still, this was technically her “first time” in this world, and thus she couldn’t skip them outright.

Even so, her blistering pace left Eglantine blinking in astonishment. She had separated Rozemyne’s lessons precisely so the other students wouldn’t see the sheer gap between them.

“As expected of you, Lady Rozemyne. Already finished? Most students need at least five sessions of practice to reach this stage.”

“Well, I was an Aub before. I’ve performed such rituals countless times in the field.”

“Indeed. In those days, even the boundary redrawing was treated as a trial using the Foundation of the Nation.”

“Yes. Ferdinand forced it upon me as an exam, of course…”

Eglantine smiled faintly at the memory. No other student in history had been tested the way Ferdinand tested Rozemyne.

Rozemyne’s miniature garden—her exam’s creation—took shape in the form of Alexandria, the fabled city she once governed. She gazed at it with shining eyes, overflowing with nostalgia. Eglantine’s heart clenched. That Alexandria no longer existed. The glittering “library city” Rozemyne had proudly boasted of with sparkling eyes was gone.

What must she feel, recreating it in miniature?

“Lady Eglantine, don’t you think this library should be bigger?” Rozemyne suddenly asked.

“B-bigger?”

“Why yes! I have lived through several cycles of this world now, have I not? With each iteration, I can produce and gather books more efficiently. If I make it the same size as before, it will fill far too quickly!”

“…I-I see…”

“And yet Ferdinand insists the current size is sufficient. He builds research institutes wherever he goes, endlessly adding more, but when I ask for more library space? He denies me! Is that not unfair?”

Rozemyne’s eyes sparkled as she argued, oblivious to Eglantine’s stiff smile.

“Ah, I’ve had a marvelous idea!”

Had Ferdinand been present, he would surely have stopped her immediately. Alas, Eglantine lacked the skill—or perhaps the courage.

“If Ferdinand insists on building new research institutes, then beside each one we must place a library to house the results. Furthermore, instead of enlarging only the central castle’s library, let us construct one in every single Giebe territory! We’ll link them together into a vast library network. Then, with transfer magic, books can be borrowed from anywhere. Yes, that would be far more convenient for everyone!”

“L-Lady Rozemyne…?”

Eglantine’s voice trembled. Rozemyne turned back to her with an innocent laugh.

“Oh my, forgive me. I got carried away. Teacher, would you say I’ve passed this trial?”

“Y-Yes… of course.”

“Thank you very much. Then, I shall take my leave.”

With graceful—if slightly slow—steps, Rozemyne departed. Eglantine sat frozen in her seat, pale-faced.

I think I just overheard something I shouldn’t have…

At that time in Ehrenfest, the “Ehrenfest Strengthening Project,” devised by none other than the demon king Ferdinand, had quietly begun. Having regained his memories, Ferdinand could no longer ignore the sorry state of the duchy. Knights, scholars, attendants—everyone without exception was to be retrained from the ground up.

Of course, Ferdinand himself would never have described it in those terms, but his methods were nothing short of Spartan. For him, the standard was simple: if you were a student, you had to match Rozemyne. If you were an adult, you had to meet his own level.

The duchy itself was still in disarray from the purges carried out at the start of winter. Ferdinand had to stabilize the territory, rein in the ambitious Leisegang faction, and sort through the prisoners from both the former Veronica and Georgine factions, apportioning punishments according to the weight of their crimes.

In the first timeline, Ferdinand would already have left for Ahrensbach by the time of this purge. Sylvester and the others had been forced to manage on their own back then—barely. Seeing how many gaps and flaws their efforts left behind, Ferdinand could only sigh in exasperation.

Even so, with ruthless efficiency, he pressed the castle scholars into service, cutting through the backlog with speed that left them gasping for breath. “This isn’t even particularly difficult,” Ferdinand muttered under his breath, sighing again and again.

“Hartmut, you’ll handle this. How long will it take you?”

Passing him a stack of wooden tablets, Ferdinand watched as Hartmut scanned through the contents.
“A single bell should suffice.”

“Hmm. A single bell? Even the gray robes in the temple could finish this much in that time. Philine, a mere apprentice scholar, could manage it. Rozemyne would be done in half a bell. You are her scholar, are you not?”

“…Ugh. I’ll try harder.”

Spurred on, Hartmut threw himself into the work with a fervor that alarmed the other scholars. To serve Rozemyne, a single bell was apparently not enough. Yet even for them—the top scholars of Ehrenfest, assigned to the Aub’s castle—the sheer volume was daunting. To be told they couldn’t measure up even to Rozemyne’s gray-robed attendants, or to her youthful apprentices, was a bitter pill.

When half a bell had passed, Hartmut set down the last tablet.

“Good. As expected of Rozemyne’s scholar,” Ferdinand praised.

Hartmut froze for a heartbeat, then exploded with joy. His bizarre display of exultation—complete with strange twirls and poses—sent shivers down the spines of the other scholars, who realized with horror that they were being outdone by that.

When Ferdinand finally visited the Aub’s office again, even Sylvester had his head bowed to his desk, for once earnestly working.

“Ferdinand, perfect timing,” Sylvester said, immediately handing over more wooden tablets.

Ferdinand glanced through them, then sighed and pushed most of them back.

“Sylvester, this is the Aub’s work. Do it yourself.”

“What? Since when do you refuse?”

“Since now. I am too busy to coddle you any longer. Do your own job. Rozemyne could finish this in one bell. Are you going to be outdone by your own adopted daughter?”

Sylvester stared in disbelief. But Ferdinand knew now that indulging his brother’s weakness was not kindness.

…Though it went unsaid, the “Rozemyne” Ferdinand invoked here was not merely the duchy’s adopted daughter, but Aub Alexandria—the Rozemyne he himself had tempered and honed to the utmost. Her ability to process work surpassed almost anyone alive. Yet Ferdinand, in his own peculiar way, failed to acknowledge this. To him, it was simply a matter of insufficient effort; anyone could do it, if they tried. A rare moment of positivity from him.

“Something’s strange,” Sylvester pressed. “You went to the Royal Academy at the king’s summons, and ever since you returned you’ve been acting… off. Did something happen?”

“…The royals are not the only reason. In any case, Ehrenfest must be stabilized immediately. I’ve already submitted proposals for reforming knight training to Karstedt, and spoken with Lord Bonifatius as well.”

“…So that’s why Karstedt has vanished lately.”

“No doubt the entire Knight’s Order is being crushed under Lord Bonifatius’s drills as we speak.”

Indeed, the old general had been furious: “To think you’ve gone so soft in so short a time!” Training had been renewed with brutal rigor. Angelica was delighted. Damuel was on the verge of death.

A few nights later, Ferdinand was summoned to the Aub’s private chambers. Inside, he found Sylvester and Karstedt slumped in chairs, utterly exhausted—one from overwork, the other from training.

“You’re here,” Sylvester muttered, glaring weakly at Ferdinand without lifting his head.

“Did you at least finish the backlog of tablets?” Ferdinand asked.

“…Somehow.”

“Good. See? You can do it if you try.”

Sylvester actually looked pleased at the faint praise.

“In fact, we can probably increase your workload further.”

“Absolutely not! The scholars are working like men possessed, but they’ve lost all spark of life—it’s frightening! And the Knight’s Order is completely spent; if an emergency came now, they’d collapse before deploying!”

“…Hmm. That is a problem. Perhaps I should mandate rest periods. Rozemyne always said rest was important.”

“…What are you talking about?”

“Nothing.”

Sylvester had a bad feeling, but pushed a cup of liquor at him regardless. Karstedt refilled the glasses.

“Ferdinand, really—what happened at the Royal Academy? You’ve been strange since returning.”

“…Perhaps it is time you knew,” Ferdinand said at last. He took a sip of wine, then continued. “It is not yet public knowledge, but… Rozemyne has obtained the Grutrissheit.”

“…WHAT!?”

Both Sylvester and Karstedt shot to their feet with such force their chairs clattered.

“Calm yourselves.”

“How can we!? Rozemyne, the Grutrissheit bearer!?”

“She acquired it during her disappearance. The Zent has decreed that any who possess the Grutrissheit will be treated as royalty. Inevitably, Rozemyne will join the royal family.”

“…WHAT!?”

Ignoring the frozen pair, Ferdinand calmly sipped his drink.

“…So that’s why you were summoned. But why you, and not me, her adoptive father?” Sylvester demanded.

“As her guardian, fiancé, physician, and teacher, I am the one best suited to control her. It was the only logical choice.”

“…Fair.”

Sylvester scrubbed his hair in frustration. Then, with uncharacteristic concern, he glanced at Ferdinand.

“But what about you? If she becomes royalty, your engagement will be annulled, won’t it? You seemed rather fond of her. Karstedt?”

“Yes. You cared for her more than usual, and she trusted you deeply. It’s a shame, really.”

“What nonsense. Of course I’ll be going with her.”

“…Huh?”

Sylvester froze.

“…Going with her?”

“Yes. Obviously.”

“Wait, wait, wait! You mean leaving Ehrenfest!?”

“That follows.”

“But your geduldh is with Ehrenfest, isn’t it?”

“…Perhaps.”

“…WHAT!?”

Ferdinand ignored their floundering, enjoying another sip of sharp wine.

“What happens to Ehrenfest, then!?” Sylvester cried.

“…Not my concern.”

“Not your concern!? You’re abandoning us!?”

“Which is why I’m retraining your scholars and knights now. If you’re the Aub, then manage your own duchy without depending on me or Rozemyne.”

Sylvester collapsed into his chair, groaning. Ferdinand, watching him keenly, thought: I’ve spoiled him too much. Perhaps Rozemyne should handle his retraining. After all, she had already served as an Aub in another timeline, and Ferdinand had a tendency to go easy on his brother.

“…Damn it! The royals must have planned this from the start—by engaging Rozemyne to Ferdinand, they intended to reel both of you into the royal family!” Sylvester shouted.

That, of course, was nonsense. The king had only been desperate to keep Rozemyne from rising beyond his control. But Ferdinand didn’t bother correcting the misunderstanding.
“Selling our loyalty to the royals could still benefit Ehrenfest,” he said mildly.

“…If I cancel your engagement myself, then it’ll be void, and you’ll remain in Ehrenfest,” Sylvester muttered desperately.

“In that case, the Zent will simply make it a royal decree.”

“You can move the Zent!?”

“Obviously. It would hardly be difficult.”

Sylvester’s jaw dropped.

“You’d defy everything—for Rozemyne!?”

“There is nothing more important than Rozemyne,” Ferdinand answered flatly.

Sylvester and Karstedt could only gape, mouths hanging open in disbelief.

“…Ah, Karstedt. My apologies, but I will be taking Rozemyne’s retainers with us, according to their wishes. Eckhart and Cornelius will likely transfer as well.”

“…I see.”

“Which means, Sylvester, you must learn to manage Ehrenfest without depending on me, Rozemyne, or her retainers.”

“…What do you mean, ‘that’s how it is’!? Ferdinand!!”

“Already drunk? How disgraceful.”

“Who could possibly stay sober through this!?”

As Sylvester raged and Karstedt faltered, Ferdinand calmly savored his wine. Drinking with these two again… It isn’t so bad.

The tea party between Ehrenfest and Dunkelfelger, held at the Dunkelfelger dormitory, had begun in peace. Rozemyne was happily chatting with Hannelore about books, while Lestilaut and Wilfried were playing Gewinnen. Everything was proceeding smoothly—until it wasn’t.

“Rozemyne will not become the Aub!”

Wilfried suddenly shot to his feet, drawing every eye in the room. Rozemyne, recalling similar scenes from her previous world, simply sipped her tea with unruffled composure.

“But ordinarily, the one with the greatest mana and ability to bring benefit to their land becomes Aub. If Ferdinand refuses, then Rozemyne should take the position instead.”

“My father would never commit such cruelty!” Wilfried retorted.

“Cruelty?”

“Yes. Rozemyne is my frail little sister. Father is not the kind of man who would force the burdens of an Aub upon a girl with such delicate health.”

…The very cruelty that my former husband—and current fiancé—inflicted upon me, Rozemyne thought wryly to herself. Though, to be fair, she had been the one to pile most of that work onto herself.

If things continued as they had before…

“Rozemyne, become my first wife. The first wife of Dunkelfelger’s Aub is a far greater position than that of Ehrenfest’s lordly house. Surely you see the advantage?”

“There is no advantage whatsoever.”

“Then I will simply take you by force!”

The tea party ended in chaos, and Ehrenfest was quick to send word back home. Rozemyne was promptly recalled and treated to one of Ferdinand’s infamous long lectures. And yet, once the matter of a challenge was settled, the so-called Demon King would accept nothing less than utterly crushing Dunkelfelger.

Since only students could participate, Ferdinand himself could not enter the match. Instead, Ehrenfest received two “gifts”: the knights-in-training were handed a “Training Manual from Hell,” and the scholars-in-training received detailed designs for magical tools that—allegedly—wouldn’t cause death. The dormitory was thrown into uproar.

Wilfried, who had been cornered into accepting the challenge, spent his days bowing his head in apology to every student he passed.

Rozemyne, however, was determined. She saw this as a golden opportunity to temper Ehrenfest’s students. Drawing on her past experience, she had a fair idea of what Dunkelfelger would attempt—and she had no intention of losing. While Ferdinand cracked the whip with merciless instruction, Rozemyne played the role of comforter, soothing her pale-faced classmates. Of course, her encouragement sometimes veered into chasing them to work harder, but that was purely for their own good… or so she claimed. It was definitely not just for the sake of books. Definitely not.

Meanwhile, Dunkelfelger had entirely misinterpreted Lestilaut report. They believed this was a proper bride-taking match, not bride-stealing. With Rozemyne’s abundant mana, trend-setting influence, and stellar grades, the idea of bringing her into Dunkelfelger was met with eager enthusiasm.

Prince Hildebrand, still too young for the academy, caught wind of the commotion just as preparations for the ditter were well underway. Despite his desperate pleas—“If you value your lives, you should cancel this!”—Dunkelfelger remained unmoved. The match would go on.

Alarmed, Hildebrand rushed to report to Anastasius, who in turn carried word to King Trauerqual.

“Do you think Rozemyne could possibly survive in Dunkelfelger?”

“Among those… excessively robust knights? I think not. She’d be swept away with the lightest shove.”

“And the heat alone would weaken her. Even Alexandria’s summers strain her health, or so I’ve heard.”

Trauerqual immediately attempted to intervene via the water mirror. But Aub Dunkelfelger’s response was characteristically blunt: ‘We hear Rozemyne herself consents. Not even the Zent can stop a sacred ditter.’

“Hildebrand, I will dispatch the Sovereign Knights. If things go dire, you are to intervene.”

“Yes, Father.”

And so, when the ditter began, Anastasius, Hildebrand, and a small contingent of knights stood ready in tense silence.

Rozemyne and Hannelore took their positions as the “treasures.” Dunkelfelger’s knights faced off against Ehrenfest’s pale and trembling students. Raufen's booming shout rang out:

“Begin!”

“…Brother Anastasius, doesn’t Ehrenfest’s team look… unusually pale?”

“A coincidence. I was thinking the same thing.”

Their own faces paled in sympathy.

“Do you think they’ll be alright?”

“Given the circumstances? Most certainly not.”

“I should have stopped this…”

“Not even the Zent could stop Dunkelfelger. You cannot blame yourself.”

“…Wait. You knew it couldn’t be stopped, and still told me to handle Dunkelfelger?”

“They are your relatives, are they not?” Anastasius averted his eyes.

The battle raged. Dunkelfelger’s knights charged toward Rozemyne—and Hildebrand went pale. Before Anastasius could shout, a tall figure appeared at Rozemyne’s side.

“Ferdinand?! Why are you here?” Anastasius hissed.

“Because I summoned him,” Hildebrand admitted innocently. “If anything were to happen to Rozemyne, I felt safer with Ferdinand nearby.”

“…You have my gratitude, Prince Hildebrand.”

Ferdinand’s serene smile weighed heavy on Anastasius’s chest.

“My apologies that we could not prevent this match,” Ferdinand said smoothly.

“This is hardly your fault, Prince Hildebrand. Dunkelfelger is… what it is. A mid-sized duchy like Ehrenfest cannot refuse a greater duchy. This will be a good chance to train the students.”

“But if Dunkelfelger wins, Lestilaut will steal away your fiancée!”

“We have prepared ample countermeasures. And should anyone so much as touch Rozemyne, the protective charms will activate. In truth, it is better to crush them here and now—fewer interferences will come from other duchies once word spreads.”

The sly curve of Ferdinand’s lips made Hildebrand swallow hard. For Lestilaut's sake, he found himself praying Ehrenfest’s knights would form an unbreakable shield around Rozemyne.

On the field, swords clashed with thunderous force. Explosions of magically enhanced spices left Dunkelfelger knights groaning. Though they had the clear advantage in strength, Dunkelfelger’s recovery tools were swiftly destroyed. Meanwhile, Ehrenfest’s side pressed on, bolstered by Rozemyne’s relentless healing. Slowly but surely, Dunkelfelger began to falter.

This is exactly why I told them to stop, Hildebrand thought in despair.

“Foul play, Ehrenfest!”

“Foul or fair, it matters not. Victory is all that counts!” Rozemyne cried, issuing crisp orders with sparkling eyes.

“…Ferdinand,” Anastasius muttered, sighing. “She truly is your disciple.”

“I shall take that as praise, Prince Anastasius.”

When Hannelore was finally forced out of bounds, Ehrenfest secured victory. Fortunately, Restylort never reached Rozemyne, and her protective charms remained unused. The Central Knights, too, had no need to intervene.

Rozemyne healed allies and enemies alike, while Hannelore performed a ritual of the Goddess of the Sea to return the divine blessings. Thus, the ditter concluded without disaster—if one could call Ehrenfest’s overwhelming, questionably honorable victory “without disaster.”

Chapter Text

The tumultuous bride-stealing ditter that Dunkelfelger had instigated ended in Ehrenfest’s victory, and in the days that followed, the much-anticipated Inter-Duchy Tournament arrived. Colorful cloaks fluttered in the wind, the rhythmic sounds of ditter resounded throughout the arena, and the venue buzzed with lively excitement.

As in previous years, Prince Sigiswald made his rounds through every duchy, smiling warmly and showering nobles with kind words. For the small and middle duchies that usually had no choice but to obey the royal family or the greater duchies, having the crown prince himself listen to their voices—even if nothing might come of it—was enough to earn him great popularity.

Meanwhile, Prince Anastasius and Princess Eglantine toured the higher duchies hand in hand, gathering information about how divine rituals were being spread and how students were presenting their research. The Zent, however, remained absent until the award ceremony.

When Trauerqual had tried to insist, “I wish to go as well,” the princes had collectively stopped him with, “Your presence would cause a scene, please refrain.”

Prince Hildebrand, for his part, was seated within Ehrenfest’s gathering place, accompanied by Ferdinand and Rozemyne. Archduke Sylvester had insisted on joining as a chaperone, muttering that leaving matters solely to those two was far too dangerous. Lady Sieglinde and Hannelore were also at the table, along with Hildebrand’s mother, Magdalena. Although third consort rarely attended such events, she was permitted on the grounds of being her son’s guardian.

“Good day to you, Lady Magdalena.”

“It has been far too long, Lady Sieglinde.”

The two Dunkelfelger-born women exchanged lilting laughter and polite greetings that sounded far too cheerful for Ehrenfest’s encampment. Hildebrand blinked several times, reconfirming that he had indeed stepped into Ehrenfest’s territory and not Dunkelfelger’s.

“Shall we begin with the matter of the recent ditter match?” Sieglinde proposed.

“Yes, let us,” Rozemyne replied, smiling serenely beside a visibly pale Sylvester.

Sensing ominous tension even before the conversation had truly begun, Hildebrand desperately wished he could flee. If anything, he rather resented Anastasius for having so casually appointed him “responsible for Dunkelfelger.”

“As it was our loss, Lestilaut will abandon his proposal to Lady Rozemyne… for now,” Sieglinde began. “However, I must ask—why did you, Lady Rozemyne, guide Ehrenfest to victory when it was you yourself who would have come to Dunkelfelger had he won?”

“Because I had no intention of going to Dunkelfelger in the first place,” Rozemyne said calmly.

“…What do you mean by that?”

“I mean exactly what I say. From the start, I never wished to marry Lord Lestilaut. I made this perfectly clear—Lady Hannelore was present at the tea party where I voiced my refusal, as were Dunkelfelger’s own students.”

The room went still. When Rozemyne explained that Lestilaut had forced the challenge upon Ehrenfest, leaving them with no choice but to accept despite being only a middle duchy, Sieglinde's eyes widened in shock. Until now, she had believed both parties had desired the match, only for it to fall through due to Dunkelfelger’s defeat.

“My fiancé is Lord Ferdinand. Our betrothal has the king’s approval. It was Lord Lestilaut who defied this and attempted to take me away,” Rozemyne declared.

“To take you away…?”

“Yes. I do not deny that Dunkelfelger views ditter as sacred, but that is your duchy’s belief alone. Forcing matches upon others because you like them and then attempting to seize them with the Zent’s sword at your side—tell me, is that how a great duchy conducts itself?”

The surrounding nobles stiffened in unease at her blunt words. Sylvester had gone completely pale, but Ferdinand sat beside her with cool composure, making no move to intervene—his silence itself an endorsement of Rozemyne’s stance.

“In Ehrenfest, no such tradition exists. Nor, I dare say, in any other duchy. This is unique to Dunkelfelger. Please understand that it is not common sense elsewhere,” she pressed. “If ditter is to be used for agreements, then rules must be set, and both parties must consent regardless of duchy rank. Otherwise, it is nothing but robbery.”

Hildebrand winced. He recalled that, in the former timeline, chaos had erupted when Dunkelfelger attempted to claim Hannelore through a bride-stealing ditter after she had channeled a goddess. Sigiswald had nearly torn his hair out managing the fallout.

“Lady Rozemyne speaks truly,” Sieglinde admitted at last, exchanging a wry smile with Magdalena. “Though convincing Dunkelfelger’s knights will be no simple matter…”

“You are the only one capable of restraining them, Lady Sieglinde. Please, I beg you, do not permit them to make such reckless challenges,” Rozemyne urged, bowing her head.

“…Very well. I shall speak firmly with Lestilaut,” Sieglinde agreed. Then, glancing at the contract prepared before the match, she asked, “But regarding this clause—Ehrenfest’s right to negotiate terms should they win—what exactly does this entail?”

Rozemyne’s smile deepened. “Simply this: had nothing been written, Ehrenfest would have gained no benefit despite its victory. Ditter requires tremendous resources, and for us, reallocating funds was no small burden. Surely a great duchy would not demand such costs without offering compensation, would it?”

“…No, of course not. Then what is it you seek?”

“The protection of Dunkelfelger.”

The entire table froze.

“Protection? But is Ehrenfest not under Ahrensbach’s umbrella?”

“That is the perception, yes. The reality, however, is quite different. Ehrenfest suffers only exploitation from Ahrensbach.”

She revealed how Ahrensbach had once forced Ehrenfest to shoulder the burden of the Small Holy Grail, and how she herself had nearly been abducted for her mana as a child. Magdalena and Hildebrand both went pale.

“Ahrensbach is already collapsing inward. We cannot afford to sink with them. And… protecting Ehrenfest will serve Dunkelfelger’s own interests. Our paper-making industry, our many fashions and trends—surely you would wish to secure these ahead of other duchies?”

Sieglinde's brow twitched. Rozemyne pressed on.

“If you agree to grant us protection, we will provide these products to Dunkelfelger first, at preferential prices.”

“…I see. Such matters must be discussed at the Archduke Conference. Lord Sylvester, would that be acceptable?”

“Y-yes…” Sylvester stammered, cold sweat dripping down his brow as his adopted daughter negotiated circles around him.

Thus, the Inter-Duchy Tournament concluded. Unsurprisingly, Rozemyne claimed top honors once again.

“…Earning top marks while carrying memories from another life feels almost like cheating,” she murmured.

At that, the royal family members—who had themselves achieved top scores only thanks to their own time-reversal—stiffened.

“Be at ease. Even without those memories, you were exceptional,” they insisted.

“Yes, perhaps. But if possible, I would prefer to yield such honors to others. I already have the experience from another timeline, after all.”

The royals exchanged bitter smiles. For them, the notion of deliberately giving away such prestige had never even crossed their minds. Though Rozemyne meant no harm, her words reminded them yet again of the vast gulf in their capacities.

The following day was the graduation ceremony. Rozemyne and Ferdinand sat side by side among the audience, a sound-blocking magic tool clasped discreetly in their hands.

“It feels strangely moving,” Rozemyne murmured.

“In the former timeline, it was from here that I watched you, Ferdinand-sama, make your entrance.”

“…Indeed,” Ferdinand replied, his eyes drifting far into the distance.

If Rozemyne’s expression was wistful, Ferdinand’s was positively tortured. Without a doubt, he was remembering his humiliating “black history”—walking into this very hall arm-in-arm with Dietlinde.

“I wonder what sort of attire she’ll have today?” Rozemyne asked lightly.

“I would rather not consider it. Such matters are beneath my concern,” Ferdinand said with uncharacteristic sharpness.

Just then, the doors opened and the graduates filed in. But the moment she entered, every gaze in the hall snapped toward her—though certainly not in admiration.

Her hair, styled into towering spirals reminiscent of tornados or seashells, was decorated with lace and crowned by an enormous lavender ribbon—likely chosen to represent Ahrensbach.

With Ferdinand no longer serving as her buffer, Detlinde’s hairstyle had grown even more ludicrous than in the previous timeline. Thankfully, at least, Ehrenfest hairpins were nowhere to be seen.

“I wonder if there’s some kind of support hidden in there,” Rozemyne mused. “A tube, perhaps?”

Just imagining the structure propping up that monstrosity of hair made her smile faintly. Having Ferdinand beside her made it easier to laugh about such things.

“It matters not,” he said curtly. “What concerns me more are the magic stones on her gown. Is she planning to make a spectacle again?”

“…Ah.” Rozemyne averted her gaze.

“You already drew enough attention in this life with your stones, did you not?”

“…That is true,” she admitted in a small voice.

She remembered all too well—how she had overdone it during the ritual dance, causing every magic stone to shine at once. But really, wasn’t it partly Ferdinand’s fault for gifting them to her in the first place? Rozemyne kept the thought to herself.

When the performers took their places for the dedication dance, all eyes turned to Detlinde. The audience buzzed with whispers: Can she really dance with that thing on her head? But the moment the music began, silence fell.

Detlinde stepped forward with Lestilaut, his expression one of deep reluctance. Together they began their slow, formal movements.

The tension was unbearable. Her headpiece looked so heavy that the audience held their breath, waiting for the inevitable collapse. And as the dance grew more vigorous, the magic stones on her gown began to glow faintly, while her towering hairstyle wobbled precariously.

Then came the spins.

First rotation—graceful enough.

Second rotation—centrifugal force took over.

Third rotation—the massive hairstyle swayed like a kabuki wig, whipping from side to side. Rozemyne could almost hear a resounding “YOOO!” as if they were watching theater rather than sacred ritual.

Can she stop? The crowd swallowed hard in unison. Detlinde dug her heels in—yet failed to hold her balance. With a cryless gasp from the audience, she toppled forward.

“Ah—!”

At the last moment, Lestilaut caught her and steadied their posture. Despite the solemnity of the dance, the hall erupted into a cheer, as if they had just witnessed a daring performance.

The dedication dance ended in unprecedented excitement. For just a few seconds, a selection magic circle shimmered faintly above the stage. It was an ending so bizarre, so unforgettable, that the hall buzzed with murmurs of both awe and disbelief.

Voices of praise—and pity—rose for Lestilaut.

“…After everything Lord Lestilaut has put me through—pressuring me, challenging me to ditter—after seeing this, I feel I can forgive it all,”

Rozemyne whispered. “For one’s once-in-a-lifetime stage to end like that…”

“Forgive? You never truly held a grudge in the first place, did you?” Ferdinand remarked dryly.

“…Well, perhaps not.”

Meanwhile, chaos was brewing among the royals. Detlinde’s brief glow of the selection circle had sparked heated whispers: Is she a candidate for Zent?

Though Sigiswald had already caused the circle to shine in this timeline—making the revelation less shocking than before—the announcement that the royals possessed the Grutrissheit was still meant to wait until the next Archduke Conference. Few outside the inner circle knew the truth. And so, naturally, voices began rising: If she’s a candidate, then perhaps she should marry into the royal family.

“I hear there are already calls for Lady Detlinde to become consort to Crown Prince Sigiswald,” Anastasius said with a smirk.

“You must be joking.” Sigiswald scowled.

“Ah, yes—she always did have her eyes on you, brother.”

“I said, you must be joking!”

Detlinde herself was apparently overjoyed, reveling in the idea of being recognized as a Zent candidate. Of course, the royal family had no intention of welcoming her into their ranks, nor did they see any merit in it. But once the crowd began to stir, it was only a matter of time before the entire hall was swept into commotion.

The first council of knowledgeable persons was convened. Alongside the royal family were Adolphine, and, of course, Rozemyne and Ferdinand. In short, it was a council of those who retained memories from the previous timeline.

Trauerqual quietly wished that one day this council could be limited only to those who possessed the Book of Mestionora, freeing him from attendance altogether. Unfortunately, that day was still far off.

Once Trauerqual's attendants had withdrawn, leaving the room clear, Hildebrand activated a range-based eavesdropping prevention charm, signaling the start of the council. Rozemyne had meant to do it herself out of deference to rank, but Hildebrand had insisted, “Please allow the youngest among us to handle it.” His expression was so earnest that Rozemyne had no choice but to relent.

“Now, the foremost topic we must address is the next Zent,” Trauerqual began. “I do not possess the Grutrissheit, and I wish to abdicate the throne as soon as possible.”

“Regarding the use of Grutrissheit by Eglantine and myself, that can be managed. Perhaps the throne may remain with Father for now?”

“No. The throne should be held by someone who possesses the Grutrissheit.”

Trauerqual wanted nothing more than to step down quickly and hand the crown to Anastasius, who held the Grutrissheit. Unfortunately, Anastasius had no desire to ascend. Eglantine, too, having experienced being Zent in the previous timeline, had no appetite for the throne.

“What of Adolphine? Do you wish to become Zent?”

“Not at all. My goal is to become an Aub,” she replied politely.

Adolphine had obtained the Book of Mestionora but had publicly declared her intent to pursue Aubship rather than royal status. Without her own ambitions for the throne, placing her above Anastasius and Eglantine would mirror the same mistakes made in the previous timeline when they had tried to push Rozemyne forward.

“And what of Ferdinand and Rozemyne?” Trauerqual asked.

“As humble candidates for medium territory, we have no backing to claim the throne,” Rozemyne said modestly.

Humble? The royals internally scoffed. Everyone present knew these two had once ruled a major territory as a pair of formidable Aubs. They had bested even the most experienced Aubs and, while not officially Zent, had effectively reigned at the top. Surely they could have gathered support if they wished—but no one could argue against those radiant smiles.

“Hildebrand, what of you?” Trauerqual asked.
“I shall endeavor to obtain the Book of Mestionora, but I wish to support the Zent as a loyal vassal,” he replied.

“Very well. It seems Anastasius will have to assume the throne.”

“No, Father is still young. It is reasonable for him to continue as Zent for a while,” Anastasius added.

Though Trauerqual sighed in mock disappointment, he clearly intended to hand the throne to Anastasius. Anastasius, in turn, preferred to avoid the throne, hoping that the next generation would rise to meet the demands of a true Zent.

Before the debate could spiral further, Sigiswald interrupted.

“Then I shall become Zent.”

All eyes turned to the young prince, some in shock, some furrowing their brows in confusion, and others simply unable to comprehend his statement. Trauerqual buried his face in his hands—how had this child grown so oblivious to social cues? Or perhaps, this was precisely the point of his audacity.

“Sigiswald, you do not possess the Grutrissheit,” Trauerqual pointed out.

“That is true. But neither does Father. If he continues as Zent, it should be acceptable for me to succeed him, should the time come,” Sigiswald replied.

“I have no intention of continuing as Zent.”

“Precisely. Father will not continue. Yet neither Anastasius nor Eglantine wish to be Zent. In that case, why not allow me to take the throne? It benefits everyone involved.”

Remarkably, Sigiswald had not wavered in claiming his role as next Zent. Despite the limited number of royals and the absence of the Grutrissheit, he was determined to actively fulfill the responsibilities of the throne.

“I shall act as the public Zent, handling all official duties. In any instance requiring the use of Grutrissheit, Anastasius and Eglantine may provide support. Fortunately, all the territories are receptive to my appointment,” he explained.

Anastasius nodded quietly. Though he wished to avoid the throne, he could not ignore the situation unfolding before him. Relieved that Sigiswald would shoulder the burdens of the Zent, he quietly accepted the arrangement.

Among those present, all reacted with surprise, frowns, or disbelief—but Rozemyne alone remained calm.

“If you are so eager to be Zent, then by all means, go ahead,” she said.

“Rozemyne?”

“I understand the Zent should hold the Grutrissheit, but concentrating all power in a single person is dangerous. We cannot be certain the Zent will always act wisely.”

The Book of Mestionora was inherently perilous. Properly used, it could guide the world; abused, it could ruin it. Traditionally, multiple holders—including Aubs—maintained a balance of power. Absolute monarchy or dictatorship was a constant threat.

“With Prince Sigiswald, however, there is no Grutrissheit. Absolute power cannot rest in his hands alone. There will always be someone to stop him if he errs. And at worst, he can be removed from the throne,” Rozemyne concluded.

All nodded thoughtfully, except for Sigiswald and Trauerqual, whose faces twitched at the mention of “removal from the throne.”

“Still, the Zent should be the one with Grutrissheit.”

“Father has managed without it, has he not?”

“I wish to avoid the throne if possible,” Trauerqual muttered, exhausted.

The topic shifted, and Adolphine asked,

“Rozemyne-sama, what do you intend to do now? Will you remain in Ehrenfest?”

“No. I wish to take Ahrensbach,” Rozemyne replied casually, as though requesting a snack rather than a territory.

The royals stiffened.

“Are you planning to build Alexandria again?”

“Yes, Zent. In the previous timeline, I was unable to complete my library before my dream was cut short. This time, I intend to finish it.”

“Could you not use old Werkestock? The territory is unclaimed; you could start immediately.”

“No. Ahrensbach is necessary.”

“But there is no foreign threat as before.”

“Leave that matter to me.”

Ferdinand smiled faintly, and the room turned pale. Whatever he had planned, it was certain to proceed exactly as he willed.

“When the time comes, please appoint Rozemyne as royalty and assign her as Aub of Ahrensbach. There will be no issue with her entering the royal family while holding Grutrissheit. We will handle the political groundwork,” Trauerqual instructed.

“Understood. But please report your plans,” Sigiswald replied.

Ahrensbach was already a sinking ship, further complicated by the spectacle of Detlinde at the graduation ceremony. Fortunately, the Aub of Ehrenfest had not seen her—officially, she was recovering and thus absent—spared the sight of that hair disaster.

“And Detlinde? What of her? There are whispers of her marrying Prince Sigiswald, are there not?” Rozemyne asked.

Sigiswald paled. Detlinde’s glow during the dedication dance had prompted speculation of her candidacy as Zent. She herself seemed convinced, spreading rumors that she would marry the next Zent—Sigiswald—and rule jointly.

“Detlinde will become the next Aub. I cannot marry the future Aub,” Sigiswald replied.

“Leave that to Ahrensbach,” Rozemyne said.

Adolphine blinked at him. She had never considered Detlinde a candidate for Zent, and it seemed almost pitiful that Sigiswald even mentioned it.

“I have no intention of welcoming Detlinde into the royal family. Forcing her on Sigiswald would be cruel,” Trauerqual said.

“Yet you assigned her as the fiancée for me in the previous timeline, but now claim Sigiswald may not have to marry her?” Ferdinand countered, smiling.

“Circumstances are different now.”

“Yes. Thanks to the royal family’s efforts, this is a better situation. There is no problem with Sigiswald marrying Detlinde.”

Faced with the twin smiles of Adolphine and Ferdinand, Sigiswald shrank like a withered tree. Rozemyne’s calm, unwavering expression only added a cold wind around him—leaves, or rather hair, fluttering gently to the floor.

Chapter Text

On the first day of the spring lordly council, following Rozemyne’s third year at the Royal Academy, the temple of Ehrenfest was under attack. In the chief priest’s chamber, Ferdinand raised the corner of his mouth upon hearing the news from Justus.

“So, they've been caught,” he said.

“Apparently. Reports have come from Damue that someone resembling Lady Georgine is heading this way.”

“I see. Then let us go.”

Some time later, Georgine, clad in silver cloth, entered the library. Her eyes darted around, cautious, as she searched the shelves containing the Book ofvMestionora. Carefully, she inserted a key into the keyhole of the path leading to the Foundation. When nothing happened, the corner of her mouth that had been lifted in confidence fell into a frown of frustration.

Then, the faint sound of footsteps echoed—tapping steadily. She turned sharply, and her eyes widened at the approaching figures.

“Lord Ferdinand… Why are you here? Weren’t you attending the archduke's conference?”

Ferdinand’s tone was calm, almost teasing. “I’ll return the question to you. This is Ehrenfest Temple, and I am its chief priest. Should my presence here strike you as unusual? Rather, I would ask why the first wife of the Aub of Ahrensbach is here. Now that the Aub has passed, shouldn’t you be attending the conference instead?”

“Grr…”

Georgine tried the key again. Still no response.
“Why won’t it open?”

“The true key remains with the Aub of Ehrenfest. That seems to be a cleverly forged replica.”

Ferdinand’s words were precise. “Eckhart, restrain her. Try to avoid unnecessary injury.”

“Yes, sir.”

Silver cloth or not, Georgine stood no chance against Ferdinand and Eckhart together. Within moments, she was captured.

Meanwhile, Rozemyne faced Graozam in the temple gardens. She had bestowed blessings on the knights from her steed, and it was those knights—Matthias included—who contended with Graozam on her behalf.

By the time the battle concluded, Ordonnanz arrived, reporting, “We have captured Lady Georgine.” Graozam, realizing defeat was inevitable, detonated himself without a moment’s hesitation. There had been no opportunity to intervene.

“Rozemyne, are you unharmed?”

“I am fine. And Lady Georgine?”

“She is secured. I’ve informed Sylvester; he should return once today’s conference concludes.”

Rozemyne’s expression darkened slightly. “It cannot be helped, but when I think of Matthias… I cannot help but feel uneasy.”

Unlike in the previous timeline, no one had been harmed within the temple. Those devoted to Georgine had been captured during the purge, though few were executed. As the investigation proceeded, Ferdinand’s memories returned, and he realized that rather than executing them, their magical energy should be extracted—a decision he had enforced from within their cells.

That evening, after the day’s conference ended, Sylvester hurried home and personally examined Georgine’s memories. It became clear: she had come with the intent to seize Ehrenfest, aided by the Alstede and Detlinde, and she had even poisoned her late husband, Aub of Ahrensbach.

Armed with this information, Ferdinand accompanied Sylvester to the Royal Academy the next day. Before the council began, they headed to the royal palace. Although they had requested a meeting with the Zent the previous night, their sudden arrival left Sylvester clutching his stomach in anxiety. The Aub in question was his responsibility, yet he could not stop Ferdinand as he strode ahead without hesitation.

In the council chamber, the Zent was already present when Sylvester and Ferdinand arrived. Sigiswald entered with them.

“My apologies for the early visit, Zent.”

“It is no matter. I assume the urgency justifies it? Besides, Ferdinand informed me this would occur, so there is no problem.”

Sylvester shot Ferdinand a sharp look. But Ferdinand’s calm expression urged him silently: report quickly.

“Yesterday, Lady Georgine, the first wife of the Aub of Ahrensbach, attempted to seize the Foundation at Ehrenfest. She was intercepted within the temple. Upon examining her memories, various crimes became evident, which I will now report.”

Sylvester spoke, and Ferdinand swiftly handed the Zent a wooden tablet detailing her transgressions. As the Zent’s face tightened while reading, the same tablet was passed to Sigiswald.

“Is Ehrenfest safe?”

“Yes. We prevented any damage in advance.”

“And Lady Georgine?”

“She is confined within the White Tower of Ehrenfest. Regarding Detlinde and the other nobles involved, we could not apprehend them within Ahrensbach itself.”

“Understood. We shall handle them. Detlinde was likely at the Royal Academy. Dispatch the Sovereign Knights immediately, and extend the operation into Ahrensbach to apprehend the Alstede as well.”

Trauerqual instructed his attendants to detain Detlinde and delay the council by half a bell. With Sylvester dismissed and the room cleared, only Trauerqual, Sigiswald, and Ferdinand remained.

“Ha… So things went according to your plan. How did you manage it?”

“Knowing that Georgine would not relinquish Ehrenfest, I merely guided her in our direction.”

Ferdinand had deliberately allowed some of Georgine’s loyalists to escape, enabling her to steal a key to the sacred texts. Of course, the key was a meticulously crafted replica. The temple had borrowed it for ritual use, and rumors spread that it was kept there—making it easy for Georgine to act. The true key had been returned to Sylvester immediately.

As Ferdinand confirmed that the fake key had reached Georgine, he spread rumors of the conference and the upcoming revelation of the path to the Grutrissheit, convincing her that now was her only chance.

“She fell right into place,” Ferdinand said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Trauerqual and Sigiswald felt a chill run down their spines. A warning blared: never make an enemy of this man.

“Once Detlinde is captured, we shall take her into our custody, correct? Or will she remain Prince Sigiswald’s wife?”

“She is unnecessary to me. Leave it to Ferdinand.”

Sigiswald exhaled in relief, unaware that this favor would come with its own weight.

“With Ahrensbach’s ruling family gone, investigations within the territory will uncover countless offenses. I will assist, Prince Sigiswald.”

“Me…?”

“Who else should do it? The dismantling of a great territory requires the direct involvement of royalty. It’s a chance to demonstrate royal capability, is it not, next Zent? Or shall we also… handle Detlinde?”

“I will go!”

Faced with Ferdinand’s radiant smile, he had no choice but to obey.

At the archduke's conference the next day, it was announced that Ahrensbach had attempted to seize Ehrenfest. Shockingly, it was declared that Prince Sigiswald would travel to Ahrensbach, now devoid of its ruling family, to conduct an internal investigation and act temporarily as the Aub’s proxy.

Even this alone was staggering—but the announcements continued. The path to Grutrissheit had been revealed, the royal family already possessed it, and Sigiswald had been officially designated the next Zent, with succession scheduled approximately two years hence.

Who precisely held the Grutrissheit remained unspoken. Yet, with Sigiswald named as the next Zent, most assumed he was its possessor. Letting them misinterpret on their own was harmless enough.

It was further clarified that those who obtained the Grutrissheit would be treated as royalty, in accordance with their own wishes. Normally, lord candidates could not move between territories except through marriage, but Grutrissheit holders were exempt, and compensation for the affected lands would be negotiated on a case-by-case basis.

After the chaotic conference concluded, the temple of Ehrenfest—which had endured the Ahrensbach assault—held a debriefing of the conference's events. Sylvester, seeking someone to listen to his grievances, dragged Ferdinand and Rozemyne into a small chamber, only to find himself embroiled in yet more confusion.

“Wait, Ferdinand… you’re going to Ahrensbach?”

“Yes. The aftermath of a lordless Ahrensbach requires my attention. I’ll likely be traveling back and forth between Ehrenfest and Ahrensbach for some time.”

“Why must you go? Didn’t they announce that Prince Sigiswald would act as the Aub’s proxy?”

“That alone would be far too unreliable.”

“Do not call the next Zent ‘that fellow’!”

Inside the chamber, the four present were Rozemyne, who had quickly activated a range-specific anti-eavesdropping magical device; Sylvester, flustered and shouting; Ferdinand; and Karstedt. Rozemyne wore an unconcerned expression, muttering, “They’re very close, aren’t they?”—in stark contrast to Karstedt, whose eyes widened at the scene before him.

“Still confidential, but in a year, Rozemyne will join the royal family as a Grutrissheit holder and become the Aub of Ahrensbach. Formally, Ahrensbach will be abolished, and she will be the Aub of the newly formed territory.”

“Huh!?”

“That’s why I’ll be going there for internal investigation and reconstruction. Rozemyne will remain at Ehrenfest, so it should manage without me, yes?”

“I had hoped to go as well, but it cannot be helped.”

“Of course. Ahrensbach is still unstable. What if anything were to happen to you?”

“The same goes for you, Ferdinand-sama. Please take care.”

While Sylvester froze in shock, Ferdinand and Rozemyne exchanged concerned glances, their focus entirely on each other. Outside, the scene might appear tender—but Karstedt, slightly calmer, gave Ferdinand a sidelong glare. Even a daughter’s attachment to her adopted father could feel painfully irritating to him.

“Ah… can you two stop your flirting and explain the situation? Rozemyne will be the Aub?”

“Yes. Though, I think Ferdinand-sama could be the Aub as well.”

“Are you suggesting I take a second or third wife?”

“No, of course not. Your adoptive father, after all, has only Lady Florencia.”

Their bickering continued, and Karstedt felt a peculiar bitterness—sweet yet strangely sour. Meanwhile, Sylvester slowly recovered upon hearing the word “Florencia.”

“Just because one obtains the Grutrissheit does not mean they must join the royal family, correct? Could Rozemyne not remain at Ehrenfest?”

“If she remains at Ehrenfest, she will inevitably be made the Aub. With so few Grutrissheit holders now, voices will rise not only in Leisegang but from other territories as well. Even I could not stop that.”

“Ugh…”

“We’ve long prepared for excursions outside. You two should manage just fine.”

In their previous lifetime, Ehrenfest had descended into chaos after the two departed. Ferdinand had anticipated leaving for Ahrensbach, but Rozemyne had not been scheduled to leave. This time, he had trained Ehrenfest to function even in their absence. Now, the outcome rested on Sylvester's skill.

“Why did Rozemyne have to obtain the Grutrussheit?”

“That was beyond anyone’s control. If you have complaints, take them to the royal family or the goddess.”

“I cannot possibly do that! That was close—if the royal family hadn’t possessed it, she might have been pushed to become Zent… or worse…”

Rozemyne, having already lived through the “worse,” merely smiled ambiguously.

“By the way, Ferdinand, did you know that the royal family had the Grutrissheit? You weren’t surprised during the conference. Don’t tell me… you have it too?”

“Yes.”

“What? Since when?”

“Since my student days.”

“Quite some time ago! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I told you it would have been dangerous if anyone knew at the time. Imagine the fate of a lowly lord candidate obtaining the Grutrissheit in the middle of a political upheaval. Besides, your mother might have acted first.”

Sylvester's face cycled through red, blue, pale, and red again in rapid succession.

“So, Ferdinand allowed Rozemyne to obtain it?”

“No. I tried to prevent it. Though… I did hope she’d glance at the Goddess’s Books—not that she intended to take it.”

“You hoped?!”

“They are the Goddess’s Books! How could I not think about them? I restrained myself, which I believe deserves praise.”

“Yet she obtained it in the end. Return it at once!”

“That’s impossible.”

Amid the commotion, Ferdinand calmly reached for a cookie.

“Changing the subject… Georgine will remain in the White Tower of Ehrenfest. Detlinde as well.”

“Huh!? What are you planning?”

“Keep them in the White Tower together. Your mother will enjoy the lively company. Perhaps allow them a tea party?”

“You, who harbor only resentment toward my mother, are… considerate?”

Ferdinand’s smile was chillingly serene. Sylvester's face twitched; he regretted opening his mouth.

“I merely thought it would yield good magical energy. Ehrenfest has none to waste.”

Indeed, when a tea party was later permitted for the guilty mother, daughter, and granddaughter, an ample amount of magical energy was extracted—and the gathering seemed to reinvigorate their vitality. From then on, the White Tower occasionally echoed with the lively voices of women, though exactly what they discussed remained largely unknown due to the tower’s seclusion.

After the funeral of Gieselfried, the Aub of Ahrensbach, in the summer, Ferdinand, accompanied by Justus and Eckhart, finally entered Ahrensbach in earnest.

For Ferdinand, the castle was a place he knew well. Yet, officially, it was his first visit under the guise of assisting Prince Sigiswald. He was shown around the castle once before being led to the study. Familiar faces among the scholars brought a faint softening to his eyes, though nobles he had once kept at a distance in the previous timeline were notably absent.

In the study, Sigiswald was waiting. Normally fearful of Ferdinand, the prince visibly relaxed upon seeing him, a testament to the severity of the situation.

“Thank you for coming.”

“I did not expect to hear such words from Prince Sigiswald, but I appreciate the welcome. First, could you brief me on the state of affairs?”

Ferdinand already had a rough understanding of the situation. Still, with scholars present, he let Sigiswald speak first, letting him take the lead. Once the overview was given, Ferdinand began gathering the piles of wooden tablets that had toppled in chaotic heaps, examining them one by one.

The mountain of tablets visibly shrank under his skilled hands, drawing astonished glances from the scholars and Sigiswald alike. All eyes instinctively followed Ferdinand’s swift movements.

“What’s happening? Why has everyone stopped?”

Ferdinand’s simple glance prompted the scholars to hastily resume work. Though he meant only to observe, his impassive presence was enough to intimidate the inexperienced. Justus, watching the scene, let out a quiet laugh.

“Ferdinand-sama, perhaps you should take a short break?”

“Ah… is it that time already? Very well, everyone, let us pause. I brought sweets from Ehrenfest, so enjoy them. Prince Sigiswald, would you like some as well?”

“I will take some, thank you.”

With Ferdinand’s encouragement and the bounty of sweets Rozemyne had brought, the scholars' productivity soared. “A carrot and a stick,” Rozemyne had called it. Preparing the scholars for what lay ahead would be crucial.

Interestingly, among those to be trained was Sigiswald himself. Contrary to Ferdinand’s expectations—predicting a level akin to Sylvester before training—the prince demonstrated remarkable administrative skill. Perhaps his experience as an Aub in the previous timeline, combined with diligent effort in this one, had paid off. Ferdinand adjusted his estimation upward—just slightly.

“Prince Sigiswald, please take care of these tablets.”

“Understood.”

Ferdinand observed Sigiswald finishing the task effortlessly and, with a courteous smile, added more tablets to the pile. Sigiswald, smiling back, dutifully completed them, only for Ferdinand to stack yet more.

“Ferdinand, isn’t this too much?”

“Rozemyne is frail, yet she managed this amount with ease. I believe the next Zent, Prince Sigiswald, can handle it comfortably, yes?”

The two exchanged smiling glares, leaving those around them timidly keeping their distance. Sigiswald wanted to protest the ever-growing pile, yet Ferdinand consistently outpaced him. And with the reminder that he was the future Zent, resistance was futile.

To be fair, Sigiswald had partly brought this upon himself. In casual conversation, he had spoken of his newborn son, and remarked, “You still have time until your Star Weaving,” inadvertently giving Ferdinand an excuse to escalate the workload. Though innocent in intent, it provided ample justification.

Ferdinand’s reasons for piling on the work were ambiguous: training the prince for his future role, stabilizing the territory swiftly, revenge for past misdeeds against Rozemyne, or simply venting his own whims. Justus watched quietly, suppressing laughter, wishing he could share a drink with Eckhart and discuss freely—but he maintained composure in the presence of royalty.

During breaks in the work, Ferdinand discreetly dyed the foundation. Normally, this would be Sigiswald’s duty as acting Aub, but the prince claimed that magical energy supply as royalty required his attention. Ferdinand, already planning for Rozemyne to one day become Aub, handled it himself without hesitation. When Sigiswald noticed, he could only ask with a strained expression, “You’ve already finished re-dyeing?”

It took little time before the entire study—and the castle—seemed to revolve around Ferdinand. Since Gieselfried’s passing, the top positions had been occupied by Georgine, uninterested in politics, and Detlinde, whose presence only created more complications. Scholars, previously overwhelmed and unrecognized for their work, became utterly devoted to Ferdinand as he cleared tasks with relentless efficiency.

The knights, too, began restructuring under Ferdinand’s guidance. Initially resistant, they could not help but respond when Ferdinand, a mere candidate lord, decisively bested them in exercises and taunted, “Is this all you can do, knights of a great territory?” Some who had overlapped with Ferdinand’s academic period already held him in high regard, and gradually, all but a few came firmly under his influence. The remaining dissenters would be judged when Rozemyne assumed the Aubship.

Ferdinand and Sigiswald shared the same room during administrative duties. Though Sigiswald was technically acting Aub, most scholars followed Ferdinand’s orders and reported to him. “Speaking directly to royalty can be intimidating,” one of Sigiswald’s retainers murmured in comfort. Yet the stacks of tablets nearly obscured Sigiswald entirely, effectively creating a barricade between him and anyone wishing to approach.

“Prince Sigiswald, these tablets normally require the Aub’s approval, but… there’s hardly any room left to place them.”

“Who’s responsible for this?”

“If you grant permission, I can handle them here. How would you like to proceed?”

Though speaking to the acting Aub, Ferdinand implied that if Sigiswald wanted to avoid the work, he would need to grant authorization. Soon, the territory would belong to Ferdinand and Rozemyne anyway.

“Leave it to you, then.”

“I am grateful. I will handle this batch. I will attend to the knights—please manage these.”

“W-Wait, Ferdinand!”

As another pile was added, a portion collapsed when Sigiswald rose, but Ferdinand departed the study without concern. The prince’s desk remained buried under a mountain of wooden tablets—just as it had all day.

Chapter Text

While Ferdinand’s boot camp was underway in Ahrensbach, a different kind of boot camp was taking place in Ehrenfest—Rozemyne's boot camp.

Sylvester, ever eager to see Rozemyne take part in social duties in place of the pregnant Florencia, had his suggestion promptly rejected by Ferdinand and even scolded by Charlotte, shrinking into a smaller figure than usual. Then, when Sylvester suggested that Ferdinand handle the social duties instead, Rozemyne immediately shut him down, and Charlotte scolded him again, making him shrink further.

Ferdinand, usually indulgent toward Sylvester, would have tapped his temple and offered a compromise to smooth things over, but now that Ferdinand had gone to Ahrensbach, Slyvester had no reliable younger brother to rely on. And Rosemine, experienced as an Aub in her own right, was no pushover.

“Adoptive Father, this is Aub-level work. It must be handled by the Aub personally. However, while it looks like Aub work at first glance, most of it can be done by scholars. These wooden tabs only require your final confirmation and signature,” Rosemine explained, gesturing to the piles.

“Um… I see.”

“First, let’s sort them properly. The scholars have already been trained by Ferdinand-sama, so if you can sort them efficiently, even these massive stacks will be done in a single day.”

“Just one day!?”

Rosemine pointed to the two separate stacks of wooden tabs, carefully explaining. These were tabs that could be shown outside the Aub's office, excluding any confidential matters. The lower pile contained items Sylvester had to personally handle, while the higher stacks were tasks that could be done by anyone, not necessarily the Aub.

“Can it really be reduced this much?”

“Yes. Of course, you must trust capable scholars. I’ve already purged untrustworthy ones, so the scholars currently in the castle are fine. With this amount, I believe you can handle it without difficulty.”

“I see…” Sylvester nodded, forcing a smile at his adopted daughter, whose eyes sparkled with that unyielding resolve inherited from her younger brother, and began tackling the wooden slips.

“Adoptive Father, for future work, I recommend appointing capable scholars regardless of rank for tasks that don’t require magic. Most of my retainers are mid- or lower-level, yet they perform more than adequately.”

Indeed, Rosemine’s retainers, though not of high rank, worked efficiently. Considering that most castle positions were held by  archnobles, a sudden shift would be difficult. Still, Sylvester began to understand, and he set about the work.

“Please provide the list of scholars to train. I want to observe their interactions with merchants firsthand. Also, Adoptive Father, please call Wilfried and Charlotte into the office so we can work together.”

“But they are still minors.”

“I am also a minor, Adoptive Father. Wilfried is in the same school year as me, and I was already handling work at Charlotte’s age. If you do not intend to put them away from duties in Ehrenfest, they must learn early.”

Sylvester hesitated but agreed. From that day, Wilfried, Charlotte, and their retainers began working in the office. Wilfried tackled tasks at his own pace, while Charlotte threw herself into the work enthusiastically. Surrounded by his children, Sylvester could no longer escape.

“Rozemyne, isn’t this a bit too harsh?” he asked.

“Oh, Adoptive Father, I once did more than twice this amount without complaint. I’ve even had additional tasks piled on.”

“Um… true.”

“Education isn’t just about pampering without action. And, I think I’m far gentler than Ferdinand-sama would be.”

Hearing this, Wilfried and Charlotte shivered slightly at the thought of Ferdinand’s training.

“While I work, isn’t it unfair that Wilfried gets to read books?” Charlotte pouted.

“I’m not reading books!” Wilfried protested.

“You should read a bit more, Brother.”

“Charlotte…”

Had Ferdinand been here, he would have scolded, “Stop talking and move your hands!” Rozmyne allowed it this time. Strictness without engagement serves no purpose.

“I will accompany the clerks to meet the merchants. Hartmut, are preparations ready?”

“Yes, no problem.”

“Adoptive Father, if you have free time, would you like to come along?”

“Do I look free to you? Haven’t you noticed these mountains of slips!?”

The merchants led by Benno, summoned to the castle instead of the temple, were already uneasy at the prospect of visiting the lord’s residence. Surrounded by a crowd of scholars, their stomachs churned with nerves. It was like standing in front of the many stern Zantze, only worse—here, the lord himself was present. Why did the lord have to attend negotiations with commoners?

Rozemyne, smiling serenely, sat gracefully at the table.

“Benno, I apologize for calling you here today. It’s crucial to train scholars capable of negotiating with commoners. That’s why they are observing these talks. It may feel constrained, surrounded by nobles, but please proceed as usual.”

Benno clenched his fists inwardly, thinking, This brat!, but said with a bow, “It is an honor if I can be of reference.” Of course, he could not proceed ‘as usual.’ Internally, he grumbled, I will remember this, yet there was no way to say that to the adoptive lord’s daughter, especially while surrounded by multiple nobles and with the lord sitting beside her. Any sign of disrespect would be fatal.

Benno couldn’t help noticing something slightly different about her. As a noble, she had learned to maintain composure, but there was a dignity here he hadn’t felt before. Yet, of course, this was Myne. He’d long since accepted that whatever he felt was simply her way.

After the usual greetings, the meeting began. The unusual sight of commoners sitting alongside Rozemyne at the same table, with nobles standing along the walls observing, struck the schola as incredible.

“So, would thirty days be acceptable for this delivery?” Rosemine asked.

“That will be difficult,” Benno replied.

“Why not?”

“The craftsmen capable of this are limited. They are currently working on orders from other territories. To maintain quality, we need a bit more time.”

“I understand. Then please discuss with the craftsmen and let us know the revised deadline.”

“Yes, of course.”

Rozemyne

carefully listened to each discussion and adopted the merchants’ suggestions where necessary. To her, this was normal, but to the scholars, it was astonishing. A lord’s orders typically end with a command. Here, Rozemyne considered the workers’ opinions and even deferred her own requests when needed, earning their trust.

After the merchants left, Rozemyne held a study session with the scholars.

“Benno mentioned that the craftsmen are working on orders from other territories. Delaying them would damage Ehrenfest’s credibility,” she explained.

“You could just have them finish both orders by the deadline,” a clerk suggested.

“Would you be able to complete mountains of additional tabs perfectly, without rest or food, just because someone demanded it? Could you guarantee flawless work?”

“…No.”

“The same applies to commoners. Pushing them to exhaustion will lead to mistakes and declining quality. But if we listen to them and offer benefits, they will produce even better work. Long-term, which approach benefits everyone most, do you think?”

The scholars exchanged looks of surprise, curiosity, and understanding. Rozemyne needed them to absorb this lesson before she moved on.

“Let’s do our best, everyone—scholars, and Adoptive Father,” she said, smiling brightly. The scholars’ faces fell at the same time, drained but determined.

Meanwhile, Benno slumped in the carriage, utterly spent.

“Sir, you look dreadful.”

“Can you blame me? How did it come to this?”

“It’s Rozemyne-sama. This is the fate of anyone who decides to get involved.”

“Ah, enough already!”

Little did Benno know that a later request to hasten Ferdinand’s return to Ahrensbach would make his life even more chaotic.

By the time Ferdinand had been traveling back and forth between Ehrenfest and Ahrensbach, Sigiswald had been shuttling between the sovereign territories and Ahrensbach, and Eglantine had safely delivered her daughter—Anastasius was completely giddy—the winter session of the Royal Academy began once more.

At the reception table, Anastasius and Hildebrand sat side by side in the royal seats. Last year, Eglantine had been present here as the teacher for the lord-candidate course, but this year, Magdalena took her place.

“The threads of the Goddess of Time, Dregarnuhr, have intertwined once more, allowing us to be present here today,” Anastasius intoned formally.

The three lord-candidates from Ehrenfest approached, and Wilfried stepped forward to represent them, delivering his greeting. Hildebrandt responded with a neutral, “We have high expectations for Ehrenfest this year as well.”

When Rozemyne lifted her gaze, Hildebrand's heart skipped a beat. Returning from last year’s garden gathering, she now looked her age, and somehow a little more mature than before.

“Magdalena-sama is the teacher for the lord-candidate course this year?” Hildebrand asked, curious.

“No,” Anastasius corrected. “Magdalena-sama will teach the newly mandatory course in Old Language. I will handle the lord-candidate course.”

In their previous life, the royal family had no time to spare, and Eglantine had been forced to teach immediately after giving birth. This time, she was able to take a proper rest. Magdalena would handle Old Language this year, but a different teacher would take over next year.

“Thank you, Anastasius-sensei, Magdalena-sensei. By the way, Prince Anastasius…”

“Yes?”

“You seem to be… smiling rather mischievously.”

Anastasius straightened his back, and both Magdalena and Hildebrand stifled quiet chuckles.

As Rosemine stepped down from the royal seats to greet the higher-ranking territories, countless eyes followed her. Though her talismans were hidden beneath her clothes, and she was no longer unusually small as she had been at the start of her studies, many were drawn simply by her presence and beauty.

Even during lunch after the greetings, every movement of Rosemine attracted attention. At the royal table, the three of them quietly observed her.

“Brother Anastasius, look at how everyone’s watching Rozemyne,” Hildebrand whispered.

“Ah… they’re all practically drooling. Do they not realize how dangerous it would be to make a move?”

“After last year’s Dunkelfelger–Ditter incident, they probably won’t try.”

“I hope not. I don’t want to deal with it. Hildebrand, you too—stay back, alright?”

“Of course. If Rozemyne were nearby, my heart wouldn’t survive in more ways than one. It’s better to watch from a distance.”

Hildebrand's gaze lingered on Rozemybe as though she were an idol. Anastasius felt as if his younger brother existed in a completely different world.

“And besides… the other party is Ferdinand. Ferdinand is incredible,” Hildebrand continued, eyes shining.

“Eh?”

Anastasius recalled the countless times Rosemine herself had exclaimed in their previous life, “Ferdinand is amazing!” He had never expected to hear the same words from his younger brother.

“His work is efficient, flawless, and as a knight, he is strong. I haven’t seen it myself, but I hear he is also excellent at Harspiel and dance,” Hildebrand continued, practically sparkling with excitement. “I want to see Ferdinand and Rozemyne standing side by side—it would be beautiful.”

Anastasius stared blankly, while Magdalena pressed a hand to her forehead, unsure whether to laugh or groan.

“We went to Ahrensbach at Prince Sigiswald’s request to assist there. It was meant to help with Hildebrand's education, and the Zent approved it. But seeing Ferdinand at work—how he handled mountains of wooden tabs beside Sigiswald, delegating tasks to subordinates perfectly, and training knights—I think Hildebrand became utterly enamored. Hearing about Ferdinand’s accomplishments from contemporaries among Ahrensbach scholar and knights cemented it.”

“The tabs Ferdinand gave me always pushed me to my limits. More would keep coming, and it was tough, but I could feel myself growing. I wanted to learn even more from him,” Hildebrand admitted, eyes sparkling.

“Seriously? I would never want that,” Anastasius muttered.

“Seeing how Rozemyne must have been trained… I understand now why it was so hard. But when she was handed the wooden tabs and told, ‘Go ahead,’ well… I can only imagine,” Hildebrandt finished, still glowing with admiration.

Anastasius quietly turned his gaze away from his brother. Magdalena could only stand by, unsure how to respond.

“Because Hildebrand kept following Ferdinand everywhere, Ferdinand himself complained to me that, as a mother, I should intervene,” Magdalena said, sighing.

“That sounds… exhausting.”

“Hildebrand even said to me, ‘Mother, don’t you understand how amazing Ferdinand is?’”

Magdalena buried her face in her hands. Have I failed at educating him again? she thought, and Anastasius had no words to console her.

As expected, Rozemyne breezed through her lectures, completing every task with astonishing speed. The students of Ehrenfest, in contrast, wore grim expressions while turning in remarkably good results. Since this year was to be Rozemyne's last as a student of Ehrenfest, she seemed especially eager, leaving Wilfried and Charlotte—the ones tasked with keeping her in check—looking somewhat pitiful.

The lectures for the lord-candidates began in the small hall, where Rozemyne joined the other candidates this year. Last year, she had taken separate exams due to her time in the Garden of Beginnings, but now she was gathered with everyone else. Anastasius stood at the podium, distributing miniature models of the territories, signaling the start of practical exercises.

“First, recolor the miniature garden, then create the supply chamber and register the magic stones. Next, transform the magic stones into gold powder… and begin.”

As the other students concentrated, channeling their magic into their models, Rozemyne's model was already completed, ready to move to the next step. She held the mana stone, which quietly transformed into gold powder without the slightest strain, leaving her classmates wide-eyed.

With an almost hum-like serenity, she sketched her designs, muttering “Stylo,” and began tracing the magic circle. She built the supply chamber, linked the magical tools, and connected the supply stones seamlessly.

Even considering the slight acceleration from the temple’s review of rituals, Rozemyne speed was extraordinary. Anastasius approached her cautiously, whispering, “You’re… too fast.”

“Oh, but Prince Anastasius, I cannot afford to go slowly. I must return to my territory for the dedicatio ceremony, and above all, I still need time to read,” Rozemyne replied lightly.

“You should at least pace yourself with the others. They’ll lose confidence… including me,” he sighed. Anastasius forced a smile, trying to reassure the other students, “It’s fine to use Rozemyne as a model, but don’t worry if you can’t keep up.”

Rozemyne, nearly done with her model, furrowed her brows in thought.

“Is something the matter?” Anastasius asked.

“Prince Anastasius… no, teacher,” she corrected.

“I was wondering if it would be possible to increase the number of mana stones registered to enter the supply chamber?”

Only seven people could enter the supply chamber, and she was suggesting an increase.

“That’s based on the number of the Supreme Gods and the five great deities—”

“I know, but without registering the stones in the supply chamber, they can’t enter the underground library, right? Seven is fine for the actual users, but I thought it might be alright to register a few extra for safety.”

As she spoke, her hands moved over the Shtarp with effortless precision, yet the motions were complex.

“Oh, this might work…” she muttered.

“Wait, wait, stop—” Anastasius warned.

“Ah! I failed… I thought it was just a little more.”

Hearing that even Rosemine could fail made Anastasius breathe a small sigh of relief.

“Isn’t it dangerous if anyone could increase them at will?” he asked.

“I won’t increase them that much. I heard that during the winter, stones registered for the students’ supply chamber can be removed, so I just wanted to ensure access to the underground library.”

“You don’t have many members of the lord family in your territory, do you?” he asked.

“That’s true, but…”

Wherever “your territory” referred to—Ehrenfest or Alexandria—seven was surely sufficient in either place.

“Oh, if I add this symbol here, it might work?” Rosemine suggested.

“Don’t do it!” Anastasius snapped.

“Eh? Why not?”

“Not without consulting Ferdinand first.”

“I suppose he’d scold me… then I’ll leave it.”

“If you think he’d scold you, then don’t even try!”

In their excitement, they had nearly forgotten the lecture, drawing curious glances from the students. Some stared in awe, while many struggled to hide their laughter.

“Thanks to Rozemyne, my authority is gone,” Anastasius muttered bitterly.

“Oh, I think it’s far better to be seen as a friendly teacher rather than an arrogant royal who only flaunts opinion and power,” Rosemine replied cheerfully.

Nearby, Hannelore chuckled, whispering, “You two are quite close.” Anastasius quietly moved closer to Wilfried.

“Wilfried, don’t tell anyone, alright?”

“Of course not. I’d hate to see uncle’s mood sour too,” Wilfried replied.

With no retainers present, Ferdinand would never hear that Anastasius and Rosemine had been speaking so amicably during the lecture—though Anastasius was only performing his role as teacher.

By the end of the day, Rosemine had already completed the next session’s material, finishing far ahead of everyone else.

At the annual dedication ceremony held at the Royal Academy, Rozemyne was absent. The main purpose of the ceremony was to replenish the kingdom’s deficient royal magic, though officially it was to teach divine rites. For Rozemyne, there was no need to learn the rituals, as she had returned to Ehrenfest to participate in the local dedication ceremony.

Ferdinand would attend the ceremony in Ahrensbach, where the temple had been in disarray and was undergoing reforms.

“This year, Ferdinand won’t be present, so things will be difficult. Next year, I will also be absent, so I must prepare while I still can,” Rozemyne said as she returned to her territory with Wilfried.

To ensure the lord-candidates were not absent, Wilfried returned to the Royal Academy for the ceremony, while Charlotte stayed to participate in the local ceremony after its conclusion.

The ceremony, led by Anastasius as temple head, concluded without issue. While helping clean up, Anastasius noticed Wilfried’s ashen face.

“What’s wrong, Wilfried? Have you taken your restorative potion?”

“I did. The Royal Academy’s dedication ceremony is beautiful, and it doesn’t drain much magic. But…”

Wilfried looked utterly drained, lacking the usual vitality of youth. Anastasius guessed that the students’ ceremony at Ehrenfest had extracted plenty of magic.

“Rosemine told me that dedicating one’s territory’s mana is a natural duty for members of the lord family. She said two restorative potions a day are fine, so I kept offering, taking potions, resting, offering again… it was harsh,” Wilfried explained, staring up at the altar with relief at being back at the academy.

Charlotte, who would soon return to the territory, changed her expression at the sight of her brother. Seeing both of them, Anastasius said, “You’ve done enough. Go rest.”

As Wilfried and Charlotte exchanged nervous smiles and encouragements, Anastasius quietly wished for happiness for Ehrenfest, watching their departing figures.

At the beginning of spring, Rozemyne, having finished her fourth year as the top student, moved from Ehrenfest to Ahrensbach, accompanied by her retainers.

Returning to the office after overseeing the recoloring of the foundation, she remarked in an unsettling tone, “I’m not sure if it actually recolored properly, but I filled it to the maximum just in case.”

Ferdinand responded casually, “I see,” but Sigiswald didn’t miss the words.

“What do you mean, it didn’t recolor?” he asked.

“How do you mean?” Ferdinand replied lightly.

“There… well…” Sigiswald faltered. Having served as an Aub in Korinthsdaum in a previous life, he knew the labor involved in recoloring and the reactions that should follow. Ferdinand had mentioned that he had temporarily stopped supplying, leaving little residual magic. That Rosemine had filled it to the brim in such a short time was remarkable enough—but now she claimed she couldn’t even tell if it had worked?

“Something’s happening, isn’t it?” Sigiswald thought.

Ferdinand smiled faintly at him, and Sigiswald fell silent. He had learned something during his stay in Ahrensbach: never meddle unnecessarily. Any attempt to argue would only increase the stack of wooden tablets, and he would be no match for Ferdinand in words.

As the Archduke's Conference drew near, the great hall filled with Ahrensbach nobles, all gathered for the foundation ceremony of Alexandria.

The officials first recounted the invasion of Ehrenfest by Georgine, a member of Ahrensbach's former ruling family, and revealed the numerous crimes uncovered during the investigation. The dissolution of Ahrensbach was now inevitable.

Thanks to prior arrangements, there was no chaos, yet many nobles slumped in despair at the loss of the land they had served so long. Simultaneously, they paled at the enormity of the crimes and the consequences that would befall them.

Rozemyne then stepped onto the platform, announcing that she would guide this land as Alexandria. Unlike in the previous timeline, she was no divine incarnation who had healed the land torn apart by the war with Lanzenawe. Therefore, many nobles regarded the sudden appearance of this young girl as Aub with sharp, skeptical eyes.

Still, Rozemyne smiled gently. Familiar faces—alongside nobles who, in the past life, had never survived the Lanzenawe campaign—looked on. Those she could not save before now stood before her.

Sigiswald’s role was to show that these arrangements and appointments were sanctioned by the king’s authority. Officially, they would be confirmed at the Archduke's conference in a few days, but nothing would overturn them.

“As representatives of the royal family, we recognize the dissolution of Ahrensbach and the foundation of Alexandria, with Rozemyne appointed as the first Aub,” he announced.

He continued, outlining matters already decided: Rozemyne and Ferdinand’s engagement was to be treated as a royal command; as Rozemyne was still a minor, Ferdinand would act as her Aub proxy in her absence; and the former Ahrensbach lands of Werkestock would fall under royal management.

Rosemine followed with her inaugural speech, detailing her plans. In the previous timeline, she had hastily restored areas destroyed in Entwickeln, but this time, with no destruction, some developments remained undone. She seemed displeased that the library had yet to be built but promised it would be completed during summer in Entwickeln. As she spoke with sparkling eyes, Ferdinand tried to rein her in, gripping her reins like a wary rider, and Sigiswald struggled to maintain a composed, royal expression.

“Let us build Alexandria together into a magnificent city of libraries!” Rosemine concluded.

The nobles gawked, astonished at the audacity of the young girl’s vision. Sigiswald understood their feelings well, and inwardly, he sent his support to the people of Alexandria.

“Pray to the gods!”

Almost all the nobles raised their hands in unison, offering their prayers. Rozemyne's blessings shimmered brightly throughout the great hall, and the new territory of Alexandria officially began.

“Prince Sigiswald, thank you for your tireless efforts for Alexandria,” a noble said.

With his role as Aub’s proxy concluded, Sigiswald would return to the central government to prepare as the next Zent. Though his responsibilities would grow, he felt an inexplicable sense of relief.

“Please visit again anytime,” Rozemyne said cheerfully.

“No, I won’t come back,” he replied.

“Don’t say that. You must see how Entwikkeln’s cityscape has changed,” she insisted.

“Prince Hildebrand was interested, so I’ll leave it to him,” Sigiswald replied.

Standing beside Rozemyne at the transfer circle, Ferdinand smiled at Sigiswald.

“Did something happen between you two?” she asked.

“Nothing at all,” Ferdinand answered.

Their sparkling smiles met, and Rosemine tilted her head in puzzlement, wondering when they had become so close.

“Until we meet again at the lord assembly,” Sigiswald said.

Worn from the long ceremony, he boarded the transfer circle with a serene smile and light, feather-like steps, disappearing from sight.

Chapter Text

In the spring following her fourth year at the Royal Academy, during the archduke's conference, Alexandria was officially recognized as a new duchy. It was publicly declared that Rozemyne possessed a Grutrissheit, and after being incorporated into the royal family, she was appointed by royal decree as Alexandria’s first Aub.

Naturally, voices of protest arose—how could an underage girl possibly serve as an Aub? Yet the very fact that she bore a Grutrissheit, coupled with the prior groundwork laid among the higher-ranking duchies, ensured that her appointment was approved with surprising ease.

At her side stood Ferdinand, acknowledged by royal command as her betrothed, assisting her with quiet dignity. Some of those gathered watched his smile with sparkling eyes and whispered about how handsome he was, others compared him to Gervasio, and a few even shuddered beneath the weight of his aura. Reactions varied greatly.

The newly announced territorial rankings were as follows:

First place — Klassenberg.
Second — Drewanchel.
Third — Dunkelfelger.
Fourth — Gilessenmeyer.
Fifth — Haufretze.
Alexandria ranked sixth.

Gilessenmeyer held its position thanks to being the duchy of Trauerqual's first wife, while Hauchletzete owed its standing to being Princess k

 . . Nahelache's homeland. Yet slowly but surely, meritocracy was beginning to outweigh pedigree. The gulf between the winners and losers of the recent political upheaval was gradually closing, meaning that for some time to come, rankings were likely to shift frequently.

It was also announced that Gervasio had obtained a Grutrissheit. According to what he had privately reported to the royal family, some of his citizens—descendants of immigrants from Lanzenave—wished to reopen the border gate to reconnect with their homeland, or even to return and rule there as royalty once more. Gervasio, he explained, had taken the Grutrissheit to restrain such sentiments.

“But such people are only a small minority. The great majority of my citizens are content with the peace they now enjoy. My only wish is for those who came from Lanzenave to live quietly and serenely as nobles of Yurgenschmidt. I have no intention of opposing the royal family.”

He had no desire to become Zent. In fact, he expressed gratitude toward Trauerqual for accepting his people so peacefully.

Under his leadership, his duchy had risen from the very bottom of the rankings to fifteenth place. With his first wife and three children now established as the archducal family, and with his lands steadily flourishing, many predicted his rank would continue to rise.

When the day’s conference concluded, the hall became a place of information exchange. It was then that Gervasio approached Rozemyne to exchange greetings as fellow archdukes. All eyes turned toward them, especially as Ferdinand stood beside her—the two men most often spoken of lately now face to face.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Gervasio’s gaze shifted to Ferdinand.

“Ferdinand.”

“Do you require something of me?” Ferdinand replied, his dazzling smile paired with a subtle movement as he stepped forward, shielding Rozemyne ever so slightly. Though Gervasio was unlikely to attack outright, Ferdinand’s sharp senses perceived the man’s considerable mana. That alone marked him as someone to be wary of.

“You need not be so on guard,” Gervasio said easily. “Ahrensbach and Lanzenave were once deeply entwined. Though our positions have changed, I merely wished to affirm that, as duchy to duchy, I look forward to maintaining good relations.”

“I see.”

“And besides…”

Gervasio’s eyes flicked to Rozemyne, whom Ferdinand was almost protectively trying to hide behind himself. His lips curved into a faint smile.

“My wife is the more beautiful.”

The surrounding ladies flushed crimson at his words. He was far too young to be called an old gentleman, yet far too steeped in mature allure to be dismissed as a youth. Once cloaked in a shadowy air of menace, Gervasio now carried himself with vibrant confidence—so much so that, unbeknownst to many, he had gathered quite a number of secret admirers.

Both he and Ferdinand hailed from Sovereign Yurgenschmidt, both richly blessed by the God of Life. Was he trying to reassure them that he held no designs upon Rozemyne—or merely boasting about his wife? It was difficult to say.

As Gervasio turned on his heel and strode away, Rozemyne tilted her head slightly to one side.

“He reminds me a little of you, Ferdinand.”

“…He does not.”

“He does. When you grow older, will you perhaps become like that?”

“I will not.”

The brilliant smile he flashed made Rozemyne fall silent. For just a fleeting moment, she found herself overlapping the image of an older Ferdinand with Gervasio’s current visage… and her heart gave the tiniest, most dangerous flutter. That was absolutely not something she could say aloud. Far too dangerous.

Ferdinand’s expression twisted faintly, almost sulky, in a way no one but Rozemyne would notice. She softened her own features and squeezed his escorting hand more firmly than usual, as if to say I understand.

As they left the hall together—Rozemyne inwardly musing that a story based on Gervasio might actually sell rather well, and Ferdinand side-eyeing her with suspicion, certain she was plotting something— the two of them looked, at least outwardly, perfectly harmonious.

In the summer following the archduke’s conference, Hildebrand attended one of the occasional gatherings known as the royal princes’ report meetings—though in truth, they were little more than father-and-sons get-togethers.

Sometimes these meetings turned into serious discussions, other times they were nothing but venting sessions. At noon they might be held like a tea party, while in the evening, wine was often included. Because of their royal station, moments where the men of the family could speak freely without retainers present were exceedingly rare. In their previous lives, when even their duchies and social standings had been different, such casual family meetings would have been impossible. That thought made these gatherings feel all the more precious.

On this particular evening, both Hildebrand’s father and elder brothers held cups of wine. Though Hildebrand carried the memories of adulthood within him, his current body was still that of a minor, leaving him unable to partake. He could not help but feel a little left out.

“Next winter, you will enter the Royal Academy, Hildebrand,” his father remarked.

“Yes, Father. As royalty, I will certainly earn the top grades and receive commendation from you. I must also increase both my mana and divine protections, and make certain to visit the shrines. Most importantly, I need to secure time to frequent the library,” Hildebrand declared enthusiastically.

“You sound unusually motivated,” his father said with a faint smile.

“Yes! If I achieve top marks, I’ve heard that Ferdinand will praise me with ‘Most satisfactory,’” Hildebrand said, puffing out his chest.

“…What?”

“After enrolling, I intend to join Professor Hirschur’s laboratory and become Ferdinand’s disciple. In Ahrensbach, the best I received was a mere ‘That’s acceptable.’ This time I am determined to earn a ‘Most satisfactory’ from him!”

His fervor left his father and brothers momentarily speechless. And though absent, Ferdinand himself would likely have been just as dumbfounded. If this had been Rozemyne, achieving top marks multiple years in a row would have been a given. She would have demanded, ‘Praise me, please!’ only for Ferdinand to retort, ‘It would be stranger if you failed, fool.’ Hildebrand, however, remained blissfully unaware of the difference.

“So, you intend to acquire Book of Mestionora?” asked his father.

“Of course, Father. I shall do everything in my power to succeed.”

“Then perhaps you should take the throne once you have obtained it.”

That remark was immediately contested—by none other than Sigiswald.

“Father!? I am already designated as the next Zent!”

“But you lack the Grutrissheit. That is an insurmountable problem. As things stand, it is most regrettably you who must take the position, but you will need to hand it over swiftly.”

“I refuse.”

“You can serve as an interim Zent until Hildebrand comes of age.”

“Absolutely not!”

As always, father and eldest son argued over the succession. Sigiswald insisted he was the rightful heir, while Trauerqual countered that without the Grutrissheit, he was unsuitable. Anastasius and Hildebrand were long accustomed to their squabbling and paid it little mind. Hildebrand quietly picked at the food in front of him while Anastasius slowly sipped his wine.

“Brother Anastasius, your face is flushed. Isn’t it a bit early for you to be drinking so much?” Hildebrand asked.

“Mhm…”

“Did something happen?”

“…Well…”

All eyes turned toward Anastasius as he hesitated. Finally, he confessed:

“Eglantine is with child.”

“What!?”

Both Trauerqual and Hildebrand widened their eyes in surprise. This had never happened in their former lives.

“I realize this places a burden on our already strained mana supply, and I apologize. Still, I shall do my utmost…” Anastasius said. His words were apologetic, but his beaming expression could not hide his overflowing joy.

“Congratulations, Brother!” Hildebrand offered warmly, while Trauerqual wore a pained expression. Sigiswald, meanwhile, looked away awkwardly.

“…Sigiswald?” Hildebrand pressed.

“Well, that is… Actually, Nahelache is also with child.”

“Ehh!?”

It was certainly happy news—but with the royal family already suffering from mana shortages, the prospect of two princes unable to provide mana was a serious concern. Trauerqual's grimace deepened.

“This is news to be celebrated, but… Could you not have timed it better? Especially you, Sigiswald. You are to take the throne at the next archduke's conference, are you not? You cannot have your First Wife absent.”

“By then the child should already be born. Though it will be a burden on Nahelacge, she will attend the conference. Still… Brother Anastasius, wasn’t your timing even worse?” Sigiswald shot back.

“Eglantine had planned to return to teaching at the Royal Academy. To act without considering timing is irresponsible.”

“And to fail in planning as the next Zent is more irresponsible still.”

“I am the next Zent! You should have yielded to me.”

“If the next Zent takes precedence, then perhaps I should take your place instead?”

“Then do so, Anastasius,” Trauerqual said without hesitation.

“…!”

The brothers’ quarrel escalated until even their father had joined in. Anastasius had no true desire to become Zent—he had only spoken in irritation, but in this setting, words easily slipped out. Trauerqual scolded his sons, reminding them of their responsibilities as royals, but the bickering grew louder and louder.

Hildebrand could only sigh and step in to mediate, as usual.

Not even a month later, the same four gathered again.

“How fares Lady Nahelache, Brother?” Hildebrand asked.

“She suffers from nausea and has little appetite. I secretly requested fruit from Alexandria—something light and easy to eat. But Ferdinand caught me and glared. It was terrifying.”

“That must have been difficult,” Hildebrand sympathized.

“Then allow me to share some with you,” Sigiswald offered generously.

“That would help. Eglantine’s complexion worsens daily, and it pains me to do so little for her,” Anastasius admitted.

The two elder brothers had apparently reconciled, and now bonded over talk of their wives. Their father, looking increasingly uncomfortable, seized a pause in their conversation to interject.

“Actually, I too… must share some news.”

“Yes, Father?”

“…Magdalena is with child.”

“HAH!?”

The three princes stared, utterly dumbfounded. After spending the previous meeting lecturing them about responsibility, their father himself had fathered another child.

“Father, what of your duties as a royal?”

“Indeed, were you not the one scolding us about timing?”

“I… I apologize, Sigiswald, Anastasius,” Trauerqual muttered sheepishly.

Their narrowed eyes conveyed just how justified their indignation was. Hildebrand, watching this absurd display, could only sigh once more.

There truly isn’t a single sensible man among the royals, he thought to himself.

When winter arrived, the Royal Academy began its new term. Rozemyne entered her fifth year, and Hildebrand enrolled as a first-year.

At the opening fellowship gathering, the royal seats were arranged as always: Anastasius and Hildebrand sat side by side, with Rozemyne—now an Aub—taking the place beside them. Perhaps because she was seated on the same dais, Hildebrand’s cheeks carried a faint blush.

“This year again, you will be teaching the Archduke Candidate course, Lord Anastasius?” Rozemyne asked politely.

“Yes. Though truthfully, I have so many other duties that I wished to graduate from Academy affairs altogether,” Anastasius replied with a sour look.

“Is that not your own doing, Brother?” Hildebrand said, exasperated.

Anastasius’s grimace deepened. “Since you have entered this year, Hildebrand, I expect you to handle whatever problems arise.”

“…Pardon? I’ve heard nothing of this, Brother!”

“It is the duty of whichever royals are enrolled to take responsibility for the Academy. I have already dealt with all manner of incidents caused by Rozemyne. It is your turn now.”

Rozemyne put on a picture-perfect innocent smile. “I have never once intended to cause trouble.”

“And yet you are always at the very center of it. Speaking of which—tell me truthfully, the Goddess of Time will not descend this year, correct?”

“Of course not. I negotiated with the Goddess personally,” Rozemyne said, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

In their former timeline, this was the year when the goddess had descended upon Hannelore, dragging Rozemyne into the past and unleashing utter chaos. To hear her now so casually say she had “negotiated with the goddess” made Anastasius clutch his head, but in the end, all he could do was believe her.

“The thread has already been repaired in the other timeline. There will be no summons in this one,” Rozemyne explained.

“…Then so be it. Hildebrand, I leave the incidents of this year to you.”

Before the young prince could even protest, all the duchies had assembled. First came Klassenburg, ranked first as always, followed by Drewanchel in second place. Appearing among them as an archduke candidate was Letizia—once of Alexandria, now of Drewanchel. Rozemyne gazed at her with eyes both warm and faintly lonely.

As Rozemyne had promised, no goddess descended. Instead, she breezed through her classes, passing at record speed, and in the archduke candidate lectures she overwhelmed the others with such natural brilliance that it was as if to say, “This is the bare minimum required of an Aub.” One by one, she stripped away the confidence of her peers.

Anastasius, left to pick up the pieces, spent his days frantically encouraging the discouraged students.

Thanks to this, the royal prince and strict instructor who should have been feared became instead known among students as “the kind teacher.” He was soon buried under an endless stream of students seeking advice, to his great dismay.

“Rozemyne, this is your fault. I spend my days listening to students’ woes,” Anastasius complained.

“Is it not wonderful to be thought of with such warmth?” Rozemyne replied sweetly.

“One of them asked me what to do because he loves someone from another duchy, yet his parents refuse. What am I meant to do with that?”

“Oh my. Tell me the details.”

“As if I could!”

“Truly a shame. It would have made a fine premise for a story…” Rozemyne sighed wistfully.

Meanwhile, Ehrenfest, without Rozemyne, had consolidated under Wilfried and Charlotte. Their overall grades had slipped a little, but the students looked healthier and more spirited. Alexandria, on the other hand, showed far higher achievement than in its Ahrensbach days, though its students still lacked unity.

Hildebrand, for his part, fell swiftly and completely under the spell of ditter. Two years earlier, during Rozemyne’s infamous “bride-stealing ditter,” he had muttered to himself, “I am not like that.” But it seemed the blood of Dunkelfelger would not be denied.

“Lately, Hildebrand does nothing but shout ‘ditter, ditter,’” Anastasius grumbled one day during a practical lesson.

Still tracing out a magic circle, Rozemyne replied airily, “How unfortunate for you.”

“Hannelore, as Dunkelfelger’s archduke candidate, can you not do something?”

“I am troubled as well, Lord Anastasius,” Hannelore sighed. Having finished her own circle, she calmly selected her stones. “When the royal prince invites them, how could our apprentice knights possibly refuse? They grow giddy, crying ‘ditter!’ and ‘harvest!’ as they run off. An archduke candidate cannot restrain a prince. Surely you, as their instructor, must intervene instead.”

She clenched a stone in her hand, and golden dust spilled from between her fingers. Anastasius’s face twitched ever so slightly at the sight.

Beside her, Rozemyne finished her circle with a quiet exhale. “Well, he is of Dunkelfelger’s blood. …Ah! Do you think Prince Hildebrand will one day become a muscle-bound knight like the others?”

Her innocent remark conjured an image that made Anastasius pinch the bridge of his nose.

“No… He idolizes Ferdinand. He would be the one devising schemes, commanding the brutes.”

“Prince Hildebrand, turning into a wicked, muscle-bound Ferdinand? That is unacceptable!” Rozemyne declared.

“…Rozemyne.”

The thought was far too disrespectful toward the prince, but even Hannelore could not stifle her laughter.

That year, Hildebrand served as High Priest for the Academy’s dedication ceremony. His contribution was slightly greater than usual, to help offset the royal family’s mana shortage, but when he apologized for overdoing it as though it were a beginner’s mistake, no one raised complaints.

In truth, it had been Rozemyne’s idea: she provided him with an efficient method of prayer, which the students welcomed gratefully.

The interduchy tournament changed from a race to a treasure-hunting ditter, and Hildebrand was utterly enthralled. His father scolded him for neglecting royal socializing. Later, when he lingered too long watching Ferdinand and Rozemyne seated together at Alexandria’s table, his mother scolded him again for showing favoritism. Sigiswald, meanwhile, smiled serenely as he made his usual circuit of greetings.

Rozemyne claimed the year’s top honors once again. Hildebrand, too, achieved the highest marks in his grade. And thus, the winter at the Royal Academy came to a close.

Around that same time, Eglantine gave birth to her second child, a son. Soon after, Nahelache bore a daughter, and by mid-spring Magdalena also delivered a daughter. The royal family grew more lively than ever.

That spring, at the Archduke Conference, Sigiswald’s coronation was held. Before the gathered nobles, he raised the Grutrissheit aloft, as if to prove his legitimacy beyond doubt.
Or at least, that was how it was meant to look.

The one who had actually crafted the Grutrissheit was Adolphine. More precisely, it was “a magical tool that produced a book-shaped object when one spoke the word Grutrissheit.” Its pages were blank; it possessed none of the true functions of the original. But if anyone grew suspicious, it would be simple enough to say, “Only the Zent can see its contents.”

In truth, it was little more than an exceptionally ornate notebook.

When negotiating its creation, Adolphine had put to good use the bargaining skills she’d once observed from Rozemyne. From Sigiswald she wrung not only a fortune in gold and gifts, but also a promise of support once he had ascended the throne.

Of course, Adolphine despised Sigiswald. Yet as one who sought to become the next Aub of her duchy, she could not afford to remain at open odds with the future Zent. Appearances had to be maintained.

“It is finished,” she said, with just a hint of scorn as she handed over the magical tool in a secluded, guarded chamber. “It is not quite what you envisioned, but when you say Grutrissheit, a book will appear.”

Sigiswald accepted it with a wry smile. “I am grateful, Adolphine.”

His easy gratitude left her somewhat disarmed.

“I know well that you dislike me,” he continued. “I do not expect forgiveness. But the title of Zent can sometimes be of use. Should you find yourself in need once I ascend, I will help however I am able.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” Adolphine replied coolly, without much expectation.

Sigiswald’s expression softened as he stroked the imitation book. “You could have claimed the Grutrissheit yourself. You could have taken the throne. Yet you chose not to oppose my ascension. Before we lose the chance to speak like this again, I wish to say—I am grateful to you. I hope we may remain allies, as nobles working together to support Yurgenschmidt.”

There was no mask of diplomacy in his face then, only earnestness. Adolphine recognized it for what it was: his own form of sincerity.

“…You have changed, Sigiswald,” she murmured.

“Perhaps. Much has happened.”

“Yes, it has. And in truth, I must confess—I have never gotten along with you. In fact, thinking of you fueled my mana compression training, and the gods granted me more divine protections as a result. For that, I suppose I owe you a sliver of gratitude.”

“Adolphine…”

Sigiswald’s expression faltered into seriousness, before twisting into an awkward smile.

“But I will say this,” she added firmly. “Though I cannot like you, I do expect you to govern as Zent. And for the sake of Yurgenschmidt, I am willing to lend the royal family my aid—when it is to my benefit as well.”

Relief softened his features. He chuckled quietly, and she found herself surprised to realize her own face had grown gentle.

Sigiswald thought, for a fleeting moment, that Adolphine looked beautiful when she smiled like that. He kept the thought carefully hidden from Nahelache.

As for Adolphine herself, for the briefest instant she wondered—had the man standing beside her now been the Sigiswald of the other timeline, the one she once bound her star to—would she have been willing to devote herself sincerely? But she shook her head to banish the thought.

At the conference hall, Nahelache now stood proudly at Sigiswald’s side as his First Wife.

Through her experience of turning back time, Nahelache had learned a hard truth. Until now, she had believed her role as wife was simply to obey and serve her husband, molding herself to his will. That was a mistake.

She recalled a tea party of noble ladies from the previous timeline. One matron had told her with a sly smile:

“Make it seem as though you dance in your husband’s palm—while in truth, it is you who guides him. It is a wife’s duty to lead him gently, and keep him from straying.”

At the time, Nahelache had not understood. Now she did.

(And to think, Lady Rozemyne called that ‘wonderful’ with shining eyes. She’s clearly the one being led around without realizing it…)

Nahelache cast a glance at her husband. Sigiswald’s face was radiant with triumph. He would soon face the hardships of the Zent’s throne, yet today, he looked nothing but satisfied. Nahelache smiled wryly in her heart. Very well. Today at least, I shall indulge him.

From the dais, Sigiswald gazed out upon Ferdinand and Rozemyne, seated among the guests. They seemed to offer their blessings, and that alone filled him with satisfaction.

“Now then,” he declared, “let us offer prayer and gratitude to celebrate the birth of a new Zent.”

As though it were only natural, the nobles rose in unison.

“To the gods, our prayers!”

Voices rang out, and the hall filled with the brilliance of swirling blessings.

And thus, on that day, a new Zent was born.

Epilogue

Each day, a mountain of problems was carried into Zent Sigiswald’s office.

Disputes between duchies, reports of dwindling harvests, trivial squabbles, matters of state both great and small—thanks to them, the wooden task tablets never disappeared from his desk.

Sharing the office was Hildebrand, who attacked the stack of tablets with admirable enthusiasm. His mana was growing steadily, he performed the rituals required of royalty, and he trained his body through ditter. Though he had yet to acquire his schtappe and thus could not hold Book of Mestionora, it was all but certain that the day would come. His figure was still small and youthful, but already people whispered that he might be a future candidate for Zent.

Which was precisely why Sigiswald could not afford to fall behind.

Of course, Hildebrand himself had no desire to become Zent.

His role as a member of the royal family, he believed, was to support the Zent. His personal goal was clear: to become like Ferdinand, who supported Rozemyne. To that end, Hildebrand trained diligently every day.

Trauerqual, meanwhile, served as administrative support while flying tirelessly between duchies. Raised and educated to support a king, he had come alive after abdicating the throne and becoming the one who lent his hands and judgment. That the Zent he supported did not hold the true Grutrissheit was a constant source of dissatisfaction, and he often clashed with Sigiswald over matters of direction. Even so, alongside his wives, he now worked with a vigor that made him seem reborn.

That day, however, brought with it a problem of the highest order.

“Rozemyne has been summoned by the gods?!”

“Yes. Ferdinand has already requested permission to enter the Royal Academy. Or rather, he sent the request and then immediately left for the Garden of Beginnings anyway, so I’ll be going after him.”

“I leave it to you, Anastasius. Please—make sure Ferdinand doesn’t end up picking a fight with the gods themselves.”

Sigiswald could do nothing about divine matters. He could only watch his younger brother dash away, sigh, and return to his chair. All that remained was to wait for their return.

“…Will they be alright?”

“They’ll be fine, Brother. Ferdinand went with her, after all.”

“It is precisely Ferdinand who worries me. I hear he has a habit of starting quarrels with gods.”

“…That’s incredible.”

“Not incredible. Reckless. He should know his place and show proper fear.” Sigiswald gave a long sigh. “Thinking on it won’t help. Hildebrand, let us do what we can for now.”

He forced his gaze back to the tablets. The work never ended.

Though he had braced himself for days of waiting, Anastasius returned that very evening—bringing with him Rozemyne and Ferdinand. Trauerqual, back from his own travels, was also present in the office when they arrived.

“What on earth happened?” Sigiswald demanded.

Rozemyne tilted her head, all too calm.

“Zent Sigiswald, I was suddenly invited to the Garden of Beginnings, where I had tea with the goddess.”

“…Tea?”

“She seemed fond of the patterns across this land and said she would watch over things as they are for now. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Sigiswald felt faint at her blithe tone.

“Erwaermen also praised Anastasius, saying, ‘Well done.’”

“Rozemyne, you needn’t mention that.”

“…Ah.”

The gods regarded Anastasius, who had dyed the foundational stones, as the true Zent. They also acknowledged Rozemyne and Quinta as contributors, but whether the other royals were seen as anything more than footnotes was beyond mortal knowing.

“…And Ferdinand, what is that in your hand?”

“This? A branch of Erwaermen.”

Sigiswald froze.

“…Why do you have it?”

“Because I cut it.”

“You… cut it?”

Rozemyne puffed her cheeks. “Honestly, Ferdinand quarreled with Erwaermen again. He was scolding him for barging in uninvited, and then he told us to hurry and produce heirs since our stars were already bound. Ferdinand took offense, cut the branch, Mestionora grew angry, and the other goddesses simply laughed… Anastasius could only wring his hands.”

“From now on, the two of you must not meet with the gods again.”

“I would very much prefer not to, but if they summon me, what choice do I have?”

“…As long as you’re safe. Just go. Both of you.”

Rozemyne, however, turned back with a bright smile.

“Oh! Zent Sigiswald, by the way—there’s a book being printed based on you.”

“…What?”

“It’s fiction, of course. It tells the tale of a prince who turns back time, reflects on his past mistakes, and rises to become Zent. Your heroics are depicted splendidly, so please look forward to it! I’m sure this will make you much more popular as Zent.”

“I was never informed of this!”

“And there’s a sequel planned—about your daily life as Zent. So please work hard, alright?”

“Wait just a moment—”

As Sigiswald flailed, Anastasius gave a small chuckle.

“…I, on the other hand, requested a romance novel. It’s not finished yet, but I look forward to it.”

“…What?”

While the brothers stared in shock, Ferdinand extended his hand to Rozemyne.

“That’s enough. Let us return. You have books waiting to be made.”

“…You’re right.”

Rozemyne placed her hand atop his, offered a graceful bow, and together they left, smiling at one another.

“…So our stories will become books. That sounds delightful,” Trauerqual said with a laugh, eyeing his sons.

“Father, don’t think this has nothing to do with you,” Sigiswald warned.

“Surely tales of youth are far more interesting than those of a retired old man.”

“Rozemyne will turn anyone into a book if it helps her collection grow. And Father, you may have abdicated, but you’re hardly retired yet.”

Sigiswald smiled sweetly at his father, whose own desk bore its own stack of task tablets. A quiet life of retirement was still far off.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Hildebrand interjected, eyes sparkling. “To become the hero of a story, and have the book preserved in Rozemyne’s library?”

His father and brothers averted their gazes. The day Hildebrand grew close to Hartmut, Clarissa, and Eckhart—and earned an exasperated sigh from Rozemyne and Ferdinand—was surely fast approaching.

“Enough chatter. Time to work. These tablets are for you, Father. These for Anastasius. And these for Hildebrand. Please handle them.”

The three stared in wide-eyed dismay. Sigiswald beamed, radiance itself. Efficient delegation—one of the many things he had learned from Ferdinand. Complaints could be taken up with him.

“…I still have business regarding the abolished duchies. I’ll be going.”

“…I need to supply mana to the foundation.”

“…I have Royal Academy studies, knight training, and shrine visits to attend.”

Without taking their tablets, the three vanished like a gust of wind.

Left alone in silence, Sigiswald maintained his sparkling smile.

On his desk, as ever, the tablets piled high.
He let out one more sigh, picked one up, and returned to work.

—The End