SLGAW 20🌌

Chapter : 20

There was no talent for knighthood.

Vilak had acknowledged that fact since childhood.

He had always been rational, and because of that, he was quick to give up as well.

Instead, what he chose was books.

Not novels or poetry.

Only theoretical texts and academic papers. Those would be useful in the future.

While other children played outside or swung swords, Vilak shut himself in his room and immersed himself in study.

If he had been born into a lower noble family or a scholar’s household, this choice might have been welcomed.

Unfortunately, the Lünter Marquis House was a prestigious knightly house.

“Marquis, the young master skipped another meal.”

“Again with those books? Tsk tsk…”

Naturally, his father disapproved of him deeply.

Books in a knight’s house—shouldn’t he at least show some effort in training?

With the head of the house showing such disdain, the rest of the family naturally followed suit and looked down on Vilak as well.

In that house full of hostility, there was only one person who stood by him.

“So he likes books? That’s quite a talent. For someone like me who only knows the sword, I respect you.”

Yulard Lünter.

Vilak’s older brother—the ideal knight and the future heir of the marquisate.

No matter what others said, with his brother’s protection, Vilak was free to study as he wished.

The marquis title would eventually go to his brother anyway.

He would become a scholar and support him.

Being ignored for now was fine.

And so, until the age of twenty, Vilak’s only friend was his reliable older brother, Yulard.

Until the year he turned twenty.

The day his father and brother never returned from the battlefield.

A sudden tragedy.

A sudden succession.

At twenty years old, Vilak became the marquis.

His life became a little colder than before.

“The Lünter Marquis House has always been a knightly family… and now a bookworm is the marquis…”

“Shh, quiet. It’s not like he chose it. He probably still wants to lock himself away reading books, heh.”

Whispers from the family. Subtle contempt from surrounding nobles.

Vilak pretended not to hear them, and pretended not to see their ridicule.

He did not have time to care about such trivial things.

Instead, he devoted himself to work.

To what he did best.

A life focused on only one thing.

A habit formed since childhood.

The Lünter Marquis House grew wealthier and stronger.

Vilak continued to wear himself down in the process, but he did not particularly mind.

Only occasionally did he miss his brother.

He no longer had anyone he could speak to freely.

Perhaps the rest of his life would continue like this until his death.

And thinking about it now would only be pointless regret.

So Vilak decided to accept that life.

Until one day.

He met a girl secretly reading books in his study.

She was a servant of the estate.

A commoner. A presumptuous girl who had sneaked into the marquis’s study to read books.

She should have been punished severely.

But the book in her hands—

stopped Vilak in his tracks.

“Why are you reading that book?”

“I-I’m sorry, my lord… I happened to read it and it was just so interesting…”

It was a book his late brother Yulard had once given him as a child.

A simple children’s fairy tale.

Even back then, he hadn’t cared for it.

That book had remained in the study—and now it was in the girl’s hands.

Vilak suddenly became curious.

“It’s interesting? What is it about?”

“Yes! It’s about a boy who makes a bet with a dragon and becomes rich…”

The girl rambled on.

Normally, he would have cut her off within seconds.

But for Vilak, who had lived the same repetitive life all his years, this was the first stimulation he had felt since his brother’s death.

He sat down and listened.

That was the beginning.

From time to time, he began to listen to her stories in the study.

Her name was Rosetta.

She loved stories—and was a natural storyteller.

Whenever she excitedly told him tales she had heard from unknown places, Vilak felt as if the room itself grew warmer.

Books began to fill a corner of the study.

The marquis never once opened them.

If he read them, Rosetta’s stories would no longer be fun.

He came to enjoy sitting there, listening to her speak.

And eventually, he came to love Rosetta.

The opposition from the family was inevitable.

His mother and relatives resisted fiercely.

But Vilak did not budge.

He had never truly been afraid—only indifferent.

That was his nature.

The same nature that would later earn him the title “Iron-Blooded Marquis.”

The wedding was held quietly.

And the marquis experienced the happiest four years of his life.

After the busy affairs of state, there was time with her.

He listened to the stories she read and sometimes marveled.

Sometimes he would critique her and they would bicker.

All of it was happiness.

And it bore fruit.

“Waaah… waaah…”

“It’s a daughter.”

Emilia.

Their daughter.

Perhaps the happiest moment of his life.

But four years was all it lasted.

“You should never have become marquis! The title should have gone to my son!”

A pitiful attempt at rebellion.

An assassination attempt.

The reason was simple.

The bitterness of a woman who believed her son with Yulard should inherit the marquisate.

That resentment erupted the moment Vilak’s child was born.

And the small rebellion led by his brother’s widow was crushed in a single day.

Vilak was not someone who could be killed by mere poison in food.

But his wife was different.

The girl who had endured scorn and hostility to stay by his side—

died that day after eating poisoned food.

The servants had not checked her meal.

Why?

Because she had once been a servant herself?

Unclear.

What was certain was this:

Vilak forgave no one.

Not anything around him.

Not even himself.

Sixteen years passed.

Their daughter was now sixteen.

And she was beginning to resemble her mother more and more.

Sixteen years ago, a massive purge had taken place in the Lünter Marquis House.

From that day on, it no longer called itself a knightly house.

The marquis never opened storybooks again.

And even now, he sometimes sat alone in his study.

No one in the household knew why anymore.

“A ridiculous story, isn’t it? Honestly, it’s nothing. As trivial as the fact that your father nearly got dragged away. That’s why I never told anyone.”

“……”

“And now I’m telling it to a kid I’ve only met twice… I’ve gotten old. I really have…”

The marquis sounded exhausted.

I sat in silence, unable to read his feelings.

But I understood one thing.

He had never told this story to anyone.

Not even his daughter.

So why tell it to me?

Because I was a “stranger.”

A person tied to him by the thinnest of connections.

And there was only one thing I could do.

“You’re not going to say anything, are you?”

“I have nothing to say. I cannot possibly understand what you feel, Marquis.”

“……”

“But I will take what I heard here today to my grave.”

“I see…”

He probably knew I was sincere.

After a moment of silence, the marquis spoke.

“I miss her.”

A longing.

A wound that had never healed because he had never learned how to look at his own heart.

“There was a time in my life that was beautiful. And I am afraid… of that time fading away.”

“……”

“The warmth, the air of that time… will never return. That is why I am afraid.”

There was no need to respond.

Just listen.

And nod.

“I’m glad… that I heard that poem today. I’m glad I didn’t forget. I am still… alright.”

The Iron-Blooded Marquis.

A man so formidable in war.

Yet so clumsy in love and human emotion.

If he had been born into a simple family, perhaps things would have been different.

I spoke without thinking.

“Please don’t forget Lady Emilia.”

“…Emilia?”

“Yes. She is far wiser and more upright than you think. And…”

“……”

“She really likes stories. Unlike you.”

“Heh… yes. She doesn’t resemble me at all.”

The marquis laughed and cried softly for a while.

Quietly, so no one outside the study could hear.

And then—

“Little author. No, K.H.”

After releasing his emotions, his expression had calmed.

“Since you illuminated my banquet with such a fine poem, you deserve a reward.”

“…?”

“Is there anything you desire? Under the authority of the marquis, I will grant it.”

That day passed with tears and sobs.

The next morning, the sun rose again.

The official banquet period had begun.

Nobles, now recovered from yesterday’s emotions, were busy talking.

“I’ve never heard a poem like that before.”

“So pure… so beautiful…”

“I wonder if K.H. will publish poetry collections?”

The name K.H spread across the entire gathering.

And then, on the third day—just before the ballroom opened—

“I will say a few words before the banquet begins.”

The Marquis Lünter appeared.

Normally he would only open the event briefly and leave.

But now, after what everyone had seen yesterday, the nobles held their breath.

“Yesterday, the writer K.H, whom I sponsor, recited a poem.”

Murmurs spread.

“I will reward him.”

“I intend to grant him a noble title.”

Silence shattered into chaos.

And just like that—

K.H became a baronet.

Meanwhile, outside the estate, a carriage quietly departed.