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Chapter 21.
A Death Worth Understanding
2023.08.21.
“The report on the guest list has arrived, Your Majesty. All those invited have sent word they will attend, except for the Winell Count’s family. They sent a message saying the Count’s illness prevents them from attending.”
“That’s fine. The Count of Winell being at death’s door is hardly news. You may go.”
Hearing the report from his aide, Peter waved a hand dismissively as he tightened the tie around his neck. He could have easily had a servant do it, but Peter usually dressed himself. He had a deep aversion to anyone else touching him.
The ceremonial attire required at official functions was never comfortable, and Peter’s expression soured as he carefully adjusted the tie to avoid snagging it on the boutonnieres or medals attached to his uniform.
But his grim mood wasn’t only because of the clothes.
After the imperial aide left, Simoren—standing at his side—spoke up.
“Then, Your Majesty, may I now ask about the matter I mentioned before?”
“…”
“Entering the banquet hall together with Lady Anette, I mean.”
He even reminded him directly in case Peter had forgotten, but still no answer came.
In truth, this was precisely what weighed on Peter’s mind today.
Anette had sent Simoren, her assigned guard, to ask for Peter’s decision: would she be entering the banquet hall together with him or not?
“If Your Majesty does not wish it, I will inform Lady Anette that she should enter separately.”
“That would be the perfect way to start rumors among all the frontier lords gathered. It wasn’t enough for gossip to swirl only within the palace—now we’d be handing fodder to the provinces too.”
“Then… does that mean Your Majesty will be entering together with Lady Anette?”
“…Yes, I suppose I must.”
But Peter’s voice betrayed clear reluctance.
Of course, his unwillingness toward Anette was natural. Yet he had not been blind to the likelihood that he might have to appear with her. From the moment he had ordered that an invitation be delivered, Peter had assumed that if Anette attended Tillemann, they would be entering side by side.
Had nothing unusual happened, that would have been the obvious reality, with no fuss.
At least, if he hadn’t seen that hallucination of Lowell in the preserved garden.
Simoren’s face clouded with concern as he watched Peter.
‘He’s seemed especially worn out since that day.’
Simoren knew of Peter’s condition. He had even expected Peter might bring Anette into the preserved garden. So when he heard the order to close it off entirely, he had been genuinely shocked.
But when he learned it was because Peter had seen a hallucination there, he could only understand.
Hallucinations and phantom voices—those were the earliest signs of madness.
“Your Majesty, I do understand your concern… but didn’t Noah also say your condition has not significantly changed?”
After some hesitation, Simoren spoke carefully.
Right after seeing the hallucination, Peter had summoned Noah to examine him.
Noah Ernst, top graduate of the 14th class of Bluoa Academy, was supported by Peter in his magical research. When it came to magic, his talent could stand against anyone’s.
In exchange for Peter’s patronage, Noah performed two tasks, one of which was to monitor Peter’s madness.
After all, his madness stemmed from the dragon’s blood and the magic it carried. If the madness worsened, Peter’s magical power would change dramatically. Thus, checking his magical state gave a rough measure of his condition.
Noah’s diagnosis had been clear:
[There has been no significant change, Your Majesty. Yes, there are tiny fluctuations, but those could be caused by health or even mood. There are no signs of progression from the madness.]
[What? That can’t be.]
Peter hadn’t trusted Noah’s words, but no matter how many times the checks were repeated, the answer was the same.
His madness had not worsened.
“I heard you hadn’t slept for several nights at the time. Perhaps it was nothing more than fatigue.”
“Perhaps… I hope so.”
Peter muttered to himself with a faint, bitter laugh, as if to say he didn’t want to discuss it further. It was far from a good sign.
Simoren’s worried thoughts wandered back to something Noah had said:
[The best thing for His Majesty right now would be for Anette Martinek to disappear. She’s the root of all his unrest.]
[Weren’t you the one who once said you wished she’d stay longer in the palace?]
[That was then. I thought His Majesty wasn’t much affected by her presence. But in this state, it would be better to remove her from sight altogether.]
It was like the paradox of telling someone not to think of an apple—only for apples to dominate their mind. That was Peter’s current condition.
[Then couldn’t he just stop trying not to think about her?]
[Be serious. His Majesty has spent years painfully erasing Lowell Hessen. Do you think he wants to plunge back into the past now? Naturally he’ll try everything to forget.]
Thus Noah’s conclusion: it would be best to remove Anette, the source of it all.
And Simoren, too, found himself partly agreeing.
Not only for Peter’s sake, but for Anette’s as well.
So, after some inner conflict, he finally spoke.
“…I meant to wait until things were clearer before raising it, but Your Majesty, may I ask something?”
“Speak.”
“After today’s banquet, why not send Anette Martinek away?”
For the past several days, while performing his duties as her guard, Simoren had observed Anette closely.
The only things that had changed were that she now shared two secrets with him, and that her family, the Martineks, had sent a maid to attend her. Yet, somehow, he no longer found her company tedious.
So much so that on his way home, his younger sister Mabel had remarked:
[Brother, are you enjoying your time at the Cheyenne Palace?]
[…What did you say?]
[You’ve been much more talkative lately. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you speak so much, except when you’re with Sir Noah.]
Simoren had always been poor at socializing. His taciturn, rigid nature played a part, but he also believed there was no need to converse with people without purpose. That mindset had kept him isolated.
But after Mabel’s words, he realized he had indeed been talking more these past few days.
And most of all—with Anette Martinek, the woman he thought he disliked.
Looking back, their conversations hadn’t been anything extraordinary.
“Sir Lindel, look at this. I found the complete works of Michel Broye in the library here. Did you know they were kept there?”
“Of course. I’m surprised you didn’t know. The Imperial Library even holds the manuscripts, including first editions, which many academies often consult for research.”
“I was surprised enough to find the first edition of The Age of Pride, but manuscripts as well? I must look at those next time.”
The “Michel Broye” she referred to was a writer famous for his bleak worldview. In countless essays and short stories, he had written that all things in the world were meaningless, and that the universal longing for life was nothing more than a disguised yearning for death.
Naturally, such views could not be widely accepted. Had he preached them on the streets, he would have been branded a lunatic.
But Michel Broye had possessed both genius in his prose and overwhelming persuasiveness. Each time he published, countless pessimists flocked to him, to the point that his influence created a syndrome of despairing over life itself.
That era came to be known as “the Age of Melancholy,” named after his signature work The Age of Pride. It was more than a century ago now. Today, scholars might still consult his work as historical material, but few would willingly read the “sermons of a madman.”
Yet Anette said she wanted to read even his manuscripts. Simoren, curious, asked:
“Do you like Michel Broye?”
“I do.”
She answered without hesitation, then quickly added clarification.
“If I say it like that, you might mistake me for a lunatic. To be precise, it’s not his philosophy I like.”
“Then what is it about him that you favor?”
“I like Michel Broye’s death.”
A completely unexpected reply. If anything, it only deepened the mystery.
“…But didn’t he commit suicide?”
Indeed, Michel Broye had chosen to die by poison. That marked the end of the Age of Melancholy. If Anette had disliked that dark era, Simoren could have understood. But what resonance could that long-ago event possibly have with her now?
Anette explained:
“But no one questioned his suicide. Everyone who lived in that time understood his thinking. That’s what I admire—that even after death, everyone could accept it as natural.”
“I don’t understand. What meaning does that have?”
“I can’t see why you’d think it meaningless.”
People die without knowing why, and often no one can explain it. Yet Broye’s death was one everyone could comprehend.
Smiling faintly, Anette said:
“I want to create a death that everyone can accept.”
