Chapter – 38
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You’re still young—that’s why. Look, Elena achieved a dramatic rise in status. And now she’s in the middle of a custody battle.”
Not all nobles are the same.
There’s a saying that the influence of a great merchant can rival that of a small country’s king. The Medlidge Trading Company, now nearing its third generation, held the economy of southern Philion firmly in its grasp.
In title alone most nobles ranked above them, but in reality, the majority stood beneath Medlidge.
They were often called lowborn, seasoned peddlers—but that was nothing more than jealousy and wariness directed at the wealthy and powerful.
Medlidge bowed their heads wisely in public, but if they truly wished it, countless insignificant nobles could be swept aside in an instant.
Count Beckdelaise stood in a position of mutual discourtesy with Medlidge’s second daughter.
They addressed each other politely—“My Lord,” “Miss Viretta”—yet were free to slight one another. That was proof they stood on equal footing.
A fine noble title and fertile lands to match—that was House Beckdelaise.
Elena had been born the daughter of a farmer, and she had married into that very house.
“You heard the servants yesterday, didn’t you? She had the kind of marriage women dream about. A story out of a play, a novel, a poem… a love story.”
The dreamlike tale of a wealthy, kind man proposing to an insignificant village girl—or a woman who rose by her own strength.
Elena had walked that exact path.
She built her skills, secured a position as bodyguard to the daughter of House Beckdelaise—and sister to the current count—and then, in a story straight out of a romance, she and the count fell in love and married.
A man of noble birth, similar in age, gentle in character, and without fault.
In short, Elena had seized a theatrical life that commanded overwhelming popularity among women.
“But before the wedding, she hesitated quite a bit. They say she even rejected his proposal once—asking, ‘Does that mean I become Countess just because I suit your heart?’”
“You don’t understand people’s hearts, Sister. For someone like us, if we’re suddenly told to become a countess—not even a mistress, but the countess herself—it would obviously be overwhelming.”
“Oh, Ranken. You’ve been raised by Viretta too long—you’re naïve.”
Ranken, suddenly attacked, looked at Moslin with a confused yet irritated expression.
Moslin scoffed at the green youth glaring at her.
“Do you think you’re in any position to lift your head at me? Viretta dotes on you—that’s why your sense has gone dull.”
“Do you have any idea how much trouble Viretta causes me?”
“Elena is trying to leave the count because of her daughter. In the previous two trials, child support wasn’t considered particularly important.”
Moslin flicked her fingers, dismissing Ranken’s sharp tone.
Since last night and through this morning, they had each conducted a brief inquiry into the count, Elena, and Lucie.
In custody disputes among nobles, it usually became, “You raise the child.” But when commoners were involved, it turned into, “It’s your child—pay support.”
When cast out or divorced, it was customary to receive at least a modest consolation payment to survive.
But Elena, who had risen from common birth to the position of countess, declared she would accept the bare minimum—no consolation, no meaningful support.
Before the judge, she swore that if the count was angry with her, she could forgo even child support.
That oath secured her victory.
“Well, of course that would make her case favorable. She went from ‘a woman trying to extort money using her child’ to ‘a mother who truly loves her child.’”
“Right?”
“How could she make such a bold decision? Because the count’s status and wealth weren’t important factors to her. Isn’t Viretta the same?”
“…?”
Confusion filled Ranken’s face. He looked at Moslin in disbelief.
He couldn’t understand her words at all.
He knew Viretta wasn’t particularly obsessed with money, despite being sharp with calculations. But what did that have to do with Elena?
From what he’d heard, Elena Elfride had grown up in a life completely different from Viretta’s—who had been born into wealth and raised under protection. And yet Moslin claimed they were alike.
“Well, Viretta doesn’t exactly welcome Iola, does she? She’s going to break off the engagement.”
“You can’t interpret it like that. It’s the opposite—she can’t back down because she likes him.”
“Oh, she does like him. But right now, she probably likes you more.”
At those words, Ranken’s cheeks flushed.
He should have denied it outright—but strangely, he felt satisfied. Pouting, he planted his sheathed sword against the floor.
“That’s just because I’m easier to keep around.”
“Exactly. That’s the kind of girl she is. That’s why Iola—who would normally sweep women off their feet—can’t do much here.”
“Iola? Sweep women off their feet? Ah… well… yes, that’s true. As a man… he’s close to perfect.”
He almost scoffed—That slightly broken innocent man?—but caught himself a moment too late.
Among all the men Ranken had known, Iola was the finest.
Appearance, family background, exceptional martial skill, scholarship, even a gentle temperament—he had it all.
He had a few flaws in character, but compared to gambling, drinking, or merchant cunning, those were minor.
In any case, he attended the National Grand Academy of Mathematics and could wield sword, spear, bow, and more. A true all-rounder.
“I don’t know about romance, but as a husband, he’d be the best.”
“Right. A man like that won’t appear twice in Viretta’s life. And yet for her, it’s ‘marriage would be fine,’ not ‘I must marry him.’”
By all conditions, he was prime goods on the marriage market.
Not knowing Iola’s circumstances, Ranken felt as though Medlidge had once again drawn up a habitual swindler’s contract.
That was why he repeatedly urged her not to miss this opportunity. And yet Viretta paid him no mind—charging off to hunt a dragon instead.
Moslin gazed at Viretta, who had set out to break her engagement, with a curious look.
Dragon hunting was the primary goal; the broken engagement was secondary. But if she succeeded?
If the time truly came to part ways with Iola?
There was no way she had leapt into this without considering that ending.
Whether she liked it or not, Viretta Medlidge was prepared to reach the conclusion called “broken engagement.”
“A person wants their lover or spouse to have good qualities. They don’t need everything—but they welcome traits superior to their own.”
“That’s true.”
“They may not demand protection, but they want someone sturdy. They may not expect every treasure in the world, but they want someone wealthier than themselves. You can choose someone without those things—but it’s rare to dislike someone because they have them.”
“Common sense.”
You might love someone poor or flawed—but you don’t love them because they are poor or flawed.
Even if you’re wealthy yourself and don’t care about a partner’s money, you rarely seek out someone destitute on purpose.
“Whether it’s wealth, beauty, or skill—having it is better than not.”
“Are there people who think otherwise?”
“Of course. Haven’t you seen men who tremble with inferiority because their wives surpass them?”
Scenes came to Ranken’s mind, and he nodded.
Such people existed—quite a few of them. Even among family or siblings, if someone outshone them, they quivered with envy.
Usually, they chose partners whose temperaments matched theirs before marriage, so it didn’t show.
“Viretta is similar to those men. Not many are as resolute as she is—but they exist.”
“Huh?”
“She can’t live under someone else’s shadow. She cannot depend on someone superior in every way. It’s her nature.”
Moslin’s words struck Ranken like lightning. As a mage who wielded lightning, he felt one crash down upon his own understanding.
He blinked, mouth slightly open, and offered a small protest.
“Viretta has always lived under Medlidge’s protection.”
“And did that work out well? If she found comfort in that, she’d be living peacefully in a cozy estate, married to whichever fiancé her father selected. But instead—”
“She’s going to hunt a dragon.”
Ranken finished the sentence.
His eyes grew calmer.
After years, he had finally reached the root of Viretta’s bluster.
“Even the servants at the count’s estate know stories about her. I don’t know how much is true—but I’ve never seen a woman under thirty roam so wildly.”
Viretta Medlidge had traveled to countless places, learned innumerable skills, and stirred up trouble wherever she went.
Ranken, who had run away with her more times than he could count, knew every legend was true. If anything, they were understated. Exaggeration was Viretta’s specialty.
But if one asked why she had done all that—
“She’s someone who only feels satisfied when she shines by her own strength. Standing under too large a roof, she thrashes about noisily, trying to succeed on her own.”
She wanted to achieve something by her own two feet.
Among the countless stars of Medlidge, she wanted to shine brightest.
Failing again and again, yet determined to find a place where she could shine.
“Someone like her withers under protection. No one should lead her life for her.”
Viretta was, in truth, quite talented.
She had a knack for business, a sharp eye for goods, and a silver tongue.
But Medlidge was a constellation where thousands upon thousands of gold coins moved daily.
Inside and outside the household, there were simply too many outstanding people.
“A perfect spouse whom everyone praises would only be an obstacle. All attention would be stolen by them.”
“Then I suppose I’ll be cleaning up after Viretta until I’m an old man.”
Ranken leaned back deeply in his chair, sounding weary of it all.
Yet across his lips flickered a faint joy he himself did not notice.
