Chapter 45: Sibling Quarrel, Once More

It was just past midday on the third day after leaving Helvendorp when we finally arrived in Meluestat.

The town was alive with bustling energy, its streets more crowded than I remembered, as if both people and horse-drawn carriages had multiplied since my last visit. The air carried the rhythmic clatter of hooves against cobblestone and the distant murmur of merchants calling to potential buyers.

Near the baronial estate, several carriages were drawn up in front of the glass shop. Judging by the steady flow of people and the activity around the doors, the business seemed to be thriving. Without lingering, we passed the shop and entered the baron’s grounds, the wheels of our carriage crunching softly on the gravel path. The vehicle came to a halt before the welcoming hall.

“Alright, let’s get out,” my mother instructed.

Obediently, I stepped down, my feet hitting the warm stone of the courtyard. As we descended, both Tobias and Ditnell came out of the hall to greet us.

“You’re late for your usual standards, Oneesan. Were you busy?” Ditnell asked, a faint hint of amusement in his voice.

“It seems Dit has found himself plenty of free time,” my mother replied smoothly.

True to form, the siblings exchanged barbed remarks as naturally as breathing.

“I am leading this matter myself, so I have assigned the work of an aide to someone else,” my mother explained.

“Of course. An aide’s duties can be handled by anyone,” Ditnell retorted, voice tinged with a mixture of irritation and reluctant acknowledgment.

In essence, my mother was telling Ditnell, without saying it outright: That’s the extent of the responsibility you were entrusted with.

“—Ugh, sister…” Ditnell muttered, exasperated.

“Long time no see, Tobias. I’m glad to see you’re well,” my mother continued, cutting in smoothly before Ditnell could complete his greeting.

“—Eh?! Ah, yes… long time no see, Martine-san,” Tobias stammered, startled by the sudden interruption. His gaze flicked toward Ditnell, who had been momentarily silenced, revealing a mix of confusion and restraint.

“No need to worry,” my mother said, her tone calm. “A child who cannot follow proper greeting protocol must first be given a moment to reflect.”

She was referring to the formal etiquette of host-and-guest greetings: the host expresses a welcoming sentiment first, and the guest responds with gratitude. Here, Tobias, as host and lord of the Merlot estate, would traditionally receive my mother’s thanks after her initial greeting, followed by Ditnell expressing his own gratitude. By skipping the proper sequence, Ditnell had earned my mother’s quiet exasperation—or perhaps she found his flustered state amusing.

“—Tobias, I apologize. I was in too much of a hurry since it’s been so long,” Ditnell admitted, his voice carrying a hint of contrition.

“Well, that happens from time to time. I don’t mind,” Tobias replied gently, brushing off the awkwardness.

Though his apology was earnest, Ditnell’s habitual need to justify himself made his expression betray his frustration—his face screamed “This is so unfair!” despite his words. He had the ability to adapt quickly when corrected, but concealing his true feelings entirely seemed impossible.

“And yet, to see you so happy at meeting me… what a charming child you are,” my mother teased lightly.

“I am not happy,” Ditnell retorted, voice defensive.

“Oh, I see. You’re just trying to sell me out, aren’t you?”

“—How dare you say such a thing! I only wish for your happiness, Oneesan. I seek to rescue you from a life mired in mud, returning you to a world of beautiful dresses and glittering jewels!”

His words were theatrical, and though clearly overblown, I reminded myself that nobles often polished appearances with such forced civility. One could simply shrug and move on without taking offense.

“Anyway, Tobias, I have a request for you. Would that be alright?” my mother asked, moving past Ditnell’s dramatic antics.

“Yes, of course. What is it?” Tobias replied.

“Could you summon a slave trader? I will hand over the slave contract for Arthur.”

“Martine-san, in that case—”

“Yes. I will go alone to the viscount’s estate. Arthur will remain in your care, Tobias, along with Rosanne-san,” my mother clarified.

This had been her instruction via letter after Ditnell departed. Should we be forced to return to the Kaupels estate, a slave trader would come to secure the transfer of Stefana and, at the same time, place binding magic to ensure no information about the glass business leaked.

Slave-binding magic was essentially a form of restrictive magic enhanced with additional layers. Any competent slave trader could perform it, making restrictive magic almost a side business for them.

“Understood. I will contact them immediately. Please excuse me now,” Tobias said politely, bowing before heading toward the administrative hall.

“Oneesan, how can you act so freely? The child will be returned to the estate to work, and the slave is meant to remain the property of the Kaupels family. We will take them back as planned,” Ditnell said, clearly frustrated.

The Kaupels intended to absorb everything, marrying my mother as part of their plan. Were they also targeting the glass business? Did they desire slaves with valuable information? Yet even so, the rationale for marrying my mother remained unclear.

“Dit, we haven’t formally returned to the Kaupels registry yet. You have no authority to intervene in my assets at this stage,” my mother said firmly.

“But didn’t you grant permission for the child to use the Kaupels name?” Ditnell countered.

True, that discussion had occurred, but I had refused the offer. From the Kaupels’ perspective, I was inconsequential. So why the sudden insistence now?

“You only allowed the use of the name, right? Father’s letter mentioned granting a separate cottage, clearly implying confinement and restriction from going outside,” my mother reasoned.

“Naturally. It would shame our family if others knew of our defective heirs. But of course, their basic needs—food, clothing, and shelter—will be met.”

I couldn’t discern whether she truly wanted us to go or not. Ditnell claimed leadership, yet hints of others’ influence made his actions seem conflicted and inconsistent.

“I don’t know what my father or Dit are thinking, but this is my decision. Arthur is not part of the Kaupels registry, and therefore has no obligation to follow your instructions,” my mother concluded.

“…Very well. Fewer people mean less cost and hassle anyway,” Ditnell relented.

“Good. I shall pay my respects to the baron. Dit, will you accompany me?”

“I will prepare for departure, so I must decline. Please convey my greetings to the baron beforehand.”

With that, the discussion concluded, and the four of us proceeded toward the administrative hall.

As we walked, I pondered the situation.

I suspected Ditnell acted at the behest of Zernike to influence Viscount Kaupels. Judging by timing, Zernike’s objective must be the glass business, while Ditnell appeared focused on support from the Sanders Trading Company. Yet, the viscount’s intentions remained opaque.

Only Viscount Kaupels could revoke my mother’s disinheritance, and he had already written to her. His involvement was certain, though his motives were unclear.

“Al, it’s alright. We should still have time,” my mother said kindly, noticing my pensive silence.

Even she could not be sure of the outcome. She had sent the letter unilaterally; whether the viscount would act was uncertain. Time would not wait—my mother would depart for Kaupstat, the capital of the Kaupels territory, in just a few days.

Arriving in Meluestat did not mean the matter would immediately conclude. The disinheritance letter required formal annulment before a third-party witness, followed by signatures to confirm revocation. While the Heraldic Office might recognize the annulment upon acceptance, noble formalities demanded ceremonial procedure. It was a tedious process, but at least it bought us time.

“Also, see Rosanne while you can. She is currently in residence, and refusing to meet would leave her hiding in her private quarters,” we were told by Tounis-sama at the administrative hall.

Following his advice, we went to the private residence to meet Rosanne.

“Oneesan, are you really going?” Rosanne asked, concern in her voice.

“It cannot be helped. Father’s letter came with a summons. Ignoring it would be treason,” my mother replied, calm but firm.

I hadn’t heard anything about the summons before. Was that why he looked so unsettled when reading the viscount’s letter?

“Please take care of Al, Rose,” my mother continued.

“Of course. I will protect Al-kun. Also, you should stay here until departure. Ditnell is at the guest hall, after all.”

“Very well. I shall comply,” my mother agreed.

Rosanne seemed hesitant, much like my mother. I wondered briefly if he and Ditnell shared some history—but I dared not ask.

Afterward, the slave trader arrived to transfer Stefana’s slave contract and perform binding magic for my mother.

Three days later, my mother departed for Kaupstat, accompanied by Ditnell.

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