Ascendance of a Bookworm (LN) - Volume 5.11 - Chapter 4

Finalizing the New Zent

“Though this burden might be too great for Prince Sigiswald to bear, someone from the royal family must become the Zent for you all to be spared the Ivory Tower,” Ferdinand said. “Knowing that, do you stand by this decision?”

Trauerqual paused in thought. He gazed down at the bound prince, at his wife and other children, and then slowly knelt. “Even now that my mind has been cleansed—in fact, now more than ever—I sincerely believe that only someone who has obtained the Grutrissheit under their own power deserves to be the Zent. You ascended the altar and disappeared with the Divine Avatar of Mestionora... Do you not have it, Lord Ferdinand?”

“Father, what are you saying?!”

The king’s use of a title, coupled with his kneeling before Ferdinand, stirred all those present. The royals looked between the pair, while Aub Dunkelfelger and his wife watched Ferdinand closely to gauge his reaction.

As expected, even Dunkelfelger suspects Ferdinand of having the Book of Mestionora.

“King Trauerqual, does that mean you would not mind the entire royal family being locked up?” Ferdinand asked calmly instead of answering the question.

Anastasius stood up with a clatter, his face pale as could be. “Please stop, Father! You are the Zent! You needn’t kneel before anyone but the divine avatar!”

“A true Zent must wield a Grutrissheit.”

“Rozemyne will give us one! I want you to have it and continue your reign—I already asked as much of them. You have done more to keep this country together than any other person alive, so how could anyone else be better suited to the role?”

Anastasius tried to pull Trauerqual to his feet, but the king merely shook his head. I watched their emotional exchange for a moment, then sighed and cast my eyes on Ferdinand.

Congratulations. It went exactly as you expected.

It was almost like watching a play I’d already read the script for. I couldn’t help feeling bad for Trauerqual, but Ferdinand didn’t intend to be honest with him.

“King Trauerqual...” he said, “if you will forgive my rudeness, there is a serious misunderstanding at play here. The requirement for ascending the altar is not having the Grutrissheit but having divine protections from all of the primary gods.”

“That is correct,” Eglantine announced, drawing all eyes to herself. Nobody had expected her to interject. “I, too, climbed the altar after performing the divine protections ritual in class. I was taken to the white plaza where I obtained my schtappe, but there was nothing of note there. And of course, I do not have the Grutrissheit.”

“The requirements are being omni-elemental and obtaining the divine protection of each primary god,” I added, since Eglantine had stolen my line of the script.

The king’s eyes widened. Being able to ascend the shrine wasn’t proof of having the Grutrissheit. Hearing it from Eglantine had done more to convince him than anything I might have said.

“But even so, Lord Ferdinand—”

“Indeed,” Eglantine said. “He pointed us toward the Grutrissheit in the first place, so he either has it or stopped just before obtaining it.”

The pair looked at Ferdinand. I could tell from their eyes that they both wanted to know whether he had the Grutrissheit, but there were nuances to their expressions. Eglantine seemed curious, whereas Trauerqual was outright desperate.

“Prince Sigiswald truly is your son,” Ferdinand told the king, staring down at him contemptuously. “The likeness is uncanny.”

Everyone’s expressions changed, mostly for the worse. Nobody would interpret such words as praise when Trauerqual had just moments ago described his son’s behavior as “unbearably foolish and painful to witness.”

Magdalena’s sharp red eyes bore holes in Ferdinand. “In what ways do you think the two resemble one another?”

“Hmm. To begin with, their tendency to forget everything inconvenient to them and use their royal authority to make demands of others. Prince Sigiswald learned it from his father, I suspect. But that is not all. I see now that you fell victim to the Goddess of Chaos’s curse, Lady Magdalena.”

Having dismissed Magdalena as someone blinded by love, Ferdinand sneered at Trauerqual. “You seem to have forgotten this, so allow me to repeat it: I do not desire a rebellion, nor do I wish to become the Zent. Was that not clear when I agreed to marry into Ahrensbach? Or was that year and a half spent slaving away with my life on the line for nothing?”

Sylvester’s hands tightened into fists. So intense was his anger that he would probably have lunged at Trauerqual if he could.

“I determined that to be the best decision at the time,” Trauerqual forced out.

“You determined it best to essentially banish him to another duchy?” Sylvester finally snapped. “And now you want to force him to take the throne because you think he has the Grutrissheit, despite having zero evidence to reinforce that claim. How can you honestly believe he should not only restore Ahrensbach but also clean up the mess your family made? It is far too early to accept a visit from Schlaftraum.”

Sylvester had essentially said, “If you’re going to spew nonsense, don’t speak at all.” My knowledge of euphemisms had come in handy once again. Seeing him confront the king of all people—and with a broad smile on his face—made it abundantly clear that he was Ferdinand’s older brother.

Still, I didn’t realize King Trauerqual also had a tendency to forget whatever he found inconvenient.

Sylvester and the king were engaged in an aggressive staring contest. The former wanted to stop the royals from exploiting Ferdinand any longer, whereas the latter wanted to do what was best for Yurgenschmidt, no matter the personal cost.

A gentle voice interrupted their tense exchange.

“Lord Ferdinand—may we proceed with the understanding, then, that you have no intention of obtaining the Grutrissheit or becoming the Zent? You do not plan to accept the king’s proposal, do you?”

It was Eglantine. She wore a pleasant smile and sat with a hand resting quizzically on her cheek, but her bright orange eyes were deadly serious.

Ferdinand met her gaze and nodded. “The Divine Avatar of Mestionora gave us two options: a member of the royal family can become the Zent to answer the gods’ needs, or Aub Dunkelfelger can take the throne. No matter what King Trauerqual says, I was never in the picture.”

“Thank you ever so much for your answer. I understand your position clearly.”

Even then, Trauerqual remained unconvinced. He repeated that someone who had obtained the Grutrissheit on their own deserved to take the throne, but Ferdinand remained completely silent.

“Um, King Trauerqual,” I said as he continued to plead. “I do not think you are wrong to want a Zent who obtained the Grutrissheit through their own power. We intend to spread the means of obtaining the Book of Mestionora so that future Zents can be chosen from those who successfully acquire it. However, for us to reach that point, I need someone in the royal family to take the reins for just one more generation.”

I focused my attention on Adolphine, Eglantine, and Magdalena. Two of them had only recently married into the royal family, and the third rarely had a chance to socialize due to being a third wife. I didn’t think any of them had committed crimes that would warrant them spending the rest of their lives in an ivory tower.

“In all senses,” I concluded, “the changes we seek to implement are more likely to be accepted if we introduce them gradually rather than all at once. The greater a change, the more resistance it will inspire.”

“Not a single noble will complain if the Zent has the Grutrissheit,” Trauerqual said.

I shook my head; he only thought that because he had spent a decade being relentlessly labeled a false king. “You have deified the Grutrissheit to an unreasonable degree. Even a Zent who has one or their own Book of Mestionora will not be immune from criticism. Humans will always find reasons to be upset; their capacity for suffering has no bounds. I want there to be as little friction and as few disputes as can be, but the transition will never be perfectly smooth. History has made that more than apparent.”

I turned my head, having felt an intense glare midway through my speech. Eglantine was staring right at me.

“Yes?” I asked.

She lowered her eyes, then directed them at Trauerqual. I could sense her determination.

“The Grutrissheit is absolutely necessary for Yurgenschmidt’s future,” she said. “To that end, I once thought it essential that we adopt Lady Rozemyne into our family and engage her to Prince Sigiswald—so she could obtain the Grutrissheit and give it to us without issue.”

Anastasius wouldn’t have agreed to marry me; he had given up on the throne specifically for Eglantine. And trying to wed me to Hildebrand would most likely have caused another war.

“However,” she continued, “as a result of the recent incident, Lady Rozemyne can now grant the royal family the Grutrissheit as the Divine Avatar of Mestionora. We have no need to adopt her or marry her to Prince Sigiswald. King Trauerqual—this is your chance to obtain the Grutrissheit without causing any disputes. Should you not take it?”

Anastasius gazed optimistically at Trauerqual. As did the king’s wives and Adolphine, who had married into the royal family. Trauerqual, however, obstinately shook his head.

“My stance will not change,” he said. “The throne must go to someone who has obtained the Grutrissheit under their own power. I should not remain the Zent any longer.”

“I see,” Eglantine replied. “Then I understand your position as well.” She encouraged the king to return to his seat, then shot me a look of resolve. “Lady Rozemyne, I wish to take the throne. I shall give you my name and make the necessary vow to the gods. In return, I ask to be given the Grutrissheit.”

“Eglantine...” Anastasius muttered, staring at his wife in a daze.

“I cannot let the country descend into another war,” she said with a smile. “Though I admit, it would have been ideal for Prince Sigiswald to receive the Grutrissheit. As the heir apparent, he was best suited to implement slow and gradual change.”

Eglantine had wanted Sigiswald to wield the Grutrissheit and revive the old methods, paving the way for a worthy successor to take his place, while the rest of the royals devoted themselves to serving as aubs. But alas, the first prince had been deemed unsuitable for the role.

She continued, “Though his reign would most likely have been shorter than the first prince’s and thus a greater cause for concern, had the king desired the Grutrissheit, I would have considered it a suitable reward for his years of anguish.”

Despite not having a Grutrissheit, Trauerqual had fought as best he could to keep the country alive. Eglantine said she would have supported him if only he had striven to serve Yurgenschmidt as a proper Zent and change the country as per the gods’ wishes.

“Anastasius and Prince Hildebrand do not have divine protections from all of the primary gods, meaning they cannot ascend the altar with Lady Rozemyne. They had to be excluded from the start.”

Anastasius and Hildebrand grimaced with regret; not being able to climb the altar had proven fatal to their chances of taking the throne. They had not been born omni-elemental, and there was no time for them to circle the shrines and pray until they obtained all the divine protections they needed.

“Though, in Anastasius’s case, that was because he spent so much time helping Prince Sigiswald obtain his protections, hoping to prove that he had no intention of stealing the throne.” Eglantine gave her husband a consoling smile, then turned to Ferdinand. “If Lord Ferdinand had wanted to be the Zent, whether he had the Grutrissheit or not, I would not have volunteered. I see no merit in war—especially one waged against a man the divine avatar loves.”

Wait, what? “Loves”? Someone’s jumping to conclusions.

I glanced at Ferdinand, debating whether I should interrupt Eglantine’s teasing smile to correct her. His eyebrows were low over his eyes. On the surface, it seemed to be his usual stony countenance, but I could tell it was the face he pulled when he was genuinely displeased. Correcting her would probably be ideal.

“Lady Eglantine,” I said, “Ferdinand is like family to me. If you think there are romantic feelings between us, then you are mistaken. He might be willing to endure a political marriage or the like, but he would never accept romantic love in the sense you mean.”

Everyone stared at me, at a complete loss for words. Their eyes practically screamed, “Are you being serious right now?”

“Umm...”

It suddenly felt like everyone knew something I didn’t.

“I’m right, aren’t I, Ferdinand?!” I exclaimed, reaching out and pulling on his sleeve. “Let us dispel these misconceptions together!”

Ferdinand endured several aggressive tugs before a displeased grimace appeared on his face. It made no sense; he had taught me that letting a misunderstanding fester was the same as supporting it, so one had to intervene even when it was tedious.

“Oho. Is she right?” Sylvester asked.

“And why are you getting involved...?” Ferdinand replied.

“As your elder brother and her adoptive father, I consider it my right to know.”

“Well, you are wrong.”

Sylvester grinned, but Ferdinand returned a smile that did not reach his eyes. His talent for glaring while looking otherwise unbothered was as impressive as always.

“My apologies,” Eglantine said. “I chose my words poorly. I wished only to stress that if Lord Ferdinand had wanted the throne, I would not have volunteered.”

“Indeed, Eglantine is correct,” Ferdinand added, urging her to continue while gesturing to me to sit back down. “You stray too far from the matter at hand, Rozemyne.”

In retrospect, I really shouldn’t have dwelled on my relationship with Ferdinand; our discussion was about shaping the very future of Yurgenschmidt. He probably hadn’t said anything about the misunderstanding because he knew it would only delay us.

Oopsies.

“No, I apologize for interrupting in the first place,” I said. “Please continue.”

“If our more suitable candidates would rather not take the throne, then it falls upon me. Aub Ehrenfest suggested the royal family must clean up its own mess, and I agree; it would not be right to force the burden on anyone else. I am also a mother. If possible, I would rather live with my daughter than spend my days in a cell apart from her.”

Wait, what? Her daughter? When did this happen?!

My eyes widened in surprise. I wasn’t sure when she’d gotten pregnant or given birth, but the timing of her marriage told me her daughter was still quite young.

I didn’t realize Lady Eglantine was a mother.

In that case, becoming an aub or the Zent or whatever would indeed be much better than living apart in an ivory tower.

“We can expect Lady Eglantine’s daughter to be omni-elemental and a prime candidate to become the next Zent,” I remarked. “As long as Prince Anastasius has the resolve to support his wife, I see no reason not to grant her the Grutrissheit.”

Anastasius eyed me cautiously. “Support her in what sense?” He needn’t be so concerned, though; I was referring to the same expectations placed upon a female aub’s husband.

“You will need to carry out the duties of the Zent in Lady Eglantine’s stead when she is pregnant and on maternity leave. To that end, the two of you will not be able to have any more children until you can take her place—that is, until you have obtained the divine protections of all the primary gods. It should not take you long if you circle the shrines with a glut of rejuvenation potions.”

To support the Zent, one needed only to become omni-elemental; having one’s own Book of Mestionora was by no means necessary. I wanted to encourage Anastasius to do his best for Eglantine. His cheek twitched for some reason, but still—he would do anything for his beloved wife and daughter. I trusted that he would go to any lengths to grant Eglantine’s wishes.

“If we agree that Lady Eglantine should become the Zent, then we will start by hiding the royal family’s crimes as best we can,” I said. “Could we conceal the fact that Prince Hildebrand obtained his schtappe and pretend it never happened?”

Magdalena stared at us in surprise.

I continued, “It seems unfair to further punish the third prince when everyone else in his family will get to bury their crimes and continue to live as nobles, however hard those lives might be. Could we turn his bracelets into a ring that serves the same purpose, allowing his schtappe to be sealed until the time comes for him to obtain it with his classmates?”

“His retainers could modify the bracelets to make that an option, but...” Ferdinand gave me a sharp look that forced me to avert my eyes. “You are as overly lenient as ever.”

From there, he turned to the rest of the room. “Indeed, as Rozemyne suggests, there is much room for compassion when it comes to the third prince. In addition to his youth, he was most likely isolated from the chain of communication, and none of the adults around him ever thought to be on guard against Raublut. It would not be fair for a mere child to face punishment when those in his family who knew better are being allowed to wipe the slate clean. His crimes, at least, can go unseen.”

Everyone remained silent as Ferdinand gazed upon Magdalena. There was a more critical glint in his eyes.

“Lady Magdalena, we cannot be surprised that a young child trusted the words of the knight commander when even his retainers were fooled. That said, had he understood the quality of schtappes and why the age for obtaining them was raised, he would not have been so foolish as to commit this crime in the first place. Third prince or no, I must conclude that you failed with his education.”

Hildebrand paled, while Magdalena cast her eyes down. “That is correct,” she said. “I did not educate him as well as I should have.”

Wait, what? I told Prince Hildebrand why the curriculum was changed when we were in the underground archive. I even said as much to Ferdinand when we were interrogating Alstede.

I cocked my head at Ferdinand. Was he trying to spare Hildebrand some of the blame by attributing as much fault as he could to the adults? I certainly wasn’t going to correct him this time; doing so would force him to respond that the prince was more foolish than he’d thought and push the conversation toward making the punishment even harsher. Instead, I took another approach.

“Worry not, Ferdinand—Lady Eglantine becoming the Zent means King Trauerqual can become an aub. The royal family will soon cease to exist, and if we encourage Prince Hildebrand to learn from Dunkelfelger, I am sure he can still grow into a fine archduke candidate.”

Lestilaut and Hannelore were both exceptionally above-average archduke candidates. And as Magdalena was from Dunkelfelger, I saw no reason why she wouldn’t be able to remedy the prince’s poor education going forward.

“Um, Roze— Lady Rozemyne...” Hildebrand muttered, clearly anxious. “Would you support me becoming a Zent in the future?”

It seemed next to impossible for Hildebrand to obtain the Book of Mestionora, but there was nothing wrong with providing a little motivation. I opened my mouth to say that I would... only to be cut short by Ferdinand.

“Enough,” he said. “You cannot show favoritism while here as the Divine Avatar of Mestionora. Young though the prince might be, he must be told the truth.” I was being lectured without even having said anything.

“I understand what you mean, but is it really necessary to crush his dreams in front of everyone?”

“Is it not more cruel to give him false hope? How long would you let him go before revealing that he aspires to the impossible?”

“‘The impossible’?!” Hildebrand repeated, his eyes widening.

Ferdinand refused to mince his words. “The schtappe you obtained is no better than those of the old generation.”

The next generation’s Zent would need to secure the Book of Mestionora through their own power. Once the method for acquiring it and the importance of prayer were spread during the Archduke Conference, the younger students would no doubt start dedicating themselves to compressing their mana and procuring more elements before their third year. Compared to the schtappes they would obtain, one obtained before even entering the Royal Academy would be of awfully low quality.

Ferdinand continued, “In your case, Prince Hildebrand, if you overcompress your mana or pray too much, your mana will exceed your schtappe’s capacity and become impossible to control. Rozemyne experienced the same problem after performing the divine protections ceremony in her third year.”

“But she seems okay now,” Hildebrand replied. “There must be a way...”

“Rozemyne was omni-elemental to begin with and able to enter the shrines of the primary gods. The same cannot be said for you. Even as you grow, your schtappe’s capacity will remain severely limited—a most crippling blight on your future as a noble. The hardships this will cause you are the unseen burden you will need to carry for the rest of your life.”

Hildebrand scrunched up his face, on the verge of tears. “In other words, I can’t become a Zent?”

“You will understand why if you learn the ancient language and read the documents in the underground archive. In the past, students obtained their schtappes during their final year, and those who did not pray enough to obtain the divine protections of all the primary gods were unable to take the throne. You obtained your schtappe before gaining all the elements, so the same is true for you.”

The third prince hung his head, overcome with despair. His mother and father furrowed their brows in frustration, but they weren’t the only ones; Dunkelfelger’s archducal couple looked just as regretful.