Chapter 7

Funeral (2)

In the Empire, there exists a strangely shaped domain.

Like a snake stretching from the snowy mountains of the North, through the plains of the West, down to the seas of the South, the territory spans in a long, narrow strip.

Such a domain is fatally vulnerable—if struck from outside, it would inevitably be severed in the middle.

The lifeline of war, the supply route, would be cut off.

Because it is so disadvantageous for defense, most would avoid such a form of territory.

Yet, to deliberately hold such land was also a symbol of immense confidence.

The confidence that no one would dare to touch them.

It bordered on arrogance, but once one confirmed the name of the domain, everyone nodded in understanding.

Of course.

For it belonged to one of the five noble houses of the Empire, those whose veins carried the blood of dragons.

The Mausoleum County.

And within the grand keep of this vast land, a funeral was underway.

“Ah, Lady Ishtar. You have come.”

“Baron Donovan, it has been a long time.”

As befitted the Mausoleum family, notorious yet influential, countless nobles and honored guests attended.

They had traveled all the way from the capital of the Empire.

“It seems the Marquess of Ishtar himself could not come?”

“He is much occupied with affairs of state. Thus, I have come in his stead as the representative of our house.”

Among them was the Marquess’ daughter—Irina Ishtar.

No sooner had she entered the funeral hall than a crowd of young noblemen swarmed around her.

“Lady Ishtar, I heard you declined my sister’s tea party the other day. She was quite disheartened.”

“Haha, but Lady Ishtar has no interest in such social gatherings.”

“Come to think of it, Lady, I heard you’ve recently reached a new realm of mastery.”

“As expected of Lady Ishtar. At this rate, perhaps the Empire will soon have its youngest Swordmaster.”

To their words, Irina offered nothing but the curve of her eyes in a faint smile.

Answering them directly was bothersome, but as a knight she could not simply ignore them either. A polite smile sufficed.

“Ah…”

That alone left the men around her dazed, their eyes blank for a moment.

The attention surrounding Irina Ishtar was not only because she was unmarried and daughter to a Marquess, but also due to her striking beauty.

In the Empire, those of surpassing beauty fell into two categories: either half-elves, or those with dragon blood.

The Ishtar Marquessate was of the latter, descendants of the Radiant Dragon Ishtar, said to have ascended to godhood.

“Lady Ishtar is dazzling as always.”

One of her admirers muttered dreamily.

Her shining white hair and mysterious violet eyes seemed to radiate something beyond beauty—something divine.

“You flatter me.”

Irina only gave a small reply.

To her, praise for her looks was nothing but a greeting she had heard all her life.

“L-Lady, I was planning a hunting competition soon. Would you perhaps join us?”

One young noble asked hesitantly, thinking perhaps she, as a knight, might enjoy such a pastime.

“Ah…”

Irina’s face stiffened slightly.

She had no fear of bloodshed as a knight. But hunting innocent beasts for mere sport went against her nature.

As she hesitated over how to answer, a voice rescued her.

“Vice-Commander. What are you doing?”

“Ah, Commander.”

It was Cain, leader of the Radiant Order of Knights, to which she belonged.

He gave the men surrounding Irina a sweeping glance, then gestured to her.

“The ceremony will begin soon. Take your seat.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Irina immediately followed him away.

The young nobles left behind sighed in regret before trudging toward the ceremony site.

“Thank you, Commander,” Irina murmured.

Cain only walked on in silence, as if he did not understand her meaning.

The funeral was held in the rear garden of the Mausoleum keep, near the family crypt.

It was a simple setup—rows of chairs before the coffin of the late Count. After the service, the coffin would be carried directly to its resting place.

After Irina and Cain were seated, about ten minutes later, someone stepped onto the platform beside the coffin to begin the rites.

“Thank you, honored guests, for coming from such a distance. I am Alfred, the butler who serves House Mausoleum. As you know…”

The old steward smoothly recited a brief history of the family and the achievements of the late Count.

Cain muttered in mild surprise,

“Strange. I’ve never seen a butler conduct a funeral instead of a priest.”

“The Mausoleum family does not follow the Church,” Irina explained softly.

Cain gave a small nod.

After listing the Count’s final achievements, the steward cleared his throat and continued:

“Before we move on to the tributes from honored guests, let us first have the blood relatives take their seats.”

At that, all turned their eyes.

From the direction of the keep, a group approached.

People with black hair, black clothes, and pale skin.

Like vampires walking beneath the radiant sun—the Mausoleum bloodline.

And among them, attention naturally focused on the man at the front.

Seymour Mausoleum.

The young heir destined to inherit the title of Count.

“…Huh?”

“Oh…”

Several with an eye for fashion were the first to murmur in admiration.

Because Seymour’s attire stood out.

He wore a black suit.

The jacket’s cut emphasized his broad shoulders, the vest highlighted his slim waist, and a white shirt contrasted against his black hair.

But above all, it was the slim necktie at his throat, pinned with a golden clasp matching the color of his eyes, that drew attention.

“What is that?”

“A neck ornament I’ve never seen before.”

Even those proud of their fashion sense could not help but marvel.

Though his only adornments were the tie pin, buttons, and cufflinks, he exuded a noble air.

Covetous gazes abounded.

“Is this the new fashion in Mausoleum County?”

“Before returning to the capital, I must visit a tailor here.”

“I’ll come along.”

Soon, some forgot the funeral altogether, absorbed in talk of fashion.

Meanwhile, those less concerned with attire were shocked for a different reason—

The child in Seymour’s arms.

“Who is that child?”

“Weren’t there only three Mausoleum siblings? Could it be his son?”

But the whispers died as the child lifted her head from Seymour’s chest.

Snow-white hair, eyes gleaming gold.

Chubby cheeks full of innocence, tiny hands clutching at Seymour’s clothes.

And she wore a miniature version of his suit.

“So cute…”

“Truly adorable…”

Her charm made them forget this was a funeral.

Only Irina remained composed, though her gaze was locked on the child—on Lucis.

When the funeral ended, a crowd immediately surrounded me.

“Seymour, do you remember me? I once visited your estate to meet the late Count.”

“Sir—no, should I call you Count now? I am Baron Voltaire, who governs the neighboring land.”

They were eager to make connections with the new Count.

“And may I ask, who is this child?”

“She’s quite adorable. Haha, she must take after her father?”

Many asked directly, or hinted slyly, curious about Lucis’ identity.

“Forgive me, but I would like a moment of solitude.”

“Oh, of course. We were thoughtless.”

Before Lucis could burst out with another Dragon Fear tantrum, I excused myself.

Truthfully, I also found it hard to answer their questions.

“Is Lucis your daughter?”

It was difficult to say either yes or no.

I sighed quietly and looked down at Lucis in my arms.

“Haa~m.”

She yawned wide, and I gently wiped the tears forming at the corners of her eyes before holding her closer.

At that moment—

“Count Mausoleum.”

Another voice addressed me.

Turning, intending to dismiss them, my vision was filled with silver hair.

Irina Ishtar.

For a moment, I simply stared.

As with all who bore dragon blood, her beauty was astonishing.

“…Count?”

When I didn’t reply, she called again.

Realizing I’d missed my chance to brush her off, I cleared my throat.

“Ah, forgive me. Strictly speaking, I haven’t officially inherited the title yet.”

“For someone not yet Count, you speak quite familiarly.”

Had Seymour and she always spoken formally? My memory, based only on events a year from now, betrayed me.

“Well, it’s only a matter of time before I become Count.”

I decided to brazen it out.

After all, she was an enemy.

The Ishtar house, standing in direct opposition to the Mausoleum. And Irina herself, Seymour’s rival.

Unlike Seymour, who was fated to die to the protagonist, Irina was the hero’s ally and could even be recruited as a companion after Seymour’s fall.

Needless to say, she played a vital role in his downfall.

One of the people I must be most wary of.

And as a noble of the Empire, she was someone I could never avoid.

The Mausoleum and Ishtar houses were bound by layers of enmity.

“….”

Irina’s eyes fell on Lucis. The child, sensing her gaze, turned to meet it.

Irina seemed to realize something about Lucis. Whether by dragon blood or sharp intuition, she guessed the truth.

“…You.”

She lifted her eyes to me, filled with open suspicion and disgust.

I gave a bitter smile.

Considering the history of our houses, her look was unsurprising…

But receiving such a gaze from a beauty was damaging all the same.

I shrugged.

“What’s the matter?”

“….”

Her eyes widened slightly, not the reaction she expected.

In the original story, Seymour and Irina were sworn enemies.

Had it gone that way, Seymour would have snapped back at her here.

Instead, she looked puzzled, then shook her head and spoke bluntly.

“This child. Where did you bring her from?”

“Hm? I don’t know what you mean.”

“She isn’t your child.”

“Well, everyone else insists she looks just like me.”

At my evasive answer, her eyes narrowed.

But she, too, knew this was no place to continue.

Clicking her tongue, she turned away—only for her head to jerk back suddenly.

“Eek?”

Someone had yanked her hair.

Covering her mouth to stifle the unseemly sound, her face flushed red as she spun on me in outrage and shock.

I was equally stunned.

Looking down, I saw Lucis clutching tightly to a handful of her hair.

The child fiddled with the silken strands, then lifted her gaze.

Her golden eyes filled with Irina.

“…Ma?”

She tilted her head, asking softly.

Irina didn’t understand.

But I did, having heard it before.

“…Mama?”

A thought flashed through my mind.

Golden eyes of Mausoleum.

White hair of Ishtar.

Two dragons from a thousand years ago—one slain, one ascended. And a child sealed away for a thousand years.

No way…

But I shook my head.

After all, the Radiant Dragon Ishtar had ascended as a god, honored for slaying the Void Dragon Mausoleum.