How to Teach a Hero at the Academy Chapter 170 : Chapter 170

Chapter 170: Succession (2)

‘Those people….’

Young Ernst narrowed his eyes.

Madman, knight, and old man—was that how they had introduced themselves? He stared at the three n who had barged into the carriage without warning. The guards should have been stationed outside the compartnt. The reason it was quiet—had they been eliminated? According to the old man, the three were guests of House Tresckow. Ernst did not hesitate to decide what that truly ant.

A roundabout introduction by assassins.

‘They intend to kill .’

The eldest grandson who had lost his parents was nothing more than an obstacle.

He understood it as mbers of the family having dispatched killers.

“Does it not feel like a dream?”

anwhile, the old man whispered, gripping his cane.

A sly smile lingered at the corners of his mouth.

“I am curious, Ernst. Does this mont feel like a dream to you?”

Ernst pressed his lips together.

What nonsense was this old man spouting now?

What was the implication behind this sudden talk of dreams? Was he mocking him, asking whether facing his death felt unreal?

“The guards—”

“Wait, nanny. They are probably all dead anyway.”

Ernst waved his hand.

He stopped the nanny from shouting toward the outside of the compartnt, then spoke.

“Not at all.”

He opened his mouth with an unyielding expression.

“It does not feel like a dream in the slightest. Death does not exist in dreams to begin with. No matter how many tis you die, you rely wake up. Death exists only in reality. Therefore, I recognize this situation as an entirely natural reality, and—”

Above all,

“I am not the type to dream much,”

Ernst added with a sneer, glaring at the old man.

“Is that so.”

The old man nodded once.

His gaze shifted toward the boy who called himself a knight.

“It seems Ernst had a foul temperant even as a child. Is that not so, true knight?”

“Indeed, Your Grace.”

The knight gave a hollow laugh and agreed.

Then he leaned in and whispered near the old man’s ear.

“Ernst believes we are assassins. Given his disposition, it is obvious. Especially in his youth, he was obsessively wary of his surroundings.”

“Quite right. Acting sharp-tongued out of fear, perhaps.”

What are they even talking about?

Ernst frowned as he thought.

If they intended to kill , they should just do it already. Why were they drawing it out, whispering among themselves? Saying his personality was foul, that he was obsessively cautious—he could not make sense of the boy’s and the old man’s words. They were speaking as though they knew him intimately.

“Ernst von Tresckow.”

At that mont, the young man who called himself a madman spoke.

With an indifferent expression, he asked,

“Can you think?”

“What exactly are you asking?”

“Precisely what I said. Can you think for yourself?”

“Do you take for an idiot? Of course I can think.”

Tch.

Ernst clicked his tongue.

Then he grabbed the nanny’s arm and pulled her back.

“Whether you kill or not is none of my concern.”

“Y-Young Master? What are you—”

“Be quiet.”

I am doing this for your sake.

Ernst whispered so to the nanny.

“This woman is my nanny. I am well aware that you have co to kill , but there is no need to harm soone outside your interests, is there? Just spare her. There are plenty of ways to silence her without killing her.”

“I see.”

The madman nodded.

That was all. There was no sign of agreent.

Damn it. Had he not made a polite enough request? Thinking that, Ernst bit his lower lip. The madman’s expression remained as still as plaster, and not a trace of emotion could be discerned from his voice.

“You are…”

Silently, or perhaps coldly.

The madman muttered while looking at the old man.

“…a dream that can think for itself.”

***

‘What…?’

Ernst opened his eyes.

Pain spread through his head. He pressed a hand to his throbbing forehead and lifted himself up. A wide table caked with dust lay before him. Ernst put on the glasses that had been left lying on one side. As his blurred vision ca into focus, his grandmother’s bedroom filled his sight. Like any room of the dead, it was desolate.

‘Did I fall asleep?’

Ernst sat up.

Sunlight was seeping in through the window.

‘I was tired.’

He had arrived at the Tresckow territory the previous night. He had intended to briefly look over his grandmother’s bedchamber before resting, but it seed he had nodded off while sitting at the table.

There was a considerable distance between the capital of Naflansee and the Tresckow territory. Even using a teleportation gate, one still had to travel for a long ti aboard a magestone vehicle. Setting aside the ti it took, perhaps because he had been sitting vacantly in the vehicle, his body ached.

‘Is it today?’

Swish.

Ernst pulled aside the curtains covering the window.

As the thick blackout drapes were drawn back, the scenery of the Tresckow territory ca into view.

‘How dull.’

Compared to the capital, the Tresckow territory was unimpressive.

Most of the land was used for agriculture, and areas that could be called comrcial districts were exceedingly narrow. Only the castle surrounding the territory was enormous—wastefully so.

He would have to declare it to all who lived there.

That he would be inheriting the title of count.

‘That aside…’

Haaam.

Yawning, Ernst thought,

‘What is Demian doing?’

He had not shown his face at all.

For a full week, ever since the news that he would be departing on a pilgrimage.

‘He has not even been attending Professor Argento’s redial lessons….’

It was not difficult to understand.

Preparations must have been rushed. He would be crossing the Empire’s territory for at least half a year.

‘That damn bastard.’

Clack.

As Ernst flung open the window,

‘Well, good riddance.’

Just as he was thinking that with a faint smile,

“Er.”

Thud.

A palm grabbed the window fra.

“Give a hand.”

I cannot climb up because of the wind, ca the infuriating voice in his ear.

“Please, I am begging you. I think I am going to fall. I am scared.”

“…No.”

Ernst’s expression crumpled.

For a mont, he wondered if he was dreaming.

“What do you think you are doing?”

That was understandable.

His grandmother’s bedroom was located at the highest level of Tresckow Castle. Due to severe deterioration, the stone walls were loose, and because the castle was needlessly large, repairs were only partial. And it was the middle of winter.

What lunatic would climb the walls of Tresckow Castle?

He did not know.

“Answer , Demian!”

No—he did know.

He knew all too well, which was why he was at a loss for words.

“It looked like security was tight…”

Ernst grabbed the hand clinging to the window fra.

He pulled hard.

“…so I just tried climbing the wall.”

I am hearing all kinds of insane nonsense.

Grinding his teeth, Ernst thought.

Demian’s body, hardened with muscle, was heavy. When he finally dragged him into the bedroom, Demian looked utterly miserable. Frost clung to his once-glossy blond hair, and his chilled face was pale. Demian trembled as he stood beside Ernst.

“I knew you were completely unhinged, but….”

Ernst tossed a blanket at Demian.

Bang. The window, left wide open, slamd shut as the wind pushed it closed.

“…I have no idea why I am always the one who ends up flustered.”

In the sudden, complete silence,

Ernst crossed his arms and grumbled.

“Go on, then. Start talking. Why did you co all the way here?”

To congratulate on my succession?

When Ernst asked that,

“I did not co to congratulate you.”

Demian replied through chattering teeth.

“It is not a good thing for you.”

“You are exactly right.”

There was no need for him to co all this way.

You must be busy too, Ernst muttered, turning his gaze away.

“But you need it.”

No, you said you needed it.

You said you needed .

“That is why I ca. Because you needed .”

“What kind of nonsense is that?”

“…Who knows.”

A faint smile crossed Demian’s lips.

Or was it a smile? Ernst could not tell whether Demian was smiling or crying as he watched his twitching face.

It did not matter. Demian spouting nonsense and behaving strangely was nothing new.

There was only one problem—

“I might have dread it. But I definitely heard it.”

Unaware that it was pointless,

taking himself far too seriously.

“Your younger self said it.”

That you needed a knight.

That you needed a true knight.

Demian whispered so.

***

‘What is this?’

Young Ernst blinked.

What on earth was happening? He thought as he walked. He had believed assassins had boarded the train, and that his throat would be cut on the spot, but—

“I see.”

The boy who had called himself a true knight was smiling for so reason.

“This is what the capital used to look like. It really has developed a great deal over the past ten or so years.”

He was casually looking around at the surroundings beside him, while—

“Look here, re madman.”

The old man who had called himself a regretful old man—who showed no sign of regret at all—said,

“Is it not a flawless reconstruction? I can control this street however I wish. I could erase so of the pedestrians, or even bring buildings crashing down.”

Was he spouting absurd delusions?

“That would be the case.”

anwhile, the gaze of the one who called himself a re madman was unsettling.

As the nanny and Ernst walked forward with stiff expressions, the boy who claid to be a knight was busy glancing around, while the old man and the young man followed behind.

The old man strolled as though on a walk, while the young man—

“Your Grace, may I presu to say a word?”

—was watching Ernst’s back.

As though guarding him from the old man.

“Go ahead.”

“Does His Majesty the Emperor also know of Your Grace’s achievents?”

“Of course not.”

Ernst strained his ears.

He wanted to hear the exchange between the old man and the young man.

“When would this old man have ti to boast of his toys? His Majesty has many concerns.”

“Then I must judge for myself.”

The existence of the Emperor.

The honorific “Your Grace.”

And the young man’s tone—respectful, yet clearly wary of the old man.

“I find Your Grace’s invention far from ordinary.”

Everything was strange.

Without exception.

“For now, it may seem like nothing more than a diversion, but—”

The voice of the man who called himself a madman sank.

It was as though a blade were being honed. Even from a distance, the chill contained in his voice was unmistakable.

“Your Grace is not soone who will be satisfied with dreams.”

Sharp, and tinged with faint killing intent.

Ernst swallowed as he listened to the young man’s words.

“Depending on the circumstances, I may co to oppose Your Grace.”

The young man whispered.

“So please, tell .”

Is this enough for you?

Or do you intend to achieve a far greater objective?

“To foresee the future, and to change the past…”

No matter the ans, must you accomplish that goal.