After a long stretch of contemplation, Victor reached out and picked up the silver bell resting on his desk.
A clear metallic chime rang through the quiet study.
Warm summer air drifted in through the half-open window, stirring the curtains ever so slightly.
The breeze carried the scent of fresh grass and the lingering warmth of a sunlit garden.
"Bring me today's newspaper."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Drawn by the ringing bell, the butler, Willen, hurried in. The moment he entered, he sensed that his master was not quite himself today.
Something must have gone wrong in the capital. Otherwise, why would His Grace return to the estate after so long?
With that simple conclusion, Willen thought no more of it. He quickly fetched the day's newspaper along with a glass of cold water.
Whatever troubles brewed in the capital, his duty was to serve his master—not concern himself with the tangled affairs of politics.
"...July 1st, 1867?"
The absurd date drew a hollow laugh from Victor.
It happened only after he had drained the entire glass of water.
On the battlefield, a clean glass of uncontaminated water had been a luxury beyond measure. As soon as he finished it, Victor instructed the butler to bring more to drink—and a cup of coffee as well.
Have I finally gone insane?
His last memory was of a temporary field hospital.
The bombardment.
The explosion.
He had likely died there.
Yet somehow, here he was, four years in the past, with every limb intact.
Calmly comparing the articles in the newspaper with events he remembered, Victor eventually walked over to a mirror.
Normally, he only glanced into it when dressing for formal occasions.
Now, however, it was invaluable.
"..."
A broad-shouldered, imposing man stared back at him from the full-length mirror.
Most striking of all was the absence of the scar near his eye—the one he'd received during the great war against France.
Well, it hadn't happened yet.
The knee that had forever troubled him after a bullet wound was perfectly healthy.
And his eyes...
His eyes were different.
A man who had survived countless brushes with death inevitably carried a murderous edge in his gaze.
But the man reflected before him now looked remarkably...
Handsome.
Or rather, he didn't resemble a dangerous explosive waiting to detonate.
"So this is what I looked like back then."
Victor began undoing the buttons of his shirt.
Ordinarily, even at home, he preferred fastening every button to the collar and wearing a vest besides.
Today was an exception.
He needed to inspect his body.
"The gunshot wound here is gone as well. Though this body is terribly out of shape."
The butler returned with water and coffee just in time to hear the tail end of the muttering.
He wisely pretended not to.
His master had suddenly begun stripping in broad daylight while criticizing what appeared, to the butler's eyes, to be an exceptionally well-built physique.
It was certainly strange.
But in the venerable House of Bayern, questioning the head of the family was a privilege no servant possessed.
Instead, he bowed respectfully.
"Go and bring me the most famous reporter in town."
"At once, Your Grace. Would you prefer someone from a political newspaper, or perhaps a gossip publication?"
Victor considered for a moment before replying.
"Both. I'm placing a marriage advertisement."
For the first time, even the seasoned butler couldn't stop his eyes from widening.
A day later, Victor had accepted the fact that he was truly back at his estate.
A return like this... I never imagined such a thing.
Perhaps God scraped together every last shred of mercy and bestowed it upon me.
With that indifferent thought, he set about his next task.
Taking out several sheets of paper, he began recording everything he knew.
The names of officers and soldiers.
The locations of future battles.
The movements of armies.
And on the final pages, he detailed the reasons he had ultimately been abandoned, the circumstances that cornered him, and the mistakes that had led to his inevitable death.
As things stand, I alone know of the future war between France and Richter.
If preventing that catastrophe was what this miracle demanded of him, then he was willing to comply.
Even during wartime, international agreements forbade attacks on facilities housing wounded soldiers.
Any nation that violated such a rule would face condemnation from every surrounding country.
But France had ignored those agreements entirely and launched its assault regardless.
Which means the beloved King of Richter allowed it.
In the end, he had merely been caught between the whims of two kings.
That was the simplest summary.
And because of their games, his officers died.
His soldiers died.
His doctors died.
Crack.
Too much force slipped into his grip, and the fountain pen snapped in half.
After observing a brief moment of silence for the beloved pen's passing, Victor discarded it without hesitation and picked up a new one.
For now, it was fine.
At least he wasn't crouched over a map holding charcoal while issuing guerrilla warfare orders.
First, I need to gather the men who remained loyal.
War revealed the very depths of a person's character.
Some deserted.
Some betrayed him.
But many had stood beside him until the very end.
Abel.
His elegant fingers halted mid-sentence.
The only noncombatant.
The one who had desperately tried to save him until the very last moment.
What did he say in the end?
Something about surviving...?
Victor didn't understand why this miracle had occurred.
But he knew one thing.
There was no possibility that everything had been a dream.
After a long silence, his thoughts settled on Abel.
If I wasn't the one responsible for this miracle, then Abel was.
Perhaps he returned as well.
If Abel truly brought me back...
The House of Bayern always repaid its debts.
But how?
Abel had claimed to be a commoner.
Where was he supposed to find him?
Victor remembered the school listed in Abel's records, but that alone wasn't enough.
Then again, Abel always had a talent for hiding the truth.
Victor had noticed.
He had simply chosen not to expose it.
Lying and concealing certain uncomfortable truths were two entirely different matters.
Yes, even so—
"Woof! Woof!"
"Aaaah! Stop that at once! A descendant of the great House of Bayern should not behave like a beast!"
"Grrrr! Woof! Woof!"
"You think I don't know you're doing this on purpose? Stop immediately! Oh, merciful heavens!"
...
Victor listened to the commotion outside.
The faint softness that had appeared while thinking of Abel vanished instantly.
His expression became unreadable.
His posture stiffened.
After all, Victor Bayern also possessed secrets.
Secrets he never wished anyone to know.
"When are you finally sending that boy to an asylum?"
That evening, during dinner, his aunt Genevieve Bayern slammed her hand down and erupted in frustration.
Fresh scratch marks ran across her face.
"The elder twin is so intelligent, so why did the younger one turn out like that? For his own sake, he should be institutionalized. At this rate, House Bayern will become a laughingstock!"
Despite her advancing age, Genevieve still wore her hair long and remained unmarried.
The fact that she had never married was significant because it explained why she was currently living at the estate.
After losing her inheritance in what was essentially a fraudulent investment scheme, Genevieve had moved into the Bayern residence around the time Victor's younger sister, Susanna, died.
The estate was large enough.
Victor rarely encountered her.
And someone had been needed to care for the twin boys Susanna left behind.
So he had agreed without much thought.
But reality hadn't matched expectations.
The twins, now nine years old, despised Genevieve.
Given that talk of asylums had become commonplace, that much was obvious.
How did I respond to this back then?
Victor stared at her in silence.
As he offered no reply, Genevieve visibly flinched and hurriedly softened her tone.
"Well, it's not as though one child could truly damage Bayern's reputation, but... the younger twin's condition is serious. You've been away for two years, so you don't understand."
"An asylum..." Victor murmured quietly.
