Chapter 22: The Duchess

The old steward’s manners were always perfectly courteous, but Constantine knew well that the elder man’s primary purpose now was likely to remind Constantine of the other party’s status and buy him a few precious moments to react.

In this era where neither contraception nor condoms existed, and none of the modern hospitals had been established, children—those byproducts of pleasure—were not considered particularly precious. Except for the legitimate eldest son who could inherit the title and some members of powerful central families, most noble offspring held little actual significance for their families… Of course, this was relative; they still enjoyed privileges commoners could only dream of.

Though this world respected the tradition Constantine remembered from ancient times: “The father dies, the son inherits; the legitimate line prevails, length of succession supersedes virtue.” Property inheritance followed a primogeniture system— the eldest son born to the official wife was the first heir. Noble titles or lordships with lands could only be inherited by the eldest son. This meant any other sons could only take an empty noble title and become landless knights.

Thus, across the continent, there was no shortage of lesser nobles who, by law, inherited no land, towns, people, or property. Some joined the church, trading faith for potential divine miracles. Others joined various military campaigns, gambling their lives for glory and a chance to earn lands. But many others often became nobles drowning in debt or even descended into penniless banditry, mocked by Bards as “Noble Beggars”.

However, that was the general rule… Laws, decrees, even divine edicts, the moment they appeared, were always accompanied by misinterpretations and loopholes. Thus, clever individuals often thought— what if I’m not the legitimate eldest son? If the unfortunate fellow ahead of me suddenly died, leaving not even ashes behind… would the Empire force a soul already in the hands of the Deity to return and inherit the family business?

This had always been the deepest yet most apparent darkness within the nobility. Though Constantine didn’t know the exact number of victims, the young man was certain it couldn’t possibly be a small one…

“So finally, this kind of trouble lands right on my own head?” Constantine habitually touched his nose, finding himself momentarily at a loss for words. Even though he fully understood the relationship between himself and the lady before him, he had absolutely no experience handling such connections. He didn’t even know how to address her— in his original world, ‘Aunt’ would have sufficed, but this world seemed to lack a similar respectful term.

“Constantine?” It was she who spoke first. The lady looked at the young man’s face, a serene and gentle smile touching the corners of her lips. After a thoughtful pause, she sighed softly, “Such a good boy… Just the spitting image of your mother.”

Constantine was rendered speechless once more, for he had never seen what his mother looked like.

In fact, his impression remained that since coming to this world, there had been no concept of a mother. He had never even met the woman who gave birth to him here. After the brief disorientation of leaving her body, all subsequent responsibilities had been handled by specialized attendants. The official family narrative given to him concerning that woman was that she had passed away long ago. Constantine hadn’t bothered to verify the truth of this. Or rather, he had never felt the need to.

Constantine didn’t find this particularly unnatural… or perhaps he even felt a sense of relief. Transmigration had its perks, but it came with significant drawbacks. At the very least, the thought of a grown man having to call someone roughly his own age “Mother” every day struck him as torture. The inherent dissonance from his original memories naturally created a barrier. Fostering a genuine, bone-deep familial bond was difficult. With a father, he could manage distant respect, but with a mother… it would undoubtedly feel incredibly awkward and forced.

“Greetings… Lady Angelina. Welcome to Hayton. The long journey must have been tiring.” After a brief contemplation, the young man bowed slightly with a formal, perfectly executed gesture. He simultaneously chose an extremely formal… and distant form of address.

If possible, Constantine didn’t want to have any deep connection with this relative whom he shared little blood with, and even less spiritual or emotional affinity. In his memories, stepmothers from wealthy families were never simple figures. Knowing she had a son of her own only heightened his sense of caution.

However, direct confrontation would be unwise— his own father had little familial affection for him. Judging by his upbringing in that almost isolated town and the strictly limited information fed to him about the Connellyvis family, his position within the household was clearly problematic.

Given this situation, his life as the legitimate eldest son was bound to be difficult.

His reliable support now actually seemed to lie with his unseen fiancée and the powers backing her— the King, already implementing a plan to drive a wedge into the Connellyvis family via Constantine’s marriage alliance, could likely be a source of protection. But that wouldn’t be comprehensive. Constantine, well-versed in palace intrigue and the darker arts of rulership, was deeply pessimistic in this regard. He didn’t want plots involving poisoning, strangling, or smothering by a scheming woman under the same roof to become his reality. Nor did he want the constant fear of betrayal and assassination attempts from figures like an older brother, cousins, or younger siblings weighing on him like a nightmare. “Oh dear… Child, meeting family shouldn’t require such formality… Walter’s tutelage has perhaps been overly cautious.” Constantine’s form of address made the Duchess’s eyes flicker, yet the smile on her face seemed to deepen.

Walter’s tutelage… or perhaps it implied the Duke held no genuine affection for you either, seeing you merely as a ward managed by a servant… Constantine’s gaze met hers. Those gentle eyes seemed to hold a hidden chill, like the last sharp cold beneath plum blossoms.

The young man, however, showed no visible reaction. He merely conjured his most sincere smile— he hadn’t intended to provoke her verbally anyway. Knowing she had entrenched herself near the Duke for years made verbal sparring pointless. Yet, the thought soon surfaced: if their interests were fundamentally and irreconcilably opposed, why bother showing excessive deference?

“You seem rather fatigued yourself. I’ve heard you recently earned the title of Spellcaster. That is truly surprising and exciting news. But please, don’t overexert yourself…” Looking Constantine over, the lady frowned slightly and offered what seemed like a genuinely thoughtful suggestion. “Of course, a Spellcaster requires diligent study, but I believe rest is necessary for all endeavors… Perhaps I could have my personal maid, Miss Lanti, assist you in recuperating? She underwent specialized training and has considerable experience in helping the body relax.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary… I am just feeling a bit tired. A little rest should see me recovered.” Constantine’s gaze flickered briefly over the two maids standing elegantly behind the Duchess. Possessed of beautiful figures brimming with the fragrant vitality of youth, he could only politely smile in response. He couldn’t immediately tell which one was the Miss in question. Regardless, he had no energy left to experience any relaxation techniques either might offer… Once again, silence fell between them. In truth, the topics readily available for casual conversation between them were exhausted. They could easily part now and attend to their own matters… yet neither seemed willing to be the first to step away. Their gazes crossed multiple times, almost sparking tension in the air, but the right words for further dialogue remained elusive.

This awkwardness was broken after a few seconds. Hurried footsteps announced the arrival of the young man and woman he’d seen by the entrance moments ago. Accompanied by several servants, they entered the hall and amplified the strained atmosphere.

“Ah, Caterina, Consens, come meet your elder brother.” Finally, a new subject presented itself. The Duchess’s smile broadened, while Constantine simultaneously frowned internally. Handling one noble lady was strain enough; adding that arrogant young brat to the mix would be significantly more troublesome.

“Mother… we already met Brother at the entrance earlier…” The youth in white nodded gently. He had clearly recovered from the bizarre shock of their previous encounter. His movements were composed and graceful, though his eyes still carried a distinct peculiarity when they landed on Constantine. The young girl behind him curtsied with remarkable grace and elegance, though her curiosity still showed plainly on her face. “Elder Brother, please forgive my previous rudeness…” His eyes traveling between Constantine and the Duchess, Consens spoke up. “…it’s just that I truly did not expect you to depart the estate dressed… in such attire. Father and Mother have repeatedly taught us that members of the Connellyvis family must always maintain noble dignity… Therefore—”

“Consens! That’s quite enough! How dare you speak so thoughtlessly? Apologize to your brother at once!” The Duchess instantly cut him off, her voice firm but not overly loud. She then turned to Constantine, her expression apologetic. “My apologies, Constantine. This boy is passionate about swordsmanship and martial skills, while often neglecting matters of decorum. Plain-speaking is his unfortunate habit. I fear I may have indulged him too much. But he meant no harm. Please, do not misconstrue his words; we are family after all…”

“You are too gracious… Speaking plainly is the mark of a warrior and a soldier, a commendable trait.” Constantine’s eyebrow twitched slightly. He perfectly understood the undercurrent here. While superficially an apology, she was actually condoning her son’s behavior. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have said “speaking too much,” but “stop talking nonsense.”

“Forgive my intrusion, Lady Angelina…” Perhaps sensing the heightened tension, the old steward intervened with a light cough, offering a graceful exit to both. “Young Master Constantine encountered a minor complication at the Magic Tower. He must be quite exhausted by now. He also suffers from chronic headaches… I believe it would be best for the Young Master to rest before discussing family matters in detail later.”

“Well then… We shall converse more deeply over dinner…” The Duchess offered an elegant smile, wisely choosing not to prolong the encounter.

Constantine gave a perfunctory bow and took the quickest possible route away from individuals who seemed to inhabit a completely different reality. As Constantine’s retreating, shaky figure vanished around the corridor corner, the Duchess’s meticulously arched brows furrowed subtly. A thoughtful expression settled on her face, just as her son’s low murmur reached her ears: “So that fellow is the treasure the Old Man’s kept hidden for over a decade? Doesn’t seem overly endowed with wisdom… does he?”

His phrasing was undoubtedly veiled, but the meaning was unmistakable…

“If only that were true… Consens. As a noble, you must cultivate the ability to see beyond surfaces… That youngster is far less simple than he appears…” The Duchess withdrew her gaze, fixing her son with a cold stare that lasted until he lowered his head in confusion. “Even among those blessed with the highest bloodlines, fools can appear among nobles. But only those who judge a noble’s intelligence solely by outward behavior are the truest fools of all…”

Admonishing her offspring, the Duchess felt an inner chill. The young man she had just conversed with was starkly different from the image of a child locked away in a great mansion for years. While he seemed to lack many things… indeed, in Constantine’s recent performance, only his gestural manners approached correctness and elegance. But he was sorely lacking in the fundamental comportment expected of a legitimate noble.

He lacked the inherent pride and self-importance common in other young nobles. His smile wasn’t like theirs either; during the conversation with her, he’d even shown his teeth—a surprisingly inelegant gesture in front of a Lady. Yet, the Duchess found no comfort in these perceived shortcomings. A nagging sense of strangeness lingered stubbornly. A feeling difficult to name. In fact, she hadn’t consciously registered it during their talk. Only after Constantine’s departure did the source of her unease crystallize— his demeanor had been unnervingly worldly. His etiquette might have been wanting, but his age-appropriate poise, the absolute lack of tension or awkwardness, that unsettling calm… these were not qualities found in ordinary youngsters. For a moment, she’d almost felt like she was interacting not with a thirteen-year-old boy, but a man over thirty.

In their exchange, while she might have seemed to hold the upper hand, Constantine’s inner composure was undeniably superior to her own son’s… He’d been under Walter’s guardianship for over a decade, but the old man, a soldier by origin, was no true aristocrat. He couldn’t have instilled the formation of a noble’s character. That perfect calm, the impervious composure… “Precocious” hardly seemed a sufficient explanation. The Duchess shook her head slightly, dispelling the troublesome notion from her mind. “Consens, Caterina, you must maintain an appropriately respectful attitude towards your elder brother henceforth.” For thoroughness, she added the instruction. “Remember… treat him as if he were unquestionably an adult…”

Several rooms away, Constantine practically flung himself headlong onto the soft bedding like a child. The sheer accumulation of troubles throughout the day felt overwhelming, reducing his head to a confused mess. Fatigue seemed to seep into his very Soul; proper sleep was absolutely vital to mend his exhaustion. However, an Hourglass’s worth of time later found the young man despairing. Sleep stubbornly refused to come. He lay there like an owl at midnight—one eye half-open, one eye squeezed shut. His mind, forcibly churning through tangled thoughts, refused to settle. Though drifting towards drowsiness, deep, peaceful sleep remained elusive.

Seemed like without drastic measures, sleep simply wasn’t happening… Grumbling with displeasure, Constantine mustered Mental Power comparable to what he’d used facing the two Archmages. With an effort, he hauled himself upright from the soft mattress… Staggering unsteadily, he made his way to the adjoining room—a hot bath, his memory prompted, was the finest remedy for insomnia and fatigue.

“Ugh… Forgot. Didn’t tell them to heat water… Gonna have to wait…” The muddled boy pushed into the washroom, only to blink in surprise. The large tub was already brimming with fresh bathwater. Steam curling from its surface suggested the recent preparations…

“Ah, probably Walter…” The chaotic state of Constantine’s mind left no room for deeper contemplation… Mentally thanking the Old Steward for his attentiveness, Constantine shed his distressed clothing and slid into the water… The warm liquid enveloped his skin, the friction comforting muscles and sinews. A sigh of pure relief escaped him.

“Walter, pass me the towel… huh?” The door connecting to the other room clicked open… Constantine called out naturally, eyes closed and basking. His voice, however, rose sharply a moment later! Through the misty haze, he discerned the figure entering wasn’t old Walter, but… the Blood Elf lady!