[V8C1] Nice to Meet You, Dad

Vicent Ashley, the Marquis of Highown, was perceived by many to be a serious and stern man, but he has never thought of himself that way. In fact, he always considered himself to be more selfish than strict.

In the words of his friend, Baron Maywood:

“I believe that is because you handle your selfishness well. You only say what needs to be said, so your words carry the weight of knowledge. Not to mention how House Highown is referred to as the ‘Lineage of Knowledge’, which gives you a solemn aura.”

As expected of a renowned Mediator, Baron Maywood was very observant. As Marquis Highown pondered over those words, Baron Maywood continued in a joking tone.

“Oh, and I suppose the mustache suits you very well… That may be another reason you seem mature and dignified.”

“Is such a thing truly that important?”

“Yes, but of course. If you had a baby face like mine, your impression would be completely different… You know, I once considered growing a mustache, but everyone stopped me.”

Baron Maywood let out the admission with a sigh. He had always looked much younger than his actual age, which seemed to run in the family.

Much later, Marquis Highown’s only daughter Claudia expressed her desire to marry the son of Baron Maywood. The following engagement could only be described as both Claudia and her father putting their selfishness on full display.

After all, it was exceedingly strange for the daughter of a marquis to marry into the family of a baron, given the fall in noble standing. In order to quell the possible scandals, Marquis Highown skillfully placed the groundwork for the engagement.

Specifically, this was done by using the political issue of medical magecraft, which had become a troublesome topic that few people wanted to touch. However, Marquis Highown and Baron Maywood cooperated to create a movement for lifting the ban on medical magecraft.

To make a long story short, this feat allowed Marquis Highown to praise Baron Maywood’s efforts, making a powerful argument that it would be acceptable for the Lineage of Knowledge to form marital ties with the Family of Mediators.

Next came the issue of House Highown’s successor.

Ideally, Marquis Highown had wanted to pass the title to his younger brother or nephew, but due to the particularities of his duties, lineage was not the only factor in selecting an heir.

Ridill’s normal rules of succession did not apply to certain families, such as the lineages of mages and priests, which required special talents or qualities. House Highown was one of these exceptions.

That said, quantifying talents was difficult, if not outright impossible. It would be a challenge to even quantify the specific requirements.

Furthermore, Marquis Highown’s younger brother and nephew were lacking in the required talents. None of them even had the resolve to say, “I will be the next Marquis Highown!” Perhaps selfishness ran in the family.

Thus, Marquis Highown decided to adopt a foster child as his successor. There were three conditions: talent, lineage, and personality.

The top priority was talent, followed by lineage. As long as the successor inherited the blood of House Highown, there were plenty of ways to silence the naysayers. It would be fine if the bloodline was a bit distant.

Regarding personality, it was preferable to take on a serious and diligent child if possible. After all, the Ashley family already had far too many selfish and irresponsible individuals.

Once all of these factors were considered, the chosen candidate ended up being a boy named Cyril Wayne.

Cyril’s father inherited the blood of House Highown, but lacked any noble title. Thus, the boy had been living diligently as a commoner.

And indeed, once Cyril was adopted… he turned out to be beyond serious. Even Marquis Highown was slightly taken aback.

＊　＊　＊

A few months after taking in Cyril, Marquis Highown heard a peculiar story from a servant. Apparently, Cyril had been secretly collecting scraps of paper, such as discarded drafts and memos.

Curious about what he was using them for, Marquis Highown visited Cyril’s room after finishing his job for the day.

Immediately after knocking on Cyril’s down, a rustling sound could be heard from inside the room. This was the sound of someone hiding a bundle of papers. Marquis Highown understood this instantly, having hidden doodles and hastily written poems from adult eyes in his youth.

“Hey there, sorry to interrupt your reading.”

Marquis Highown opened the door and greeted his adopted son. Although Cyril managed to straighten his posture, he failed to hide his slightly swimming eyes.

“Were you busy writing something?”

“N-No, I was just reading…”

“But look at your right hand. There are still traces of wet ink.”

Cyril turned to his right hand in surprise. That said, this wasn’t the only evidence. His ink bottle was still uncapped, so it was obvious he had been writing something.

“What were you writing?”

Marquis Highown asked the question in a soft tone, because he was genuinely curious, and wanted to have a bit of parental interaction with his adopted son.

Since Cyril was much too serious for his age, it would be reassuring to see him taking breaks to play around like a child should.

If the boy had been hiding doodles or poems like he once did, Marquis Highown had no intention of reproaching him. Rather, he wanted to tell Cyril that there was no need to hide his hobbies.

“You have my sincerest apologies, Father. I… I…”

Cyril started stammering and bowed his head.

Perhaps he had been drafting a love letter to someone? If so, Marquis Highown realized his question might have been a bit pushy. As Marquis Highown was seriously considering the need to offer romantic advice to his newly adopted son, Cyril began a confession of guilt.

“Unlike Claudia, I am unable to memorize the content of a book by just reading it…”

“Hmm?”

“So I have to… write it down like this…”

Cyril took out a bundle of papers from the drawer, the discarded drafts and memos he had been gathering. Written on their backs were summaries of all the books Cyril had read.

Marquis Highown was dumbfounded.

“Have you been doing this for every book?”

“——I-I am so sorry!”

Cyril turned pale and began to tremble, even though Marquis Highown had no intention of finding fault.

What on earth was there to apologize for? To the puzzled Marquis Highown, Cyril went on in a feeble voice.

“You went through so much trouble to adopt me, but I… I am no match for Claudia. All I can do is apologize.”

Only now did Marquis Highown notice. Ink was soaked into the fingernails of Cyril’s right hand, and the boy had developed writing calluses ill-suited for his age.

Marquis Highown and Claudia could remember most things after reading them once. However, they also knew that there were many who needed repetition in order to fully memorize something. Cyril was one such person.

And yet, Cyril had been hiding this fact from Marquis Highown. He probably thought that he would be abandoned if he couldn’t do the same things as Claudia.

Marquis Highown sometimes looked over Cyril’s notebooks to confirm his academic progress. Thus, Cyril needed to gather used scraps of paper to create a private set of notes that no one else would see.

After getting the full picture, Marquis Highown finally spoke up.

“You do not need to be the same as Claudia. Everyone has their own way of studying and memorization.”

Marquis Highown had always believed that it was pointless to brag about how much time and effort one spent on a subject. That said, this young boy’s efforts could go unnoticed no longer. Such dedication must be praised.

The scraps of paper had been carefully unfolded, and the writing was meticulous, with signs of multiple revisions. Cyril managed to extract all the key points, summarizing the contents of the book in his own words.

“It must have been challenging to finish such a difficult book at your age… You did well.”

Hearing this, Cyril squeezed his eyebrows together with his face on the verge of tears. That was a face Marquis Highown would never forget.

＊　＊　＊

After finishing a meeting at the headquarters of the Ascard Library Society, Marquis Highown returned to the inn and met with Cyril for the first time in quite a while. They had both been busy lately, often missing each other even when they returned home.

Cyril was mainly entrusted with the joint research project with the Thorn Witch and the Silent Witch, as well as small tasks within the territory. In parallel, he had also been gradually introduced to Marquis Highown’s tasks within the Ascard Library Society.

Marquis Highown held a permanent seat in the Ascard Library Society, entasked with the crucial role of managing the Forbidden Archives of the Ascard Grand Library. The plan was to eventually teach this job to Cyril.

“Father, it has been a while.”

Cyril entered Marquis Highown’s room, offering a polite greeting, and his aura seemed gentler than before. He had always been the impulsive type, eager to do what he thought was right. But now, it appeared as though he had calmed down a little.

Last autumn, when the Thorn Witch and the Silent Witch stayed at their mansion, Marquis Highown finally caught a glimpse of Cyril’s childish side, which he found delightful.

(Right, he has made good friends.)

But now, Cyril put on a nervous expression, saying, “Father, I have something to report.”

Marquis Highown thought that perhaps Cyril had found a woman he wanted to introduce.

Contrary to his expectations, Cyril took off the weasel furs wrapped around his neck and cradled them in his arms. Only then did Marquis Highown notice. Both the gold and white-furred weasels were still alive.

(I see, he wanted to have pets.)

Marquis Highown had always known that Cyril was fond of small animals. Come to think of it, Cyril hardly ever asked for anything as a child.

When given a brand-new notebook for his memos and revision ideas, Cyril had frowned, saying he couldn’t ruin such fine paper. Even when receiving clothes or shoes, Cyril always seemed apologetic.

To think that the day would come when his son would ask for a pet… As Marquis Highown immersed himself in this warm, fuzzy feeling, Cyril held the weasels up and explained.

“I’d like permission to raise these two.”

Perhaps he should respond with, “make sure to take full responsibility over them”. No, no, Marquis Highown knew that Cyril had a strong sense of responsibility. Here, it was better to say, “take good care of them.”

As Marquis Highown pondered over his response, the golden weasel patted Cyril’s arm and began speaking.

“Cyril, raising isn’t the right word.”

The white weasel, swaying its soft-looking tail from side to side, spoke next.

“Raising? Living together? Cohabitation? Hmm, human words are difficult.”

The weasels were fluently speaking human language.

Marquis Highown managed to maintain a poker face, but inwardly, he was extremely surprised. That said, the astonishment didn’t end there. The two weasels jumped out of Cyril’s arms and transformed.

A cloud of gold and white particles scattered through the air. Out came a young woman with light golden hair and a young man with silver hair.

“I am Cyril’s contracted spirit, Ice Spirit Ashelpikeh.”

“His contracted dragon, White Dragon Thule.”

Marquis Highown’s poker face was now completely frozen in disbelief once the white dragon greeted him with a bow.

“Nice to meet you, Dad.”

Perhaps this was a historical moment, marking the first time a human was ever called ‘Dad’ by a white dragon.

As such thoughts flew through Marquis Highown’s head, Cyril grimaced and began scolding the ice spirit and white dragon.

“Pikeh! Thule! I told you not to transform into human form without permission!”

“It’s fine since we’re inside the inn. You worry too much, Cyril,” the golden weasel replied.

“Wouldn’t it be better to greet humans in human form? No? Should I go into dragon form instead?” the white weasel asked.

“No, that would be a complete disaster! Father, I must offer you my deepest apologies. There are a great deal of circumstances I have to explain…”

While watching over his flustered son, Marquis Highown secretly let out a sigh of admiration.

(As I thought, he has the required talents.)

However, perhaps there was such a thing as too much talent.

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