Chapter 38

As There, So Here

“I’ve woven the story, and the actors play; for how long will I burn, I wonder?”

My Dawn, Vol. XV

Myrell stood patiently in front of the inn, nibbling away at the Wildgrass, while Sash was sitting down, seemingly taking a nap. She watched the passersby, observing the quirks and the uniqueness, just as her Master taught her. The key to manipulating human nature isn't necessarily the act of manipulation itself, but the ability to gather as much information about someone with as little as possible.

She noted a slightly shorter man dressed in drab-dyed hemp clothes, sporting disheveled hair, and a pair of sunken eyes. Based on his attire, callouses on his hands, and tanned skin, she concluded he was a physical laborer; he wore no equipment, but that could hardly be accounted for much as he might be on the break. His general unkempt appearance and the lack of drunkard-like behavior led her to believe he was either too lazy or too tired to take care of himself. He ignored those who bumped into him, not even shooting them a glare, his eyes vacant of seemingly any emotion. He spun the corner and vanished from her sight, causing her to bite her lower lip.

She was slow – too slow. With a single glance, her Master was able to practically write someone’s entire biography, while she could only vaguely guess the person’s occupation. Sighing, she shifted her gaze to the side and barely held back an exclamation as she watched a familiar figure walking up toward them. However, upon closer inspection, there seemed to be something wrong with him. His gait wasn't nearly as indifferent and confident, his eyes appearing vacant, confused, and lost in thought. Fearful, Myrell ran over – he might have been intoxicated, after all.

“M-master? Is… is everything alright?”

“… ah? Myrell?” he finally seemed to come back to, sighing heavily for some reason. “Yeah… I think.”

“… h-huh?” she stuttered in confusion.

“… let’s go eat and chat,” he said, immediately turning around as Myrell ran back and woke Sash up, the two catching up to him quickly. “What would you like?”

“… anything’s fine, Master.” Myrell said, still worried. Even Sash, still half-asleep, noticed something was wrong.

“Let’s go for some roasted chicken, then,” he said. “And drinking. Tons… and tons of drinking.”

“…”

The trio didn't walk too long, as there was a nearby tavern that served both midday meals and drinks. Insides were spacious yet stale, half-full, and barely lit enough, taking the three of them a moment to adapt to the sudden change.

Noah ignored the curious eyes and bolted toward the corner, sitting down at one of the vacant tables. Myrell and Sash followed, albeit rather awkwardly as they were still not accustomed to sitting down with him. However, he had no energy to spare for them; his mind was too preoccupied with the bolt of thunder that Claire dealt him. After dropping such a bomb, she told him she would think about it a bit further, and gave him the sigil of her House which he could use as identification in case he wanted to visit her.

He had no clue how he managed to maintain his composure and not explode. It wasn't even necessarily due to the incestual tones, but the fact that such truth never entered his point of view. After all, as far as his research went, he saw no evidence of widespread incest in this world. Though the Light's Doctrine didn't explicitly forbid it, there were implications toward it which is why perhaps it left plenty of people feeling pensive over it. He was certain it still existed, especially among the high nobility, but figured it was something infrequent.

“… what’s wrong, Master?” Sash asked as well, seemingly worried.

“What can I get you?” a plump woman wearing hemp clothes walked over, ignoring Sash and Myrell, her gaze landing on Noah.

“Two roasted chicks and three cups of ale.” Noah replied. Watching the woman note down his order and walk away, he turned his attention toward Sash and Myrell. “Let me ask you two something: how common is incest here?”

“… e-eh? Where did that come from?” Myrell asked, flabbergasted.

“Just curious.” He replied.

“… hm,” seeing how serious he was, Myrell’s expression also changed as she briefly entered deep thought. “On the surface, I don’t think anyone will admit it. But, I personally don’t think it’s that rare.”

“What makes you say that?”

"One of my previous masters was a Noble," she said, shuddering briefly as though recalling something terrible. "Although he was just a Baron, apparently he had some connections with the upper ones. On occasion, I'd hear him mention names of various Lords and Ladies of the same House engaging in sex. And, though I can't be certain, I am fairly sure his wife was his cousin.”

“… it’s… it’s actually fairly common,” Sash’s words drew both Noah’s and Myrell’s attention toward him. He seemed to grapple with something for a moment before sighing and continuing. “Forgive me, but I cannot say how I know that, as I am Light-bound.”

“… no worries,” Noah said. “How common? And can you at least tell me why?”

“Hm, yes,” Sash nodded. “When I say fairly common, I mean that practically every House practices it to some extent. Four Major Houses most-definitely have and are practicing it.”

“…”

"As for why, as far as I know, it is not perpetual," he elaborated. "For instance, they will never marry someone of their blood – but, almost all First Children of the noble Houses are a product of incest."

“… maintaining the bloodline?” Noah frowned.

“Yes.” Sash nodded.

“… how many of them turn mad?” Noah asked, surprising Sash who looked at him strangely.

“… Master… knows?”

“Knows what?” Myrell joined in.

“On the surface, naturally, none of them are,” Sash explained, ignoring Myrell’s question. “But some certainly are.”

“…” There shouldn’t be too many, Noah fell into thought and the two other turned to silence as well, waiting for their meals. From the sounds of it, it is half-sibling reproduction, as the First Children eventually inbreeding will not have a full sibling for it…

Maintaining the bloodline… Noah scoffed inwardly. It didn't make sense – not on Earth, and not even here. Nothing of what he read suggests that 'bloodline' plays any great part in one's abilities. As always, it is a genetic chance. Maintaining the appearance could be procured through finding partners with similar genetic markers, but, naturally, this world had no knowledge of genetics. The reigning thought is that the abstract concept of 'bloodline' determines one's capabilities.

He hardly cared that Claire and Quickett were related; as far as he was concerned, they could be a parent and a child, and he'd hardly flinch. It didn't even put a dent in his plans, at least not a considerable one. It was simply surprising. Shocking, even. However, as he calmed down, he felt even more at ease, as the aristocracy of here and of back on Earth seemed eerily similar in their conduct. Power, wealth, image, bloodlines, neglect of the lower classes… though he'd have to study each of these on a case-by-case basis, he at least knew his knowledge wasn't entirely worthless.

In the meantime, the plump woman returned with a plate of well-minced roasted chicken and three cups of ale. Noah absentmindedly reached into his pocket and paid her, prompting Sash and Myrell to dive in right after as he turned toward ale, hardly feeling hungry.

The question now, he mused, is how big is her hurdle. She should be aware that people engage in relationships with their blood, but the limiting factor here is the extent of those relationships. One-off sex hardly accounts for much. Besides, the entire thing stinks of something far worse than just fucking your sister or brother.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. He was thirsty, as he always was, for knowledge. It hurt him to be in the dark, to be guessing and estimating. He should already know the reality of their relationship, what had transpired, how, where, and why. He, however, barely knew anything. Certainly not enough to draw any sort of a firm conclusion.

Quickett is in the blind about all this, but why? He was a soldier, so it most-likely meant he was discarded upon birth. As far as Noah could tell, there were only a few possibilities: one of Claire’s parents, most-likely her father, had an affair with someone, resulting in Quickett’s birth. Another possibility is that he's a diluted relative; 'noble blood' hardly ever stays within the nobility, and examples, at least back on Earth, of infidelity amongst the nobles are uncountable. In that case, he would be, at worst, her distant cousin. And the third option – they aren't related at all.

Noah, in his mind, leaned toward the third. Everything seemed too… contrived to end up like this. Perhaps their blood relations were made up to force Claire to give him up. But why send him to the capital in the first place? Is it really just to look into a rival house? Hardly, Noah thought. This last point, the fact that they didn't kill Quickett, an ordinary soldier, spoke the most to him actually being a part of Myrsell House. Or at least being somewhat related to it.

“… there’s a slave market in the northern part of the fort,” Noah said, causing the two who were happily gorging on the chicken to shift their attention back to him. “The two of you will go there tomorrow, independently, and fetch yourselves two slaves.”

“Hm?” their eyes quizzed him.

“Choose whoever you want,” Noah said. “Just ensure they are capable of working. This will be the start of the hierarchical chain; your slaves will not know of my existence. As far as they’ll be aware, you are the penultimate ones. Train them to read and write, and train those suitable what I trained you, Myrell. For the time being, there’s no need to have them do anything; just prepare them. I’ll let you know what they ought to do eventually.”

“… yes, Master.” The two nodded, still confused, but hardly determined to probe any further.

If he was to truly take a backseat, Noah knew, Sash, Myrell, Evel, and Syl were far, far, far from enough. Just like he had informants, and his informants had informants, back on Earth, in virtually every country, he'll have to establish a similar chain of command. It would certainly be more difficult as there is no convenient tool known as internet communication here, but he banked on eventually finding a way. In the worst case, he'll limit the scope until he figures something out. It should be possible to use Light to communicate over long distances. How did he know that? He didn't. He went off based off of physics. Or at least the primitive knowledge he had of it.

If Light, or rather the act of using Light, isn't about creating entirely new particles into existence from nothing, but merely augmenting the existing ones, then it should be entirely possible to augment them in such a way to communicate over a long distance – something akin to the quantum entanglement.

Now, however, wasn’t the time to ponder over that. Not only did he just begin growing his ‘army’, but he was yet to even touch the Light, let alone try and make it do something nobody else on this peninsula has managed. For the time being, he should focus on what he can do: sell an idea. Establish a decentralized base of power here as a form of future insurance. Try to liberate Claire from her demons, and return back to Elucido to resume his main plans.