Sadness as a ladder
The sun blazes over a kingdom now without its leader. Its light falls on a funeral procession, where Miklotov lies in silence, accompanied only by the few who remained loyal to him. In his final years, he fought for his people, yet his family repaid his loyalty with greed, coveting only his fortune.
The sun warms the skin of those present, illuminating a day that seems unwilling to fade into memory. Miklotov, who shared neither wealth nor privilege but instead offered work and power, has departed, leaving behind only the memory of his labor.
His nephew, rest his soul, was the only one who tried to honor his legacy—and he, too, fell.
Step by step, the weight of Miklotov's coffin presses against my shoulders. Reinhard, Marcus, Julius, Frey, the sage Solomon, and I carry it together, bound by the grief of a loss that touches us all. We march with his body toward the capital, where word of his death has already swept through the streets.
A quick burial was deemed necessary, given the condition of his body. Even in death, Miklotov wished for his legacy to remain untainted by rumor. His journal made his intent clear: his death was to be seen by all, a reminder to the people of the danger his absence heralded.
We walk for over ten hours, crossing the capital under the watchful eyes of knights and the silent company of nobles and candidates. The weight of the coffin isn't just in the mahogany wood—it's in the void left by his passing, a heaviness that hangs in the air. Crowds gather, climbing rooftops for a final glimpse. Many believe they'll benefit from his death, expecting their personal ambitions to flourish. Faces in the crowd show a mix of grief, hatred, and, in some, a bitter satisfaction.
Among them, one face unsettles me.
My gaze shifts to Frey.
There's no smile on his face, only pain as genuine as anyone else's here. Yet his motives remain a mystery to me. 'Is he aligned with the cult? What does he gain by wanting me dead?'
'Why did he turn to darkness?'
'Is he... undead?'
These questions gnaw at me, especially when I feel his eyes fixed on me, as if waiting for some point in my path to intersect with his. As if my survival pleases him.
The future remains uncertain, but Miklotov's death—and the sacrifice of a wise man—will not pass without consequence. As we near the end of our march, the throne candidates remain silent. Emilia, though not close to Miklotov, regarded him as a role model.
To her, he was a man of principle, someone who lived and died for his people.
I think of the plans we made, the nights spent discussing the future of Irlam. His vision was sharp, his choices wise. I owed him so much... and now he's gone, leaving a profound emptiness. I wonder if I'll ever be capable of what he did—of giving my life for the kingdom.
'Could I ever make such a great sacrifice for others?'
The question lingers as we approach the city cemetery. One by one, the knights kneel, followed by the nobles and the crowd. A statue comes into view, carved by the same artist who crafted the one of Irlam. It depicts Miklotov in his final stance: writing, his expression contemplative, gazing toward the future with wisdom.
The words from his journal echo in my mind: 'I am but a man who failed this kingdom.' The weight on my chest tightens as I watch the gravestone that will soon mark his resting place.
Together, we lower the gravestone into place, beginning the burial process. The eyes of the crowd bore into us—some hateful, others indifferent—but we press on. My breath grows heavy, the sound of earth hitting the coffin reverberating in my ears.
Emilia steps behind me, her tears landing on my back.
I make a choice and hand her the spade.
"Here, Emilia. I know how much he meant to you. Do it. Don't mind the others."
The air shifts as I hand her the tool, tension thickening, but Reinhard and the knights' presence quells the unrest.
My heart pounds, but I know it's time to think ahead. The coalition Miklotov envisioned still has a chance. A man as wise as he was cannot have died in vain. His sacrifice must hold meaning, and I won't allow this tragedy to be forgotten.
'The elections will come soon,'
I remind myself, aware that Miklotov's death marks the beginning of something far greater. The kingdom faces an uncertain future—one filled with chaos—but we must stand strong, united under his name.
The kingdom's morale is already fraying, and with it, war looms on the horizon.
Though the weight of Miklotov's death is heavy, I take some solace in knowing that other kingdoms are also in the midst of elections. Even so, I can't shake the feeling that this event has left us vulnerable.
News will spread quickly, and while we aren't in the worst position, the risk of a real war or economic—cannot be ignored.
The truth is, we aren't ready to rule an entire kingdom.
'I'm not ready.'
I wish I had more time—time to gain experience, for everyone, even our allies, to grow in power and wisdom. But there's no time for regrets; the future is already here, and we must face it with what we have.
We leave the cemetery and make our way back to the castle.
Duty calls, and it's time to enter the meeting hall.
All the candidates, sages, and knights gather in a room thick with tension. The air feels heavy, sadness palpable, but hesitation has no place here.
Anastasia, though visibly unsure, understands the weight of the situation. July Cariana, Tristan Helmuth, and Solomon Van Mercury seem to hold the decisive power.
July speaks, her voice firm and resolute. "We've gathered you here to plan for the events of the coming year," she begins, her words carrying the weight of a verdict.
None of us want to be here. We all want this to end so we can move forward. The reactions are predictable as each of us struggles to maintain composure while events unfold at a rapid pace.
"The kingdom is in a critical state," July continues. "The loss of half the sages, along with someone as influential as Duke Harald Costuul, will be a severe blow to us all."
She lifts a stack of papers and holds them up—documents, it seems, regarding Harald's lands.
"These lands will be taken under the kingdom's control, and meetings will be held to decide their fate."
It's just as I expected.
The lands of Costuul won't be handed over to Erick—not after what happened. Miklotov's death and the revelation of Bordeaux as a corrupt Sage have tarnished the Costuul name so severely that it's nearly impossible for anyone to want to associate with them.
"Harald Costuul has distributed schematics belonging to the metias of the Mathers and Costuul families," July states, her gaze sharp and void of surprise. "He contacted families from other kingdoms to carry this out."
'I see... so that's what he planned.'
The real issue isn't that the public has access to those schematics. As usual, the problem runs far deeper than what appears on the surface. The true threat lies in the possibility of other kingdoms replicating those plans.
And if they do, we'll find ourselves in a vulnerable position.
"Our largest source of income is mass production. If other countries gain access to these plans, they could surpass us quickly. So, before that happens, we need a ruler."
She looks at all of us seriously. It's a political maneuver—a cold, calculated move sometimes necessary to ensure stability.
This isn't the time to hesitate.
"Count Luz, please stand," Solomon commands firmly. I rise slowly, taking in the faces around the table. "The fact that Roswaal L. Mathers is a traitor is no news to us, thanks to Miklotov. But we must acknowledge that the Mathers family has been part of this kingdom for over 400 years, remaining one of the most influential."
I nod slowly, recognizing the truth in his words. Despite their betrayals, the Mathers' influence cannot be ignored.
"The kingdom's current state does not allow us to let such valuable lands fall into the hands of someone incapable of managing them properly—especially not a borderland like yours," Solomon continues, handing me a folder filled with documents. His gesture is direct, and his tone carries a veiled threat. "You'll have one year to prove you can handle your lands. If the inspection isn't satisfactory, the kingdom will take the Marquis' lands under its control."
It's a clear threat—a calculated political move to remind me that, despite my participation in this game, I have no privileges. But it doesn't surprise me.
They want to ensure there's no favoritism, and they do so with such cold, calculated precision that there's no room for argument.
I accept the challenge without complaint.
"Understood. I'll do my best," I reply, a faint smile on my lips, knowing that if Emilia becomes queen, the lands will be irrelevant to me.
However, if another candidate rises to power, I'll be ready to defend what's mine.
"The elections have been moved up," July says, interrupting my thoughts. "They'll take place at the end of next year, not two years from now. The missing candidate will be informed as soon as possible."
She closes her eyes briefly, as if needing a moment's reprieve from the mounting pressure.
"A new meeting will be organized at the end of the first month next year, in spring," she adds, the decision seems logical. Winter will bring a lull for merchants, giving me a small window to act.
With a final, serious glance, July concludes the meeting.
"You're dismissed."
The silence that follows is heavy. As we rise and leave, Anastasia stops us for a moment.
"I know this was unexpected for everyone, so I'd like to invite you to a meeting midway through the first month of next year in Priestella," she says with a calm smile, though the strain in her eyes is evident. "We need to plan our next steps."
Frey nods indifferently, without her usual air of superiority, as she exits with Felix in tow. Felt, however, rises without a word and walks away, more consumed by her own world than the events around her.
"I'm going to sleep," she says simply.
Reinhard, ever attentive, bows apologetically, but I stop him with a gesture.
"It's fine, Reinhard," I say, unable to suppress a small smile.
Before he can speak, I lean closer, whispering in his ear.
"Take Felt to Irlam when she wakes up. I have something I need to tell you both."
I can't stay in the capital any longer. There's too much to do, and my mind is set on Irlam. The mass production of steel is the key to securing the strength we need. I must organize everything: build more mines, expand infrastructure, and implement new strategies.
Every step must be calculated, every move deliberate.
Taking Felt to Irlam isn't a whim.
It's a strategic decision.
One that will guarantee us victory.
"Understood. I'll inform my lady when she wakes," Reinhard replies, rising with his usual elegance. He leaves without another word, and though I wish I could support him in some way, I know there's nothing I can do now.
Reinhard must find his own path and confront his emotions. The words he said to Marcus must echo in his mind, though I'm unsure if he fully understands them.
Emilia looks exhausted. Her eyes are red from fatigue and tears, and she seems disinclined to talk. The sadness in her expression is palpable.
"Emilia," I call out, forcing a smile to ease some of the tension. "Go with Alsten and the others back to the mansion. I have something to discuss with Anastasia about Irlam."
She looks at me with her usual concern, but after a few moments, she nods without protest.
Once Emilia departs with the others, only Anastasia, Julius, and I remain. Julius watches me, visibly puzzled by my demeanor, but I don't have time to explain every detail.
What matters is what we need to do now.
We head to a balcony where we can speak without interruption. When we arrive, I take a moment to admire the view. The sky stretches out before me, vast and clear, and beneath it, the city of Lugunica sprawls, from its wealthiest districts to its darkest corners.
All these people—all of them—depend on who governs this kingdom.
The weight of that responsibility has never felt heavier.
"I know the situation isn't ideal," I begin, turning to Anastasia. "I promised you a closer relationship with Miklotov, but it seems that won't happen. I also promised better deals with Roswaal, but it looks like you'll have to sever those ties."
Anastasia sighs and gazes at the horizon, as if searching for the right words.
"In business, one must always be ready for the unexpected. Marco Luz, did you plan this?"
Her question is direct, and something in her tone makes my eyes widen slightly. Anastasia has always been cautious, but now it feels like she's seeking something deeper.
"I planned to a certain extent, but as for Miklotov..." I clench my fists and let out a long sigh, looking up at the sky. "I didn't expect it. Not now."
Julius reacts immediately, but Anastasia only smiles—a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"To be honest, Miklotov already mentioned to me that he was considering becoming a sacrifice. I didn't think it was for a contract or a curse." I scratch my head, trying to calm my mind as it starts to spin. "Anyway, we have to move forward. I'm sure you can figure out plenty on your own."
She nods, her smile genuine now.
"Yes, to think Miklotov was actually supporting Emilia, not Priscilla."
Miklotov's reason for backing Priscilla was nothing more than a cover, a diversion to draw attention to Vollachia and its brutal political games. His real aim was to give Priscilla visibility, to draw her deeper into their circle.
A straightforward manipulation.
Even though Priscilla seems busy in Vollachia, who knows when she'll return to Lugunica.
"It was all part of the plan. The fight, the distraction to mislead the nobles. But none of that matters now. We need to get to the point," I say. Despite my exhaustion, I know I need to act immediately. Time waits for no one.
"What will you do if you lose the election?" My voice cuts through the air, leaving the question suspended between us. Anastasia looks at me, surprised.
Julius doesn't respond, but the tension on his face says Anastasia has already spoken to him privately.
"Julius," she addresses him with a serious look. Julius's expression shifts, now tinged with irritation.
"Lady Anastasia, it's impossible for me to leave you alone," Julius protests, but she just smiles, her eyes closed as always, calm and in control.
Julius, clearly conflicted, hesitates for a moment before finally nodding silently. His spirit stirs faintly, a reminder of how little control he has over his energy.
"There's no need to dismiss your spirit. We will talk for a moment," I say with a smile. Julius resigned, agrees and steps away discreetly as always.
Now it's just Anastasia and me. The competition between our businesses is as fierce as our political rivalry. Our futures depend on the choices we make, and while neither of us bets on the kingdom, power still drives everything.
"Forgive me for making him leave," Anastasia begins, her tone softer now, almost playful. "You understand my reasons."
I nod, acknowledging that her motives are clear.
'Talk about why she believes me.'
"If I lose the election, I'll still have my company, but... I'll have to be much more aggressive, maybe even desperate," she says, her words cold and calculating, as if weighing every possibility. "I might have to use my contacts to bring down your business. Maybe I'd resort to less honorable methods. Oops!" She chuckles lightly. "Strange, isn't it? Not even Frey feels like a threat. He's beloved as a duke, but that doesn't mean much."
Right now, Frey is struggling too, after supporting a city like Costuul. There will clearly be an investigation to see if he left any evidence, but I highly doubt they'll find anything.
"But you... no, your entire group is a direct threat to my business model.
If Emilia wins, the trade monopoly will be absolute, and that could spell the end of your business. Sure, you export a lot of raw materials, but your profits rely on complex goods—carriages, swords, and so on.
We produce those things in massive quantities, and that gives us the edge. Add a kingdom's budget to that, and we'd be unstoppable.
If Priscilla or Frey wins, not much will change, but even so, your influence in trade would take a hit.
"If you ask me, I doubt I'd ever see you desperate," I reply with a smile, shrugging. "You always seem to have something else in mind, a light that keeps you going."
"A light?" she asks, intrigued, and my smile deepens.
Anastasia has approached me looking for something. At first, I thought it was mere curiosity, but there's been something different about her since the beginning.
"Yes, because this is more than simple greed." I gently place a hand on her shoulder, feeling her gaze lock onto mine. In her emerald eyes, there's no doubt, no hesitation—just a calm that's almost unsettling.
What I have to say now is simple, but critical.
"How much do you know about the truth of this world?"
The moment I ask, I see a slight tremor in her lip. It's fleeting, gone in the blink of an eye, but it's enough. I can see it in her eyes.
"The truth of this world?" Her voice wavers slightly, but she holds firmly.
"Yes, I know there's something you want to tell me."
Our relationship has always been a dance of competition and ambition. But right now, Anastasia has been more of an ally than she should be. Sure, the threat of an attack on Priestella is looming, but that's only one piece of the puzzle. Something else is happening, and now, she's at the center of it.
Her presence shines too brightly to ignore.
'The truth... I don't know what it could be, or if I'm just being paranoid.'
She looks at me, then sighs, as if releasing an invisible weight.
"The truth... that's something that terrifies me. It made me realize that my greatest greed is something else entirely." She hides her hands behind her back, and I can't help but be surprised by her sincerity—so rare in someone like her. "Marco Luz, this is something only you and I should discuss in private. For now..."
"There are too many gaps," I interrupt, already knowing we can't stay on the surface. "I just wanted to understand your intentions. Sorry for bringing this up now."
With this, I know she might hold clues about the past.
"I'll be heading to Irlam in a few days. I still have business with you," I tell her, sensing the conversation drifting. But Anastasia doesn't seem surprised. She simply looks at the sky again, as if searching for answers there.
"As for the other matter..." she begins, then turns away, as though her words are heavier than the weight of the world. "I can only tell you one thing."
"What's that?" I ask, my voice low, almost a whisper.
"This world will be consumed if we don't uncover that truth."
Her words fall on me like a sentence. I watch as she walks away with Julius, leaving me standing there, staring at a landscape that suddenly feels darker than ever.
Harald has been imprisoned. His trial will follow the interrogation, though I doubt he'll escape. My noble status doesn't grant me direct access to information, but I'll find a way to obtain it.
I must meet with July Cariana before heading to Priestella, so I'll send her a letter when I arrive in Irlam.
As I walk through the affluent district of Lugunica, my thoughts churn with plans, secrets, and the web of intrigue woven through all of this. Around me, mansions stretch endlessly, luxurious yet hollow, all unique yet devoid of any real connection. A somber sadness hangs over the city, as if its riches are merely a facade.
I wonder what Irlam will become, what kind of future awaits my city.
I need to focus on Irlam's growth, but I can't fully commit to it until my daughter returns. She's the key, my first pure motivation in the midst of all this darkness.
"Good afternoon," I greet the servants cleaning the entrance of Roswaal's mansion… or rather, my mansion.
"Good afternoon, Lord Marco," one of them replies, bowing respectfully. I keep my hand extended, unhurried. ''Congratulation for your victory at the trial"
"A handshake," I say, slightly moving my hand. The servant understands immediately.
Handshakes carry many meanings. Some use them to show strength, others to gauge a person's character. For me, it's a way to establish mutual respect without making reverence an obligation.
"I may be your superior, but we're still two living beings in this world. As long as you remain respectful, you can act as you see fit." I smile, and the servant seems to grasp the difference. "And… Thanks, it was hard."
To change this world, as Emilia proposes, precedents must be set.
'Even though I'm forcing it right now…'
As I step inside the mansion, I'm met with surprise. The girl—or rather, the old girl—with pink hair swaying in the air greets me. Her vacant, distant gaze tells me everything I need to know: she's an imperfect copy of Ryuzu, and I know exactly who ordered her to come.
"How did you get here?" I ask, but she doesn't answer.
"Did you run all the way here?" I press, and she nods, walking toward me as she pulls a letter from her pocket.
Emilia controls all Ryuzu's, but there is someone who also owns the original permissions.
This letter… it's personal, from Echidna.
I sit on the sofa, gently patting Ryuzu's head as I open the letter.
"Here's the lemonade you requested," a servant says, bringing a pitcher and two glasses. I hand one to Ryuzu, and she takes it silently, lost in her strange stillness.
I know she doesn't have complete consciousness, but it still bothers me not to acknowledge her presence.
"Thank you."
I glance at the letter, and the first words make a vein throb on my forehead.
'Do you miss me? Your slave longs for her master.'
The damn witch made a Ryuzu run all this way just to spout nonsense.
'I sense a bit of trouble heading your way from Gusteko… If you don't come soon, I might get noticed.'
I scratch my cheek, trying to make sense of it.
'You wouldn't want to lose your beloved slave, would you?'
The only person I know arriving in Irlam is Hermod, and according to the intel, he was supposed to arrive in three days. That means he might have come earlier, in secret, not expecting Echidna to be here.
'But… how does she know him?'
My frustration swells, and I can't shake the feeling that something doesn't add up. I burn the letter, letting the ashes take my doubts and curses away for now.
Right now, all I want is to rest, sleep, and escape this spiral of stress. I head to my room, where everything seems to be in place. Emilia should be asleep in her room too, but when I open the door, I stop.
There's a lump under my blankets.
And soft, steady breaths.
Of course, when I lift the blanket slightly, I see who it is—no, who they are.
Garfield and Emilia fell asleep together. I smile softly at the sight, glad to see that both can rest, at least for now.
Garfield, especially, had been worrying me. His state had always reflected his inner turmoil.
But his peaceful expression at this moment tells me that Emilia has given him the calm he so desperately needed.
I settle into a small space, careful not to wake them.
Closing my eyes, I let myself succumb to the exhaustion, both physical and emotional.
This hellish day ends with a faint smile on my face, even as my thoughts continue to echo in my mind.
Author's Note
Hi, I hope everyone is doing well.
I know it might not matter much, but I'm doing okay too... for the most part. My job is a bit—well, very—enslaving, I guess? I work in the assistant department, which essentially means my job is to be yelled at and insulted by everyone who has problems.
I'm working in a clinic.
On top of that, I have to repair devices worth thousands of dollars, and sometimes someone's life depends on them working. That definitely adds to the stress. I'm currently working as a biomedical engineer, though my actual field is mechatronics. It's an interesting twist, but it's made things a little more difficult for me.
There are only four weeks left until I start a new chapter in my life, and it's made me think... How much longer will I be able to keep writing this fanfic?
Writing has made me greedy in a way. I have another project in mind, but I want to finish this story first.
This fanfic started as a joke, something casual, but I didn't expect to enjoy writing it so much. Somehow, it's become my only real hobby, so it's very important to me.
I know my story is slow, and it's not for everyone. It might even bore some people.
The reason I write like this is because I want to capture everything. I want to write it all, include everything, and create a complete story.
But it can't always be slow.
My biggest problem as a writer is finding it hard to say a lot with only a few words. Those short stories that manage to convey everything in so little—that's something I'd love to achieve someday. Not because I don't enjoy lengthy narratives, but because I want to try everything.
I tend to get overly detailed, and that's not always a good thing.
But once I get an idea, a thousand things flood my mind, and I end up writing way too much... just like I'm doing now.
Not even a year has passed in the story, and we already have several arcs full of words, thoughts, and descriptions.
I've tried many styles, and I think I'm starting to consolidate one of my own—being less descriptive when it's unnecessary. But at this rate, it'll take me a year or more to finish the story completely.
I'll make the most of my free time to flesh out the story, the characters, and the events to avoid overextending myself. The problem lies in my limited time, but I'll do my best to work around that.
I only have about an hour a day to write since the rest of my time is spent being busy or just completely exhausted. I have to do practice reports, help out at home, and even my salary doesn't stretch very far.
Haha, it's draining.
That's why I want to try something new. I'll write a story—a What If—but based on the original story, not this one like I've been doing.
The next "If" for this work will be Anastasia's, but that's for when we reach the Priestella arc.
This new story, on the other hand, won't contain spoilers, and I'll try to give it a proper ending with as few words as possible (a long one-shot). Of course, this story will continue updating—it's just a simple "What If" where Marco and Subaru are reincarnated at the same time. So don't expect it to be a deep story. I want it to be something quick and easy to read—that's my goal.
It also won't stick strictly to canon since I've struggled to keep up with the original work due to time constraints and losing some interest in Re:Zero as a series. Many concepts and attitudes that I do not share, but that are not necessarily bad.
It's not that the story is bad; it just doesn't align with my tastes as much as it used to.
That's all I wanted to say. If you've read this far, thank you so much! :)
I'll try to release another chapter this week since this arc is only about three or four chapters away from wrapping up.
With that, the original arc of my older story will come next.