Afterword: Emmental

My name is Merujune van Clarc.

I am the Baroness Clarc.

Ten years ago, my husband founded a household, and only recently was I elevated from baron to baroness.

My husband hailed from a great estate, but due to various complications, he established this still-new household independently.

At the time, I had just given birth to my eldest son, and only later did I learn of the many matters surrounding it.

Ten years ago, a great event occurred within the ancestral home of my husband—Emmental.

The matter began when our adopted daughter, Miss Spica, was disowned and cast out, only to later accomplish deeds that could be called miraculous.

Having fallen from grace, the name of Emmental had been tarnished. In repentance for this, and in honor of the Saintess Spica, the father-in-law decided upon a change of headship.

Yet, in the gathering for the inheritance of the family seat, the younger brother of the master lost his mind, slashing his own mother—the then countess—and gouging out the eyes of his second brother.

Outwardly, it was said he struck his real mother in retaliation for being denied the inheritance, seeking to harm the elder brother he had long resented…

In truth, upon learning that Spica was his true sister, he had no outlet for the love he had long harbored, and so turned his unreturned affection into a weak, bitter rage directed toward the mother who could not receive it. He sought to become one with Spica, to steal the eyes of the elder brother who had been granted Spica’s gaze, and to swallow them whole—a deed utterly beyond reason…

At the time, I was not told of this, so great was the shock. I only learned the truth after judgment had been passed.

Fortunately, my mother-in-law was wearing the garment designed by the holy maiden Spica, and the protective embroidery woven into its pattern, the corset, and the positioning of the wound at the time of the attack—these fortunate elements combined. Though the blade pierced from her back through to her lungs, she survived.

Yet the wound was deep. The tendons of her supporting leg were severed, leaving her unable to move freely. She spent her days confined and withdrawn.

As those days passed, the wound within her heart grew heavier. Self-harm became evident.

She had lost her daughter. In despair, she had nearly been killed by her own son…

The depth of her sorrow was immense, and those around her could do nothing to ease it.

Seeing her thus, the Third Prince introduced her to a special mage in the royal household—a mage skilled in a rare magic.

A magic that sealed a person’s memories.

Concerned that his wife might break under the strain, the father-in-law immediately agreed to the spell’s use.

In the end, with his wife’s consent, she had her memories from before the birth of her third son sealed.

Within her mind, she now holds a false memory: that she was struck by an accident during her pregnancy, leaving her with a damaged body.

Yet the magic is not infallible. There remains a risk that her memories may return unexpectedly. Now, having retired to Emmental, she has relocated with her husband.

Though she no longer remembers Princess Spica as her own daughter, she hears that the Saintess was chosen from within Emmental’s own kin, and while she feels pride, she does not feel sorrow. She spends each day in prayer, alongside her husband.

I have heard that she attends Mass each month, accompanied by her father-in-law, who is pushed in a wheelchair.

After the incident, her father-in-law swiftly handed over the reins to the current head of the house, then, within just three months, retired to Emmental with his wife, living in seclusion.

That timing coincided closely with the news of Miss Stella’s passing.

Though called retirement, to outsiders it seemed more like exile—rumored to be a form of house arrest.

It is common knowledge that, after the true daughter returned, the adopted saint, Saint Spica, had been mistreated.

At our wedding, Saint Spica was relegated to the far edge of the family seating; at the royal debutante event, the dress she had worn was given to the true daughter instead. That matter was the greatest sin committed by my husband, Cain—but the world knows nothing of it.

It was well known that when Spica, of noble birth, lived within the academy, unlike in her husband Cain’s time, she did not have servants assigned to her, nor did she wear any dress beyond repeated alterations of a single, familiar gown during social occasions.

When other families voiced criticism to the Emmental household, her in-laws dismissed it with indifference, saying only, “She is a proper girl,” as though it were nothing.

They knew, as they had witnessed the academy’s state since Stella’s enrollment, yet they turned a blind eye, allowing Spica to suffer, forcing her to endure acts of barbarity, and leaving behind the false rumors that defiled her name.

In the end, they cursed her, reviled her, and cast her out—after she had, in despair, resolved to make the noble sacrifice for the sake of the nation, torn from the prince she loved by imperial decree.

Yet the people of Emmental in those days knew nothing of how, in secret, she had written letters to every household, worried for the daughter she had cast out, nor of the laughter she had drawn for claiming ignorance of that day’s feast as divine decree.

And after the magnitude of Spica’s achievement became clear—something no previous head of the Emmental line had accomplished—the tragedy that followed for Emmental…

To be unable to restrain her youngest son at the moment she announced her retirement, taking responsibility for Spica’s affair, and to have exposed the prince who had come as witness to danger—this was nothing less than a disgrace to the imperial nobility.

It was customary for a royal overseer to be dispatched from the imperial household when discussions over the succession to a great fief were formally announced. It was customary for heirs to the throne, such as princes, to be sent—normally a mark of honor—yet now…

There was an unspoken rule that observers were forbidden from speaking or acting, no matter what transpired in their seat. Yet the prince at that time broke the rule and personally executed the chief offender.

At that moment, drawing a blade in the prince’s presence was tantamount to drawing it against the emperor himself. Yet, due to the offender’s mental state, his service to the realm, and the certainty that the prince would soon leave the royal family, the prince himself interceded in person. The family’s destruction was thus averted.

The stepfather swore before the royal court that he bore full responsibility. He renounced his noble status, withdrawing from society as if he had taken monastic vows, bearing the family’s disgrace alone.

Even though Stella, whom the third prince had been betrothed to and who had wished it, had died, she received no sympathy. He was treated as if he were not even a former lord of a great fief, and so was sent from the imperial capital.

Now, he spends each day in repentance, confessing his own foolishness, the sins of his kin, and his personal guilt—seeking atonement, penance, and sorrow, all so that he may bring comfort to Lady Spica.

Though a man, he has taken up Lady Spica’s will with active dedication, supporting orphanages and those with physical hardship.

Having endured hardship himself in caring for his stepmother, he likely feels deep empathy.

During food distributions and similar efforts, he personally hands out provisions, clothing, and medicine; he listens to the people’s voices, and has begun conveying their concerns to the noble class.

His manner—so approachable, so unlike that of a former lord of a great fief—once met with scorn and contempt from the villagers, but now they regard him with respect.

And each week, without fail, he visits Lady Spica in her sleep to offer her solace.

Fret, the sinner, was exiled to a forgotten land—where, after being severed from progeny, all divine punishments from across the world are cast, as a result of the divine punishment he received.

It is said that this land once bore the ancient dynasty which sought to draw near to the divine realm, only to be destroyed by divine judgment, and transformed into a dreadful place where all the world's calamities converge.

Only those who accept their deeds in this land, repent, and accumulate good works may, after long years, be pardoned by the gods and freed from the curse of immortality.

The divine punishment of immortality is said to be the third lightest among all divine punishments.

It is far heavier than the lightest divine punishment, the punishment of sin, or the second-lightest, the punishment of blood.

The body ages and weakens as any mortal does, falls ill, and limbs lost to injury do not regrow—only death is denied to them.

There were kings of other lands who, longing for immortality, prayed to the gods to bestow upon them the divine punishment of eternal life. Yet after receiving it, they cried out in anguish, “Kill me, let me die,” and were cast away to forgotten lands—this tale is well known as a fable.

I hesitated when considering whether to tell the children of such a foolish uncle...

Yet this is also the root of these children. I spoke of it only recently, though it pained me, rather than have them learn it from outsiders.

The children, whose conversations often centered on their noble aunt, were deeply shaken by this revelation—silent, thoughtful, as if burdened.

And yet, as a mother, I pray that they may not tread the same foolish path.

The other uncle, Alex, lost the sight in his left eye entirely after the incident...

He bore it with quiet dignity, saying, “I was always meant to be blind. Spica’s eye lives on in me—there is no need to fear.”

After that incident, Spica’s stolen eye was said to have been expelled as a Sacred Stone, akin to a demon’s core.

By the time it was confirmed, the organ had lost all function as an eye, and Alex’s optic nerves had been violently damaged beyond repair.

Since the eye had become a sacred relic, it was seized by the imperial family, and its subsequent details remain unknown.

Following the change of stewardship, Alex descended to the vassal house of Emmental, bearing the title of baron.

Thereafter, he continued to publish works centered on human folly and the nobility of the heart, in numerous books and stage plays.

He has become so closely associated with “lament and repentance” that his work is held in the highest regard.

Yet this acclaim, in truth, is nothing but a reflection of himself.

The greater the praise he receives, the more starkly it reveals how deeply he once disregarded and cast aside what was truly precious to him.

Yet he does not flee, but continues to paint the work straight ahead.

This year, it seems he is pouring more effort into the opera than ever before. Tentatively titled *Luciana*, it speaks of a family that has strayed from the path.

Though reproach will surely fall upon Emmental, we accept it willingly.

For this is the burden we bear—enduring the peace of the ward, even at the cost of banishing Spica…

Now, I shall speak of my husband, at last.

Before that event, my husband and I stood on the brink of divorce.

My father had grown increasingly skeptical and distrustful of Spica’s treatment and his actions toward me, urging me to return to my family home upon the birth of our eldest son.

At that time, I wavered.

And shortly after giving birth to our eldest son, my anger reached its peak when my husband used a mysterious, self-crafted magical artifact upon the child. I, who had never before raised a hand against another, found myself striking him without thought…

Yet when I saw him weeping, bowing his head, begging forgiveness from both my son and me, I thought perhaps I could believe in him again.

My father had insisted on a condition: he would only accept me back into my family home if I severed ties with my husband.

Whether he had truly been chastened, or whether he thought of me and our son… he agreed to that condition.

And then that incident occurred.

My father was furious. He refused to accept my husband as a son-in-law, even to enter my family home.

To be linked by blood to one who had received divine punishment—such a thing alone was enough to bring scorn… I believe my father’s judgment was sound.

Yet, at that moment, my heart had already made its decision.

I swore to walk beside this person, in sickness and in health, in hardship and in joy.

Of course, my family and friends alike tried to dissuade me, but in time, grudgingly, they accepted my decision.

I believe every couple has its own way of being, each carrying its own burdens and its own love.

Since my family refused steadfastly to accept my taking up residence with them, we left the household of Emmental and established a new home—our own household, the Clarke family.

A modest house, founded only upon the title my husband had inherited. Our beginning was built upon nothing but the lowest foundation of trust and reputation.

Some time later, my husband was transferred from the Holy Court to the Royal Mage Division.

It was a move he had long desired.

He had always wished to learn the truth behind the tragedy that had befallen the Emmental family…

It was a secret too profound to reach, yet thanks to the third prince’s intervention, he had gained access to it.

There, he faced the truth.

Even I, I was not meant to know this secret.

It was Stella’s power.

The conditions for activation, the targets, the range, and how to resist it…

Locally, it seemed the master had been affected by Stella’s power, yet after examining all evidence, he concluded that its effect was fragmented when compared to the rest of the family.

I believe it was painful to accept that truth.

I could do nothing as he sat with his head in his hands each night…

I could only hold his hand in silence.

Slowly, he began to search for what he himself might accomplish.

And so, he started crafting a magical artifact.

A tool to stand beside the weak.

Primarily, magical artifacts such as artificial limbs, prosthetic limbs, and artificial organs.

The magical device once used by my lord upon his son to determine blood ties has now become so commonplace that it is routinely employed during baptismal rites.

Noble families, especially those who place great importance on lineage, have all adopted it. Many a wife must have been saved by its use.

That said, I have heard there were disputes as well.

In any case, the bestowal of nobility was attributed to this invention and other such achievements, yet for about five years he had consistently refused.

Yet when it was made clear that refusing further would prevent rewards from being given to others, he was moved to tears and ultimately accepted the title.

And so, day and night, he strives to develop magical artifacts capable of defying divine power—so that no one else may suffer the same fate he once did.

Thus, our family began to move forward.

And as we did, our household naturally grew.

Now, I am the mother of two sons and two daughters.

And so, I come to the household of Emmental, fulfilling the duties of its lady, though I have not taken a consort, as requested by my noble uncle.

I receive my wages without fail.

Now, among the current residents of Emmental, I am perhaps the only one who knows this work…

Francesca, who once guided me with stern discipline, passed into the realm of the divine at the close of last year. And this autumn, my late paternal uncle, the former head of the house, also departed on his journey.

My noble uncle now begins a rigorous education of my children, hoping to prepare them as heirs.

There is promise in them, and he greets them with evident joy.

For now, the eldest daughter appears to be the most promising.

Since my uncle values merit above bloodline, it is not beyond possibility that she may one day take a husband from within the family…

Emmental has not been so publicly scorned in the social circles since the turmoil a decade ago; instead, it has lived with quiet steadiness, cherishing its bonds with care.

To Lady Spica, who has sustained these bonds, I owe a gratitude so profound it cannot be measured.

I wish to repay this debt by quietly guarding Emmental—by ensuring it remains a place she may one day return to.

Please, Lady Spica, continue to watch over me, as I watch over the future, today and tomorrow, and beyond.

I look up at the sky.

I look up at the unseen barrier.