The Weight of Legacy

Hildegard couldn't sense Affinities—they had confirmed that a while ago. Even before a certain forester had started to make a habit of telling her to stop assuming no one would be a threat to her, Malwine had been sufficiently paranoid to have Adelheid run a few tests. While the old butler could tell what Adelheid was doing when they were face to face, she'd never notice it when the girl started playing around with shadows in a corner.

Still, Malwine had steered clear of getting too into working on her Mana Source values during the meditation hour of their lessons. Now that was out the window—if she could get away with spending even more time on growing her Control, when she was expected to meditate anyway, she couldn't exactly talk herself into finding an excuse not to.

She did start actually napping during naptime, though. Despite her best efforts, tiredness continued to catch up to her, and she'd learned the hard way that trying to use [Implacable] to further extend her training time seemed to actively hurt [Riffle In Excelsis]'s progress.

Therefore… When Hildegard said today's naptime would have to be postponed, she was more than a little bit peeved.

Staring daggers at the woman's back as she and Franziska walked behind her, Malwine grumbled. Adelheid being Adelheid, she'd just disappeared. Presumably, she'd show up if whatever was going on ended up being interesting.

They followed Hildegard to one of the outer seating areas, though not the exact one where she recalled sitting for Matilda's party. Their home was somehow small enough that it barely looked like a manor whenever she snuck a glance at it from all the way over at Veit's hut, yet large enough that it was like there were just… way more places popping up each time she checked.

She was probably just in need of a map—and very much not in the mood to consider alternatives.

Most of the family was already there. Anselm was in a corner, looking ready to leave at the first excuse he got—Adelheid would have been proud. Thekla and Abelard only had eyes for each other, though they did periodically look over the indeterminate patio décor object that Kristian was obscuring by virtue of just lounging there.

Despite Veit's assurances that Abelard sucked at detecting things, Malwine made sure to stay as far away from him as she could manage. Her mortal classmate followed, looking quite out of place as she and their teacher were the only outsiders in the gathering.

Kristoffer was running up, holding on to Paul's hand as he dragged the boy behind him. That was curious enough. At 24, Katrina's third son was finally starting to look like an adult instead of a perpetual teenager. He even had a bigger beard than Kristian now. Of all of Beryl's siblings to remain in the family home, Kristoffer had become the one Malwine saw the least. According to Hildegard, he'd found something to do in Beuzaheim, but she'd yet to get any more details than that.

She couldn't exactly blame her uncle—the poor guy probably just saw an out and jumped at the chance to spend less and less time near the family and its near-intrinsic troubles.

Neither Alaric nor Matilda were anywhere to be seen.

Malwine was so unused to seeing this many family members in the same place outside of mealtimes that her eyes narrowed.

Who is up to what now?

It was just objectively suspicious, with everyone looking both tense and suitably confused as to just why they had gathered here—the type of thing that'd happen when someone did something, and a family meeting had to be called.

She squinted at Kristian. It was probably him.

"I must ask something," Kristian started, nevermind that Bernie was absent. "Have any of you seen your sister?"

"…Which one?" Kristoffer countered.

Thekla looked around and flinched, seeming to realize all save herself were entirely absent. She waved lightly, as if to ensure anyone who might be looking for her noticed she was there.

"Who else isn't here? Matilda, obviously," Kristian scoffed. Clearly, whatever ego boost he got from surpassing level 300 had been enough to erode what little sense of decency she'd thought her grandfather had developed over the past years.

Not to mention… Malwine had to suppress a sigh. Even with Hildegard's intervention, the matter of whether Adelheid was ever around seemed to continue being a background thought for everyone, at most. It'd been the butler herself who'd summed the problem up for them when they'd last talked about it.

If Adelheid wasn't there, she probably actually was, and if she genuinely was elsewhere, she could probably take care of herself. Wherever she was.

"I thought she was with your wife?" Anselm shot his father a glare. Seeing him use that tone when speaking of Bernie actually caught Malwine off-guard.

Damn. That's one way to talk about your ex. Who is also your stepmother.

"She was," the voice of the woman in question came from behind where Malwine stood. "I haven't the faintest clue where she has gone, however—and it should be impossible for her to be outside of the estate. I can sense that much."

Malwine found she couldn't focus on the implication there, or even on the fact that they'd somehow managed to lose track of Matilda now.

Because in Bernie's arms was a bundle that looked suspiciously like a baby.

Benedikt! Finally! Malwine almost cheered before her brain caught up to her. Wait. Shouldn't Benedikt be like, four now? I don't think I was that small when I was four in this life.

Adelheid clearly hadn't thought that far ahead, though. Standing between Malwine and Franziska as if she'd always been there, her little sister pointed at Bernie. "Is that Benedikt? Are you finally going to stop hiding Benedikt?"

In a reaction wholly uncharacteristic for him—and probably for any high level—Kristian's eyes widened and he fell backwards, leaving the object he'd been using as a seat to teeter in place for a moment before stabilizing. It turned out to have been a planter.

"No, my girl," the mother who barely paid any attention to her told Adelheid. "This is your new sister, Gertraud. She is finally ready to start adapting to being outside her room."

Again, the detail of 'adapting to being outside' somehow being a thing got glossed over as Malwine's turn to be baffled arrived.

"New sister?" Adelheid eyed the bundle suspiciously.

Almost immediately, a head poked out from within the blankets. Gertraud's eyes were the same pale green-blue of her mother and sister, though she seemed to have darker hair. Not quite as pitch black as Bernie's, but close enough for the difference to be negligible.

Damn. Why'd she have to be… cute? Malwine scrunched her nose up. She'd never been one to be particularly fond of little kids, in either life. But, apparently, she wasn't immune to being distracted from her frustrations by how Gertraud was curiously watching them all.

It was strangely adorable.

Kristian had managed to get back up and dust himself off—Malwine somehow suspected her grandfather intended to pretend the past minute never happened. "Your new sister, yes. We decided the time was right for all of you to meet her."

From a cursory glance around the room, Malwine could tell reactions were… mixed. Anselm appeared to be short-circuiting, while the rest of the siblings exchanged visibly nervous glances.

It was ultimately Kristoffer of all people—not any of the younger children—who couldn't contain himself any longer. "Another one?"

"If we can meet Gertraud," Adelheid voiced the name out, as if it were unfamiliar to her—maybe it was—clearly unwilling to drop the matter entirely, "why haven't we met Benedikt yet?"

"She may seem little still, but Gertraud was particularly eager to meet you all," was Bernie's unconvincing non-answer, all the while the infant in question silently eyed her mother.

"I thought you were going to stop at ten!" Kristoffer blurted out. From the looks he got, that might have been a personal assumption, not something Kristian and Bernie had stated. Probably.

His comment got Malwine nodding along, though. Damn, he's right. They're eleven now. I need to update the tree. Ever the best at focusing on the right priorities, she turned to her guardian. "Bernie, what was Gertraud's birthmonth?"

Bernie seemed to latch on to the question like a lifeline, as it was basically the first response to her announcement that seemed neither negative nor judgmental. "The Cold. Why?"

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Because I like knowing everyone's birthmonths!" Malwine repeated her eternal excuse. "And on which year was she born?"

"5804."

Malwine pouted. She hadn't even noticed Bernie had been pregnant this time around. Granted, she'd been spending so much time split between Hildegard's lessons, whatever passed for 'playtime' with Adelheid, and chasing down Veit, that she hadn't been interacting with her guardian much at all.

Kristoffer shouted something else, but Malwine paid it no mind as she went to update her family tree panel. She didn't even disagree with the assessment that eleven kids was a bit much—and that was coming from someone who, as the widow, would have considered couples with 15-plus kids to be excellent sources of information.

At least we didn't get even one more person born in The Forgetting, she mused.

It was a particularly loud shout that broke Malwine out of her ruminations. "This is why everyone in Beuzaheim keeps saying we do nothing but multiply!"

Abelard flinched.

Malwine turned to face Kristoffer, admittedly baffled. Was that something people said? While this world was relatively behind the widow's Earth when it came to technology, between the liberal usage of enchanted objects and additions brought over by otherworlders, people were fairly well-off. Still, appearances had her thinking of her new world as something akin to what the 18th century would have looked like if portrayed by someone who studied neither that Earth's history nor the ramifications of magic.

People having lots of children just felt like it was probably the norm.

…But what if it wasn't?

Oh, dear, this is awkward. Are we one of those families?

Stunned silence reigned until her oldest aunt cleared her throat.

"Erm," Thekla bit her lip, not meeting anyone's gaze.

Kristoffer's eyes widened, his fury seemingly forgotten. Somehow, he apparently understood whatever it was she'd been about to say. "Don't tell me—"

"Fine, fine," Thekla nodded almost immediately, straightening. She said nothing else, while everyone else eyed her expectantly. The moment Kristian opened his mouth, though, Thekla locked eyes with Kristoffer before their father even spoke. "You said not to tell you!"

Malwine found that ever so slightly annoying—she wanted to know what the new gossip was. She examined Thekla more thoroughly, trying to figure out what this was about. In the end, she wasn't even sure what gave it away. Maybe it was how Thekla clasped her arms before herself, or how Abelard had reacted to Kristoffer's comment…

Anselm's palm hit his own face swiftly enough for it to make a sound, reminding Malwine of his existence. She'd been trying to avoid thinking about how his trial had been casually blocked by what Veit dubbed a 'young' god—whatever that meant in this context—and fully intended to continue doing so.

When she'd first made that family tree panel, though… She hadn't considered how to depict further generations. Turning this into a proper tree sounded like a decent idea, but adding anything resembling images to her panels was still beyond her, even with her new Skills.

A cousin… At least she would no longer be alone in the misfortune of having Kristian for a grandfather—not for long, anyway. Granted, her aunts and uncles probably had it rough, but her generation was just at the cusp where it could count as funny instead of just terrible.

With enough degrees of separation, any violent ancestor could become a source of conversational anecdotes. The widow had certainly loved to make fun of the conquistadors who met unfortunate ends.

Kristian was on his way out.

"Where are you going?" Kristoffer demanded, an unsubtle edge of nervousness tinging his voice.

"To Beuzaheim, of course. I must have words with whoever dared speak of us in such a way."

Clearly panicking by now, Kristoffer shuffled after his father. If this turned into a race, the son would never beat the father, but Kristian mostly just eyed him—almost curiously so.

Malwine wouldn't have been surprised if she learned Kristoffer was somehow personally involved with whichever rumors or comments he was referring to. She just couldn't decide whether it would be funny or concerning, if that was the case.

Both men stopped their stride when a small girl appeared out of thin air before them.

Adelheid pointed at Kristian. "Father. You still haven't explained."

"Explained what?"

"Why didn't you do this for Benedikt? Why do you not want me to meet my little brother?"

While the girl seemed to have taken it as a personal affront, Malwine wasn't about to deny the introduction of Gertraud had made the Benedikt debacle even more suspicious. As far as she could tell, no one save for Kristian and Bernie seemed to have even met the boy. A part of her had still been willing to chalk it off to some weird dislike of letting small children be seen in public—she and Adelheid had certainly spent a bunch of time in their room early on—but Gertraud showing up changed things.

Kristian didn't answer—a mistake only Malwine and Hildegard recognized, and neither was about to warn him.

Adelheid blinked, her anger seeming to melt into confusion between one moment and the next. "What do you mean, Benedikt is sick?"

Bernie paled, while Anselm turned to look between Adelheid and Kristian at what looked like genuinely breakneck speeds. Everyone else displayed varying degrees of discomfort, even more so than perplexity.

Kristoffer just bolted. His father shot him a glance but remained in place, presumably wondering what the ethical implications of trying to send his daughter flying would be.

"Your brother has… issues. We'd rather not risk exposing him to anything that might make things worse," Kristian said, slowly. Bernie glared at him. "That is why you have yet to meet him."

"Forgive me, but," Anselm took a step closer, "I fail to see why you couldn't have simply said that sooner. We—"

"There is nothing you can do, and even if you tried, I would not let you," Bernie snapped back.

The glance those two exchanged was enough for Malwine to wonder just what the hell had gone on between them recently—she certainly didn't recall them disliking each other this much before.

As for Benedikt… As she caught on to what they'd said, Malwine found herself trying to slip back into the mindset that had led her to OHeidi for the first time. She'd tried time and time again since then, and her attempts had failed, always.

The difference, however, was simple—now, Malwine had no trouble giving shape to her justifications. Her grandfather had gone and admitted Benedikt was somehow unwell. It would be well within her purview to go look into that.

She looked off to the side in an attempt to hide how she closed her eyes, reaching for [Earthless Glory] with Rupert's form, and for [The Things We Do For Family] as it was. Most of the latter Skill's rule-bending potential was locked behind its ridiculously specific requirements, and for a moment, she feared this would be yet another time in which her intent proved insufficient.

Distantly, she was aware of [The Things We Do For Family] finally getting its fourth level, but that notification felt irrelevant.

A man that looked like Rupert showed up within a room Malwine could make neither heads nor tails of. Even the details of it were off, as if she were looking at the idea of a room, the idea of her double manifesting someplace, instead of having any of that actually happen in reality.

Somewhere in that room, there was a boy. Barely a toddler.

But the biggest cause for concern was how there seemed to be no air in the room. No… it wasn't that. The room lacked something crucial, the absence of which made her head spin and kept anything from looking real.

The [Toll] she'd accrued to make her double show up vanished as if the used mana had been ripped from her very veins, just as the double itself collapsed in on itself. The experience was beyond jarring, and she couldn't help but stumble.

The fuck?

"Malwine?" Hildegard asked, placing a hand upon her shoulder.

Thinking of an excuse as swiftly as she could manage under these circumstances, Malwine took in a quivering breath, barely needing to fake it. "Hildegard… Hildegard, should I be worried? Are we all going to get sick like uncle or—"

"No, no, no," Hildegard knelt before her, pulling her in for an unsolicited hug. The show of physical affection felt so out of place in her new life that Malwine froze. "It's… a delicate matter, but everyone's going to be okay. Even Benedikt. You have nothing to worry about—us adults are handling it."

Did the old butler know more than she let on? The worst part was that Malwine couldn't even begin to ask anything that might shed some light into why her projection failed. Benedikt was sick, and apparently isolated—she could connect the dots that far.

As Hildegard made an effort to lead her and Franziska the third wheel away, Malwine weighed her options. Of all non-Kristian family members, who could she rely on if she wanted to look further into this?

Even if she could have shared the location she'd sent the double to with Adelheid, she didn't want the girl to risk herself like that. Who knew just what she would be teleporting into? It wasn't a problem she'd considered before, but of course there had to be places that couldn't be visited so simply… even if that made the question arise, of just what it could possibly be, to be in this estate inhabited mostly by mortals.

She didn't like this in the slightest, but Malwine's thoughts wandered to the idea. Maybe, just maybe, the time had finally come to try and confront a certain uncle herself.