“So, you’ve returned here in search of answers…”
Count Winslet slightly tilted his chin and glared at me.
“How strange. I still remember what you said ten years ago. You told me you were leaving to find those very answers, didn’t you? You left the family behind for that reason.”
What I’d come to understand while receiving treatment for my heart’s cold ailment from Rose Bly was this: Winter Winslet had been aware of his condition for quite some time.
It seemed that, just like me now, the Winter Winslet of ten years ago had left the family in search of a way to escape his fate of death.
That was why Count Winslet found it so perplexing.
“After wandering for so long, you’ve come back to the place you left…still searching for answers? Did you lose your way or something?”
“You think it doesn’t make sense?”
His gaze now felt as if it were piercing through me.
His irises, once the same deep green as mine, had faded with age to something closer to gray.
He was a man in his middle years, and I couldn’t help but think: if Winter Winslet grew older, he would probably look just like this.
After our staring contest had dragged on for a while, the Count suddenly noticed that my focus wasn’t actually on him and asked,
“What is it that you’re seeing with those eyes of yours?”
“Possibility. And the future. Perhaps a future that might be mine.”
“Speak. I’ll listen.”
Afraid my trait, “Innate Pride”, might trigger if I spoke aloud, I instead bowed slightly, expressing my gratitude.
“Two months ago, I lost consciousness and collapsed.”
The Count’s eyebrows twitched.
Catching that subtle reaction, I continued without pause.
“There’s a woman known as the Saint of the Church. She examined my condition and told me that there’s an old illness lodged in my heart. One that even her divine power couldn’t cure.”
If it’s an old illness, then perhaps the clue lies in Winter Winslet’s youth or even his childhood.
And Winter Winslet had already sensed his death approaching, even ten years ago.
The Count’s final reaction came when I mentioned having collapsed.
That was enough to confirm my suspicion. He knew something.
So I asked him directly, without beating around the bush.
“What exactly is wrong with my body?”
“My son…”
Count Edward Winslet let out a long, deep sigh before finally speaking.
“You were fated to die before reaching the age of twenty.”
***
There’s a saying: beautiful people die young.
And another: geniuses never live long.
If that’s true, then how early should someone like Winter Winslet, an unparalleled magical genius and a man said to be the most handsome of the century… die?
The answer, according to his father, was twenty.
Good grief.
Not even part of the infamous “27 Club”. Just… twenty.
Winter Winslet must have been absurdly brilliant. And absurdly handsome.
“But I’ve already lived ten years beyond that.”
“Yes. It truly is astounding. After you ran away from the family, there was no trace of you for years. Then, five years later, you suddenly appeared in the capital, Lambart. At first, I thought it was some kind of hoax. Even until today, I remained half in doubt.”
“You could’ve just sent someone to check if I was dead or alive.”
“I was afraid. Afraid that the cursed fate that may have barely missed you… might return because of me.”
“You called it a cursed fate?”
“Yes.”
I could feel it.
That this had something to do with the secret of Winter Winslet I’d been searching for.
The Count gave a weary sigh.
“I had hoped, perhaps, that you’d found a way to escape that fate. But hearing what you’ve said… it seems that’s not the case.”
“What exactly is this ‘fate’ you keep talking about?”
“As I said before. You were never meant to live past your twenty-first birthday.”
“Why twenty? Do you have a clear reason for giving such a specific number?”
“The history of our family is the proof. That fate is a long-standing, ancient curse tied to the Winslet bloodline.”
“Please, tell me in detail.”
A deeper sigh escaped from Count Winslet’s lips than before.
Was it that the story was too difficult to bring up? Or was he simply choosing his words?
Only after pouring himself some wine from the decanter on the study desk and wetting his throat did he finally open his mouth.
“This is the first time I’ve ever spoken of this to you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me ten years ago?”
“You were excessively clever, even as a child. That day too…you came to me without anyone telling you, already sensing your own death.”
His gaze drifted past me, over my shoulder.
The study was cloaked in darkness, so whatever he was seeing must have been a memory, one buried deep in the past.
“You asked me the same question back then. But I couldn’t tell you the truth. I held my tongue, afraid you’d fall into even deeper despair if you knew that what awaited you was an unavoidable death.”
“I see.”
“Sometimes, not knowing and struggling with everything you have is less painful.”
“But it’s too late for that now.”
“Yes… You can’t cover the sky with your palm, and your eyes had already risen beyond the reach of my hand. You had already sensed your fate.”
“But if some things are too late… then others may not be. Uncovering the truth is one of those things.”
Count Winslet gave a slight nod.
“To think you’d still be alive when I thought you’d be dead within a year of leaving the house… Perhaps there is still hope.”
According to the setting of Candela of Judgment, Winter Winslet embarked on a long journey across the continent from the age of 20 to 25. At 25, he visited Karaf and took the 7th-Class Promotion Exam, then returned to the Kingdom of Laurencia.
I could only assume that along the way, he had found some incomplete treatments that helped extend his life.
Treatments like the one Rose Bly had shared with me.
After all, there’s no stronger motivation for a human being than survival. Winter Winslet must have pursued knowledge and conducted every kind of experiment with desperate resolve.
The Count asked,
“How is it that you’re still alive? What happened after you left the family?”
“I merely bought myself some time.”
“I’ve never heard of such a method. What did you do?”
“……”
I couldn’t exactly tell my own father that I had expelled the cold from my heart by having affairs with hundreds of women, so I shamelessly shook my head.
“I’ll explain it to you later, after I’ve had time to organize my thoughts. But more urgently, what I need now is the information you kept hidden from me ten years ago. Please, tell me about this cursed fate.”
“…Very well.”
Count Winslet poured himself another glass of wine and took a sip.
He glanced at me briefly but didn’t offer me any.
It seemed he was being considerate, assuming I shouldn’t drink because of my heart condition.
But if that were the case, it didn’t explain how I’d been drinking just fine ever since possessing Winter Winslet’s body.
I drank when I met Keith d’Alembert and again when I used black magic as a conduit to contact the Heptagram Society. Both times, the alcohol had been strong… it was practically toxic.
And yet, my heart never acted up. Not even a hint of discomfort.
So then… could this heart condition I suffer from not be physiological at all? Could it stem from something else entirely?
The Count spoke.
“I call it ‘fate’ because… not once in our family’s history has there been an exception to it.”
I focused intently, trying to read between the lines of his words.
Fate. Family history. Bloodline. No exceptions.
“…So I wasn’t the only one who died young.”
“The closest example would be my uncle…. your great-uncle Leonard Winslet.”
“He died young as well?”
“Just one day before his twenty-first birthday.”
“You say ‘closest’…does that mean there were others, further back?”
“Yes. Leonard Winslet’s great-grandmother, Isabella Winslet, also carried this cursed fate. And even before her, Isabella’s great-uncle had been born with the same.”
The longer we spoke, the more the once-scattered puzzle pieces began to come together and take shape.
Me… my great-uncle… and his great-grandmother before him… all bound by the same fate.
“Born with” this fate….that meant it had manifested from birth.
A curse that skips a generation, appearing every other one, tied to a specific bloodline…
“…A generational inheritance.”
The Count nodded.
“Yes. In the Winslet family, once every two generations, the firstborn child is born with a special constitution. The first trait is an exceptional talent for magic, and particularly an innate gift for ice magic.”
Winter Winslet was undeniably a master of ice magic.
To think that it was because of his bloodline.
“The second trait is a resistance to divine power. That’s why we had to be especially careful when you were young, to make sure you didn’t get hurt. We removed anything in the house that was sharper than paper. Even the furniture was replaced with pieces that had no sharp corners.”
Thanks to Professor Sophia, I already knew divine power didn’t work well on my body.
But to think that was also hereditary.
“Is there a third trait?”
“Yes. The third is that they never live past the age of twenty. And the last… is that they can’t have children.”
“…What?”
“According to the family records, there were several attempts made over the generations. They tried to have a Winslet child bear offspring before the age of twenty, in hopes of strengthening the magical talent within the bloodline. But not once did it succeed.”
“……”
I must’ve had my mouth hanging open without realizing it.
My father looked concerned when he saw my face.
“Was what I told you really that shocking?”
I couldn’t say it wasn’t.
So what you’re telling me is… Winter Winslet… I’m sterile?
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