The hope for a martial path was shattered, and the Earl spent several days in deep worry, losing quite a bit of hair. Fortunately, his wife's gentle comfort was there to soothe him: "Dear, it's not our son's fault that he isn't strong. He is still a gift from the gods, isn't he? Maybe he just isn't meant to lead an army. Perhaps the gods have a different purpose for him. Let's find him more teachers and see what he might be suited for."
Her words finally lifted his spirits. After all, this was his only precious son!
The Russell family might have been renowned for their military achievements, but there were also ancestors who were famous for their wisdom. Though they were not adept in sword fighting, they could strategize from behind the scenes and secure victories from afar. If he couldn't be a fierce warrior on the battlefield, he could still bring honor to the family as a mastermind.
If the martial path was closed, then they would turn to the scholarly one. But this child couldn't even speak—how could he study? Would they have to teach him to talk first? The Countess was gentle and pure-hearted, but the Earl began to suspect: maybe the boy wasn't unable to speak; maybe he just didn't want to!
Determined to get his son to speak, the Earl spared no expense, issuing a decree in the capital: anyone who could get Master Freyr to speak would be rewarded with a thousand sliver coins!
This attracted all sorts of people, who tried every method they could think of, from playing the melodious Scottish bagpipes to the deafening Basel drums. Some even suggested throwing the young master into the river to force him to call for help. Naturally, these individuals were politely escorted out by the guards.
While the whole city was making a joke out of this, a servant at the Earl's mansion unexpectedly solved the problem—Focker, the stable hand mentioned in Freyr's sleep talk.
This former stable hand had a kind heart. He took the young master to the stables, thinking that the animals might catch his interest. To his surprise, the stables hadn't been cleaned in time and were reeking of manure. The stench made little Freyr exclaim reflexively, "It stinks!"
Focker received a generous reward for this, and the lazy stable hand was given twenty sliver coins for his "inadvertent" contribution. The Earl, watching his son, became more convinced that the boy was deliberately choosing not to speak.
...
"From today, he will be your teacher," the Earl said to his son, pointing to an elderly man in white robes. "This is Mr. Aaron, not only an imperial astrologer but also a historian. He will be your tutor."
At first, the learned Mr. Aaron did a commendable job. Within a year of foundational education, four-year-old Freyr could write in the common Apollonian script of the continent. While not an earth-shattering achievement, it was rare for a child of four to be able to write. The Earl even began to wonder if his son was a hidden genius.
However, as Freyr turned five, even the scholarly Mr. Aaron became troubled.
One evening, the Earl and Mr. Aaron had a long conversation in the study.
"My Lord, please find someone more capable," the old scholar sighed, looking weary. "Your son is exceptionally bright, but my old bones can't keep up with him."
The Earl felt a chill run down his spine. The scholar's "exceptionally bright" sounded like a polite excuse. Could his son truly be an idiot that even Aaron couldn't teach?
"Mr. Aaron..." The Earl tried to persuade him to stay.
"No, my esteemed lord, please do not try to retain me. This responsibility is beyond my capacity," the scholar insisted firmly.
The Earl forced a bitter smile. Teaching his son had become a "responsibility"? If even the old astrologer retreated, who else could they rely on?
In truth, Mr. Aaron was deeply unsettled. If it were merely childish musings like "the sun and the moon are two big balls," he could laugh it off. But when a five-year-old began discussing "how the concentration of power leads to corruption," the old scholar nearly had a heart attack!
After a year with Freyr, the old scholar realized that Freyr wasn't an idiot; he was too smart for his own good. But why was such a clever child delving into such profound political topics? He speculated that these startling insights might have come from the Earl's unintentional comments, remembered by the child. Earl Edward, being a high-ranking military officer, discussing royal power at home had serious political implications.
Firm in his decision, Mr. Aaron resigned. Despite the Earl's reluctance, he had to agree. Watching the old scholar leave in haste, the Earl could only smile bitterly.
Was his son truly beyond hope?
Freyr silently watched his teacher's departing figure from the attic window, his small face bearing a contemplative expression far beyond his years.
"Master Freyr," Focker called softly. Since Freyr had started speaking, Focker had become his personal servant.
"Focker, do you think ignorance is bliss?" Freyr asked without turning around, his voice weary.
Focker was stunned. When had this former stable hand ever pondered such profound philosophical questions? Freyr turned, his young face showing an unexpected maturity.
"Perhaps knowing too much about this world is not always a good thing. Sometimes, ignorance truly is bliss," he mused, as if speaking to himself, to Focker, or perhaps to the world at large.