Winter arrived in the pastoral countryside of Ashfield, on the island of Britain.
If you expected snow quietly piling up in the coniferous forests, a mirror-like frozen lake, and an endlessly stretching white snowfield… sorry, there was none of that.
Britain, directly influenced by the North Atlantic subtropical circulation, or simply put, the Gulf Stream, was a warm and humid region.
Thus, despite being at a similar latitude to Siberia, it was difficult to see snow.
Just like now.
I was watching the drizzling rain, perfect for inducing depression.
Actually, that in itself wasn't a problem. For someone who loves books and prefers to stay indoors, the weather outside didn't matter.
In fact, I managed to produce manuscripts for the fifth volume of Peter Perry, Vincent Villiers, and even DawnBringer, totalling over six months' worth of work.
Hmm, it was indeed a productive self-imposed confinement.
However, the problem was…
"He-he…! My blood is boiling… Ugh!!"
"This idiot just doesn't quit."
There was a severe case of adolescent syndrome in my house.
I looked at Monty Miller, a poor 14-year-old who was crying after being hit on the back of the head by his sister, with pity.
"Young master, don't you think it's time to give up this play?"
"P-play?! What do you mean, Hanslow Jin! I'm serious!"
Ah, my sins were indeed heavy.
I only recently realised that Monty didn't see me merely as an uncle or older brother.
To him, I was a mysterious wizard who could spin magical, enchanting stories effortlessly. A friend and guardian who seamlessly integrated into his daily life.
Because of this image, he was more easily and deeply captivated by my books than others.
"Sigh."
It was truly regrettable for me.
No matter how exposed the 19th century was to such notions, I didn't expect him to be infected so easily.
The people of the 19th century, hardened by toxic smog, were supposed to be much more resilient than those of the 21st century...
Or perhaps, it was just their exterior; internally, they were so fragile that they were more susceptible to illnesses like adolescent syndrome.
If that was the case, there was no choice.
In the end, it was all my karma.
No matter how painful it was, I had to make a decisive move with the same resolve Zhuge Liang had when he executed Ma Su.
So.
"Huff, huff, huff… Hanslow…"
"An owl has no right to speak."
"No, really…!"
"Get up on one count. One!"
"Ugh…!"
"At one, clear your mind. At two, unify your thoughts. One."
"Argh!! Clear my mind!!"
I had no choice but to wear this red baseball cap. The vast estate of Ashfield was perfect as a training ground.
I wrapped myself in specially ordered long johns and spoke firmly in front of Monty, who was bending and straightening his arms to the sound of the whistle.
"Lower your arms until your fists are at chest height. Straighten your back!"
"Ow! Ow!"
"Get up after ten times. No final shout. Begin!"
"B-begin!!"
Indeed, there was nothing better than physical exertion to clear unnecessary thoughts.
I nodded with satisfaction as Monty obediently followed my instructions.
Hmm? My position in the military? I was just an ordinary rifleman. Even though I graduated from administrative school, they didn't pick me as an administrative soldier.
I
So what I'm doing now is just a mimicry based on my memories and indirect experiences.
There was no way 14-year-old Monty could fully endure the absurd and pointless hardships designed purely to torment people.
It was just for the sake of a bit of exercise and sweat.
When I felt it was time to stop the exercise…
"Well done. Come here."
"H-Hanslow. I'm really dying."
"Good job. Sit down."
I guided Monty to the shade of the bonfire and handed him a candle.
"W-what's this?"
"Now, listen."
I approached Monty and lit the candle he was holding.
As the warm candle and bonfire warmed his cold hands...
"Young master, you must be exhausted."
"Of course..."
"Didn't you miss your mother?"
"I did..."
Slowly, he started to speak.
Who was I? Even like this, I was the most popular writer in London. Moreover, Monty had been looking after me since he was a child.
It was easy to say something that would touch a child's heart.
"Sniff…"
In the end, Monty shed light tears.
Yes, although my words were grand, this was actually a common Korean-style retreat tactic.
Although I detested the melodramatic nonsense of suffering through something I paid for, I knew its effectiveness through personal experience.
When the body became tired, the mind's defences weakened.
When those mental defences weakened, the warmth that seeped in through both physical and emotional sensations was the best remedy to clear unnecessary thoughts.
"I roasted some sweet potatoes and baby potatoes, would you like some?"
"… I'd like that!"
As I wiped Monty's soot-covered cheeks while he stuffed his mouth with salty baby potatoes, I spoke.
"So, are you feeling a bit better now?"
"Uh…"
He hadn't completely recovered yet.
Well, Monty was only fourteen, which would make him a middle schooler in Korea.
Adolescent syndrome was a physiological thing; you couldn't get rid of it all at once.
If I pushed him too hard, he'd only rebel. So, that was enough for today.
Instead, I changed the topic to start another conversation.
"So, you enjoyed DawnBringer?"
"Of course!"
The new topic was 'empathy'.
"So? What did you like the most?"
"It was cool! And..."
Monty started listing all the parts he enjoyed without a pause. Summarising his words... it seemed like he liked everything.
"Anyway, I want to be a hero who defeats villains and helps the weak, just like that."
"Hmm."
It was a simple yet challenging matter. I shrugged and joked.
"But you saw it too, didn't you? Edmund trained rigorously to gain his powers. Even what you did just now is far from enough; you'd have to do dozens of times more every day."
"Ugh...!"
Seeing Monty's cute expression as he turned pale with his mouth full of potatoes, I smiled.
"Well, even so, that would only build your body. Do you know what's truly important for a hero?"
"What is it?"
"It's the mindset."
Having great strength doesn't make you a hero. Neither does looking cool.
The unyielding will.
The resilience to push forward what you believe is right.
And above all, the altruism to genuinely empathise with the weak and extend a helping hand.
"Without that, you can't become a hero. Conversely, if you have that, you can be a hero even without strength."
"Hmm, that sounds nice, but…"
Ah, he caught on.
As he grew older, he became more perceptive. But I still maintained my composure and said,
"It's true. In a way, Mr. Miller is a hero to me."
"He just goes out and plays cricket all the time."
"People aren't perfect."
Even Edmund was treated as a nuisance by society, wasn't he?
Anyway, I patted Monty's head. Unlike before, he struggled in embarrassment to shake off my hand.
Heh, but he wasn't strong enough yet.
I patted his head more firmly and spoke softly.
"Don't be too impatient. I have a rough idea, having been your age once, but the world isn't as urgent as it seems."
A relaxed conversation, at a pace the other could understand, was needed. The world works through thesis-antithesis-synthesis.
Of course, Monty still grumbled, unable to understand, in my arms.
Well, it was fine if he didn't understand now. It was only natural; no matter how much he had grown, what could a little guy like him know?
So.
"If you don't understand, just focus on your studies for now. That's the answer."
"You're just like Mum."
I looked at Monty's grumbling figure with a bittersweet smile.
Well, as long as he didn't stray off course, he would eventually understand in time.
"And when that time comes, he'll be kicking himself under the covers!"
That's the final destination everyone reaches. Haha, I couldn't wait for that day.
Just as I was thinking about this, I heard a call.
"Hanslow! Monty! Are you finished?"
"Yes, Mr. Miller! Young master, shall we go inside?"
"Okay."
A prompt response. Good, the education was proving effective.
I then showed the now-obedient Monty to Mr. and Mrs. Miller, receiving praise from Mrs. Clara and admiration from Mr. Miller as we entered the house.
However, Mr. Miller hadn't called me just because it was time for dinner.
There was a matter to attend to.
"I need you to go on a business trip to Dartmoor."
"Dartmoor... that place in the middle of nowhere? Did something happen?"
"Well, Baron Carlyle went missing recently."
"Oh..."
Baron Carlyle was the last descendant of the baronial family that owned Dartmoor.
He was quite wealthy, so Mr. Miller had occasional dealings with him, I suppose.
I vaguely remembered seeing him a few times. He didn't leave much of an impression, so I couldn't recall his face precisely... but wasn't he single with no relatives? Could it be?
As I pondered this theory and looked up, Mr. Miller nodded, confirming my thoughts.
"As you know, there's no heir. So, the bank plans to auction off and liquidate everything."
"Ah."
I see, now it made sense. I nodded in understanding.
"You want me to go and select some valuable art pieces, right?"
"That's right. And if possible, could you take Monty with you? Judging by his behaviour, it seems he's bored during the holidays, and this might provide some much-needed diversion."
"Sounds good."
It seemed Mr. Miller wanted to firmly rein him in now that my training had temporarily quieted him down.
It would be inconvenient if he regressed in my absence.
Well, it wasn't far, and Monty wasn't the type to act out excessively, so it shouldn't be a problem.
At most, we'd visit the neighbouring town and take a look around the mansion, which would feel like a small outing.
Besides, after spending so much time writing in my room, I could use a bit of a refresh myself.
"Then let's leave today."
Hmm, I wondered if there would be anything valuable there.