"I strongly believe that Kailu's involvement in our plan would be highly beneficial," Eckert explained. "Recent intelligence suggests that the real Rebo Byandit may not have died from illness but rather from poisoning. In fact, for the past six months, someone has been discreetly inquiring about Rebo's status. Fortunately, the butler feared the repercussions of revealing his young master's death—afraid that suspicion would fall on him, especially concerning the misappropriation of part of Rebo's estate under various pretenses. This fear, coupled with the potential for an investigation that could lead to his execution, led him to fabricate a story about Rebo being ill and in need of treatment. Even more fortuitously, the desperate butler sought us out, offering a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for us to execute our most ambitious plan yet."
Eckert continued, "However, it's clear that someone doesn't want Rebo to remain alive, or perhaps they simply don't want the fortress of Sesbourne to have a direct heir. Recently, Sesbourne has seen a series of unfortunate events befall its lords. Old Count Medin died after falling from his horse during a hunt. His two sons met untimely ends—one crushed by a chandelier on the day he inherited the title, and the other died of a mysterious illness just two months after assuming his duties. Rumor has it that he was on the verge of signing an important document, claiming it would guide Sesbourne through its most challenging period. Yet, no one had heard of any crisis within Sesbourne. On the contrary, the territory was thriving, with no significant debts. The lord's monthly income from trade with Southport was substantial, reportedly around 20,000 gold Francs, enough to fund a heavily armored cavalry unit. And this doesn't even include his investments in Southport, which are rumored to bring in at least 500,000 gold Francs annually. I can't imagine a financial crisis under such circumstances. The death of this count only deepens the mystery, suggesting that Rebo's demise was not a mere coincidence but rather part of a broader, hidden agenda. This is why I believe Kailu should act as a bodyguard for our young friend—at least until Rebo Byandit officially claims his inheritance. We must ensure that no 'illness' suddenly befalls him."
Eckert's detailed report was met with a thoughtful nod from the old man. "It's clear what's going on," the old man said, his voice calm and assured. "From the string of deaths at Sesbourne, I suspected as much. Do you think the butler came to us on his own? He was guided to me by someone. I can even guess who that person is and why they did it. Kailu has been assisting you all along, though he's best kept out of sight. Kailu is most effective when operating in the shadows."
"Indeed," Eckert agreed, though a trace of concern lingered in his voice. "But do you think that person guiding the butler might betray us at a critical moment?"
"Betraying us would bring them no advantage," the old man replied confidently. "On the contrary, it would harm them far more than us. That person simply wants to maintain the current situation. If Sesbourne loses its rightful heir, someone could openly seize the position. Any disruption would be detrimental to them. They are more invested in the success of this plan than we are."
The old man then shifted to a more instructive tone, "Eckert, what you lack is an understanding of human nature. You have more knowledge in your head than I ever will, but you still struggle to discern what's most important and useful in a given moment. You need to engage more with the world. Your learning is sufficient, but practical wisdom comes from experience."
"I prefer the study to the outside world," Eckert admitted.
"I hope you'll take over from me," the old man said, a hint of finality in his voice. "This plan might be my last. I'm getting old, and I'm thinking of retiring to a quieter life—maybe becoming a landowner like Paem, or even settling in Southport."
With that, the old man waved his hand, signaling that Eckert could leave.
As Eckert turned to go, the old man added, "As for the small task you mentioned for Kailu, I'll see that it's taken care of."
Leaving the study, Eckert mulled over the old man's words. In recent years, the old man had been revealing more and more of the secrets that had once been kept from Eckert. It was clear that the old man intended to retire soon, but Eckert found himself uninterested in taking over. If only the old man would give him the study without any strings attached—that would be a gift Eckert would truly appreciate.
Gathering his thoughts, Eckert returned to the "classroom." His student was sitting upright at the desk, diligently working on the test. Glancing over the answers, Eckert noted that the boy was doing exceptionally well. It was clear that the boy had not wasted his time in Southport.
"Alright, Rebo, that's enough for now," Eckert said.
The boy looked up, confused.
"I've learned enough about your current knowledge level," Eckert continued. "I've prepared a comprehensive study plan for you." He pulled a rolled-up sheet of paper from his pocket and spread it out on the desk. "Every morning, you'll rise at six sharp. Breakfast is at six-thirty, during which you'll learn the etiquette and manners expected at a formal dining table. At seven-thirty, you'll have either riding or fencing lessons. Nine o'clock is for morning tea—a crucial social skill, as it's also your language class. Do you speak Westbay, Yirei, or Delitian?"
"A little," the boy replied. "I can count and exchange simple greetings."
"That won't suffice. You need to be fluent in Westbay. Yirei and Delitian can be less polished, but still competent. I'll add another hour of language lessons before bed," Eckert said, making a note on the schedule. "Ten to eleven is leisure time, though not for play—you'll be learning the trends and customs of high society, along with the proper etiquette for your new identity. Eleven o'clock is for general studies, where I'll fill in any gaps in your knowledge. Lunch is at twelve, followed by a half-hour rest. At one, you'll have religious studies. I noticed you're lacking in that area. Two o'clock is for art lessons, and three to four is politics. You know nothing about politics or history, so we'll cover those. Five o'clock is dinner, which also serves as a review of your day's lessons. At seven, we'll have mechanics—learning the principles of machines, how to assemble or dismantle them. Eight o'clock is physical training, to help you digest your dinner. From nine to ten, there's a second language lesson. After that, you can sleep. But before bed, there's also a punishment session. If you don't meet the daily learning targets, you'll receive a beating before sleeping. Understand?"
The boy nodded rapidly, especially when Eckert pulled a thick, braided cane from the top of the bookshelf. The sight of it made the boy's head bob even faster.
"Good. It's almost nine now. I'll have the servants prepare morning tea," Eckert said, tugging on a yellow cord that hung from the ceiling in a particular rhythm.
"But I just ate breakfast not long ago. I'm not hungry..." the boy began to explain, but he was cut off by a sharp crack. The cane struck his left thigh, sending a searing pain through his body. He yelped and jumped away, clutching the spot where the cane had hit.
"Punishments aren't limited to bedtime. If you make a mistake, you'll be corrected immediately, no matter where or when. Is that clear?" Eckert asked, his face impassive.
The boy, now rubbing his throbbing leg, nodded fearfully, eager to avoid another strike.
At that moment, a knock on the door interrupted them. Eckert opened it to reveal the butler, pushing a cart laden with delicate pastries. In the center was a silver tea set with a steaming pot of something fragrant.
Eckert gracefully took a plate of pastries and handed it to the boy. "Morning and afternoon tea are crucial in high society. An invitation to morning tea means you've been accepted into their circle. An invitation to afternoon tea means they see you as one of their own, or they have something important to discuss with you. Tea parties will be your first test in entering society, so you must master the essentials. Now, take the plate… No, not like that! Follow my lead, watch my movements, and pay attention to my actions."
…
"Pour the coffee slowly, without bending your back. You're not a servant… Keep your eyes level, don't focus too much on the cup; use your peripheral vision… When offering someone coffee, your tone should be sincere and confident, and your enunciation clear… You're no longer a mere shop clerk, so don't look so deferential. Stand up straight, look into my eyes… No, not at my chest—that would be terribly inappropriate if you were serving a lady… When rising from your seat, do so smoothly, without gripping the chair. That's a privilege reserved for the elderly…"
…
The day's lessons eventually came to an end. The boy was utterly exhausted, more so than he'd ever been even when the hunchbacked manager at the shop made him do heavy labor. His body felt as though it was about to fall apart.
The constant tension, the relentless flood of new information, and the ever-present threat of the cane made the day an ordeal. Lying in bed, the boy gingerly rubbed his sore thigh, the pain still sharp and burning. He couldn't imagine what the next day's lessons would bring.
Yet, despite the grueling regimen, the constant fear of the cane, and the overwhelming pressure, the boy felt strangely fulfilled. He had never been so immersed in the pursuit of knowledge. It was as if he were swimming in a vast ocean of learning.
It was clear to him that Eckert was an incredibly learned man. Compared to him, Mr. Matilde, his former employer, seemed almost lacking. There were many things Matilde could only explain in vague terms, but for Eckert, they seemed as simple as common knowledge.