Chapter 253: Ceres Joins The Lessons!

"My lord."

When Ulrich finished his morning training, Monika approached with a folded towel resting over her arm.

He accepted it without a word and wiped the sweat from his face, neck, and shoulders. The cold morning air had done little to cool the heat left in his muscles. His breathing had returned to normal, but the familiar ache of exertion remained beneath his skin.

It was useful.

It reminded him that his body was still his own.

"Have Shana prepared," Ulrich said, handing the towel back to Monika. "Give her a proper gown and make sure she is ready to meet the sisters."

Monika inclined her head.

"Yes, my lord."

She took the towel and left to carry out his order.

Ulrich remained in the training yard for another moment. His gaze falling on his right hand, still wrapped tightly around the wooden sword.

Then he looked toward his left arm.

The limb had been restored, but it was not truly healed.

Ulrich loosened his grip around the wooden sword.

Then he let it fall.

The practice weapon struck the ground with a dull thud.

Ulrich turned and made his way back toward the Estate.

Thankfully, Airam had already left his room.

He had no intention of addressing that particular issue before breakfast.

Not because he had forgotten.

He simply needed to think of a solution that would not end with Airam dismantling another barrier, ignoring another order, or staring at him with those dark, unreadable eyes until he began questioning why he had bothered resisting her in the first place.

Monika had already prepared his bath by the time he returned.

Steam drifted over the surface of the water, filling the bathing chamber with a clean, herbal scent. Ulrich undressed, set his clothes aside, and lowered himself carefully into the basin.

The warmth reached his sore muscles almost immediately.

He let his shoulders loosen, rested his head against the edge of the basin, and closed his eyes.

The silence lasted only a few moments.

Then he raised his left arm from the water.

Droplets slid down his pale skin.

His crimson eyes fixed on the markings around his upper arm.

The amber patterns had not disappeared.

They curled beneath his skin in thin, branching lines, like amber ink worked into flesh. They were too similar to the marks that appeared across Ceres’s face whenever the Thornbreath Curse reacted.

At first, Ulrich had hoped they were merely temporary traces left behind by Ceres’s treatment. The process of reattaching his arm had been extraordinary, and no physician could have predicted every consequence of using spirit magic and curse-born power to reconstruct damaged mana pathways.

But a week had passed.

The marks remained.

They had not spread.

They had not changed.

And nothing unusual had happened.

Yet Ulrich could still feel them.

A faint sting lingered beneath the skin, subtle enough to ignore most of the time. Sometimes it felt like warmth. Sometimes it was more like a thin thread of pressure winding beneath his flesh.

He did not like it for sure but he could do nothing about it now.

Ceres had given him back an arm that should have been lost forever. The Thornbreath had clearly left part of itself within the restored limb, but until Ulrich understood the curse better, he could only watch and wait.

He lowered his arm back into the water.

For now, he would assume it was harmless.

Or at least harmless enough.

When he finished bathing, Ulrich dried himself and dressed.

He put on black breeches, boots, and a clean white shirt. He fastened the buttons carefully, then stood before the mirror.

He tugged twice at each cuff, ensuring they sat properly over his wrists.

Then he left his room.

"My lord."

Fabian waited in the corridor.

"The breakfast is ready," he said. "The ladies are waiting for you."

"Tell them to begin without me," Ulrich replied. "We will deal with the paperwork."

Fabian blinked once, though he showed no surprise.

"Yes, my lord."

He turned immediately and left to inform the others.

Ulrich returned to his office.

Several stacks of letters waited across the broad oak desk. Reports from tenant lords. Requests from village officials. Trade documents. Grain reports. Harvest forecasts. Petitions concerning local disputes. Messages from merchants. Financial statements from vineyards and wine distributors.

House Rubenhart controlled a large territory.

A Count could not afford to ignore it.

Ulrich sat down behind his desk and opened the first letter.

Most of the correspondence came from the tenant lords scattered across Rubenhart County. They expected direction. They needed funds, approval, or decisions only their Count could make.

There were road repairs to authorize before winter.

A dispute over grazing land near the western villages.

A merchant guild seeking reduced tariffs on wine shipments.

A request for additional guards along a trade route that had seen several suspicious attacks.

And, of course, the vineyards.

The Rubenhart wine business had expanded greatly over the years. It was already profitable, but Ulrich had no intention of allowing it to remain merely profitable.

For him, wealth was not comfort.

Wealth was freedom, power and security.

And, increasingly, necessity.

Ulrich’s current fortune was considerable.

It was still not enough.

Not with three girls under his protection.

Not with Ceres now included among those he intended to support.

Airam, Hermione, and Esther needed tutors, magical materials, secure living arrangements, weapons training, books, artifacts, and access to the best resources Skargardia could offer. Ceres needed the same and maybe more ressources he was willing to spend to examine better her curse with more than just spells.

Eventually, all four girls would need preparation for Arcadia.

For the Academy.

For the future that Ulrich knew was approaching.

The future written in the novel.

He had no intention of allowing them to become strong through suffering.

Pain could make people stronger. Ulrich understood that better than anyone.

Loss could harden a person. Fear could drive them forward. Desperation could force buried potential to awaken.

But he would not inflict that kind of growth on the girls.

He would not abandon them, break them, or force them to lose everything simply so they could become powerful enough to survive.

Not when he had another option.

Gold could buy training.

Gold could buy rare mana crystals, enchanted equipment, knowledgeable tutors, protected estates, and access to magical materials that most people would never even see.

Gold could provide an environment where talent could grow without being forced through tragedy.

Ulrich intended to make them strong enough that they wouldn’t need to rely on anyone else to protect themselves or protect one another.

Also, so they would be strong enough that even the protagonist would not be necessary to keep the Academy safe.

Of course, Ulrich himself would be there.

He intended to enter the Academy as a teacher.

But that created another problem.

He would not be attending only as an instructor.

The demons expected him to act on their behalf.

He needed their trust. He needed access to their inner circle. He needed to understand their plans before they could move against Skargardia without his knowledge.

That meant he could not openly play the role of a righteous protector.

Not all the time.

He would need to cooperate with the demons to a certain degree. He would need to let them believe he remained useful. Loyal enough to be trusted. Dangerous enough to be valued.

Until then, he would continue playing both sides.

A teacher to the Academy.

A guardian to the girls.

And, in the shadows, a double agent among demons.

Ulrich signed the first document.

Then the next.

Hours passed.

By the time two hours had gone by, he remained seated behind his desk, moving steadily through the piles of reports and correspondence. His seal pressed into warm wax. Ink darkened his fingers. One letter after another disappeared from the desk as he approved, rejected, amended, or redirected each matter.

Fabian stood nearby, occasionally stepping forward to clarify an issue.

"The western road repairs can wait until next month," Fabian said, consulting another report. "But the bridge near Harrowfield should be handled immediately. The flooding last week damaged the support beams."

"Approve it," Ulrich said, signing the document without looking up. "Use estate funds. I do not want trade wagons rerouted through the forest road."

"Yes, my lord."

Fabian set the approved letter aside.

"The wine merchants from New Ruben are requesting a reduction in their transportation fees."

"Denied."

"They expected that answer."

"Then they should not have asked."

Fabian’s mouth twitched faintly, though he quickly concealed it.

He had worked for House Rubenhart longer than Ulrich had been Count. He had served Ulrich’s grandfather, then his father, and finally Ulrich himself. Few people understood Rubenhart County as thoroughly as Fabian did.

He knew the land.

He knew the nobles.

He knew the merchants, the villages, the supply routes, the old agreements, and the people who smiled politely while attempting to steal as much gold as possible from House Rubenhart.

Fabian also knew Ulrich.

He had noticed the change.

Since adopting the sisters, Ulrich’s mind had been occupied by more than territory management, political threats, and House Rubenhart’s interests. He had more to consider now. More people to protect. More dangers to predict.

Fabian did not ask questions.

He did not press Ulrich for explanations.

Instead, he quietly took on more responsibility.

He arrived with better-organized reports. He anticipated issues before they reached Ulrich’s desk. He dealt with smaller matters himself and brought forward only the decisions that truly required the Count’s authority.

It was not because Ulrich had asked him to.

Fabian simply understood what was needed.

And as Ulrich continued signing letters in the quiet of his office, Fabian stood nearby and made certain that the work moved as efficiently as possible.

He could not help feeling proud.

He stood near the window with several completed reports tucked beneath one arm, watching Ulrich work through the final stack of letters with the same cold efficiency he brought to everything else.

The Count had changed.

Years ago, Fabian had feared that Ulrich would become exactly like his father, distant, ruthless, and consumed by the burdens of House Rubenhart and also his grief. A man who ruled well, perhaps, but who never allowed himself to be close to anyone.

Instead, Ulrich had taken responsibility for three abandoned witches.

Then, when Ceres appeared, he had extended that protection to her as well.

Fabian still did not know how Eurich would have reacted to seeing his son shelter four witches under the protection of House Rubenhart. He was not certain that the former Count would have approved.

But his mother would have.

Fabian knew that without doubt.

She would have been proud to see the man Ulrich had become.

He protected the weak when no one else would. He gave children a home rather than allowing the world to turn them into weapons. He carried burdens that should never have belonged to someone his age, and he did it without asking for praise or gratitude.

Fabian’s eyes stung.

He quickly turned away and raised a handkerchief to them.

At the desk, Ulrich’s lips twitched faintly.

From the corner of his eye, he had seen Fabian wiping away tears again. Once again the old butler cried out of nowhere.

Ulrich did not understand why Fabian became emotional at the most inconvenient moments.

Nor did he particularly want to ask.

So he ignored it.

An hour later, Ulrich placed his seal on the final document and set the stamp down.

The stack of correspondence had finally disappeared.

The desk was clear.

"My lord."

A knock sounded at the door.

Before Ulrich could respond, a knight stepped inside and bowed.

"Lady Ceres has arrived."

Ulrich nodded and stood.

It was time to begin Ceres’s lessons.

She would be taught differently from Airam, Hermione, and Esther at first. The sisters had already received years of education, magical instruction, and practical training. Ceres had a great deal to catch up on.

But Ulrich intended for that gap to close.

Eventually, all four girls would attend the same lessons.

Eventually, they would stand at the same level.

Ulrich left the office with Fabian at his side and descended toward the Estate entrance.

Before they reached the lower floor, voices carried through the hall.

"Aren’t you quite late?"

Hermione’s voice was sharp enough to make the nearby servants pretend they could hear nothing.

"I came as soon as I could," Ceres replied.

"You are at the Rubenhart Estate," Hermione said. "Being late is not allowed."

"Big sister," Esther began, "yesterday, you were late to Lady Elana’s—"

Airam covered Esther’s mouth before she could finish.

Esther made a muffled sound of protest beneath her palm.

Airam merely watched the scene, letting her younger sister bully Ceres.

Hermione stood in front of Ceres with her arms crossed, clearly attempting to establish authority before the morning had even properly begun. Ceres, meanwhile, looked neither upset nor intimidated.

If anything, she appeared faintly amused.

Ulrich stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

"Are you finished?"

Hermione stepped back as though nothing had happened.

Her arms fell to her sides. Her face became perfectly neutral.

Ceres turned toward Ulrich.

The moment she saw him, her expression brightened.

"My lord," she said, smiling warmly. "You look wonderful this morning."

Hermione’s eye twitched.

Ceres was certainly bold.

Behind her, Mark bowed his head.

"My lord, I apologize if we arrived late."

"No," Ulrich replied. "It is fine."

He looked between Mark and Ceres.

"Have you eaten?"

They both shook their heads.

Ulrich glanced toward Fabian.

Fabian immediately understood.

"I will have breakfast prepared," he said. "Please follow me."

"Yes," Mark said with another respectful bow.

Ceres followed him toward the dining room. As she passed Hermione, she gave the other girl a small smile.

Then, very briefly, she smirked.

Hermione’s cheeks turned red.

"She... she is up to no good!" Hermione blurted out.

Ulrich looked down at her.

Hermione glared back at him with ruby eyes, as though silently pleading with him that he see through Ceres’s true nature!

Ulrich gave her a blank stare.

"If you have finished breakfast, go to class," he said.

Hermione’s expression stiffened.

Esther, unaware of the tension, raised her hand slightly.

"Yes, we have geography and politics with Thomas today," she said brightly.

"Then go."

Esther beamed.

"Okay!"

"What about her?" Airam asked.

Ulrich looked toward her.

Airam stood with her arms crossed, her dark gaze resting on the direction Ceres had gone.

"She has not received the same education you three have," Ulrich replied. "Her lessons will be different for now."

"Such a pity," Airam said.

Then she turned and walked away.

Ulrich watched her go.

For a moment, he wondered what exactly Airam meant by that, but he decided he did not want to know.

Hermione huffed quietly and followed Airam.

Esther hurried after them.

"Wait for me, Big sister!"

Once the three sisters had gone, Ulrich continued down the corridor.

Linnea waited nearby with several books held against her chest. The moment she saw him, concern entered her expression.

"My lord," she said softly. "Is your arm all right?"

She had heard the official story about the bandit ambush. She had heard that Ulrich had returned to the Estate badly injured, and that he had lost an arm while recovering Airam.

She had also seen the restored limb.

But no matter how often she saw it, the memory of his injury clearly remained with her.

"I am fine," Ulrich said.

Linnea nodded, though she did not look entirely convinced.

"You know why you are here?" Ulrich asked.

"Yes, my lord," Linnea answered. "I will teach Lady Ceres the basics of literacy, reading, writing, and poetry."

"As you did for Airam, Hermione, and Esther," Ulrich said. "But make the lessons more efficient."

Linnea blinked.

"My lord?"

"I want the four of them taking the same lessons eventually."

For the first time that morning, Linnea looked uncertain.

Airam, Hermione, and Esther had all proven to be unusually gifted students. Even among noble children with private tutors, they learned at an alarming pace.

Keeping up with them would not be easy.

Linnea wanted to say that.

She wanted to explain that Ceres would need time, patience, and an entirely different pace.

But Ulrich’s expression did not change.

So Linnea swallowed the words.

"Yes, my lord," she said.

Based on the novel, Ceres was very intelligent, as she went in tow with Camellia, who was the smartest in that academy, and Ulrich believed she was on the same level as Hermione.

With the proper guidance, she could catch up.

Ulrich gave a small nod.

"Begin with the basics," he said. "But do not treat her as though she is incapable."

"I understand."

Linnea adjusted the books in her arms.

Then she looked toward the dining room, where Ceres had gone with Fabian and Mark.

"I will do my best, my lord."