Chapter 42: When I Came to My Senses, It Was a Needlessly Glamorous Hell 5

Count Turen Andreas was unable to conceal his astonishment and elation upon seeing the man standing before him – his son, now grown into a fine adult.

Just this morning, when he had received the report that a Holy Knight named Santana had been captured, he had dismissed it as implausible.

Eleven years ago…

His own flesh and blood, the child who had left home of his own accord yet was essentially lost to him.

To find this child, Count Turen had sent searchers not only across the Holy Imperium but also to neighboring kingdoms like Polonia and Frantz, yet ultimately failed to uncover any trace.

As the years passed, not only Turen himself but even his other family members had half-resigned themselves to abandoning the search, and Turen had resolved to bury his longing and regrets for his child within his heart.

But today, just as Turen was prepared to relinquish all hope…

Standing before him was the son he had thought he would never see again.

Eleven years had vastly transformed his son’s appearance.

Not only his stature but his entire demeanor had changed drastically, the remnants of the boy he had last seen utterly vanished, replaced by the grown man named Santana.

Yet, despite these differences, Turen could recognize him at a glance.

This was undoubtedly the one he had tirelessly sought.

His one and only son, his sole heir to succeed him.

Santana Andreas.

Overwhelmed with immense joy at this realization, Count Turen embraced his child and offered gratitude to the Lord. In that moment, his son’s voice reached his ears.

“For my prolonged absence… Father.”

A slightly awkward utterance – his son’s voice, heard again after eleven long years.

Enveloped in profound emotion, Turen tightened his embrace.

“So… You’ve been a Holy Knight in Milan all this time…”

“Yes. Although I was ultimately excommunicated and cast out.”

“Nonetheless, you have done well. Despite being part of the Church’s forces, to have become a full-fledged Holy Knight through your own efforts… Truly, you are my son.”

“…You flatter me… Fa…ther…”

After ordering Cazeros and Polena’s release from the prison, Count Turen sat down to inquire about the intervening years.

I provided responses befitting his questions, adjusting my words accordingly.

Naturally, I had no knowledge of the circumstances surrounding my supposed departure eleven years ago or how I had become a Holy Knight.

However, being familiar with the original work, I had a general understanding of Turen’s character and those around him.

In simple terms, they were impressive as mages but lacking in personal virtues.

The Count Turen before me, for instance, exhibited impulsive and extreme tendencies, which had likely contributed to his leading the Bohemian rebellion.

Befitting his temperament, his daughters were similarly hot-blooded individuals, and Santana himself had likely been cut from the same cloth.

‘Come to think of it, I’m supposed to be twenty-four now. If I left eleven years ago, that would mean I ran away at thirteen…’

While the reason for running away was uncertain, from my current perspective, it was likely over a trivial matter.

Given the Andreas family’s characterization in the original work, it wouldn’t be surprising for a temperamental teenage boy to have impulsively left home over some slight provocation.

Regardless of this background, I could sense Count Turen’s – or rather, the ‘father’ I now had to address him as – pride in seeing me.

‘Well, it has been eleven years since he last saw his son. And for him to return safely during such a tumultuous period…’

Technically, while the body was undoubtedly his son’s, the contents – the essence – were decidedly different.

However, I saw no need to feel guilty about this.

According to the original work, Turen never reunited with his son before his death, and the Milan where Santana had served as a Holy Knight was reduced to ashes by the ravages of war.

In other words, a reunion between the two had been destined to be impossible until their dying days.

Moreover, despite the change in essence, I was undoubtedly Santana himself, rendering any deep contemplation on this matter unnecessary.

Furthermore, from my perspective, being identified as this Count’s son was far from desirable – it only saddled me with an additional burden to resolve.

‘Speaking of which, why of all places did it have to be Bohemia? To be inextricably bound to the region that suffered the worst devastation among the heretical forces…’

In the original dark fantasy novel, the Bohemian region played a pivotal role, enduring tragedies of the most extreme proportions.

Having taken the lead in rebelling against the Emperor, Bohemia became the primary battleground between the Holy Imperium and the heretical forces.

Consequently, by the war’s end, a staggering eighty percent of Bohemia’s villages and cities had been reduced to ruins, suffering catastrophic devastation.

Even this very Lord’s castle where we currently resided would be utterly razed in the process.

And naturally, having become the son and heir of Bohemia’s leader, I had no choice but to remain here, unable to abandon this place.

From this point onward, this ‘father’ would never allow me to leave, and if I were to depart, I would be branded a traitor to the homeland or a disowned wretch who had forsaken his family, unwelcome anywhere.

‘The conclusion is clear – I have no choice but to remain and face whatever fate awaits me here… Truly, my wretched life seems to only become more entangled with each passing moment.’

Recognizing that I had fallen into the worst possible predicament, I felt a searing sensation within.

When I had initially entered this world, my intention had been to secure vast wealth within the Church’s forces, swiftly ending the war against heresy.

By bringing a decisive conclusion to the conflict and minimizing foreign intervention, I had hoped to prevent the Holy Imperium and neighboring nations from descending into the thirty-year hell of war.

Although this plan had failed due to the unexpected excommunication, it had still been a feasible endeavor.

From the outset, this war could have easily concluded if the Church and the Emperor had possessed slightly greater strength, decisively extinguishing the remaining embers.

With a little more effort on their part, the tragedies could have been averted.

All I had needed to do was provide a gentle nudge to their efforts.

However, instead of supporting the powerful Emperor and Church, I now found myself ensnared within the heart of the weaker Bohemian heretical forces…

Rather than a gentle nudge to a rolling boulder, I was forced to risk being crushed while attempting to roll it back uphill through sheer suffering.

The difficulty had escalated from normal to hell mode, bypassing hard entirely.

And this shift was not of my own volition but due to a hidden truth I had been unaware of, effectively forced upon me!

What made this truly the worst was the absence of any option to abandon the endeavor midway.

‘It’s not like I profited from some past misdeed in my previous life… To be perfectly honest, all I did was dabble in coins and stocks? And it’s not like I ever hit the jackpot – I was a perpetual ant, living paycheck to paycheck! So what kind of accursed fate is this?’

As I inwardly lamented my cursed destiny, that was when it happened.

-Knock Knock-

“They have arrived.”

Accompanied by a voice from outside the door, two figures slowly entered.

There stood Cazeros, her expression tinged with concern and bewilderment at the situation, and Polena, wearing her ever-intrigued demeanor as always.