Chapter 8: The Copper Ledger and the Widow's Grip
The carriage ride back to the Merania estates was a masterclass in psychological warfare. Outside the window, the rolling hills of the German interior blurred past, but inside, the air was thick with the scent of Mathilde's lavender perfume and the lingering dread of the Imperial Diet.
"You look like you're doing long division in your head, Julian," Mathilde said, her grey-blue eyes tracking the way he nervously tapped the window frame. "Stop. It makes you look like a commoner worrying about a tax on salt."
"I'm worrying about a tax on everything, Aunt," Julian retorted, his mind flashing back to the Emperor's smirk. "And I'm worrying about why the Duke of Saxony looked at our family crest like he was picking out a piece of jewelry for a mistress he hates."
Mathilde's expression sharpened. "Because to men like Duke Otto of House Welf, we are jewelry. Ornamental, easily moved, and prone to being sold when the treasury runs dry. He suggested the Italian relocation specifically to clear the 'weeds' from the northern passes. If you don't manage the domain properly this week, you won't just be a 'Philosophical Lad'—you'll be a dead one in a Neapolitan ditch."
[System Notification: Warning.]
[Sarcastic Commentary: She's right, you know. But don't let the 'Concerned Guardian' routine fool you. I'm not saying she'll betray you, but your absolute reliance on her guidance is going to backfire spectacularly. Beautiful women like your aunt aren't just correct; they're expensive.]
'You're just jealous,' Julian thought, glancing at Mathilde's elegant profile. 'She's the only reason I haven't been turned into a commemorative coin yet.'
[System: Yeah, yeah. I'm green with envy. Proceed with the 'Nephew-Zoned' strategy. It's working wonders for your dignity.]
The Homecoming and the Crystal's Verdict
The return to the Merania manor was less of a triumph and more of a medical examination. Baroness Elspeth practically stripped Julian in the foyer to ensure the Frankfurt air hadn't given him the plague.
"He survived the Emperor, Elspeth. He can survive a drafty hallway," Baron Maximilian grunted, though he clapped Julian on the shoulder with enough force to rattle his teeth.
"Maximilian, leave the boy be," Mathilde interjected, stepping between them. Her hand lingered on Julian's arm for a second too long. "He handled the Seven Electors with more grace than you handle a wine skin."
[Affection Spike: Lady Mathilde +2 (Total: 42/100)]
"Hmph. If he's so graceful, let's see if he has the spark," Maximilian said. "Pack your bags. We're going to Munich."
The trip to the seat of House Wittelsbach was brief, ending in the cold, mana-conductive chambers of the local Testing Center. Julian placed his hand on the testing crystal, praying for something flashy like 'Solar Fire' or 'Imperial Gold'.
The crystal pulsed with a rhythmic, deep azure light.
"Water Affinity," the attendant droned. "Grade: Flexible. Common among the merchant-mages of the Italian quays."
[System Message: Water. Fitting. You're slippery, mostly transparent, and currently drowning in debt.]
The Meditation Failure and the Lord's Burden
That evening, Julian sat cross-legged in his room, trying to follow a basic manual on Flow Control. He visualized the mana moving through his core like a stream. It worked—until he remembered the feeling of Mathilde catching him in the carriage.
The memory of her strength, the way she smelled of lavender and old ink, and the sheer proximity of her in that reverse princess carry shattered his focus. The sphere of water he had been levitating instantly collapsed, drenching him and his bedsheets.
"Screw meditating," Julian hissed, throwing the manual across the room. "I'm a growing boy, not a monk."
[System: You are a pervert. Accept it. You can't focus for five minutes without your mind drifting to your 'not-blood-related' aunt. Your discipline is a tragedy.]
The next morning, his father appeared in traveling leathers. "I'm heading back to Munich to negotiate grain prices with the Wittelsbach agents. You're in charge, Julian. Try not to lose any villages."
"Wait, I'm the Lord?"
[System: Not a Lord. Just a 'Young Master' with a death warrant. Try to look busy.]
Julian walked to the courtyard to meet the household guards. Sir Gawan and Sir Berengar, veterans who had served Merania since before Julian's rebirth, were waiting.
"Lord Julian!" Gawan roared, slapping his breastplate. "How could we forget the name of the boy who tried to eat his own weight in sugar-plums three years ago?"
"I have traumatic amnesia!" Julian shouted back, leaning into the comedy. "New soul, who dis? Show me the ledgers!"
The laughter stopped when Julian actually saw the ledgers in the solar.
Debt to the House of Fugger: 1,200 Gold Pieces...
Militia pay: 4 months in arrears...
Repair costs for Saint's Peak Shrine: Estimated 3,000 Gold...
Julian felt the blood drain from his face. The room tilted. He started to slump forward, certain he was about to pass out on a pile of debt.
Strong, slender arms caught him from behind, pulling him back into a familiar, soft embrace. Mathilde's chin rested on his shoulder as she looked at the red ink on the pages.
"Again, Julian?" she whispered, her voice a mix of amusement and something darker. She hoisted him up into a perfect Reverse Princess Carry, effortlessly moving him toward the chair.
"I hate... the economy..." Julian groaned, his face burning as he was cradled like a child by the woman who effectively owned his family's future.
"Don't worry," Mathilde smiled, her grip tightening ever so slightly. "We'll manage the 'Roots' of this family together."
[System Notification: Affection Spike!]
[Lady Mathilde +2 (Total: 44/100)]
[Status: Promotion from 'Nephew' to 'Boy' confirmed. You are officially her favorite project.]