The Duke’s Failed Son

“Haa… I heard, Jonah. It seems you skipped riding training again.”

In the great western nation known as the Estraia Empire, one of the five great ducal houses, the mistress of the Langheim ducal house—Herta Gertrude Langheim—stood in the center of the mansion’s corridor, frowning as she glared at the boy hanging his head before her.

The boy called Jonah—Jonatan Gerhard Langheim—had slightly wavy black hair and onyx-like eyes, and had been frail since birth.

Though he could now live a relatively normal life despite lingering difficulties, until the age of seven four years ago he had been completely bedridden, and because of that he was poor at anything that required moving his body—let alone horsemanship, even swordsmanship.

However, as the eldest son of a noble house, he was required to at least master swordsmanship and horsemanship.

If an emergency arose, he would have to lead soldiers into battle when the time came.

That said, it wasn’t as though Jonah had skipped training out of laziness.

That day his physical condition had been worse than usual; he simply hadn’t been in any state to train.

Such circumstances meant nothing to Herta, however.

“As I thought, the Langheim succession should go to Sieg…”

“Madam.”

“…You’re right. That was an overstep.”

Reprimanded by the butler Paul, who had remained silent until now, Herta averted her eyes.

The one who decided the next head of house was the current Duke Langheim, and the one who approved it was the Emperor. Herta’s words were nothing less than overstepping her authority.

“In any case, as a member of the Langheim house, strive harder so as not to bring shame upon us.”

“Yes…”

Herta glanced once at Jonah, then left the place with Paul in tow.

Jonah bit his lip in frustration and clenched his fists.

He understood what Herta was saying.

As the eldest son of the Langheim house, it was only natural that he be expected to possess corresponding ability. Should a dullard become head, even a great ducal house like Langheim could fall into ruin.

Yet for Jonah, simply being able to move his body this much was already a miracle.

Acting the same as a healthy person was, for the current him, utterly impossible.

Still, regarding what Herta had almost blurted out—that she supported his younger brother Siegvald Klaus Langheim, who would soon turn ten, as the next head—Jonah felt frustration, yet somewhere in his heart he had already accepted it.

Unlike Jonah, his brother had already mastered horsemanship and possessed such talent in swordsmanship that he could even defeat adult knights.

Though somewhat lazy, he was also brilliant in academics; it was an unspoken truth that nearly everyone in the Langheim house wished for his brother Sieg rather than the “failure” Jonah to become the next head.

Even so.

“I…”

Jonah looked up at the ceiling, bit his lip, and desperately held back his tears.

“Mm… good.”

Night fell, and as usual Jonah checked the movements of his limbs, nodding in satisfaction.

In the beginning, even walking or sitting up in bed had been impossible for him, but after reading a certain book and training every day, he had recovered this much.

…No, that explanation is not accurate.

He had gained the ability to control a body that previously could not move a single part properly.

When he was young and bedridden, reading books had been Jonah’s only joy.

At first he only had servants read to him, but that was no longer enough, so he desperately studied letters while lying in bed.

As a result, by age four he had mastered every script used in the books stored in the Langheim house and could read even difficult texts by himself.

And that was not limited to imperial script—he could decipher foreign languages and even ancient scripts.

One day, Jonah encountered a certain book.

Written in it was the entirety of ancient magic that had now been lost to the world.

It was not a particularly rare item, but unfortunately there was not a single person in the world who could use it.

Even if one could read the ancient script, it was composed of bizarrely complex strings of characters and patterns that no one could comprehend; countless mages in the past had attempted it, yet not one had succeeded.

Probably one of the previous Langheim dukes had added it to the collection simply as a curiosity.

When Jonah saw the ancient magic book that had accidentally been mixed in with the ones the servant brought, he was bewildered by its extraordinarily complex contents.

Of course he was—he had encountered this book, which not a single mage in the world had deciphered and even the greatest had given up on, when he was only five years old.

Even so, Jonah faced the book every day, desperately trying to decipher the ancient magic within, completely absorbed.

A single sentence written in the book.

“Magic to manipulate objects.”

He placed a faint ray of hope on this.

It was clearer than fire that the path would be arduous.

First he had to understand the basic mechanisms of ancient magic, then construct complex combinations of various laws as applications. Once he understood and mastered that, he would build even more complicated structures.

For an ordinary mage, merely understanding the basics would take over a decade; most would pass from this world without ever comprehending even the middle parts of the book.

Jonah accomplished it in just two years.

Having mastered the theory of ancient magic, Jonah moved on to practice.

He started with small things nearby like pens, gradually moving to larger objects like chairs—lifting and lowering them with magic—then used dolls to attempt complex movements.

Along the way he struggled: he smashed things against walls when he couldn’t control them properly, twisted doll joints at impossible angles, and so on.

Still, by the age of seven he could freely manipulate any inanimate object.

Finally, Jonah challenged his ultimate goal.

It was to manipulate a human being.

Because it was dangerous, he should have first experimented on animals, but the bedridden Jonah had no opportunity to interact with animals.

That being the case, the possible test subject was limited.

Yes—Jonah had no choice but to use himself as the guinea pig.

If he made a mistake in control, he would meet the same fate as the pens, chairs, and dolls he had destroyed during his training.

In the worst case, he might lose his life.

But… even so, Jonah took the challenge.

To fulfill the small yet tremendously large dream he had held since he first became aware of the world—to walk like a normal person.

And then.

—Jonah succeeded in controlling his own body.

“UWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA…!”

Jonah cried. He let tears of joy spill as he shouted.

He, who had been told by the ducal house’s personal physician that “standing is impossible,” had not only stood but walked beautifully.

He wanted to tell his father, his family, the servants.

Jonah took one awkward step, then another.

He sometimes failed and fell, but even that felt pleasant to him.

Hesitating all the while, he finally reached the office of his father, Duke Franz Alfred Langheim, after an entire hour, cleared his throat, and knocked on the door.

Because he wanted to see his father’s shocked face.

Because he wanted to see the father who had never once visited him while he was bedridden.

“Enter.”

His father’s voice came from the other side of the door.

Jonah pushed desperately on the door, but because he still couldn’t control his body perfectly, it wouldn’t open as he wanted.

Moreover, the current Jonah could not use ancient magic to manipulate other objects at the same time as his own body.

Leaning his weight against it, just as a gap finally appeared—

“…What are you doing?”

“Ah…!?”

The impatient Duke Langheim opened the door himself, and with his support suddenly gone, Jonah tumbled spectacularly to the floor.

“You… could it be… Jonatan…?”

“Y-yes! It’s Jonatan!”

At first the Duke Langheim looked suspicious, but upon realizing the truth his eyes widened.

Jonah, overjoyed that his father had recognized him, nodded with a trembling voice.

But.

“I see. So you weren’t bedridden after all.”

“Ah…”

Saying only that, Duke Langheim returned to his desk and resumed his work.

Without sparing a single glance at Jonah who remained collapsed on the floor.

“You’re disturbing my work. Return to your room quickly.”

As the sound of his pen scratching continued, Duke Langheim declared.

“…Please excuse me.”

Clutching the nearby wall and somehow standing up, Jonah bowed, then left the office through the still-open door with the same awkward steps he had arrived with.

His onyx eyes overflowing with endless tears of sorrow, wetting his cheeks.