"My Lord! Please! You cannot simply go off on your own!" Fabian's voice erupted in barely contained panic.
And indeed, Fabian was utterly at a loss.
It was already strange enough that Ulrich, a man who despised witches had adopted the daughters of one, providing them with food, clothes, and an education that many noble-born girls would have envied. But now he was preparing to leave entirely alone, which was simply not something Ulrich did.
He rarely left the estate to begin with, preferring to issue his orders from within the walls of the mansion. And on the rare occasions that he did venture out, he always took a sizeable escort with him, trusting no one. Now he had asked only for a coachman and had turned down every other offer of company.
"Are you giving me orders now?" Ulrich asked, fixing Fabian with a stern look from beneath those deep red eyes.
"N—No, My Lord! But please! You are the Count. Whatever it is you're looking for, tell me, and I will send our best men to retrieve it. Don't put yourself in danger!" He said, his voice tinged with genuine pleading.
Their exchange was loud enough or rather, Fabian was loud enough, that several maids turned to look, concern creeping across their faces. Even Airam, Hermione, and Esther had slipped out of their reading and writing lesson to see what the commotion was.
Ulrich glanced briefly at the three of them.
"If I do not return by next week," he said, "all three are to continue being raised as daughters of the Rubenhart House. When they come of age, you will determine who among them is best suited to succeed me."
Fabian went speechless.
So did everyone else.
First, Ulrich was speaking as though his death were a genuine possibility. And second perhaps more shocking still he was already laying out the future of the Rubenhart name and legacy, intending to pass it to three girls he had only just adopted.
The three girls themselves looked no less stunned. Hermione in particular seemed shaken, as though she hadn't expected anything remotely like this.
It was almost suspicious, the way he was treating them.
Though perhaps it was simply Ulrich being overly dramatic.
He had no intention of dying but the possibility existed, and he knew it. And if he did, he wanted his promises to the girls to hold even beyond his death: a home, safety, an education. He was a man of his word, and it would feel very much like defeat if, after everything he had done to pull them from a life of slavery and abuse, those three girls ended up on the same broken path they had walked in the novel.
With that said, Ulrich pulled on his cloak and climbed into the carriage.
"My Lord!" Fabian stepped forward. "Please, I beg you to reconsider—"
"I am not dying, Fabian," Ulrich said, annoyed.
Fabian fell silent and looked at him.
"But if I do," Ulrich said, holding his gaze, "you will manage this house and see to the girls until they come of age. I have left a writ bearing my seal in my study. Use it if the need arises."
He said nothing more, and signalled the coachman to go.
Fabian stood and watched, powerless, as the carriage rolled away and the sound of hooves faded down the road.
Inside the cabin, Ulrich rested his elbow on the armrest and leaned his cheek against his fist, watching the scenery roll past outside.
He genuinely had no intention of dying. That was precisely why he was heading to such a dangerous place to get something that would grant him the power and the leverage he needed to survive this cursed novel.
Ulrich was by no means weak. He had been rigorously trained by his father since childhood, and Ulrich himself possessed the discipline to forge his own strength.
Physically, he was already stronger than veterans. He was a masterful swordsman, the blade an extension of his own arm, deeply ingrained into his muscle memory.
His problem lay entirely in magic.
He had not been gifted with mana.
Despite being a veritable genius when it came to spell theory and magical creation, having studied and memorized countless spells inside and out, he was entirely incapable of putting them to use. The fault lay within his own mana core.
In this world, every human and creature was born with a mana core. At the age of ten, however, the core underwent a 'Blossoming'. It would expand and settle, finally allowing a person to truly draw upon their mana, to command it, and to have the magic answer them in return.
During the Blossoming, a mana core revealed two crucial aspects: its shape, and its layers.
Shape and layers dictated everything.
Commoners overwhelmingly possessed a spherical core with a single layer. But occasionally, a genius would awaken a core of a different shape entirely, or one that already possessed two or more layers right from the start.
Ulrich, however, despite being born of a highly distinguished and ancient noble bloodline, had awakened a perfectly common, single-layered spherical core. The shape he could perhaps forgive, divergent shapes were exceedingly rare, after all but the layers were a bitter disappointment. Ulrich had fully expected his core to blossom with at least two layers, and perhaps even give him prismatic shape. Or actually getting two players maybe rarer than actually obtain a shape…
Regardless as if that insult weren't enough, Ulrich suffered from a rare condition known as Core Sickness.
They were microscopic countless fractures, not in the core's shape, but in its very integrity. Somewhere within his spherical core, a several tiny flaws allowed mana to bleed out before it could ever be fully shaped into a spell. It was like trying to carry water in a bucket with countless pinholes in the bottom. Whenever he tried to 'spin' a spell, attempting to weave threads of mana through his core, a sharp, tearing pain would follow, and the resulting spell would collapse into violent instability.
For someone of Ulrich's standing, it was a humiliation. He had been quietly mocked and sneered at by countless peers because of it.
No matter how brilliantly he understood the theory of spells and magic, it felt entirely useless if he couldn't put a single ounce of it into practice.
That was precisely why Ulrich had compensated by dedicating himself so ruthlessly to the sword and martial arts.
There were, of course, theoretical ways to treat Core Sickness but to begin with Ulrich had the most serious case of mana core leaks ever seen in history with countless flaws in his core. On top of that the procedures were notoriously dangerous, and Ulrich could easily die in the attempt which was exactly why the original Ulrich had never chanced it despite the sickness itself was deathly for him.
His pride simply wasn't vast enough to wager his life on it.
But things had changed the moment Ulrich ceased to be just Ulrich, the moment the memories of a past life, and of the very novel he was living in, had surfaced in his mind.
First and foremost, his life was already in danger simply by the fact of existing within this world.
Secondly, thanks to his knowledge of the story, he knew exactly how to remedy his Core Sickness.
Yes, he could die in the attempt, but there was no faster way.
Perhaps he had successfully dodged the immediate death flags associated with the three sisters by adopting them, but there were countless other dangers looming ahead. Ulrich already knew he had painted a target on his back simply by bringing those girls into his house.
He needed the strength to fight back, and unfortunately, in a world ruled by magic, martial arts and swordsmanship alone would never be enough.
For that, he needed a functioning mana core.
If he had been born with a defective core, then he would just have to get a new one.
He would have to destroy his current core entirely, and forge a new one in its place. And not just any ordinary core, either.
He would forge one of the three most legendary cores in existence, a relic left behind by a living God, the Father of Magic, who had perished a thousand years ago.
The Hollow Core.