Chapter 327: The Reason
“Lady Tilly!”
She hadn’t expected Sylvie to be the first one out the door.
Nightingale had guided them to the lord’s castle, and they’d barely entered when Sylvie appeared at the end of the corridor—running, her face open with surprise—and skipped the formal greeting entirely, wrapping her arms around Tilly before either of them had spoken.
“How are you here? It’s still autumn—”
“It’s not much different from winter now,” Tilly said, laughing. “Where are the others?”
Sylvie counted on her fingers. “Lotus is building houses for the refugees. Evelyn and Candle are in the industrial area. Honey is in the back garden—she’s training messenger animals.” She brightened. “His Highness has already sent word to them.”
“You’ll see them soon, I think.”
A voice, familiar and not quite familiar, came from behind Sylvie.
Tilly looked up and found a gray-haired man watching her with a broad smile. His face had not changed much from memory—the same proportions, the same jaw—but the expression on it was entirely wrong. The Roland she remembered had worn his face like a man always ready to leave. This one was comfortable in it.
“Welcome to Border Town, dear sister.”
She followed him into a room that looked like a study—bookshelves, a writing desk, a window giving onto the snow—and sat down at the mahogany table while he poured black tea and set the cup in front of her without asking.
“A whole year since we’ve last seen each other,” he said, settling across from her. “I know there’s much you want to say. Same with me. But—” he glanced at the falling snow outside “—there’s no need to hurry. The winter is still very long.”
She wrapped both hands around the cup and said nothing, watching him.
The phrasing alone was enough to establish the distance. The Roland she knew would not have said that. He had always been the kind of person who performed composure while scanning for exits; his calm was the calm of someone calculating, not someone settled. This was different—this was a person who had decided to be here and had stopped being surprised by his own decision.
“Nightingale,” he said, tilting his head slightly.
“But Your Highness—” The voice came from nowhere, from a corner of the room that held only shadow.
“It doesn’t matter. She’s my sister.”
A pause. “Very well.” The air displaced itself, and Nightingale stepped out of it, expression carefully neutral, then left without further comment.
“Now it’s only us,” Roland said, and returned to the table.
Tilly set down her cup. “Who are you, really?”
She had expected hesitation—a breath, a calculation, the brief performance of sincerity. What she got was an immediate answer.
“I am your older brother. Roland Wimbledon, Graycastle’s Fourth Prince.” He smiled. “I know I’ve changed considerably, but I’m willing to explain it slowly.”
She remembered his letter. As for what led me to this decision, and what made me stop being indifferent as I was before—these small trifling things can be discussed at a later opportunity. It had been that sentence, more than anything else, that had made her come.
“I’d be glad to hear it,” she said.
The story was not complicated. It was, however, extraordinary. A witch named Anna—her execution interrupted, her life spared—had, in Roland’s telling, opened something in him that had been sealed. Through that one act, he had begun to see clearly: the Church’s cruelty, Garcia’s willingness to use assassination as a political tool, the futility of trying to stay small and invisible in a world that rewarded neither. So he had decided to change it.
By the time he finished, Tilly’s cup was empty and she could not have said when she’d drunk it. She exhaled slowly and reviewed the story’s shape.
The emotional logic held. The chronology held. But there remained the question of the knowledge—the steam engine, the weapons, the processes that could not have come from any library she’d ever heard of. Even the most learned of the palace tutors had never touched on any of it.
“So you’re saying the source of all of it is a set of memories that simply appeared in your mind?” she asked.
“Yes.” He met her eyes. “I know it sounds impossible to accept. But it is what happened. After I survived Garcia’s assassination attempt—when I came out of the coma—those memories were there. I didn’t know where they came from. I still don’t. But if meeting Anna was the spark, then what those memories contained was the fuel.”
She turned this over carefully.
The question of how was difficult to resolve. Replacement was possible in theory, but Sylvie’s Eye of Truth could identify any witch whose ability touched the human mind, and the Witch Alliance practiced with their abilities daily—none of them had anything in that category. Control was even less likely; the former Roland had worn a God’s Stone of Retaliation as a matter of course, and there had always been knights nearby. A witch without a concealment ability couldn’t have gotten close to him.
Possession—an ability that let someone occupy a body and inherit the occupant’s thoughts—she couldn’t rule out entirely. But even if such a thing were possible, where would the other knowledge come from? The tutor who had introduced it? The ancient text? The hermit who appeared at the right moment? These were the lies that fell apart when you kept asking.
“How do you prove that you are Roland Wimbledon, and not simply the set of memories that appeared with the rest?”
She said it bluntly. If he were the Roland she remembered, this would be the question that flipped the table.
He didn’t move. “Because I still remember what happened at court. What we shared.” His voice was measured. “I believe a person is, in the end, their unique memories—the things that can’t be replicated by imitation. A witch could reproduce your face exactly and still be a different person, because she wouldn’t carry what you carry. I have a great deal of strange memory that I can’t account for, but I also carry the memory of your face when you fell on the broken glass. Your expression then. The sound you made.” A slight pause. “I haven’t had the chance to apologize for that until now. I hope it isn’t too late.”
Tilly was silent for a moment.
Before her sat a man in clean clothes, watching her with steady eyes. He was not performing sincerity—or if he was, he was performing it perfectly enough that the distinction ceased to matter. And there was the other thing: every version of this conversation she could have imagined with the Roland she remembered would have ended ten minutes ago with a slammed door. This one was still talking. Still sitting. Still present.
“Truly,” she said, finally. “Hard to believe.”
“That’s understandable,” Roland said. “There are many things that seem impossible until you’ve experienced them. I never expected that my younger sister would awaken as a witch—and keep it hidden from everyone in the palace. Yet here we are.” He looked at the snow outside. “But as I said at the beginning: the winter is long. We’ll have time to come to understand each other properly.”
The best solution available. She nodded. “Then, for the next few months—I’m sorry to trouble you.”
“Let me handle it,” he said, and his smile was uncomplicated. “You’ll love it here.”
Chapter 327 The reason
“Lady Tilly!”
Guided by Nightingale to the lord’s castle, the 5th princess never expected that the first person to greet her would be Sylvie. She ran over cheerfully, skipping the salute and instead bent over to give her a hug, “How come you’re here, it’s still autumn.”
“It’s no different from winter now,” Tilly laughed, “Where are the others?”
“Lotus is currently building houses for the refugees, Evelyn and Candle are still in the industrial area, and Honey is in the back-garden busy training messengers.” Sylvie counted on her fingers, “His Highness has already sent people to go inform them.”
“Don’t worry, I think you’ll be able to see them soon.” A familiar, yet strange voice came from behind Sylvie.
Tilly raised her head and saw a gray-haired man with a big smile on his face, his appearance was not much different from her memories, his smile and his demeanor however were completely unlike in the past.
“Welcome to Border Town, my dear sister.”
…
Tilly’s thoughts were in turmoil, there were too many suspicions she wanted to blurt out, but she kept a straight face as she followed Roland Wimbledon into a room that looked like a study.
“Please sit,” the other side said as he poured a glass of warm black tea and placed it in front of her. “A whole year has gone by since the last time we’ve seen each other. I know you’ve had a lot of things you want to talk to me
about, it’s the same with me… but there’s no need to hurry.” He looked at the falling snow outside the window and continued to say, “The winter is still very long.”
She grabbed the cup, and wordlessly sat down by the mahogany table, quietly sizing up the fourth prince.
Even with only the opening remarks Tilly felt that it wasn’t something she could ever imagine her timid and cowardly brother to say. He had always appeared strong on the outside but was actually weak on the inside. He was always looking for the fastest way of escape, never wanting to face an issue directly. The Roland Wimbledon before her was completely different. He was trying to take the initiative of the conversation, and despite his soft and gentle tone, he completely showed the demeanor of a person fully comfortable in his place as a leader.
“Nightingale,” Roland tilted his head.
“But Your Highness…” the guiding witch’s voice came from somewhere within the room.
“It doesn’t matter, she is my little sister.”
“Very well,” Nightingale was silent for a moment, then her body appeared, before she unhappily left the room.
“Now the only people here is you and me,” he laughed a little as he returned to the table.
Tilly was silent for a while, “In the end, who… are you really?”
She thought that the other party would hesitate or pretend to be mysterious, never would she expect that he would answer her so quickly, “I am your older brother, Roland Wimbledon, Graycastle’s 4th Prince.” Then he laughed, “I know I changed a lot, but I’m willing to explain it to you slowly.”
Tilly suddenly remembered what he had written in the latter. ‘As for what let me make this decision, and what made me no longer indifferent to this as I
was in the past, these small trifling things can be slowly discussed at a later opportunity.’ It probably had been this sentence that prompted her to decide to come to this remote town.
She couldn’t help but open her mouth, “I’d be happy to hear what you have to say.”
The whole story wasn’t complicated, but was very exciting. After Roland told her of his experiences after being given Border Town, Tilly discovered that her cup had long since been emptied. She let out a long breath, then reviewed his story once again. Simply put, a witch named Anna moved Roland, and through the saved witch, he became aware of the evil acts of the Church and the sinister lies they told the people. Then, with Garcia’s assassination attempt it brought him to realize the dark side of the royal power, even when he hid in the corner of the kingdom he still would not be able to evade their viciousness, so finally he decided to change it all.
Even though this sounded somewhat dramatic, but with some difficulty, it could count as an acceptable explanation. However, there still remained the question about the strange knowledge, whether it’s the steam engine or the guns, it’s impossible that it came from a moment’s perception and awareness.
“So, you are saying, that the ultimate cause of all this is the memories which suddenly appeared in your head?” Tilly asked.
“Indeed,” Roland said honestly, “I know this is hard to believe, but it’s a fact… After I luckily evaded 3rd sister’s assassination attempt, that was when I woke up from the coma and came to realized these things. If we say that meeting Anna was the impetus, then the content of the memories was the driving force behind my wish to change the status quo.”
Was it a witch? Tilly thought, the possibility of either replacement or control are both slim, Sylvie has already confirmed that the Witch Alliance’s abilities weren’t unknown, every day they would undergo a special practice, none of them have powers relating to those two areas, not even remotely.
The only possibility left was possession, she didn’t eliminate the possibility that they had this kind of ability, which allowed them through invade and
occupy the body and obtain the other person’s thoughts. But this speculation is equally uncertain, no matter how father thought about Roland, he is undoubtedly one of Graycastle’s princes. Therefore, always wearing a God’s Stone of Retaliation was normal for him, and there were always knights and personal guards around to protect him, which made it impossible for a witch who has no hiding ability to get close to him.
But, even with such a witch, how can she possibly know so many things that are out of the ordinary? When she was a child, Tilly besides liking to rummage through the Palace Library, she also received teaching from several white-haired, erudite and multi-talented court mentors, but even they had never talked about using the power of steam and snow powder to replace animal power and swords.
So it seemed that his quirky knowledge had something to do with his bizarre encounters.
“How will you prove that you are indeed Roland Wimbledon and not just the part which appeared with those extra memories?”
Tilly knew that this question was quite rude, if he were to act like the former 4th Prince she knew, he would undoubtedly have exploded into a rage by now, flipped over the table and stamped out of the room.
“Because I still remember the matters which happened on the court,” the other party’s tone remained calm. “I think it is a person’s unique memory that distinguishes the essence of a person. If a well-known witch was to become exactly the same as you, with only her memories not the same, she would still essentially be another person. Even though I have a lot of strange memories, I do not remember where these came from. However, your weeping expression as you left me when I threw you onto the broken glass is still vividly embedded in my memory, so there is the proof.” He paused, “Of course… I haven’t had the time to apologize to you, but I still hope that it will not be too late.”
Tilly fell silent, the Roland before her eyes wore a clean attire and an expression of sincerity. As if to tell her that it was needless to doubt since it was all true. Obviously, no matter from where she looked at him, the new
him was much better than the dandy Prince from before, but there were some doubts remaining within her heart.
“Truly… hard to believe.”
“That’s normal,” Roland said as if he had seen through her thoughts. “There are a lot of things which are unthinkable before you personally experience them. For me, I would never have expected my younger sister would have awaken as a witch, even concealing it from all the people within the palace. However… As I’ve said at the beginning, this winter is still very long, we will have a lot of time to slowly come to understand each other.”
It’s probably the best solution, at the moment, Tilly nodded, “Then for the next few months… I’m sorry to be troubling you.”
“Let me handle it, you’ll love it here.”