The conference hall was silent.
Not the ordinary silence of a meeting.
Not the silence that followed the end of a discussion.
Not even the silence of confusion.
This was a heavier silence.
A silence born from curiosity.
The kind of silence that appeared when everyone wanted to ask the same question but nobody dared to become the first person to speak.
Outside.
Snow drifted beyond the windows.
The magical lamps lining Frostbound Coast's streets glowed softly despite the daylight.
Caravans continued traveling.
Workers continued building.
Life continued moving.
Inside.
Time itself seemed frozen.
At the head of the enormous conference table sat Kel Rosenfeld.
Stacks of reports rested before him.
Blueprints.
Maps.
Economic projections.
Infrastructure plans.
Everything connected.
Everything supported another thing.
Everything seemed to have already been considered.
Which was exactly why everyone felt troubled.
How?
That question existed in every mind.
How could a fifteen-year-old think this far?
A young apprentice sat near the far end of the room.
His hands were trembling slightly.
Not from fear.
From hesitation.
For nearly an hour he had argued with himself internally.
Should he ask?
Should he stay silent?
Should he risk offending the Count?
Eventually.
Curiosity won.
The apprentice slowly raised his hand.
The movement immediately attracted attention.
Several masters glanced toward him.
His teacher nearly grabbed him.
Too late.
Kel noticed.
The Count looked toward him.
His expression calm.
"Yes?"
The apprentice swallowed.
Then stood.
"My Lord..."
The room became quiet.
Everyone understood.
Something important was about to be asked.
The apprentice gathered courage.
Then spoke.
"May I ask something?"
Kel nodded.
"Ask."
The young man took a deep breath.
Then finally asked the question everyone wanted answered.
"My Lord..."
Another breath.
"How do you think so thoroughly?"
The room froze.
Nobody moved.
Nobody interrupted.
The apprentice continued.
"I mean..."
He gestured toward the maps.
"Every proposal connects to another proposal."
Another.
"When that topic ends..."
Another.
"You already have the answer for the next topic."
Another.
"When someone asks about investments..."
Another.
"You already explain the investment structure."
Another.
"When people ask where the money will come from..."
Another.
"You already have an exploration program prepared."
Another.
"When people question that program..."
Another.
"You already have answers for that too."
The apprentice's voice became increasingly sincere.
"I genuinely don't understand."
The room listened.
Carefully.
The young man looked directly at Kel.
"How far do you think before speaking?"
Silence.
Nobody breathed.
Because that was exactly the question everyone wanted answered.
The apprentice lowered his gaze briefly.
Then added.
"And..."
His voice softened.
"What motivates you?"
The room became even quieter.
"You are fifteen years old."
Another.
"You haven't even become an adult yet."
Another.
"You have your entire life ahead of you."
Another.
"Most people your age spend their time enjoying life."
Another.
"They don't think about decades."
Another.
"They don't think about civilizations."
Another.
"They don't think about economic ecosystems."
The apprentice looked genuinely confused.
"So why?"
Another.
"Why do things even adults don't think about?"
The question finally ended.
And the conference hall entered absolute silence.
No papers moved.
No chairs creaked.
No coughs sounded.
Nothing.
Everyone stared toward Kel.
Waiting.
The Count remained motionless.
His silver eyes rested upon the apprentice.
Not angry.
Not offended.
Simply thoughtful.
Several seconds passed.
Then Kel slowly leaned back in his chair.
His gaze shifted toward the window.
Toward the falling snow.
And for the first time during the meeting.
His expression became distant.
Very distant.
As if he were looking at something nobody else could see.
When he finally spoke.
His voice was quiet.
"I was cursed at birth."
The room froze.
Several people exchanged glances.
Nobody had expected that answer.
Kel continued.
"Someone wanted me dead before I took my first breath."
Silence.
A few people unconsciously tightened their fists.
The Count's voice remained calm.
Too calm.
As if he were discussing the weather.
"I survived."
Another.
"I broke the curse."
Another.
"And eventually..."
His silver eyes darkened slightly.
"I killed the person responsible."
The room became colder.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Because nobody could imagine what kind of life produced such words.
The apprentice remained frozen.
Kel continued.
"Before that happened..."
Another.
"I spent much of my life bedridden."
Several people looked shocked.
Many had heard rumors.
But hearing it directly felt different.
Far different.
The Count slowly folded his hands.
"When you live like that..."
Another.
"When death becomes a daily possibility..."
Another.
"When every day might become your last..."
He paused.
Then smiled faintly.
A sad smile.
"You age quickly."
Nobody spoke.
Nobody interrupted.
Kel continued.
"My understanding expanded rapidly."
Another.
"I watched people."
Another.
"I watched systems."
Another.
"I watched cause and effect."
Another.
"And I kept asking questions."
The apprentice listened carefully.
Kel's gaze remained fixed on the falling snow.
"I began imagining my own death."
The room stiffened.
"How would it happen?"
Another.
"What would cause it?"
Another.
"What chain of events would lead there?"
Another.
"What could prevent it?"
His voice remained steady.
No emotion.
Just truth.
"I kept asking."
Another.
"If this happens..."
Another.
"Then what happens next?"
Another.
"And after that?"
Another.
"And after that?"
The room slowly understood.
Kel wasn't describing planning.
He was describing survival.
A survival habit that had evolved beyond survival itself.
The Count looked back toward everyone.
Then spoke again.
"You asked why I do things adults don't."
A faint smile appeared.
"My answer is simple."
The room listened.
"I have a plan."
Another.
"I have authority."
Another.
"I have resources."
Another.
"I have influence."
Another.
"I have people willing to act."
Another.
"I have opportunities."
The Count slowly stood.
The room instinctively followed his movement.
Kel looked across Frostbound Coast through the window.
Then quietly spoke.
"I am the heir of House Rosenfeld."
Another.
"I am Count of Frostbound Coast."
Another.
"I possess the power to change my surroundings."
Another.
"So."
His silver eyes sharpened.
"If I possess the means to change something..."
Another.
"Why shouldn't I?"
Nobody answered.
Because nobody could.
Kel's voice remained calm.
Almost indifferent.
"I learned something very young."
Another.
"People don't care about titles."
Another.
"Not truly."
Several nobles shifted uncomfortably.
Kel continued.
"If you cannot act."
Another.
"If you cannot decide."
Another.
"If you provide no value."
Another.
"Then your title means very little."
Silence.
Painful silence.
Because everyone knew examples.
Many examples.
Nobles with authority.
Nobles with wealth.
Nobles with influence.
Who achieved nothing.
Kel's voice softened.
"So I stopped caring."
Another.
"I stopped worrying what others think."
Several people frowned.
The Count looked toward the ceiling.
"As strange as it sounds..."
Another.
"One day I will die."
The room became uncomfortable.
Nobody wanted to hear that.
Especially not from him.
Yet Kel continued.
"When that happens..."
Another.
"The criticism ends."
Another.
"The praise ends."
Another.
"The opinions end."
His gaze became distant once more.
"So why should I live according to them?"
The room felt increasingly heavy.
Several people wanted to interrupt.
Wanted to disagree.
Yet nobody could find words.
Kel smiled faintly.
A lonely smile.
"I am merely moving forward."
Another.
"Defining destinations."
Another.
"Reaching them."
Another.
"Then finding new destinations."
The room listened.
Many felt something tightening inside their chest.
Because despite everything.
Despite the confidence.
The authority.
The achievements.
There was an undeniable loneliness beneath those words.
As if Kel genuinely believed he walked alone.
The apprentice stared.
Speechless.
The masters stared.
Speechless.
The economists.
The architects.
The craftsmen.
The scholars.
Everyone.
Speechless.
Many wanted to say something.
That his existence mattered.
That Frostbound Coast would not be the same without him.
That his life had value beyond utility.
That people genuinely cared.
Yet somehow.
The words died before leaving their mouths.
Because none of them knew how to answer someone who had spent years preparing for his own death.
The silence continued.
Long.
Heavy.
Painful.
Then.
Kel suddenly seemed to realize what he had said.
His expression shifted slightly.
Almost embarrassed.
Then he smiled politely.
A completely different smile.
The Count straightened his documents.
And calmly said.
"Sorry."
The room blinked.
Kel continued.
"I may have spoken too much."
Nobody moved.
Nobody responded.
The Count gave a small bow of his head.
"Please don't pay too much attention to what I just said."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Then.
Deep beneath Scarder Lake.
Seiren listened.
For once.
The Guardian did not laugh.
Did not tease.
Did not make jokes.
Instead.
She remained silent.
Because among everyone present.
Perhaps only Seiren truly understood.
Those words were not philosophy.
They were not wisdom.
They were not an attempt to sound profound.
They were simply the honest thoughts of a boy who had lived too long beside death.
And throughout the conference hall.
The people of Frostbound Coast stared at their young Count.
Not seeing a genius.
Not seeing a noble.
Not seeing a prodigy.
But for the first time.
Seeing the lonely road that had created him.
And somehow.
That sight was far more terrifying than all his plans combined.