The hope of forging him into a warrior was shattered, leaving the Count deeply disappointed for days. But he eventually pulled himself together, comforted by his gentle wife—after all, the boy was his only son.
Although the Rollin family had built its legacy on military glory, history had produced one or two great strategic minds among their ancestors. Those men had been no good at fighting, yet they could command armies from the rear, plan campaigns, and decide battles far from the front lines.
A great general did not have to be a peerless warrior charging into battle. To become a brilliant commander-in-chief would bring just as much honor to the family.
If he could not learn martial arts, then he would study scholarship instead!
But how could a child who would not even speak learn anything? Even the wisest scholar could not teach him unless the boy first opened his mouth.
Unlike the Countess's pure, motherly devotion, Count Raymond began to suspect something strange: he felt his son was not *unable* to speak—he was *unwilling*.
The more times the Count visited his son, the more he realized the boy was not an ignorant idiot. He was a child who simply rejected the world around him. The way he looked at his father held clear unfamiliarity and resistance—emotions no mindless fool could show.
Rewards great enough would rouse any man to effort.
The Count immediately offered a heavy reward across the entire Imperial Capital. No matter if the applicant was a learned scholar or a lowly farmer, anyone who could make his son speak would receive a thousand gold coins on the spot.
The odd story spread throughout the city, and all kinds of people signed up—even several traveling bards from distant lands. Their methods were absurdly varied: one played a flute in front of Dwight for an entire afternoon, another banged a gong by his ear, and some shouted suddenly behind him to startle him…
One bold soul even dared to suggest throwing the Count's son into the river, claiming he would surely cry out for help. The man who proposed that idea had his legs broken by the Count's guards and was thrown out of the manor at once.
What nonsense! Even if my son was an idiot, he was still my son! Throw him in the river? I'll throw *you* in first!
While the whole capital gossiped about the strange affair, the stubborn problem was accidentally solved by one of the manor's own servants.
The man who cracked it was Mad—the servant promoted thanks to Dwight's sleep-talking.
The former stable hand was a kind, honest man. He came up with a simple idea: take Dwight to visit the manor's stables. Usually, children his age were curious and delighted by animals. The plan was crude, but the Count agreed to let them try.
And so, Mad carried his young master into the stables…
As chance would have it, the servant who had replaced Mad as stable hand had been lazy that day and failed to clean out the manure. The moment they stepped inside, an overwhelming stench of horse dung hit them straight in the face. The smell was so thick that Mad nearly stumbled backward as he pushed open the door.
At that exact moment, little Dwight in his arms blurted out a sentence on pure reflex.
"It stinks to death!"
The result: Mad received his thousand gold coins at once. Even the lazy stable hand who had skipped cleaning was not punished—instead, he was given twenty gold coins.
Watching his defeated-looking son, Count Raymond became more certain than ever: the boy had been refusing to speak on purpose!
---
"From today on, he is your teacher." Pointing to an old man in white robes, the Count looked at his son. "This is Mr. Rosiat. He holds the title of Imperial Astrologer and is a scholar well-versed in history. He will be your first tutor."
At first, the learned Mr. Rosiat did excellent work.
After just one year of teaching, four-year-old Master Dwight could already write the imperial script! Being able to write at four was not unheard of for ordinary children, but it was still quite rare.
Even the Count, who had never quite liked his son, felt a flicker of hope: could my boy actually be a genius?
But when Dwight turned five, even the talented Mr. Rosiat ran into a wall.
One evening, when Dwight was five and a half, the Count sat with Mr. Rosiat in his study for a long, quiet talk.
"Lord Count, please find another tutor," the old astrologer said, looking defeated. "Your son is naturally bright, but I am too old to guide such a pupil…"
Seeing the scholar's expression, the Count's heart sank. Even a fool could tell the old man's "naturally bright" was empty flattery… Was my son really an idiot? Not even the wise and learned Mr. Rosiat could teach him?
"But Mr. Rosiat…" the Count began, his face dark.
"No, no, my lord," the old scholar stammered, nervous. "I beg you, do not try to keep me. This task is far beyond my ability!"
The scholar's refusal was firm, leaving the Count to smile bitterly. Was teaching my son really such a "terrible" task? If even the talented old astrologer could not do it, no one else could be expected to.
Unknown to the frowning Count, Mr. Rosiat was terrified inside.
If it had only been odd remarks like "The sun and moon are just two big balls," he could have brushed them off as childish nonsense. But when a five-year-old boy said things like "Excessive concentration of imperial power is the root of corruption," the old scholar nearly had a heart attack.
After a year of teaching Dwight, the scholar knew full well the boy was not the "idiot" everyone whispered about. On the contrary, he was clever—far cleverer than other children his age. But even the brightest child did not comment on such profound topics as imperial authority!
So naturally, the scholar assumed these shocking opinions had been carelessly spoken by the Count at home, then repeated by the innocent boy. Count Raymond held great power as the second-in-command of the Imperial High Command, with deep connections in the navy… For such a man to privately criticize the throne meant he was dissatisfied with the royal family. If he thought further…
He was only an old scholar. He wanted no part in political schemes! It was better to escape while he could.
The Count agreed to let the old scholar resign, and the man practically fled the manor, packing his things at once. The Count could only smile bitterly at the sight.
Was his son truly beyond saving?
Dwight stood quietly by the attic window, watching his tutor of over a year leave. He saw the old scholar pack his bags, climb into a carriage, and ride away.
"Young master," Mad said softly, sensing his master's low mood. After successfully making the boy speak, he had become Dwight's personal servant.
"Mad," Dwight said without turning, his voice downcast. "Do you think ignorance is a kind of happiness?"
"Uh…" Mad had no idea how to reply. The former stable hand was not an educated man, and he dared not respond to such a question. Was his master upset about himself?
"Forget it." Dwight turned around, almost smiling. On his small, young face was a trace of weariness.
Compared to the people of this world, I knew far too much.
I knew why the sun and moon hung in the sky. I knew why day and night alternated. I knew why the seasons changed, why spring turned to autumn…
But knowing all this only brought me sorrow. Perhaps, in this world, ignorance truly was bliss.