Divine Revelation and a Father’s Desperate Plan

As the night deepened and silence settled, most of the windows in Laval Manor’s main house were cloaked in darkness. Only a few faint slivers of moonlight, piercing through gaps in the clouds, managed to vaguely outline the building’s imposing silhouette.

The tumultuous downpour had long since ceased, leaving behind only a drenched courtyard and an encompassing, eerie stillness.

Jean Leclerc, the butler, quietly pushed open the heavy oak door to Allen’s bedroom.

By the meager light filtering in from the window, he observed the young master lying on his side, deeply ensconced in sleep.

Allen’s face was serene, his breathing steady and deep, and a faint, almost imperceptible curve of relaxation graced the corners of his lips.

This image was starkly different from the gaunt youth the butler remembered, a boy whose brow was perpetually furrowed and who was often startled awake by nightmares.

The old butler stood silently at the doorway for a moment, a complex mix of relief and an ineffable tremor flickering in his clouded, aged eyes.

Just as quietly as he had arrived, he closed the door behind him.

No sooner had the soft click of the door fading into silence, than Allen’s eyes snapped open.

He sat up without a sound, retrieving the confiscated noble longsword from beneath his pillow. In the encroaching darkness, he ran his fingers over the cold hilt, letting out a soft sigh.

‘If I hadn’t known the butler was coming to check on me, I would have slept under the bed.’

He murmured to himself, a hint of resignation in his voice.

His innate villainous instincts kept him perpetually wary of any potential nocturnal assault.

He rose and moved to the window, pushing it open just a crack to gaze at the clear, post-rain night sky outside.

‘Father certainly won’t be sleeping tonight,’ Allen murmured, his gaze fixed on the myriad stars. ‘But then again, he may appear to be a foolish, doting father, yet at his core, he’s a cunning fox, just like me, skilled in the art of deception.’

‘No one in the de Laval family is an easy mark.’

****

Just as Allen had surmised, in the study at the opposite end of the manor, candlelight still flickered.

Bernard de Laval, the Viscount, was far from sleep.

He sat alone behind his expansive desk, the facade of the passionate, foolish father he wore during the day having long vanished. In its place was the shrewdness and profound weariness characteristic of a merchant and minor noble, his brow shadowed by an insistent, gnawing anxiety.

Spread open before him lay a copy of the royal tax exemption charter, alongside a ledger detailing a truly alarming deficit.

The flickering candlelight danced in his eyes, mirroring his profound disquiet.

The study door gently creaked open, and the old butler entered. Observing his master’s weary, still figure, he offered a concerned plea: ‘The young master is sleeping soundly, his breathing even. It seems he was truly exhausted, and has finally shed many of his worries. My lord, the night is far advanced; you, too, should rest.’

Bernard did not turn. His fingers, unconsciously and restlessly, tapped against the polished mahogany desk, producing a dull, rhythmic thud.

‘Old Jean…’ His voice was low, laden with an unconcealable weariness. ‘What is your opinion on Allen’s suggestion to align with the Church? Do you truly believe he received a divine revelation?’

The butler did not answer directly.

He approached the desk, picked up a silver pot, and slowly refilled Bernard’s now-cool cup with a little warm water before speaking.

‘My lord, do you recall that incident in the Upper District last month? Baron Montegu, coveting the substantial inheritance of the elderly widow, Madame Martha, conspired with several ruffians. They falsely accused her of being a witch who had murdered her husband with sorcery, and the poor old woman was dragged to the plaza and burned alive.’

Bernard’s tapping fingers abruptly stilled, his brows drawing into a tight knot. ‘I remember! Those despicable beasts!’

The butler continued, ‘Archbishop Lucien was enraged by such an absurd claim. The inquisitors he dispatched quickly uncovered the truth. The Church immediately excommunicated Montegu and initiated a lawsuit, demanding a thorough trial by the Lorraine High Court.’

‘Ultimately, the court, on charges of ‘blasphemy’ and ‘intentional murder,’ hanged both the instigator and the perjuring ruffians at the city gates for public display.’ The butler paused, a chilling edge to his voice. ‘I hear Archbishop Lucien was so incensed by the affair that he ordered it to be used as a exemplary case, to be repeatedly recounted in all sermons.’

He looked at Bernard, then, mimicking the Archbishop’s authoritative tone, declared: ‘The Archbishop himself admonished: “All who falsely invoke God’s name, engaging in deceitful charlatanry, amassing wealth by harming lives, or corrupting the hearts of men, are heretics and apostates whose crimes demand execution! They shall be cast into the deepest dungeons of the Inquisition, there to ‘experience’ God’s ‘mercy’ in eternal darkness!”‘

Bernard abruptly lifted his head, his gaze, sharp and intense in the candlelight, fixed deeply upon the butler.

The butler’s narrative resonated within him like a stone cast into a placid lake, stirring immense ripples in his heart.

A profound silence descended upon the room, broken only by the occasional faint crackle of the candlelight.

After a protracted silence, Bernard let out a long, heavy sigh, finally breaking the stillness.

He leaned back in his chair, wearily rubbing his brow, his voice thick with an unyielding blend of guilt and sorrow.

‘Old Jean… there isn’t a father in this world who doesn’t love his child.’ His gaze seemed to pierce through the walls, reaching into the distant past. ‘Allen hates me, and I utterly comprehend why. His mother’s death is an everlasting ache in my heart, and it is the very root of his inability to forgive me.’

Fragments of memory, like faded slides, slowly unfurled in Bernard’s mind, each carrying a damp, chilling essence:

He saw his wife, Hélène, her smile gentle yet tinged with a delicate melancholy.

She would always gently stroke little Allen’s head, regaling him with tales of knights and princesses, her voice as soft as a feather brushing against one’s heart.

With cool hands, she would tuck in his quilt corners, and when he fell ill, she would keep vigil through the night, humming tuneless lullabies.

The scene shifted: his wife’s face grew progressively paler, and her suppressed coughing echoed with an unnerving harshness in the silent room.

She bravely endured her illness, unwilling to burden her young son with worry, and even less willing to disturb the man who was… always ‘busy’ outside the home.

Little Allen lay by his mother’s bedside, his small hand clutching her cold fingers tightly, watching the light in her eyes dim, little by agonizing little…

And what was he, Bernard, doing at that time?

He was at banquets, circulating among the sword-bearing nobles and their ladies with a fawning smile, his clothes carrying the strange, pungent scent of unfamiliar perfumes.

His appearances at home were rare and fleeting. Each time, he would arrive in haste, bearing expensive yet utterly useless gifts, only to depart just as swiftly, leaving behind hollow reassurances and an even deeper, chilling emptiness.

On the day of his wife’s funeral, a fine drizzle fell incessantly.

A tiny Allen, clad in an ill-fitting black suit, stood before the cold tombstone, rain mingling with tears as it streamed into his mouth.

He himself stood beside the boy, a pained expression on his face, yet that sorrow felt more like a performance—a display of mourning for outsiders, befitting his noble status.

He felt no genuine sorrow of his own, only a biting, profound cold.

The relationship between father and son shattered completely after that day.

‘I could never compensate him for the loss of his mother. I could only use the most clumsy method imaginable: spoiling him without limit, indulging his every unreasonable demand, believing that this would somehow make amends. But I was wrong, terribly, utterly wrong!’ Bernard’s voice was wracked with pain. ‘My indulgence, perhaps, was the very force that propelled him toward the abyss. I watched him grow increasingly radical, watched him retaliate against me, against this world, through self-destruction… yet I was utterly powerless, able only to clean up his messes, using money and my reputation to quell the repercussions.’

‘But Old Jean, do you understand?’ Bernard’s voice suddenly escalated, charged with suppressed anger and fear. ‘The more Allen became the laughingstock of the nobility, the safer our family would be! Those detestable vultures, their attention drawn by Allen’s outrageous behavior, would remain blind to the decaying core of our own family…’

‘I exploited my own son! I am not a good father—I never have been!’

‘My lord… you must not blame yourself so harshly. This is not your fault,’ the butler sighed.

‘But, Old Jean, if I were granted another life, if I could return to that pivotal moment of choice… I would still make the very same decision!’

Bernard sprang to his feet, slamming his fist down hard on the desk!

‘In the eyes of those haughty, sword-bearing noble lords, what are we, who earn our living with our hands and minds? We are merely penned fat sheep! We are playthings to be slaughtered for their amusement at any given moment!’

‘Do you still recall Pierre Lefebvre? The factory owner who monopolized a third of the kingdom’s wool trade! Simply because he refused to ‘honor’ the newly appointed Minister of Finance with the lion’s share of his profits, he was framed with charges of ‘tax evasion’ and ‘hoarding’! His family’s assets were confiscated, and he himself was hanged! And his daughter, Shirley…’ Bernard’s voice caught, thick with profound disgust. ‘She was subjected to repeated assaults by several beastly noble scions… ultimately, unable to bear the humiliation, she hanged herself in the tower!’

Bernard’s chest heaved violently, his eyes blazing with fury.

He snatched up the gilded tax exemption charter, as if grasping a venomous snake, and cursed with exasperated fury: ‘I believed! I thought that by desperately, even ruinously, clawing my way into this noble circle, I could escape that sheep pen where we are all destined for slaughter! I believed that by donning a noble’s robe, I could stand as their equal! But I was wrong! Terribly, utterly wrong!’

He slammed the charter onto the desk with a dull thud, causing the candlelight to waver precariously.

‘These so-called ‘robe nobles’! We are nothing more than another dish on the dining tables of those sword-bearing lords! A ‘prepared meal,’ perhaps more exquisitely packaged, requiring a bit more thought to consume!’

‘Our very existence is merely to help them plunder the people’s wealth, only to be devoured, skin and bone, when they deem it necessary!’

He slumped back into his chair, covering his face with his hands, his voice muffled through his fingers, imbued with desperate despair and profound paternal love. ‘Old Jean, I do not fear death. But I fear what will become of my innocent, pitiful Allen, who is only just beginning to understand the world, after I am gone? He will be devoured by those jackals and tigers until not even a speck of bone remains!’

‘My original plan was… before I died, to find a way to completely sever ties with him, to create some conflict so the outside world would believe father and son had long been estranged. Then, you would take a portion of my secretly transferred wealth, live under an assumed name, and protect him as he fled far away to a place where no one knew him, to live out a prosperous, peaceful life as a commoner…’

He lifted his head, his eyes bloodshot. ‘But now! Look at him! He’s become so sensible, so responsible! He wants to shoulder the burden of this family! How could he possibly be willing to sever ties with me and escape alone? He will surely be dragged into the murky waters of the noble circle!’

Bernard nervously rose again, pacing like a trapped beast within the confines of the study, his heavy footsteps muffled by the carpet.

Anxiety, like a poisonous vine, coiled around his heart.

As if to soothe the anxious Bernard, the butler suddenly spoke with conviction: ‘My lord, you need not worry. Young Master Allen, he truly has received divine revelation.’

‘What?’ Bernard surged forward, gripping the butler’s hands tightly, his voice trembling. ‘Old Jean, do not deceive me… what have you discovered?’

The butler sighed, his gaze complex. ‘My lord, there is something I have been afraid to tell you until now.’

Bernard exclaimed, ‘Speak, Old Jean, I will forgive you for anything you say!’

‘My lord, do you remember the prophecy in the Holy Scripture?’

Both Bernard and the butler were believers, and thus intimately familiar with the contents of the Holy Scripture.

‘The part about the arrival of God’s messenger?’

‘Precisely, my lord,’ the butler said, looking into Bernard’s eyes, enunciating each word. ‘Young Master Allen is God’s messenger.’

‘Ah!?’

Bernard’s head buzzed, his vision blurred, and his body swayed, nearly causing him to fall.

The butler, quick as a flash, helped him into a chair.

Bernard rubbed his temples, feeling the world spin, his voice faint. ‘Why would you think that? Old Jean, we are both believers in the Lord; to say such a thing… people will take you for a heretic!’

‘My lord,’ the butler took a deep breath. Only now did he finally utter the terrifying truth that had been weighing on his heart. ‘Young Master Allen… stopped breathing the day after he drowned.’

‘WHAT!!!!!’

Bernard sprang from his chair as if his tail had been stepped on!

His eyes wide as saucers, his mouth agape enough to fit an egg, he pointed at the butler, unable to articulate a single word, his teeth chattering.

‘Th-th-th…’

Bernard felt all the blood rush to his head, his mind a complete blank.

‘My lord, this is why I was unwilling to tell you,’ the butler murmured.

‘Al-Allen… he… he is already dead?’ Bernard’s voice was utterly broken.

‘Yes, and no,’ the butler stated gravely.

It took a long while for Bernard to recover from the extreme shock, his face ashen.

He closed his eyes, whispering painfully, ‘You mean… my former scoundrel of a son, is actually dead… and the obedient, capable son I now see… is not him at all? Is it… is it God’s messenger occupying his body?’

‘God’s messenger shall awaken within an ’empty vessel,’ as it is written in the Holy Scripture,’ the butler guided. ‘At the very least, I cannot explain the miracle of the young master’s resurrection, nor can the Church. There has never been such a thing in history.’

‘You mean… God’s messenger is masquerading as my son?’

Bernard’s voice was filled with grief, yet it also carried an inexplicable fervor.

Suddenly, he didn’t know how he would face this ‘son’ tomorrow—both familiar and utterly alien.

‘Perhaps you could think of it this way,’ the butler corrected. ‘Your son has not become someone else. Young Master Allen has simply been reborn as God’s messenger.’

‘…Is there a difference?’ Bernard asked blankly.

‘A significant difference,’ the butler explained. ‘I have been observing the young master since he awoke. My lord, do you remember what your son used to be like?’

‘Of course, I remember…’ Bernard’s voice choked, and a single tear traced a path down his cheek. ‘My son, before I hurt him, was a kind and lovable child… his transformation into what he became was all my fault, all my doing!’

‘My lord, at this point, we no longer have time for regrets,’ the butler interrupted his self-reproach. ‘I watched him grow up; my heart aches even more than yours. Now, Young Master Allen has received divine revelation and has returned to being the passionate, kind, clever, and witty good child he once was. He is both God’s messenger and your son.’

‘Are you not yet grasping the implications? What does it mean for the de Laval family, for this world, that your son has become God’s messenger?!’

Bernard froze.

As a believer, he could not possibly misunderstand what the advent of God’s messenger signified.

‘Old Jean, are you saying… this is now the final Age of Darkness?’ Bernard’s voice trembled.

‘Why the old king has grown negligent in his duties, why the kingdom has been plagued by disasters these past years. I fear the final hour is fast approaching,’ the butler stated gravely.

Bernard suddenly rose, his eyes bursting with an unprecedented light!

All his thoughts transformed into evidence supporting Allen as God’s messenger!

The euphoria of revelation and a sense of mission instantly overwhelmed him!

‘I understand! I understand everything!’ Bernard’s skin prickled with excitement. ‘My son now needs to conceal his identity. He needs time to prepare for humanity’s salvation! He needs me to protect him… Wait, so that’s how it is?’

Bernard suddenly understood.

‘Allen knew that his reputation as a dissolute young master was something I exaggeratedly spread; he needs this disguise!’

‘…My lord, the young master’s intentions likely extend beyond this one matter,’ the butler added meaningfully. ‘Those mercenaries, he probably let them escape on purpose. What do you suppose he intends to do?’

‘Lord! This, this, this…’ Bernard’s face flushed crimson, and he rubbed his hands together excitedly, like an agitated red-headed fly. ‘Allen, as God’s messenger, has come to this world full of wickedness, bringing not peace, but a sword! He needs to destroy this utterly rotten world to create a new paradise for humanity, to protect humanity from the destruction that comes from the stars!’

‘Hahaha!’ Bernard threw his head back and laughed wildly, as if he had returned to his spirited youth. ‘Now I finally understand! My son is the greatest person in this world! What sword-bearing nobles, what crown prince! They are nothing! Even if someone offered the emperor’s throne in exchange for my son, I would refuse!’

He abruptly grasped the butler’s shoulders. ‘Old Jean, does anyone else know about this besides you?’

‘I have not told anyone, though I suspect our head maid, Miss Marianne, may have guessed,’ the butler replied.

‘Marianne?!’

Bernard’s eyes widened. How was it that even his head maid knew something he was only just now discovering!

‘Quick, quick, summon her here!’