My feelings toward my father, Aseldorf, are colorless.
Neither affection nor hatred. Nothing at all. Honestly, that was only natural. Aseldorf existed as a father in the setting, tied to me by biological blood and nothing more. Not a single memory remained. Sad as that is.
My real family lies on the other side of a dimension I can never visit again.
Hilda had taken an interest in my family, but every time, I dressed up the truth and lied to her. Sometimes that gave me pangs of guilt. Sharp as she was, Hilda eventually picked up that I didn't like talking about my family.
So she stopped asking for details. Once in a while, she'd simply wonder aloud, "If they were still alive, how would they react to a son who had risen so high?"
Old Marquis Bertheim seemed to know the truth surrounding my father's death, but he wouldn't tell me outright. As if he wanted me to figure it out for myself, the old man only offered hints.
"This knight, Viktor, knows about my father's death?"
