Re: Blood and Iron-Chapter 479: Legacy and the Transfer of Power

Erwin was perhaps one of the youngest university students in the country. He had only graduated from high school the previous year—at an age when most students would still be halfway through their coursework.

But Erwin was not a normal child. He had been raised with the best tutors and had, from an early age, inherited both of his parents' abnormal intellects. It was no exaggeration to say that graduating from high school two years early was actually a vast underperformance of what Bruno expected from the boy.

However, in his defense, the reality was that he had deliberately taken his time growing up—wanting to be of similar age to his peers, and to enjoy his youth while it lasted. Something that felt almost ironic now, given he had been forced to marry at an age younger than most.

As a result, he quickly completed his schooling and went on to begin both a professional career and his time at university. During the day, Erwin worked for his father's conglomerate—or more specifically, he trained under the tutelage of his uncle, who ran the original family business from which all others had sprouted, thanks to Bruno's global investments.

At night, Erwin would take courses at one of Berlin's more prestigious universities. Afterward, he returned home to his wife and children, spending what little time he had left with them—being a proper husband and father to the best of his ability.

Tonight, however, was one of his days off. The children were already in their cribs, fed by their mother. Alya was now in the kitchen, making sure the meal she'd prepared for herself and her husband was properly cooked.

Erwin, in the meantime, was sitting in the old rocking chair his father had used so many years ago. He was reading a journal he'd found stashed behind the mattress in the master bedroom—forgotten, dusty, and filled with the thoughts of a bygone era.

It was a journal Bruno had kept during the early years of his marriage to Heidi—containing everything from his thoughts as a newlywed to the births of his children, the wars he ran off to fight, and the reasons he gave for doing so.

What Erwin found most questionable, however, was a recurring phrase—repeated over and over again, especially in his father's more foreboding entries.

"Time… There's never enough time…"

When it first appeared, Erwin thought Bruno was referring to his own truncated youth—how quickly he had been forced into adulthood. But by the second, third, fourth, and fifth repetition, Erwin began to understand.

His father knew. As early as the late 1800s, he knew the Great War was coming. And everything he had done was in preparation for it. Erwin was just about to flip the page when he heard a knock on the door.

At this hour, it was rare for him and Alya to receive visitors. And those who might consider it knew better than to show up unannounced. As a result, Erwin reached for the table beside him—setting the journal down and instead grabbing a Mauser C96 pistol. He ensured a round was seated, and the safety disengaged as he approached the door.

The barrel of the pistol pressed against the wooden frame as he looked through the peephole, checking to see who had dared disturb him.

When he saw it was his uncle Christoph, Erwin sighed in relief and manually decocked the hammer before opening the door, wearing an almost perturbed expression.

"Uncle… do you have any idea what hour it is? It's damn near supper. Any minute now, Alya will be bringing out the meal she's prepared—and I doubt she made an extra share for you. If you'd just called first, I could have made sure there was enough."

Christoph chuckled and tousled his nephew's hair while Erwin opened the door wider to let him in. But his comment carried a much grimmer tone:

"I see you inherited your father's paranoia. Answering the door with a piece in your hand like that—truly, you are Bruno's son. Knowing that's how you treat unwanted house guests, I'll be sure to call next time. Anyway, I was on my way home and figured I'd drop this off."

He reached into his coat and pulled out a folder, placing it on the living room table. Erwin picked it up and began to read as Christoph wandered the room, looking around the old manor—the family estate that had been in their hands for far longer than Bruno had ever realized.

The sight stirred old memories in Christoph, which spilled out of him with quiet nostalgia.

"This place hasn't changed in fifty years… Hell, I doubt it ever really did."

Erwin didn't hear him. He was too stunned by the contents of the folder. Looking up at his uncle with disbelief, he questioned what he had just read.

"Uncle, you can't be serious… this goes against centuries of tradition."

Christoph sighed as he sat down in an old felt chair, his voice tired and resigned.

"I'm afraid so. Your uncle— the daft wretch of a man he is—has thoroughly disgraced himself in your grandfather's eyes. That there's a copy of the formal declaration of your grandfather's will.

Your father is named sole heir of the von Zehntner family… the original branch. It looks like the old man wants the branches united, so that we all may be princes like your father.

Not that I blame him. We've all been thoroughly outshined by our youngest brother. It was an obvious choice."

Erwin could hardly believe it—even after reading the document and hearing it confirmed aloud. He looked up again, another question forming as the full implications began to settle.

"If this is true… why come to me first? Why not tell my father directly?"

Christoph scoffed—not bitter, but almost fearful.

"Because if your father could be bothered with petty, shortsighted matters like family inheritance, none of this would be happening, now would it? Besides, that man has eyes and ears everywhere. He probably knew before I did."

He stood up, brushing off his coat, then gave Erwin a tired smile.

"Now I understand your wife may not have cooked enough for three, but before I hit the road—I could really use a beer. If it's not too much of an imposition?"

Erwin wasn't sure if he should feel pity for Christoph—who would have rightfully been second in line in the event something happened to Franz—or respect for how calmly he was taking the news.

Either way, the least he could do was get the man a beer. And so he did—still unable to fully grasp just how significant their grandfather's final move would prove to be.