Was I a good person?
No.
I was a kindhearted greedy man.
I was born the only son of a wealthy count's family, with a rare incurable disease as my lifelong companion.
My parents brought in renowned clergymen, but not a single one could cure me.
'It's called incurable for a reason.'
I barely had enough strength in my hands to hold a spoon.
Even moving around was difficult, so I couldn't do without a servant's help.
Naturally, I had no talent for magic, either.
It was a frail life, lived only because I couldn't die. Even so, I had one source of joy: reading.
'At least I have enough strength to read.'
Books were filled not only with abundant knowledge and wisdom, but also with stories of all kinds of lives.
They held every ideal I could never attain even if I died and came back to life, so the time I spent reading book after book was happiness itself.
Even if all of it was fictional.
Even if those lives were as false as mine, merely set down in words.
***
I wanted to become real.
As the years flowed by, I settled into them and devoured countless books. Every day was filled with joy, yet at the same time, a hollow feeling seemed to settle into one corner of my heart.
'I want to be like the people in those stories, too.'
When was it?
One day, the mansion was thrown into an uproar.
I was the cause.
While my attendants were away for a moment, I climbed down from the bed and crawled across the floor. Before long, though, convulsions wracked my entire body, and I lost consciousness.
Apparently, my parents and the family's servants were terrified because of it. Apparently, everyone feared I was going to die.
Considering I didn't open my eyes again for a full week, I could hardly blame them.
'It's my own body, but it really is weak.'
After that, I tried to live as quietly as possible. I had accepted reality once again.
***
The summer I turned twenty.
A turning point came in my life.
My parents died in an accident, and I inherited the position of head of the count's family.
As their only direct descendant, perhaps it was only natural.
Though my body was frail, years of reading had filled me with enough knowledge that I had little trouble leading the family.
My parents had treated the servants well while they were alive, so they all followed me faithfully, too.
'They're good people. I should repay them.'
I spared no expense in supporting the servants' children so they could grow up well. Watching those children grow filled me with a strange sense of pride.
That was only the beginning. My patronage gathered momentum, and I found joy in seeking out talented children and supporting them.
Ah, vicarious satisfaction.
I found peace of mind by watching others accomplish the things I could not.
'It's different from the stories I read in books.'
Because this wasn't a fabricated world.
These were things accomplished in the real world.
That made them feel all the more meaningful. Like countless epic sagas branching out in every direction.
***
As I entered my thirties, my condition worsened. According to the clergymen, the fact that I had lived peacefully for this long was a miracle in itself. Well, even I had to admit I'd lived quite a long time.
After news of my illness spread, certain guests began visiting me. They were people whose talents had blossomed with my support.
One had become the chief mage of a Mage Tower.
Another had joined an imperial order of knights.
Another had become an executive of the Merchants' Association.
'I'm proud of them, and it's all wonderful...... but part of me is jealous, too.'
That was how I honestly felt.
Even so, I sincerely congratulated them on their success. It was also true that no one was happier for them than I was.
After that, many more of the people I had supported visited the mansion, like crops finally bearing fruit after seeds had been sown. They came to visit me in my illness and to offer their thanks.
Once one harvest was over, it was only right to plant new seedlings in the empty ground.
So I went back to discovering new promising talents and supporting them, over and over again.
That was where I found satisfaction in life.
***
The Benevolent Count.
At some point, that became the epithet people used for me.
The benevolent count, or something like that.
His Majesty the King even sent me a medal of honor.
I heard that a religious group had even formed among the public, revering me as a virtuous man of the age...... Talk about making a fuss.
The same strangeness applied to my family's fortunes. Despite all my continued patronage, our wealth never declined.
As it turned out, the people who had succeeded with my support were going out of their way to help my family.
It was hard to make sense of.
All I'd wanted was a little vicarious satisfaction.
***
The winter I turned thirty-five.
I could feel death drawing close.
The fact that I had survived this long while suffering from a rare incurable disease was nothing short of a miracle.
People said that because I had performed endless good deeds, the gods had blessed me with protection over my life, or something along those lines.
'Good deeds......'
It was all for my own satisfaction...... but perhaps they weren't entirely wrong. I had done good things, after all.
'It's especially cold this year.'
It was the season of bitter winds that battered the skin. The reed field in front of the mansion had long since been buried beneath snow.
What should have been visible through the window beside my bed was an endless field of white.
Instead, countless people had gathered across it.
'They really do know how to make a fuss.'
By now, illness had reduced my body to the point where I couldn't even read, let alone do anything else.
Fingers that could no longer hold even a spoon.
Toes that couldn't so much as twitch.
Blurred eyes that could barely look out from the height of the bed, its upper half raised to prop up my body.
'That's a lot of people. They must be freezing.'
When I barely managed to gesture with my eyes, the servants gathered wool blankets and handed them out to the people outside.
They were standing there because of me. It would be a problem if they caught a bad cold and fell ill because of it.
So I had only sent them blankets out of basic human decency.
'Those faces aren't fair.'
People crying.
People smiling.
People worried.
People grateful.
'I only......'
Doing good and finding vicarious satisfaction in others were all well and good.
But something still felt missing.
Painfully so.
I couldn't ignore the longing that had always occupied one corner of my heart.
'......I wanted to learn so much and see what I could accomplish.'