Count Wulfgar Wulan von Largengarten loved his name. It was the only thing that still connected him to his father, who was acting as general on the war with the Duchy of Zimarin. He didn’t remember him very well, only a vague image of a sad smile and a scruffy beard remained. His eyes, the same blue color as his father’s, were the only proof he was his son. He knew, however, that most people called him Wuwu behind his back.

The nickname started because of Raelynn. He normally greeted his sisters (well, half sisters) very formally. He needed to respect the Largengarten hierarchy, and he also preferred a comfortable distance from most people (secretly, specially them). Raelynn had said that his name is way too long (who was she to say that, he thought, her name was just as long!) so she’d call him Wuwu. And Wuwu he was called from then on, no matter how much he insisted. At least the servants didn’t dare to do it in front of him. He secretly liked the nickname quite a bit, but he thought it would tarnish the memory of his father, so he still fought against it at every turn.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Maybe one day the elder Wulfgar would return, and set things right. He’d make everyone respect him. Maybe he could even go live on the main house, maybe he could even receive some affection, instead of the cold acknowledgment of the matriarch. Still, for that, he needed to prove himself, and he’d do it with the sword, like his father did.

He started by defeating all of his fencing instructors in single combat. At 14, he’d defeated so many that it was hard to find someone of his skill level. He didn’t really grasp the fundamentals of any particular style, but he instinctively picked up any technique that suited him. His sword-fighting was rough, unpredictable, and very effective. Until he turned 16, he had no choice but to practice on his own. But then, a new instructor arrived.

He was famous, but not necessarily on a good way. Some called him the weirdest person they’ve ever met. Others, his comrades on the battlefield, often called him his savior. His enemies, though, just called him the Mad Hatter.