Chapter 220: Hmm, Good
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 220: Hmm, Good
Count Molsen had three wives and six concubines.
For a noble living in this era, such a lifestyle was hardly a flaw. He had sired many descendants; between his sons and daughters, he had fathered more children than the royal family itself.
Yet, not a single one of them was to his liking. Truly, nothing in this world ever went exactly as one wished.
"I will handle him," one of his sons declared.
From his seat, the Count looked into the eyes of the son who had climbed into the carriage from the driver's seat. In those eyes, he saw glimpses of jealousy and anger.
Was it because he had been struck? Or was it because the bastard whose name was currently echoing across the Pen-Hanil continent didn't look like much? Did the man’s mere existence rub him the wrong way?
The name Encrid had already spread all the way to the kingdom's capital. It was only natural for a young man to feel jealous. But to show it so openly...
He's decent at fighting, at least.
But in every other aspect, this son was utterly disappointing. He couldn't even distinguish between when to swallow his pride and use his head and when to let things go. At best, he would only ever be useful as a bodyguard.
This was exactly why raising children never went as planned. Since the Count had already made other arrangements to secure his lineage, he had no lingering regrets. That was the reason he had stopped having children altogether.
If it were me... instead of envying and hating him, I would have thought of making him an ally.
Indeed, that was exactly what the Count was doing even now. However, there was one thing that nagged at him.
"You didn't see his eyes, did you?"
When the Count spoke, the young man blinked. His expression practically asked what on earth his father was talking about. In a way, he resembled an ox. Perhaps that was why he fought so stubbornly well.
They said the eyes were the window to the soul, a mirror reflecting the person within.
"That fellow," the Count said, then paused to think. Had he seen correctly? Yes, he had. It was an attitude and momentum that left no room for doubt. "He looked like he wanted to fight me."
"Pardon?"
"He looked like he wanted to fight me."
His son, who had been wearing a bewildered expression, flared up in anger. "How dare he!"
"Why? Do you think he shouldn't?" the Count cut him off.
Even the Count had felt a spark of competitive spirit rise within him. That gaze—straight, upright, and directly declaring a desire to test their strength—had reached his heart. Seeing that, how could he not want to gauge just how deep the man's skills ran?
Still, he couldn't very well fight him in person. He couldn't just grant him that wish. One must never easily give people what they desire; that was a lesson he had learned throughout his life.
In any case, his visit to see the man's face had not been in vain.
An interesting fellow indeed.
But he wasn't someone who could be left alone simply because he was interesting. Now, then. What should he do to keep him by his side? People were easy to manipulate once they owed a debt of gratitude. How, then, should he create that debt?
"What shall we do about the demonic beasts in the south, Father?"
The word 'Father' nagged at the Count’s mind slightly. Even so, he did not scold the boy. Sometimes, the mere fact of being bound by blood meant that no oath of loyalty was necessary. The son before him was precisely such a case.
Who was this boy's mother again? Greta? Helen?
At any rate, since she had given birth to such a stubborn and loyal child, it would be good to send her a small gift. Though that single act would cause ripples in the power struggles among his wives, that was exactly why he would do it. To make them fight and squabble. It was all happening beneath him anyway. Everything was under his control.
"Leave them be."
The original reason for his campaign was to deal with the horde of demonic beasts coming up from the south. He had dealt with some and left the rest. Later on, the Border Guard would have a massive headache trying to deal with them.
And then, they will ask for help.
It would happen within a few months at the earliest, or a year at the latest.
"What about those who move under the cover of night?"
At the Count's question, his son bowed his head. He was referring to the 'Dagger of Geor', an assassin group whose fearsome reputation echoed across the entire continent. Upon hearing that some of them were within reach of the Border Guard, his son had made inquiries and had just managed to establish contact.
No sooner had the two finished speaking than the coachman spoke from the front.
"Someone is blocking the road ahead. What should we do?"
"Stop the carriage."
If someone blocked the way in the northern Pen-Hanil region without recognizing the Count's crest, one would have to seriously question their intelligence. If that wasn't the case, it meant they had blocked it knowingly, which meant they had business with him.
It was the latter.
The figure was completely covered in black cloth from head to toe.
An audacious fellow, the Count thought as he opened the carriage door. "Who are you?"
"Dagger of Geor," a brief reply came back.
"You bastard!" his son shouted as he stepped down from the carriage. "How dare you show such insolence in front of—!"
The one claiming to be from the Dagger of Geor merely listened with indifference.
"Why did you seek us out?" the assassin asked, speaking only what was necessary.
Having been deliberately ignored, the son drew his sword. Clang!
"Let us cut off one of his arms before we speak further," his son growled.
Though he was a renowned fighter within their own territory, his opponent was the 'Dagger of Geor'. Seeing how the man blocked the path all by himself, his confidence was evident.
"Stop," the Count commanded.
His son's eyes twitched, but he stepped back.
"I want someone dealt with in the Border Guard," the Count said.
They were people who made a living through assassination; it was enough to treat them accordingly. In truth, he wanted to test Encrid. Would he be able to withstand an assassin? Even if the opponent was the Dagger of Geor?
Half of him wanted to make the man his ally, while the other half wanted to sweep him away because he was an eyesore. This task was for the latter.
"The name?"
"Encrid."
"Impossible."
The refusal was flat-out rejection without a moment's hesitation. Did the person before him also know that name? Well, the fellow's reputation had indeed been soaring lately.
"You don't necessarily have to kill him."
"Impossible."
Once again, a rejection without a second thought. To refuse even when asked to just half-kill him, rather than outright assassinate him—weren't they the type who would do anything as long as they were showered with gold?
"Do you lack the confidence?"
Despite the provocative words, the opponent remained silent. He merely spat out the word "Impossible" once more.
"Then I ask only for an investigation of his surroundings. Does he have a family? Who is around him? What does he possess? How did he end up there, and what does he want to do? Do you understand what I mean?"
The man in black, the assassin from the Dagger of Geor, pondered for a moment before nodding.
"I will send someone on the second day of every month. We shall exchange information for payment."
"Do not play too hard to get, you lot who survive on drops of blood," the Count remarked.
He was a man who rarely expressed his emotions. To his son, it looked as though his father was being insulting on his behalf. To the man from the Dagger of Geor, however, it felt less like a threat and more like an urging to handle the job properly.
The assassin withdrew without a word. The Count climbed back into the carriage.
"Father."
"Endure when you must. It is never wise to show your emotions so recklessly."
Having lectured his son as if teaching him the art of kingship, the Count's carriage departed.
The man from the Dagger of Geor, who had watched them until the very end, pulled off his mask. Having his entire body covered for the first time in a while had felt rather stifling.
To think I'd find it this stifling.
It was because he had lived a relaxed life for too long. When you fight with your face exposed on the battlefield, you have no choice but to fight honestly. To Sachsen, the battles on the battlefield were exhilarating.
Though it involved sneaking up from behind to slit throats, why use one's own hands when there were countless easier ways to kill? Why move one's feet to approach when the enemy might notice? Therefore, in his eyes, it was a fair fight. In a way, it was close to being exhilarating.
No, maybe it isn't exhilarating.
He had seen his captain fight barbarians and religious fanatics. It was hard to call his own battlefield exhilarating by comparison. Not that he disliked it, though. For he had his own battlefield.
"How was it?"
As he walked toward the territory, a companion joined him. It was the Woman from the Brothel. Personally, she was someone akin to a lover; within the organization, she was the woman who led those with superior information-gathering skills.
"Like a snake."
He was referring to the Count as perceived through his intuition and Sixth Sense. The Count was a snake harboring slyness and cunning.
"Hmm, that's bad," the woman replied.
"Did you look into it?"
At Sachsen's question, the woman nodded. The two conversed as they walked.
"We believe there is a likely connection."
Just because one belonged to the Dagger of Geor did not mean they accepted every contract. Much less now, when Sachsen was in no position to take on contracts anyway. However, he did have his own purpose—the reason he had joined the army. It was a clue that aligned with that reason. Originally, he had planned to leave because the trail had gone cold, but this changed things.
He had come here for revenge. This was the clue he needed.
"It seemed like he was going to ask you to kill the company commander."
"I refused."
"Is that alright?"
Their opponent was a noble nicknamed the Grand Duke of the North. Though his actual title was only Count, that was merely because the royal family kept him in check; his actual power was fully worthy of the title of Grand Duke. Frankly speaking, if they decided to strike with all their might, even the Dagger of Geor would not find them an easy opponent to overcome. Such was the nature of a great noble who ruled over an entire territory.
"I don't care," Sachsen replied.
Hmm. The woman nodded. Indeed, he had always been like this. Though he claimed his company commander was slowly going mad, Sachsen himself was hardly someone who could be considered normal.
"I'm off."
In front of the territory, Sachsen moved first. The woman spoke from behind him. "Come visit more often."
There was no reply.
The Dagger of Geor had agreed to carry out the mission. By delivering information, there would also be much they could learn in return. Sachsen felt no burden regarding the task.
Should I tell the captain in advance? The thought crossed his mind, but there was no need. After all, the news he had to deliver was merely: No family, lives crazed for the sword, and dreams of becoming a knight.
Hmm, excellent. If he delivered this, the other party would probably ask if he was joking, but what could he do when such a guy actually existed? Even if he had risen from a mere mercenary to a soldier and then a company commander, to outsiders, Encrid's dream would still look like nothing more than a futile delusion.
But what about the gaze of those who watched him from up close? Even Marcus, for one, now seemed to believe those words.
At any rate, this territory was filled with nothing but crazy bastards. Sachsen thought to himself as he finished preparing to blend back in. It was time to become a sly wildcat instead of a member of the Dagger of Geor—a soldier guarding the battlefield and a subordinate assisting his company commander.
If left alone, that crazy barbarian would surely pull some other mad stunt, so keeping him in check was his responsibility as well. At least as long as he remained here, he intended to do his job.
*
"The Grand Duke of the North's position is basically this: 'Give me the title of Duke.' But the royal family refused. And what is the reason? The Count claims it's because the royal family is pushing him out. Why? Because they're afraid of losing the throne? The Count argues that if they're weak, they should lose it, vomit it up, and hand it over, because that's just how the world works.
But the royal family remains silent. They merely treat him according to the laws. They say all of this is for Naurilia, and that if he wants the title of Grand Duke, he should perform deeds worthy of it. But in reality, it's just pulling the wool over everyone's eyes. Anyone who knows a thing or two about politics knows the Count is interested in usurping the throne."
At the end of Krais's long-winded explanation, Encrid asked what he was curious about. "The nobles of the Border Guard don't seem to know anything, though?"
"They're just half-wits."
I see. Encrid nodded. Those who knew nothing yet acted as if an uninherited title was something truly grand—they were the nobles of the Border Guard, bastards too embarrassing to even be called nobles. Furthermore, recently, there was even a noble who had departed for either heaven or hell courtesy of Rem's axe. Though it was claimed he was killed by bandits, the work of the Black Sword, a few sharp-witted nobles suspected that Marcus might have had a hand in it.
It was none of Encrid's business. He was simply curious about Count Molsen.
Over time, he had trained repeatedly, accumulated countless experiences, forged his body through the Isolation Technique, developed an eye for gauging an opponent's skill, and even opened his eyes to the Sixth Sense thanks to Sachsen.
As for his son...
He felt no sudden urge to deal with him. But that Count? The moment he saw him, a spark of competitive spirit had flared up. His body was like tempered steel. And those eyes...
A mage.
Had he only seen a mage once or twice? Besides, he even had a panther that transformed into a human right next to him. Since Rem knew, it was only natural for Encrid to know as well. Esther didn't seem to think of it as much of a secret either.
Well, Encrid had noticed it even before Rem. When Esther heard that, she had asked, "Even when bathing?"
But weren't mages those who explored secret arts and walked upon mysteries? He figured they wouldn't care about physical contact between a man and a woman. So, Encrid had brushed it off as no big deal. Lately, however, Esther rarely fell asleep in his arms anymore. The reason she gave was, "I don't need it as much as before."
It wasn't something he needed to dwell on.
"What are you doing?" Rem asked from beside him.
Encrid had fallen into idle thoughts because he had nothing to do. They were currently in the middle of focusing on unit training. Encrid was also practicing the Isolation Technique on top of a platform. In the midst of this, those he had ordered to 'run' returned.
"Are you all back?"
"We're back," Rem said, grinning. This bastard was the type of guy who gained energy from tormenting others. He was a remarkably ill-natured breed.
"Did everyone finish running?"
Encrid looked at his troops and thought, Their stamina is terrible. Doesn't everything start with a strong, beating heart?
That was why for seven days, they did nothing but run while fully armed. One could call it a simple training regimen, but those undergoing it were practically sticking their tongues out in exhaustion. And why wouldn't they? From morning until lunch, and from after lunch until evening, they did nothing but run. They ran around the training ground, ran outside the territory, and even climbed the hills that lined the side of the territory. Not only did their breath catch in their throats, but the muscles of their entire bodies screamed in agony.
Among them, the 1st Company suffered the most.
"Our company's training is different from yours."
There were a few who had expressed a strange sense of superiority, but they quickly turned pale, their complexions matching those of the other soldiers in no time.
"We should be running in light armor too! This is unfair!"
Since he had ordered them to run while carrying their respective armaments, the Heavy Armor Company was, naturally, in heavy armor. Hearing this, Rem excitedly dashed forward. Standing before him was the very soldier who had shown that smug sense of superiority since the beginning of the training.
Encrid had warned him: do not beat just anyone. Without a justifiable reason, it wouldn't be training, but torture. The goal was to beat them into shape and make them tough, not to make them give up on everything. While Rem thought that conducting this kind of training in the first place was absurd, that was for the captain to worry about. Rem was simply thrilled that the moment had come for him to step up as an instructor.
"Oh, 'unfair' has reared its head, you bastard! Then transfer to the 2nd Company! Didn't you say your training was different? Where did all that 1st Company pride go?"
Rem stepped forward, glaring fiercely. If the soldier dared to talk back one more time, it would immediately lead to physical force. The soldier quickly lowered his gaze. There was no reasoning with this madman.
Hmm, good.
Watching this, Encrid thought to himself that the training was progressing quite well in its own way. He had even worried a bit that the intensity might be too weak.
It was indeed a delusion worthy of a crazy company commander. And with good reason—Encrid himself had been dragged through far harsher conditions than this. To him, this level was perfectly reasonable.