Chapter 553: The Blood-Crazed Youngest
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 553: The Blood-Crazed Youngest
Despite his noble status, Harrison was a man who tilled his own soil.
Even though the sun tanned his skin and the sweltering heat had stolen the hair from his head, he held fast to his way of life.
The reason was simple.
He loved the land, found joy in his labor, and possessed a clear purpose in life.
Thus, it didn't matter if others mocked his baldness, nor did he care if they whispered that he was a cheapskate.
Did he lack luxury? Far from it. He enjoyed a luxury that surpassed even that of a king.
Would a king be the first to taste the high-quality wheat, grains, and fruit harvested from his land? No, it was Harrison. To him, there was no greater indulgence. He was a noble, but above all, he was a farmer.
"Is the Safe Road truly all you require?" Encrid asked again.
Harrison found the man’s reaction baffling. He had never met anyone like this before.
Was there truly someone who would go so far out of their way to help? Encrid demanded no price, nor did he ask Harrison to swear fealty. It wasn't unusual for a noble to serve under another—after all, the Duke of Okto led an entire faction of nobles under his banner.
Yet, Encrid seemed to want nothing in return. He was simply offering his aid.
"Why are you being so good to me?" Harrison asked.
He had stood in Encrid’s way, picking a fight despite knowing the man's fearsome reputation. Even if Encrid had threatened to lop off an arm or a leg out of sheer annoyance, Harrison would have had no right to complain. Not that he would have surrendered his limbs without a fight, of course.
"Just because."
Encrid didn't bother explaining his reasons one by one. That was simply the kind of man he was. Of course, since this was Harrison’s first time dealing with him, he couldn't help but feel bewildered.
Just then, the gray-haired Noble Killer approached from the side. He was sipping from a glass, a look that suited him surprisingly well.
"He’s always been that kind of guy," Rem said. "He might have his reasons, but don’t bother trying to understand him. It’ll only give you a headache. More importantly, have you heard about the stray cat whose heart was burned to ashes after being dumped by one woman after another?"
Rem had been busy spreading Sachsen’s new nickname for some time now.
Harrison let Rem’s words go in one ear and out the other as he stared at Encrid. Even though Harrison hadn't spoken a word, Encrid seemed to read his eyes.
"Till your land. If that is your dream, then do it."
"See? Told you there’s no reason," Rem chimed in.
Harrison could only stare at the statuesque, handsome man. He felt as if he had been struck by lightning; he was unable to utter a single sound.
A dream? Did this man even understand the weight of what he was saying?
Harrison had tried to establish a vigilante group within his territory to create something similar to the Safe Road. But it was far easier said than done; the labor and costs involved were astronomical. Hiring mercenaries to solve the problem was no different from letting a band of bandits into his home.
It would be fine if everything worked out, but what if the mercenaries banded together to seize his land? What if they caused trouble? To put it bluntly, what if they murdered a resident and claimed it was an accident? Did he have the power to punish them?
In the end, he had to form a vigilante group with people he could trust, but talent with the sword was a rare commodity. They could build walls and defend them, but raising a force capable of patrolling all the farmlands was an incredibly difficult task.
Above all, while Harrison was confident in raising farmers, he was no teacher of warriors. At best, he was barely holding on thanks to a few wandering swordsmen who wanted to settle down and lent him their strength.
Even so, Harrison wanted to protect the entirety of his farmlands and revive the dead soil scattered throughout his territory. Based on his knowledge, it was possible. But he knew all too well that it was by no means easy.
‘But I must do it.’
He had to do it for his descendants, for the improvement of his land, and for a life better than the one they had now. Yet, every time he tried to act, those around him tried to stop him.
"You’re making a decent living off the land as it is, so why go to such lengths?"
"Why are you trying to expand the farmlands?"
"It’s only natural for people to die to monsters. There’s no need to go looking for death."
No, it was not natural.
He refused to accept people dying to monsters as a "natural consequence" of expansion. He wanted to till the land safely, protect those who wished to work, and give them a better life. Was that not the duty of a lord?
That was how he thought, but others only ridiculed him.
The dirt-grubbing cheapskate. That was the nickname given to him by his peers.
And now, Encrid—the master of the order with the unprecedented name, the Mad Knight Order—stood before him. The Hero of the Border Guard, the Demon Slayer, the Knight of the Iron Wall.
This was a man who had every right to cast him aside with far harsher words, yet he was telling Harrison to till his land and achieve his dream.
Harrison recalled the words of his wife, who was waiting for him at home.
"If the God of Abundance needs you, won't He send His word then?"
Why did those words come to mind now? Was it because this was that moment? He didn't know. But even if it wasn't by the hand of a god, Harrison decided to believe in this moment.
Though a god granted life, it was the living being’s own will that lived it. Drawing upon that will, he made his decision.
He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a new glass bottle, and said, "Give me back the one I gave you earlier. Let’s trade."
Without asking what it was, Encrid handed it back. The glass bottles were exchanged.
Dozens of pairs of eyes watched them. Marquis Barnas and the Duke of Okto, who had slipped into the crowd, were among them. They weren't the only ones; Krang had also taken a spot.
Common sense dictated that the King’s arrival at the banquet hall should be announced loudly, but Krang had stopped the attendants. It was obvious that something interesting was happening, so he had chosen to play the spectator.
Harrison was a famous man in many ways. He was the noble who stubbornly tilled the land and harvested fruit. His territory was unique; it was mandatory for all residents to research ways to increase crop yields. The lord himself led by example, and there were even specialists dedicated to the craft in his fief.
Whether by that dedication or a whim of the heavens, a true divine blessing had descended upon his land about ten years ago. It wasn't just a bumper crop; something truly miraculous had occurred.
A small spring had bubbled up from the ground, only to vanish after leaving behind exactly one mouthful of water. Harrison, heading out for fieldwork with his pitchfork at dawn, had discovered it. He carefully scooped it into his hands, and miraculously, not a single drop fell.
Carrying the water with utmost care, he poured it into a glass bottle—one so expensive he would normally never use it—and sealed it. This was the famous Sacred Spring Water.
Though its exact effects were unknown, rumors had spread far and wide that its divinity was genuine. A high priest had once visited and asked him to hand it over in accordance with the god’s will, but Harrison had refused. He had also flatly denied possessing it when large merchant guilds made inquiries.
"I told you, I don’t have anything like that! Does that even make sense? Water that doesn't spill even when scooped by hand? Ridiculous!"
When rumors began to circulate that Harrison always carried a glass bottle in his breast pocket, he bought a few expensive potions to carry around as decoys. Even those potions were worth more than their weight in gold.
"It is the Sacred Spring Water."
He had pulled it out now—the very item he had spent years denying he owned. Encrid tucked the glass bottle, sealed with a cork and wrapped tightly, into his breast pocket.
Once again, Encrid didn't even look at it, nor did he ask if it was real. His attitude was simple: he was receiving it because it was being given. In truth, it wouldn't have mattered to him whether it was a potion or a gold ring. Encrid truly just accepted it because it was offered.
If expensive wine was worth its weight in gold, and a healing potion required three times that, this was an item that could not be bought for ten times its weight. It was by no means something to be handed over so casually.
"Heavens!" one of the watching nobles gasped.
He’s just giving that away?
Encrid, catching on to the surrounding reaction, asked, "It seems to be a precious item. Why are you giving it to me?"
At the half-joking question, Harrison wore a rugged smile—one he hadn't shown once since entering the great hall—and replied, "Just because."
"I will make good use of it."
"Do so."
That was the end of it. Harrison didn't demand that Encrid keep his promise, nor did he press him. Except for Krang and a few others, no one knew that Encrid had harbored no ill will from the start. To those who didn't know, this was beyond fascinating—it was downright bizarre.
"Why is he giving that away?"
"What is wrong with those two?"
"Is it because he’s handsome?"
Though some spouted nonsense, it was simply a matter between the two of them. Harrison had handed over his possession, and Encrid had agreed to do what the other wanted. That was all.
"Phew, I held my breath watching that!"
When Krang spoke from among the onlookers, those who recognized the King quickly stepped back.
"Ah, Your Majesty!"
"Oh, when did you arrive?!"
"Carry on as you were, everyone. Don't mind me."
Krang stepped forward and spoke to Encrid. "I told you not to hate him, but did you bully him instead?"
Though they were close friends, in public settings, Krang was still the King. However, since this was a banquet hall, it could be considered an informal setting.
"Who bullied whom?" Encrid shot back.
It was a joke, teasingly asking if Encrid had bullied Harrison into giving up such a precious item.
Krang was only the beginning.
"I heard you are still unattached. Why is that?" the Duke of Okto suddenly chimed in.
"Do I need a reason?"
"Of course not. Did you know Kin has settled down in the Border Guard?"
At that, Marquis Vaisar also joined the conversation. It was as if everyone had been dying to talk to him all this time.
"He probably doesn't know, Father," Kin Vaisar said. She happened to be nearby, having returned to the capital on business. Addressing the Marquis, she then turned to Encrid with a nod of greeting. "You remember my name by now, don't you?"
While some had lost their minds just looking at Encrid’s face and aura, Kin was not one of them. She maintained a proper distance. Though his looks were outstanding, Kin was not foolish enough to lose her heart to a man who showed no interest in her.
"It’s not a name easily forgotten," Encrid smoothly accepted her greeting.
What followed was a true banquet—a feast of drinking, eating, and making merry. Even so, no one got dead drunk or made a scene. No one was bold enough to act the fool in front of the King. Moreover, everyone was currently too busy trying to greet Encrid and make a good impression.
While there were young nobles who envied him, those who admired or respected Encrid outnumbered them several times over. And that envy was purely because of his looks.
"How are we supposed to compete when he even has a face like that?" Such complaints popped up here and there. Even those who envied him acknowledged Encrid’s abilities.
Meanwhile, they also saw the man known as the Noble Killer wandering around, chatting with various people. Contrary to the rumors of him being a mad scoundrel, he was quite refined—especially when it came to women.
"Your name is Rem, correct?" a noblewoman, widowed early and left alone, asked as she reached out and stroked Rem’s arm. It was a clear signal of interest.
"I have a wife," Rem rejected her with a single sentence. Though this happened several times, Rem showed no sign of annoyance and remained busy conversing with the guests.
There was no coercive violence or threatening aura about him. He simply chatted. They talked while sipping wine and eating pastries and desserts. It was a scene common to any banquet hall.
In particular, he did not care about status or gender. He was the first to strike up conversations even with the guards who had followed their masters—many of whom had hit a wall in their training. Rem offered advice to all of them equally.
"Hey, you need to start by training consistently. Your belly is sagging, yet you blame your talent? Want me to split your head open with an axe?"
Though his words were brutal, both the speaker and the listener took them as a joke. And if so, wasn't that enough?
Yet, the parting words he left with everyone were always the same.
"By the way, do you know the rumor spreading in the Border Guard? Have you heard the story of the stray cat who wanders around every night because he got dumped by so many women? Is it a false rumor? What? You think I don't seem like that kind of person? Well, of course I'm not. But that cat is real. His name is Sachsen. Don't forget it."
He grabbed and talked to anyone—attendants, maids, escort warriors, and nobles alike.
In contrast, Audin, who claimed his nickname of "Bear Beastman" was a misunderstanding, simply watched his surroundings. There were people who spoke to him, and he responded, but he wasn't as active as Rem.
Even so, Audin still said everything he wanted to say.
"The devious stray cat, you mean? Yes, indeed. He is real. Oh, and the blood-crazed killer? Yes, he does enjoy the sight of blood, but he is currently bedridden. I suppose we must attribute it to him neglecting his daily training. The Youngest... ah, that is just a title we use within the order, so please pay it no mind. I seem to have made a slip of the tongue. Lord, Father... please punish my unworthy mouth."
"Is that blood-crazed killer the Youngest?"
"That was just a slip of the tongue. Please forget it."
While Rem struck up conversations recklessly, Audin employed a far more sophisticated method. Naturally, if you tell people to spread a rumor, they might keep quiet—but if you ask them to forget it, they are bound to spread it even wider.
And so, in that moment, the legend of the Blood-Crazed Youngest was born.
Of course, no one would know the truth of it just yet.