Chapter 189
Chapter 189
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 189
Chapter Title: The Brash Pup
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Nefthelian.
The top second-year Knight Division student whom everyone around her praised as "reliable" and "dependable."
But with her inherently simple nature, she never built a faction from her accomplishments, never schemed to impress the nearby nobles—instead, she just clocked in daily for manual labor on-site.
The future she'd dreamed of, becoming captain of the defense force back in her hometown village of Gluco, took a massive detour the moment she met one man.
The shield guarding Jefrin's imperial scion. Royal Guard.
Sure, whispers swirled that Wolfram was some royal family reject. A fallen noble at best. But royalty nonetheless. That meteoric status jump turned Nefthelian into a commoner's idol—and a noble's worst nightmare.
Still, no one dared outright social sabotage. Messing with her meant unleashing repercussions too massive to fathom.
This was Wolfram, after all. Master of division and dirty tricks. Fail to bribe his favor with tribute, and he'd boot you out like yesterday's trash—a devil in human skin.
They'd have hounded her with political sleight-of-hand otherwise. But one slip-up, one tantrum-fueled barrage from Wolfram, and entire districts evaporated.
Case in point: that infamous tale among nobles. The girl dubbed Trash Garbage poked at Nefthelian, quailed at Wolfram's retaliation, and dropped out on the spot.
So the bullying went insidious instead.
"Has Miss Nefthelian ever tried cuisine this refined?"
"No. Which is why I'm grateful you invited me to dinner today."
"As future Royal Guard material, I figured you'd sampled this ages ago."
"Yes. Thanks to you, Miss Selena, I've tasted it now. One less embarrassment for my lord. My thanks."
"......Ugh. Fine. Try the next course."
"Thank you!"
But Nefti's innate chill vibe—seeing the good in everything—shattered every scheme. Even winning her some advocates in the process.
Still, the shade never stopped. They zeroed in on her Achilles' heel.
Horses.
Not her vocab or etiquette—though noble salon chatter was a stretch for her. No, literal horses.
A Royal Guard without a mount? Qualification red flag.
Sure, Nefti's physique could outpace any nag—village legend had her beating Gluco's lone horse in a spwon't. But protocol was protocol. Cue the half-assed nobles: too mediocre for Magic Division, squatting in Knights. Their venom targeted her!
Or so they thought.
"Ranian. Been good?"
Woof!
Until she paraded in a puppy big enough to roofie the stable ceiling.
Gazing at Ranian—who refused the stable—Nefti figured animals thrived best free-range. She'd tether him out front.
"Ranian. This is home now. Got it?"
Woof!
Ranian barked agreement, loud and clear. Nefti nodded, pleased. Turned—and sensed a crowd of classmates gawking.
What? Group stable errand?
Nefti cocked her head. One stepped up as spokesperson.
"...Miss Nefthelian."
"Yes, Miss Selena?"
"This...... what is it?"
Nefti answered warmly. Selena had shared feasts, dropped real wisdom now and then.
"My ride from today onward!"
"This?"
Selena's hand shook. Shoulder height? Easy three meters. Puppy? Sure looked it—but those eyes gleamed with otherworldly fire. No mere beast.
Their warhorses? Top-shelf.
Noble Knight Division kids needed one. Flaunt factor. Even broke houses scraped for a budget nag.
Stepping in here screamed elite.
Nefti never could, so stable rumors drew the sneermob. Prime schadenfreude.
Then they clocked the colossal divine beast.
League apart.
Species gulf.
That primal hit—the first glimpse of them. Connections snagged an invite to Regina Cielra's salon. Those two at high table. Aura from one punched soul-deep.
Who? Dare not stare down royalty.
But the scion's presence? Involuntary bow.
Trembling body, ecstatic spirit.
Royalty incarnate. Humanity's dawn assured. Brainwash-level awe.
【Bloodline】 destiny no species defied.
Selena felt it bone-deep.
Royal in rags outshines silk-clad peasant. Nefthelian's beast? Untouchable tier. Warhorses didn't qualify.
Foolish greed surged.
Snag that? My cavalry house skyrockets. Selena, no stranger, probed as proxy.
"Wh-what a splendid di-divine beast breed. Mind sharing the source?"
"Prime gift from my lord. Loengrin Forest."
Air froze.
Selena clocked it amid the hush.
Not air. Every student held their breath.
"Ranian. Play nice? No horse bullying."
Woof!
Stable snorts faded at last.
Battle-hardened mounts quaked outright.
What's his deal?
Nefti whistled, prowling convenience store aisles before me.
Weird for her? Par for course. But today? Peak odd.
"Hm. Uh-hm. Hmm. Hup!"
Hup what.
"Whatcha doing, Nefti."
"...Ah. Senior. Ignore it. I'm good."
Whistle redux. Shelf scan resumed.
Recent weirdo precedent. Spilled guts, instant relief.
"Trouble?"
"......Nope? None?"
Lie detector busted. Slurring too.
Stone-cold honest.
"Spill."
"Gotta?"
Gotta?
Trick question. Stumped.
"Solo fix? Smart not to lean. Valid."
"Ah..."
"Can't? Borrow strength wisely. Also valid. Your call."
"......Leaning this time."
Nefti unloaded slow.
"Ranian?"
"Yeah."
Her beef: mega-Pomeranian causing waves.
Unique waves, though...
"Edgy? Grumpy?"
"Yep."
"Walks skimpy?"
"Nah? Daily pasture romps with the horses."
"Hm."
"Horses too spooked to join. He's that hyper."
Nuisance alert.
"Problem unknown?"
"Yep. Says he's fine solo-moping, but stable shift says horses demoralized."
"Demoralized. Divine beast vibe crushes normies."
"...Yeah."
Stuck on fixes.
"Why hide?"
"I begged hard for him. My mess to wrangle. Bugging senior again..."
Silly frets.
"Gotcha. Let's roll."
"...Eh? Cause known?"
"Nah. But... expert maybe?"
"...Huh?"
Glanced doorward.
Lazy-yawn red wolf.
Beasts talk beast?
Stable trek.
Patrasche griped, deadpan done.
"No friggin' way."
"Pipe down."
"Real talk? Real?"
"Gripe?"
"Battlefield legend from three centuries back—as puppy interpreter? Master, dissing me?"
"Sweet gig for you tho."
"How? Pride..."
"Crack this? Jefrin rep boost. Round two."
"Scam again..."
"Jerky payout later."
Quiet stroll activated.
Simpleton.
"Jealous. You two sync so easy. Me and Ranian?"
"Train him speech. Doable."
"Speech lessons... Yeah! Game on!"
Patrasche's Hark pact: Loengrin-only chit-chat. Deets fuzzy.
Ranian time.
Stable front, pronto. Ranian paw-stomped, mood sour obvious.
"Him? World-naive brat whining."
"Yup."
"Roger. Interrogation mine."
Woof! Grrr!
Patrasche nears—Ranian rears, puffs territorial.
Turf invader anxiety? Fangs out, death-glare. Patrasche side-eyes me.
"Tch. Underestimated."
"No BBQ. No kill. No ouch."
"Threatened? Swallow it? Honor?"
"Adult raging at kid? Lame."
Puffball fluff sacred.
"Hmph. ...Kids get kid gloves anyway."
Patrasche's menace detonated.
"Se-senior..."
"Chill. Just posture check. Snack up."
"...Y-yeah! Phew... haa."
Three-century demon-slayer wolf? Imperial Bloodline recoil-level kill aura.
Nefti Fear-flicker. My Magical Sweets fixed it. Carry-win.
"Patrasche... senior's wolf. Insane."
"First emperor's war buddy. Archives got docs."
"R-right... Senior unfazed? Aura alone crushed me..."
"No fear fuel."
Imperial Bloodline OP.
"Peak senior. Someday me too...!"
?
Wrong vibe.
Meh.
Quick consult done. Patrasche trudged back.
Distant Ranian shivered our way.
"Verdict?"
"Yup. Peak toddler tantrum."
"Deets?"
"Feed sucks."
"......Feed."
"Feed? Feed?"
Nefti ping-ponged us.
"Yup. Hates stable slop."
"......Got it. Horse chow ain't dog kibble."
"Ah... yeah. Mystery solved."
Woof!
Ranian eavesdrop-barked afar.
Patrasche stared. Sigh.
"Kid's got stones."
"...Now?"
"Dry kibble nope. Wet stuff. Meaty preferred."
"Moisture-packed meaty? Wet food demand?"
"Wet food? Whassat senior?"
"Juicy, protein-loaded. Picky premium."
"......Pricey?"
"Eh."
Era-adjusted... ballpark?
"Year supply? Your salary minus... this chunk."
"Senior... that's... household budget... ughhh. Overtime grind somehow..."
"My treat. Dog chow dime."
"Sennniiior..."
Nefti teared up, gazing worshipful.
Pricey, yeah. But Ranian priceless.
"Senior. Oath—repay no matter what. Top earner, 300k Rin daily target. Office someday. Swear..."
Fist clenched.
No.
"Royal Guard plans?"
"Ah."
Not an "ah."