Chapter 76: Let Me Ask You Just One Thing (6)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 76: Let Me Ask You Just One Thing (6)
Margrave Gray Brissen struggled to sit up in bed. With a pained grunt, he unfolded the letter that had been delivered by carrier pigeon.
Seeing Gray manage to sit on his own, the butler’s face filled with emotion—a deep satisfaction born from having accomplished something truly great. Indeed, the butler deserved much of the credit. It was thanks to him that Gray could move at all after Calian’s brutal beating had shattered his back. And for his quick thinking, the butler had received a massive sum of money from the Margrave.
This had all been set in motion about a week ago.
After loading the half-dead Gray into a carriage, the butler’s first priority was finding a healer. He soon caught wind of a rumor that a priest from Tensil was staying at Redington Castle. Wasting no time, the butler traveled for two full days to reach the castle. There, he met Priest Malcolm Chettish, who was serving as the acting administrator of the Redington territory.
“This gentleman is Margrave Gray Brissen, the eldest son of the Marquis Brissen family,” the butler had pleaded. “We can pay any price, so please, you must heal him.”
At the time, Malcolm was in the middle of transferring his duties to the new administrator set to replace Count Hale Latran, whom Calian had exposed and arrested. This was the only reason Malcolm had delayed his return to Tensil.
As Gray drifted in and out of consciousness, the name ‘Calian’ repeatedly slipped from his lips. Hearing it, Malcolm immediately grasped the situation.
So Prince Calian is the one who reduced this man to such a state! he realized.
Gray, who had regained a sliver of awareness upon hearing a healer was present, looked at Malcolm’s strange expression and rasped, “Fix my dantian first. No matter what… No matter what!”
Hearing Gray’s demand, Malcolm hesitated. Should he grant the request of a Brissen, a family adored by Hale—a man Malcolm despised so much he ground his teeth at the mere thought of him? Or should he side with Calian, the prince who had not only liberated him from Hale but had also written a long letter to ensure his safe return to Tensil?
The dilemma didn't last long.
Malcolm began the healing process, but with a hidden purpose. He allowed the damaged tissues of the dantian to close and scar over, but he deliberately left them disconnected. This ensured that no other healer, no matter how skilled, could ever repair the damage. Instead, he mended Gray’s back just enough for him to stand and walk, but he did not heal it properly. Gray would never be able to wield a sword again.
Thus, Gray returned to his territory half-healed, his future as a swordsman permanently destroyed. Meanwhile, Malcolm, having repaid his debt of gratitude to the prince without Calian’s knowledge, quickly finished the handover and departed for Tensil.
Now, back in his bed, Gray trembled as he stared at the letter.
It was from Calian.
Is he threatening me so I won’t forget?!
His body reacted before his mind could. The wounds that had supposedly healed began to throb with phantom pain. What he held was merely a few short sentences, yet Gray couldn't bring himself to read it. Only after a long, agonizing moment did he force his eyes to focus on the words.
Soon, his expression began to shift. The letter Calian had sent was no mere threat.
Lennon is neither dead nor missing. He is safely imprisoned in the basement of the Marquis’s mansion. If the Marquis dies and Lennon is recovered, who do you think Silike would want to bestow the title upon—you or Lennon?
Gray knew full well that Silike had only summoned him because Lennon, the man she used like a puppet, had vanished.
Soon, Silike’s people will come to you. Behave yourself.
Even if his body recovered enough to dream of revenge, that was a distant fantasy. For now, it was far more important to avoid being killed by Silike, Lennon, or his own father, Marquis Evan Brissen.
Gray gritted his teeth and called for the butler. He had to verify if Calian’s words were true.
*
When you get down to it, fights between grown men are quite simple. If one side pokes, and the other can’t take it, a fight breaks out.
In other words, this was a fight born because Alan had poked, and Evan had failed to take it.
“What did you just babble, mage?”
…Just like that.
Of course, Alan hadn’t started poking Evan from the very beginning. He wasn’t that ill-mannered, after all.
To explain how things had led to this point: upon waking that morning, Alan had first enjoyed a cup of coffee. Then, after a cursory check to confirm Arsen—who showed no signs of waking anytime soon—was still breathing, he left the house with Rachel, seen off by Veronica.
At the royal palace, work was underway to remodel Wilhelm Hall, the former headquarters of the Royal Knight Order Pavel, to suit the mages. Rachel went straight there, while Alan stopped by Arpia Palace for breakfast with Lemain.
“Prince Calian mentioned it might be a good idea to apply more pressure on Marquis Brissen,” Alan had noted.
“Indeed,” Lemain replied. “In fact, I plan to search the Marquis’s mansion today. By the way, is Sir Hertz doing well?”
“He’s living well, despite looking half-dead, so you needn’t worry.”
That was the gist of their conversation. Afterward, Alan headed to Chermil Palace to meet Calian. Right at the entrance, he ran straight into Evan, who was on his way to see Franz.
Though it was their second meeting, their first had been in secret, so Alan offered a formal greeting once more.
“I am Alan Manasil.”
Evan glared at him for a moment before spitting out his own name as if chewing on something foul. “Evan Brissen.”
Alan simply smiled and nodded. As he politely stepped aside to let the Marquis pass, Evan spoke.
“One of your subordinates has gone missing, yet you look remarkably peaceful.”
Evan was irritated. He was the one dealing with the headache of a missing mage, while the mage’s own master seemed entirely unconcerned.
However, Alan was in no mood for it. No matter who gave the order, it was Evan’s knights who had attacked Arsen. Even though Arsen had returned unharmed and was currently devouring Alan’s duck eggs, the fact remained that Brissen had struck first.
“You also look quite peaceful, Marquis,” Alan retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “for someone whose subordinates died by the dozens.”
Evan fell silent.
Alan glanced at the Marquis’s clenching fist before continuing, his words sharp. “If my subordinate had returned dead, I would be planning a funeral, not paying social calls at the palace. Isn’t that the duty of a superior, regardless of the cause of death?”
Suddenly cast as an incompetent leader, Evan clicked his tongue. “Who do you think you’re lecturing? Do you act this insolently even before His Majesty?”
Of course. I’m even more insolent with Lemain, Alan thought with an internal smirk.
“That is no business of yours, Marquis,” Alan said coolly. “Do not cross the line.”
In Kairis, Alan was technically a commoner. However, his abilities earned him more respect than most high-ranking nobles. The fact that he refused to back down an inch chipped away at Evan’s composure, and the Marquis’s twisted resentment spilled out.
“Favoring such a fellow… His Majesty’s eye for people is truly not to be trusted.” Then, Evan glared openly toward Chermil Palace. “They say ‘like master, like disciple.’ I can well imagine the character of the 3rd Prince.”
Alan let out a short, sharp chuckle. Evan had just insulted not only Lemain but Calian as well. The restraint Alan had been maintaining snapped.
“He is surely more trustworthy than a family of knights that lost ten elites trying to capture a single mage.”
Alan’s words struck Evan’s most humiliating sore spot. He twisted the knife.
“And from what I hear, the corpses were scattered as if they died while fleeing in all directions.” Alan’s gaze slowly swept down from Evan’s head to his toes and back up again. “Since you mentioned ‘like master, like disciple’… I think I now have a good idea of the Marquis’s own swordsmanship.”
For a fleeting moment, killing intent flared in Evan’s eyes before he suppressed it. He spoke in a voice barely holding back his rage. “You had better watch that mouth of yours very carefully, mage.”
“You should watch your own sword, Marquis. Even the thugs of Naeransha Street have too much shame to kidnap people for money.”
To be compared to a common thug.
“Shut up!”
Calian had once prayed, “May the glory of Serenti be upon Alan Manasil’s mouth.” If Alan’s tongue could be silenced by a simple command, would the prince have ever said such a thing?
A clear sneer played on Alan’s lips. “So, how much did they pay you this time?” he asked, then added in a quiet, distinct voice, “Of course, it couldn’t have been more than what you received on that day.”
Alan’s eyes finished the thought for him: More than what you received the day you sold out your own child?
Having read the unspoken accusation, the corners of Evan’s eyes trembled violently. A metallic, grating sound escaped his lips.
“What did you just babble, mage?”
Along with his words, a suffocating killing intent erupted from Evan’s entire body. It was a pressure far denser than what he had shown in his study, as if he was finally unleashing his full power.
Alan clicked his tongue. Though he hadn’t intended it, he was now locked in another battle of wills. It seemed Evan had learned nothing from their first clash. The Marquis seemed to believe that a 7th Circle mage was merely one step above a 6th Circle, forgetting that there were only three such mages on the entire continent.
“I told you I wasn’t to be trifled with,” Alan murmured, “but you seem to have forgotten.” His voice was soft, but it cut through the tension. “Since you are so unaware of your place… I truly wonder how you will handle the consequences.”
With those words, a primal fear gripped Evan.
Sssss…
It was a sensation of kneeling before an indescribably vast and ancient being. As Evan’s killing intent grew denser, Alan’s aura of fear intensified to match it, then overwhelmed it. Evan felt as if he were sinking alone into a deep, bottomless abyss.
Alan’s voice echoed in his ears—calm, steady, and utterly unaffected. Yet, even the resonance of the sound carried a terrifying weight.
“Think about it.”
As if trying to fight back, Evan’s killing intent surged. In response, Alan’s aura multiplied, pressing down with crushing force.
Alan tilted his head slightly, looking straight into Evan’s eyes. Slowly, he parted his lips.
“Who. I. Am.”
With that, Alan’s presence bore down on Evan completely. A long moment passed. Finally, unable to endure it any longer, Evan gritted his teeth and dispersed his killing intent. Sensing the surrender, Alan withdrew his aura.
Evan spoke in a low, strained voice. “One who is strong alone never lasts long, mage.”
In that instant, Calian’s face flashed through Alan’s mind, and he replied with ease. “I am not strong alone, so that doesn’t concern me. But you, Marquis… have you ever wondered who Margrave Gray Brissen was relying on when he tried to come here?”
Evan did not answer.
This time, Alan’s gaze shifted pointedly toward Heisia Palace, where Silike resided.
“There are far too many in the Brissen family who wish to be strong alone. I shall enjoy watching to see how long you last.”
Evan’s face contorted in fury. Seeing that the Marquis now had much to think about, Alan left him to his thoughts and departed.
*
At Calian’s request for tea, Yan moved immediately. He went to the pantry and prepared warm cocoa and a plate of corn cookies, then headed to Calian’s room.
Just as he’d expected, Calian was out on the terrace. Seeing how cold the weather had become, Yan placed the tray on the table before fetching a cardigan.
“You’ll catch a cold, Your Highness,” Yan said, handing it to him.
Instead of protesting, Calian thanked him and put it on.
Standing beside the prince, Yan asked, “What are you looking at so intently?”
Taking a bite of a cookie, Calian pointed toward the distant entrance of Chermil Palace. After chewing and swallowing, he said, “Over there.”
From this distance, with the artificial lake and rose garden in the way, Yan could barely make out the two figures. Seeing his attendant straining his eyes, Calian made a cryptic remark.
“It was quite a show.”
Yan tilted his head, still confused. “I have absolutely no idea what’s going on.”
“One pleasant thing, and one amusing thing,” Calian mused. He was pleased that Alan had won, and amused that he could no longer feel Evan’s aura at all.
“I thought he was a dying old lion,” Calian said with a grin, “but his fangs are still quite sharp.”
With that, he let out a long, satisfied laugh.