Chapter 185
Chapter 185
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 185
Chapter Title: Visitor in the Coffin
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“One! Twooo!”
Heave-ho!
With the foreman’s call, the port laborers set down the massive wooden crate. One of the sweat-soaked workers approached the supervisor.
“Say, sir, what’s in this thing? It’s insanely heavy.”
“It’s not some treasure, so don’t worry about it.”
“Ugh! What’re you saying? Don’t jinx us like that.”
The worker waved his hands frantically, his face a mix of panic and regret.
He’d half-hoped that if it was gold or something valuable inside, he could sneak a share with the port thugs and make a quick fortune.
“This is headed to the Feilin Merchant Group. It’s cargo for their deputy manager, so go ahead and touch it if you want. Just know it won’t end with losing a hand.”
“N-no, I didn’t mean...”
The chastened laborer abandoned any lingering thoughts about the crate.
This wasn’t just anywhere—it was right in the heart of Maren Port. Messing with Feilin Merchant Group goods? Suicide.
Especially cargo addressed to Prechella Feilin, the “Port Witch” who’d steered the company to new heights.
“There they are. Hey! Over here!”
The supervisor shouted and waved vigorously. A neatly dressed young man who’d been scanning the area approached with a cluster of merchant group staff.
“Thanks for your hard work. Is this the cargo for the deputy manager?”
“That’s right. I kept a close eye on it myself, so no worries about damage.”
A mere port supervisor controlling one section’s laborers wasn’t anyone special.
But to the merchant group, it was about the role, not the rank. The young man smiled and slipped him a silver coin.
“We appreciate you looking out for it. I’ll make sure to let the deputy manager know.”
“Hahaha! The Feilin Merchant Group’s always a pleasure to deal with. What’s your name? I’ll remember it.”
The young man, instructing the staff to load the crate, glanced back.
“Pellid. Pellid Tiwin.”
“...!!!”
The supervisor’s eyes widened in shock as he bowed hastily.
“Y-you’re Pellid of House Tiwin! Forgive me. I saw you once from afar before, but my eyes must be failing me...”
“It’s fine. My brother’s the lord, not me. So, I just sign here?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
The supervisor handed over the yellowed parchment on a wooden clipboard, and the young man signed with elegant script.
“Alright then.”
“Y-yes! Safe travels.”
While the young man gave a light nod, the supervisor bowed repeatedly, seeing off the Feilin staff with obsequious waves.
“Hey, supervisor, who’s that guy to make you bow like that? House Tiwin? Some big shot family?”
The lord’s own brother working for a merchant group meant the family wasn’t much, so the laborer tilted his head.
The supervisor whipped around, glaring pitifully.
“You ignorant bastard. You eat at Maren Port and don’t know Lord Tiwin’s brother?”
“...?”
Not the lord himself, but his brother? The laborer couldn’t follow.
Besides, the supervisor hadn’t recognized him until he said his name.
“Listen up. Pellid Tiwin is Sir Eugene’s squire. No, His Grace Duke Baltla now. Mess with him, and you’re screwed.”
“Huh?!”
The puzzled laborer froze.
New to Maren just months ago, the first celebrity he’d learned of was Duke Baltla.
A knight who’d suddenly appeared, pacified the city outskirts with astonishing prowess.
He’d earned the trust of the mayor, guildmasters, and even great nobles before heading on an expedition to the island nation of Brantia. And there, he’d become a duke—an unprecedented feat.
“The Feilin Merchant Group’s rise this year, the local lords uniting around Maren—all thanks to Duke Baltla’s successful Brantia campaign. You know how many mana stones and monster byproducts flood this port from there?”
“No way I don’t. I haul ’em.”
The massive influx from across the sea didn’t just mean more grunt work like his.
It sparked explosive growth in related industries, doubling the city’s tax revenue from last year, or so he’d overheard at the pub.
And if it was all one man’s doing?
“Even the mayor treads carefully around Sir Eugene—no, Duke Baltla. The Feilin Merchant Group is the only one he deals with directly, and young master Pellid is his first squire.”
“I see. W-wait, doesn’t that mean there are others? Why’s Pellid working at the merchant group? He could’ve followed his master the duke and risen high. Unless... he got discarded or something?”
“Ha! You little shit.”
The supervisor eyed the laborer with utter disdain.
“Know who the second squire is and what happened to him? Brantia’s new king. Sir Eugene made his second squire a king. So what do you think he’d do for the first?”
“H-heek?!”
“Quit your yapping and get back to work!”
“Ow! Y-yes, sir!”
The laborer’s jaw nearly hit the floor as the supervisor smacked his back.
* * *
“Cargo from the master’s territory has arrived, deputy manager.”
“Oh! R-really...? Is it in my office...?”
“Yes. And please speak casually like before. I’m the master’s squire, but also a Feilin Merchant Group employee.”
“R-right. I-I’ll try...”
Ever since hearing the astonishing news that Luke—the former slave turned squire—had ascended Brantia’s throne, Prechella couldn’t treat Pellid casually anymore.
‘If he went to Mungard right now, snagging a position would be a breeze. And as Sir Eugene’s proxy there...’
Brantia, chaotic for decades, was normalizing. They lacked food, but the bountiful continent supplied it.
In exchange, Brantia sent unpurified mana stones and monster byproducts. Half of those from over ten demon realms funneled through Maren.
If Eugene’s first squire, Pellid, went to Mungard and redirected most of that volume?
“Heh, heh! Come to think of it, you’ve been with our company a good long while, haven’t you?”
“W-well, not that long...”
Pellid, flustered, rubbed his nose.
‘C-cute.’
Prechella’s nostrils flared unwittingly, her face turning into that of a leering middle-aged man.
Not a striking beauty like Eugene or Lanslo, but time had flown for the boy. Pellid was no longer the innocent village lad.
He’d grown half a head taller, his mustache neatly trimmed—a clean-cut young man whose appeal grew on you.
His gentle eyes and calm demeanor made him popular with women regardless of status.
Even nobles wanted him as a son-in-law, setting aside that he was Eugene’s squire.
“Hey, that’s plenty long! Oh, speaking of which—mind taking over if we open a branch?”
“Me?”
“Of course! Who else but Pellid Tiwin, brother to Lord Tiwin and squire to Sir Eugene? Anyway, the spot I have in mind is...”
Clunk!
A sudden noise made Prechella and Pellid whip their heads around. It came from the massive crate plunked in the office center.
“W-what’s that?”
“No idea. Excuse me a moment.”
Pellid stepped in front of the slightly spooked Prechella, who blushed faintly.
‘Oh my, oh my! What’s this? A reliable younger man might not be bad?’
Oblivious to the older deputy manager’s sly gaze from behind, Pellid focused on the crate.
Clunk!
“Eek!”
When it shuddered violently with an even louder bang, Prechella clung to Pellid’s back.
Shing.
Pellid drew his ever-present dagger and said quickly.
“Deputy manager, go fetch some people. Even if it’s from the master’s territory...”
“If you call others, it’ll spell trouble for that great one you call master.”
“Eep?!”
Prechella, about to hurry off, stopped in horror.
Someone was inside?
“Who’s there! Show yourself!”
Pellid held his dagger sideways, stance solid. Thanks to sporadic lessons from chatty knight Madrika of the Maren Mercenary Guild, it was flawless.
“A fine foundational stance, befitting the squire of that great one.”
With the voice came the snap of ropes breaking, wooden panels collapsing forward, back, left, right.
And what emerged was...
“A c-coffin...?”
A gloomy black stone sarcophagus appeared, widening Pellid and Prechella’s eyes.
The lid slid open, spilling fine soil, and a man rose from within.
Two sane people emerging from a coffin left their hair standing on end. At least the occupant showed no hostility—small mercies.
The man in pitch-black attire dusted off his jacket and wide-brimmed hat.
“That great one—no, to you, His Grace Duke Yan Eugene Baltla. I am Delmong, proxy for his territory.”
“...!”
Their gaping mouths recalled a recent whisper in Maren.
—Duke Baltla might be a vampire.
It seemed all too true.
* * *
“...S-so Duke Baltla really is a vampire?”
“Not to me, but don’t call that exalted one by the lowly term ‘vampire.’ You shouldn’t.”
“Er... right.”
Delmong downed a glass of wine and addressed the awkward Prechella.
“Humans, elves, orcs, dwarves—we’re like other races, with our own lords. He is one, perhaps even above them. Proof? He fears not the sun nor church relics.”
“Ahh.”
True—Eugene roamed freely by day, unafraid of priests or holy knights. Who’d suspect him a vampire?
“And unlike me, he needn’t feed often. Prefers blood from mid-to-large mana stone-bearing monsters over humans. That’s the source of our dark kin’s power.”
“Never knew that.”
“You wouldn’t. This kingdom’s church and priests treat us as foes outright, so they hide such truths.”
“Why?”
Delmong sneered on his pale face.
“That’s not the issue now.”
“Pardon...?”
“Maren City’s ties with the Keiler royals and central church aren’t great, are they?”
“Y-you mean...?”
Prechella’s shock drew a nod from Delmong.
“Indeed. Holy knights came to the territory, branding us heretics. Marquis Archibald’s house is already entangled.”
“Those lunatics!”
Meek only around Eugene, Prechella’s temper was fiery by nature.
Even as a caravan leader’s daughter, holding deputy manager as a young woman proved her mettle.
“I don’t know what the king and church are thinking, but they’ve drawn swords. They’ll force Maren to choose, too: the royals, or that great one and House Archibald.”
“Hmph! No choice needed. Me and the Feilin Merchant Group stand with Sir Eugene. What’ve the royals ever done for us?”
“Maren City thinks the same?”
“Naturally. Side with the royalists now? No reason to, and if they tried, citizens would lynch the mayor first. Who knows what taxes and levies they’d demand? Worst case, I’ll tell Father and Grandpa to get him replaced. Look at the fortune Sir Eugene’s brought us.”
“I-I see.”
Delmong faltered at Prechella’s fiercer-than-expected response.
He instantly grasped why Eugene kept ties with her.
‘Business bound, but loyal enough.’
As Delmong mulled this, quiet Pellid spoke.
“But sir, I get why you’re in Maren, but who’s minding the master’s territory?”
“Sold it.”
“...Pardon?”
“The territory—I sold it back to its original owner, Marquis Archibald. It guarantees that great one the most benefit.”
Once an imperial administrator before turning vampire, then decades wandering and gaining experience among his kin, the vampire smiled meaningfully.
(To be continued)
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