Forty-Four Deaths and a Garden Warning
"Don't smoke cigars here, please."
Rewind time a bit—to the moment Abel had just entered the family head's room.
Hmm...
Sebastian was always waiting by the door, ready to attend to any heir who might faint or fall into panic.
The first visitor, the mage, had passed out. The second, Kaizen from the north, had screamed. I wonder what kind of reaction Abel would show?
I'm a little curious.
As he closed his eyes and focused, Sebastian gauged the distance between Abel and the family head from his own mana sense.
Slowly estimating their approaching positions, he began a countdown.
"3... 2... 1..."
...
"Hm?"
But Sebastian opened his eyes at the unexpected situation and stared at the door.
By the distance he'd sensed, Abel must have experienced death through the family head's ability.
So he fully expected some kind of reaction to burst forth.
Yet, as if mocking Sebastian's expectations, Abel showed no reaction whatsoever.
Fainted?
Could he have passed out like the mage?
No.
No, that wasn't it. Sebastian's mana sense picked up Abel's presence starting to move again.
Thud!
Moments later, a loud crash erupted from the family head's room.
Anyone could see it looked like Abel was attacking his lord and master.
"Hahaha."
But Sebastian just chuckled lightly as he sensed the situation.
"Ah, really now. Mist, it seems you've brought a truly remarkable candidate into the running for heir."
The family head's philosophy: A person's true nature reveals itself most clearly at the moment of death.
That was why he'd prepared this test of killing his illegitimate sons once via hallucination—to glimpse their essence, their core.
Of course, it was something everyone in this family had gone through at least once.
Regular servants endured it once, knights about ten times, and elite assassins up to fifteen at most, right?
Sebastian didn't underestimate the other illegitimate heirs at all.
They'd been warned in advance that they'd experience death, after all—that was how they'd held out.
A prepared death versus a sudden one. The two might both be death, but they were worlds apart.
At this point, Sebastian was curious just how long Abel could last.
Hmm...
How many times? Combining the current movements and noises, he'd already endured one death.
Common sense said ten would be the limit at most.
No matter that it was a hallucination with no physical damage—the mind couldn't take more than that.
"Hard to say. Mist, you're probably the one who's spent the most time closest to Abel in this estate. What's your take? How long do you think he'll hold out?"
As he spoke, Sebastian glanced at her—Mist, standing there with her hands politely clasped, utterly motionless since Abel had entered the family head's room.
"...Who knows. I don't know Abel any better than anyone else."
With those words, Mist recalled her conversations with Abel.
His capabilities, his temperament, his vessel. Piecing it all together, her inference:
"I'd say at least thirty times."
"Isn't that a bit of an overestimation?"
She didn't argue with Sebastian's words, merely closing her eyes as if stating the obvious.
About thirty minutes passed like that.
Bang!
The family head's door flew open with a rough crash.
At the same moment, smoke like thick fog enveloped Sebastian and Mist.
This is... cigar smoke?
The sharp scent of cigar smoke stung his nostrils.
Step. Step.
Finally, parting the dense cigar haze, Abel emerged.
His hair was disheveled, but he bore no visible injuries or internal wounds. His gait, his breathing—everything was perfectly normal.
Exhaling cigar smoke, Abel approached Sebastian.
"Welcome back, Abel."
Step.
"You must be exhausted in body and mind."
Step.
"Shall I guide you to your quarters...?"
But Abel ignored Sebastian completely and kept walking forward.
"The ability is hallucinations... but hallucinations that manifest in reality... how to counter it... no, I blocked that attack, so next something else... hmm, I deliberately held back on that one last time, but maybe use it next..."
Mist watched Abel mutter and press on, then turned to the slightly flustered Sebastian.
"...It seems Abel was just replaying the battle in his head and didn't react, Head Butler."
"Well... that's surprising."
A fight with his master, Cervan, was one of the matchups the empire's ability users dreaded most.
Of course it was. Who'd want to experience death in a spar or fight?
Sebastian knew it well—he'd faced the duke once and tasted death three times in a row via hallucination.
No one could stay composed after that.
Regaining his composure amid his admiration, Sebastian issued swift orders.
"Mist, attend to Abel. I'll check on the family head."
"Yes..."
Confirming her polite bow, Sebastian plunged through the thick cigar smoke into the family head's room.
Hm...? Breath?
The first sensation upon entering was the temperature.
The room was far colder than imagined—around early winter chill.
As if confirming his thought, white breath clouded his vision despite being indoors.
Hah. What a mess he made.
Through the settling cigar smoke, the family head's room was in ruins.
One wall, once gleaming with ornate decorations, was smashed as if by a giant's fist.
Another bore slashes like from a sharpened blade.
In the center of the half-destroyed room, the duke sat on the edge of his bed, hand clamped over his mouth.
"Is that you, Sebastian... cough."
"Yes, Cervan. Abel is—"
As he spoke, Sebastian assessed his master's condition.
Poison had seeped into his very marrow; he looked on the verge of death at any moment.
Vast mana prolonged his life, but his body could give out anytime.
Yet.
"Have you sustained internal injuries like this?"
Sebastian's eyes chilled as he eyed the dead-black blood trickling from the duke's mouth.
"Heh heh heh... yeah, he landed a solid hit."
"A fight worthy of Cervan."
The empire had once been vast—vaster than its administrative reach.
Before communication magic tools for long distances were invented, it was inevitable.
Thus, the emperor of old granted autonomy to his most trusted elites.
The family that became rulers of the south through that autonomy.
The Nebula family.
Naturally, their family head had to be the strongest.
If the underworld's overlord was weak, he'd be easy prey.
Selected under that creed, Cervan was recognized as the strongest Nebula head in history.
"A monster..."
Even if poison had robbed him of his prime, his ability mastery was empire's finest.
For such a powerhouse to take internal wounds from a newly adult man...
"Kuh hah hah hah."
Low chuckles escaped as the duke tasted the fishy blood rising in his throat, his laughter laced with madness.
Forty-four times.
He hadn't told Sebastian yet, but that was how many deaths Abel had endured.
"A mad bastard."
And those forty-four deaths were almost deliberate on Abel's part.
Hallucinations were just that—fake. No real death.
Better to use the "deaths" to land real hits on the duke.
That was the mad logic he'd fought by.
A judgment no sane mind would make.
Monster? No, not quite.
Abel wasn't some petty creature to lump in with monsters.
"..."
Truth be told, he'd been sorely disappointed by the assassins' assassination attempts—these "heirs" they'd sent.
One fainted, another shrieked pathetically.
Even if the family's situation was dire, they were far below par.
As he'd foreseen the family's grim future, along came this Abel.
"... cough."
More blood soiled the bed. Look at his own blood!
Delightful. Utterly delightful.
Strength, mind, body, talent—everything pleased him to no end.
"Sebastian."
Wiping no blood from his lips, Cervan smiled lightly.
"In this succession... hack... I won't express any opinion whatsoever..."
"Cervan?"
Even if he approved, he couldn't just hand over the seat outright.
It wouldn't suit his nature or the family precepts.
"Relay this to each illegitimate child."
He'd planned to just watch.
Two bastards who stirred no interest or emotion—why interfere in their squabbles?
But things had changed.
"To become this family's head, first seize control of the family."
He hadn't even planned to give them that much guidance.
And:
"Report Abel's movements to me."
***
Replaying the battle with the duke as he walked, Abel stopped in the Nebula Duke Family Estate's garden.
Judging by the duke's personality from their face-off, he didn't seem the type to tend a garden—yet it was surprisingly well-kept.
Leaning back in a terrace chair, he'd been about to light another cigar.
"Don't smoke cigars here, please."
"Ha...?"
"I said, no cigars."
But the garden already had a visitor.
She looked stern at a glance—lips pursed, her expressionless face a different flavor from Mist's.
If Mist's was emotion perfectly reined in,
hers was... yeah, the look of someone who viewed everyone but herself as beneath contempt.
"Hah?"
So, yeah—the textbook definition of an annoying woman.