Chapter 11
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Get Out Right Now!
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"Get out right now!"
The place where I was staying was an annex of the ducal family.
On the surface, it was because it wouldn't look good to house someone like me—who hadn't received even basic noble education—in the main building, where other nobles came and went frequently...
"It's just isolation."
Telling me to stay put quietly.
They probably didn't want me bumping into other nobles and causing a fuss, only for it to backfire on the ducal family later.
I actually preferred it that way.
"It's comfortable?"
No need to run into people, meals delivered, plenty of free time, and anything I needed brought right to me.
Just lend my name and lounge around eating? Who'd turn that down?
Of course, there were things I had to learn obligatorily.
In that one month, the ducal family started teaching me three subjects.
Swordsmanship, etiquette, and relationships.
Swordsmanship first.
Personally, I'd half-hoped for something like, 'No way, first time holding a sword and you're already this good? Awesome!'
"Young Master, you have a shocking lack of talent for swordsmanship."
"That bad?"
"Yes. To the point where no one would believe you're from the Rovelen family."
With the knight's blunt assessment, I decided to give up on this field entirely.
I'd kinda known, honestly.
If I'd had any talent, I'd have noticed back when I was swinging sticks at alleyway thugs.
I hadn't expected much, so it didn't bother me...
...No, truth be told, I'd been really hoping...
And since someone might investigate my background after learning this—maybe wondering 'what if?'—
"I must take after my late mother."
"Ah."
I didn't forget to flash a wistful smile in response.
Having a fabricated backstory sure comes in handy at times like this.
The knight nodded and comforted me, saying that with diligent practice, I could reach the level of a low-ranking knight.
"Just to check... it's not like any random commoner could pick it up and reach low-ranking knight level, right?"
"......"
"...Knight?"
...Yeah, I gave up on the sword.
As long as I could fend off a blind swing or two, I'd be satisfied.
Next was etiquette.
This was something even a blockheaded noble could master with enough time and effort.
Of course, I was short on that precious time, so it felt like cramming right up to the deadline.
But the ducal family didn't expect me to max out my etiquette stats anyway, so no issue.
"We won't let you out much at first anyway."
Just the bare minimum for unavoidable official events or greeting visiting nobles at the estate.
Even that was limited to basics like dining manners or walking posture.
Among them was a rule not to speak first to superiors...
"Crazy, like I'd ever start talking first?"
If there was anyone higher than the ducal family, it'd be the imperial family at best.
The stronger the emperor's power, the more it'd fast-track my head to the chopping block.
No way I'd do that unless I was insane, so I nodded reassuringly at the etiquette teacher.
Sometimes in novels, you see clichés like:
"-This is how it's done, got it?!"
"-How much more do I have to teach you?!"
"-I don't want to be like this either!"
Where they pinch the heroine's arm until it bruises.
I'd been a bit worried about that.
Fortunately, it never happened.
Maybe because I'm a guy?
Of course, if it did, I'd smash my fist into their face and brand them a pervert.
Next was relationships.
Not anything sketchy—the connections between nobles in the empire.
Who hates who.
We're in this faction, they're in that one, etc.
And amid all that, I discovered something shocking.
'What a mess?'
The ducal family was in worse shape than I'd thought.
There'd been something off.
Favorable noble Dort had said Lady Elena was engaged to the 2nd Prince.
Yeah, not the 1st Prince, but the 2nd!
Power usually flocks to the eldest son unless something major happens.
The empire was no different—the 1st Prince was the frontrunner for emperor.
Yet this duke had used all his influence to switch sides the moment the 2nd Prince was born!
'Is he insane?'
That first meeting, pitying my black hair and all...
Was it a 'you're a traitor too, huh?' look? Damn.
Of course, as a ducal house, one wrong bet wouldn't topple them.
Or maybe he'd gone for the cliché: wastrel 1st Prince vs. beautiful, wise, moderate 2nd Prince (beloved by the people).
'No way.'
There was no reason for the 1st Prince to act like that unless he was crazy.
He was the top contender for the throne—why would he party with drugs and booze, exploiting nobles?
Who'd join in?
For minor nobles, it'd be execution or grudges for later revenge.
'Sigh.'
In that light, the ducal family's situation was precarious.
The traitor duke was a pure-love type, no concubines.
But his wife died right after birthing Lady Elena, leaving no proper heir.
Sure, the duke could hold the seat until Elena's child (sans succession rights) took over.
"-His health isn't good?"
"-Yes, it's deteriorated a lot in the last ten years."
The retainer teacher said the duke's body likely wouldn't last that long.
Plus, the duke had a younger brother.
He'd lost the family head struggle ages ago and was leeching off his wife's family.
If the duke collapsed now with no heir, that brother could swoop in as regent and swallow the house.
And his wife's count family? Loyal 1st Prince supporters.
Oh my, oh dear?
Just sitting still spells doom for the ducal family?
"No wonder they seemed desperate."
Yeah, dragging in a black-haired orphan to run the ducal family? Not a sane plan.
They were one step from ruin, so even Dort had tearfully gone along.
Ah, favorable noble Dort. How loyal are you, really?
"Hmm."
So, what should I do in this situation?
Repay the ducal family for sheltering and feeding this orphan by desperately holding the fort?
"As if."
If I'd been that soft, I'd have died in the alleys long ago.
Right now, one thing: assess the situation.
Until a legitimate heir appears—20, no, 25 years.
Hold the seat that long, and I can safely lounge forever.
Lifetime job, secure asset.
That's what the ducal family means to me.
But if things sour?
Duke falls, Lady whisked to the palace.
Political pressure outside, traitors inside, assassins gunning for me?
"Time to bail."
Escape before it hits that point.
Grab the adoption papers from Dort and some cash, and I'm free.
Sorry, Teresa, but I know where the orphanage keeps key docs from when you dumped chores on me.
Burn those two, and...
"Dane is free!"
Of course, they'd brand me a traitor—Eirin chasing with a sword—so last resort only.
Until then: grab all perks, leisurely eat and chill, then dip.
So...
Secretly learn magic amid magic-hating sword nuts.
"Oh, Young Master!"
"Good morning!"
"Hello!"
A bright morning.
I strode the hallway, beaming greetings at the maids cleaning around.
"You're so energetic today!"
"If you need anything, just say the word anytime!"
"Yeah, will do!"
Surrounded by maids, chattering away.
A scene some might envy.
'...All in their thirties, though...'
Unfortunately, no young, pretty maids.
The annex cleaners were all married or older.
Probably handpicked to avoid sticky situations—mess up down there, big trouble.
If I had a kid, it'd have claim to the ducal succession.
Wait, but I'm not real ducal blood—just a secret orphan pickup?
To the duke, that's handing the house to a total stranger.
If it were me, I'd lop off the pregnant maid and me together.
"Hm."
But the one variable the duke overlooked: I'm a possessor.
27 years including alley life.
Pretty face at exactly 30? Barely misses my strike zone...!
'Stop it.'
Ruins my concept.
Here, I'm the commoner who lost his mom young, suddenly elevated.
That's why the polite bows and honorifics.
No plans to shatter the mask myself.
I headed to the annex library for magic books.
"Ah, hello! You've been coming a lot lately?"
"Hi, Maylin! Just me being deficient, studying hard, haha..."
Maylin, the annex librarian, waved cheerfully.
Unlike the others, she was an early-twenties young maid.
Neat-looking, heart-fluttering even.
"Hm."
"Huh? Something wrong?"
Sadly, beastkin—and goat legs.
Human, maybe, but furball down there...
I'm not desperate enough to trash modern dignity.
I waved it off, said I was fine, greeted her, and dove into the stacks for magic books.
I'd been visiting the library regularly to read...
[Mix mana in the body with naturally occurring ether and release it outward; mana merely assists spell manifestation, using ether as ignition...]
[Release internal mana to envelop ether; once sufficient, manifest the formula and follow basic circulation for discharge...]
Fuck, what's ether?
Books explain mana and ether like it's obvious.
I don't know that shit.
'Ask a real mage?'
Confirming no one around, I closed the book, shelved it, greeted Maylin, and left.
True to sword zealots, no resident mages, but one visited weekly to recharge estate magic stones.
Only mages can do that.
Ducals can't chop wood or boil water themselves.
Besides, Rovelen didn't outright reject magic or magic stones' convenience.
They just hated bookish researchers matching their blood-sweat-honed skills.
'Sigh, sword nuts are why this sucks.'
Not because I'm talentless with swords.
Magic just sounds cool.
'Should be here soon.'
I hid in a garden corner, watching the estate entrance.
A maid said today was mage day.
Killing time, soon enough.
Out stepped a redhead in a pointy 'I'm a mage' hat.
"Hello!"
"...Yes?"
"Are you the esteemed mage visiting the estate today?"
"Well... I am a mage, but...?"
She seemed wary of my sudden appearance.
"Got a few questions—got time?"
I cautiously handed her an item from the estate.
Hard, rough, shiny.
Gold coin.
That's what money's for, right?
"...Ah, I see."
The redhead mage pocketed it carefully.
Then beamed and nodded.
"Aww, if you'd said so, I'd have come right away!"
"Nah, sorry for stealing a mage's time."
"No, no! For the famous ducal Young Master? I should've visited."
"Well, then—standing here's awkward. Tea in there?"
"Sounds great!"
I smiled back, guiding her to the annex.
Picked up a magic teacher!
Gonna devour every bit of magic knowledge.
Ah, magic goodgoodgood.
"It's all for the money—why else come to a ducal house where everyone's badmouthing mages?"
"Tell me about it."
In the annex parlor, I nodded along to mage Arwen's aggrieved complaints.
Potential teacher—small price.
"Oh... ahem, you've listened so well, I lost track of time monologuing. You had questions?"
"Yeah. About mana and ether..."
Luckily, she snapped to soon enough for my prepped questions.
Felt her 'sword nut interested in magic?' stare.
Another silver coin, and she zipped it—nodding, hand over mouth.
"So, what's this ether? Books treat it as obvious, but no how-to on sensing it."
Ether was the medium.
Floating in air, it amps mana converted to spells.
Simply: mana's the lighter flint, ether the fuel.
You could spell with mana alone.
But packing a fireball pure mana? Inefficient—waste half your life.
Each spell has ideal mana-ether ratio, but I couldn't sense ether. Tricky.
Arwen tilted her head...
"Doesn't everyone sense it from the start?"
"...Huh?"
"See? Here too. Hey."
She gestured; tiny flames floated up.
That easy?
"No... you sense it from the beginning? Then those who don't?"
"Sadly, no talent."
"Ah."
I stood carefully.
Raised my right arm.
"Oh, sensed ether? Try a spell!"
"No."
"Pardon? Then..."
I pointed my index finger from the raised arm.
At the estate entrance.
"Get out."
No low-rent mages in my house.
Fuck off, out now!