Chapter 9
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: What the Hell Did You Bring?
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Creating an event out of thin air required countless machinations behind the scenes.
The ducal family's illegitimate son scheme was no different.
Credibility was crucial when devising the original plan.
Could a duke who'd never left the country his entire life suddenly claim an illegitimate child was born abroad and bring him home?
His vassals and retainers would beat him senseless and tell him to quit his bullshit.
So Dort began investigating every village the family head had passed through during his inspections over the past sixteen years.
"Hand over records of the nearby villages too."
A chance encounter with a local girl while visiting, eyes meeting, leading to a romantic night.
That was the classic setup for birthing a noble's bastard.
Once found, minor inconsistencies could be glossed over anyway, so he scoured every village nearby.
He passed out at his desk from sifting through mountains of documents and woke up only to repeat the cycle countless times.
"Ahem, take it easy."
Thinking of the bonus gold coins made even nonexistent strength surge.
After repeated trial and error, collapsing over and over.
Dort discovered the rule: three collapses earned a gold coin.
So out of a dozen or so, he faked a few.
Gold coins duplicating themselves? Why not?
The murderous workload, plus the need to hide it from fellow vassals.
Even the duke noticed nothing suspicious.
Dort grinned slyly, pocketing two more gold coins over the two months until the work ended.
"This is..."
Amid it all, one record caught his eye.
A record of an unwed mother farming in a remote rural village with her son.
The son's features: dark brown hair, age exactly the desired sixteen—but regrettably missing for ten years.
People vanishing without a trace after beast attacks was common in rural villages, so Dort rushed there to weave his scheme.
"Here, take this!"
"Agh, really..."
He visited the local administrator, forging documents: mother deceased, son miraculously alive, hair black-tinged brown.
With a hefty pouch of silver coins.
The record-keeper who'd filled those papers was promised a transfer to city work, sealing his lips.
With a hefty pouch of silver coins.
Villagers were individually implored: if asked, say black hair, not brown.
With hefty pouches of silver coins.
Commoners needed bribes, not threats.
So Dort thought.
"Not my money anyway."
Expenses were all reimbursable from the ducal house, so he spent freely.
When else to flaunt someone else's wealth?
Thus, household registry prep and all machinations complete.
All that remained was finding a black-haired boy.
"Hmm..."
Harder than expected.
Among countless orphans, a few had dark brown hair, but too young.
Registry said sixteen; at least bring someone roughly that age to make excuses stick.
And so, at the very last place.
The rundown orphanage in the back-alley outskirts, with no expectations.
"Ho ho."
He found the perfect candidate.
Rare jet-black hair, hard to come by.
A reticent impression.
The androgynous face was a slight flaw compared to the family head's sharp features.
'Just say he takes after his mother.'
No big issue.
Director Teresa said he'd shown exceptional intellect, so she'd even taught him to read, planning to entrust the orphanage to him later.
Dort signed the contract on the spot.
Finding talent like this wasn't easy.
Of course, he didn't forget to seal lips.
Threatened using the orphanage kids as leverage against foolish moves.
Seeing curiosity about noble mindsets, he regaled with his experiences until his mouth went dry.
The kid was sharp for a commoner, probing unexpected angles.
'Prime material.'
Too clever could mean betrayal later—not ideal.
But with hostages here, it became an advantage.
Threaten to slit the orphanage kids' throats for any nonsense—what could he do?
Thus, fully under control.
He'd behave properly.
Or so he thought.
"No, you're not my father."
The insane declaration from nearby.
Dort doubted his ears.
'What did I just hear?'
The duke wasn't his father?
Fuck, then why bring him here? The retort nearly escaped Dort's throat.
Of course, he knew it wasn't true—that was the plan.
But those in the know: himself, the duke who devised it, Lady Elena, and her guard knight Eirin.
He quickly looked up, meeting the duke's bewildered gaze.
Eyes conveyed volumes.
Emotions felt, words unspoken.
The duke's glance at Dort translated roughly to:
-Didn't I say I just needed a figurehead?
-What's this situation? Did you fabricate and bring a bastard or what?
-Or are you meticulously screwing me over?
Dort bowed his head deeply amid the wordless barrage.
In short.
'We're fucked.'
Dort frantically sought Knight Eirin.
Maybe she had a way out.
Eirin stood beside him, head bowed.
For a fleeting moment, suspicion: was this a plot with the kid to undermine him?
But her eyelids fluttered rapidly.
Her clasped fingers brushed and retreated from her pocket, trembling.
What was she thinking?
Not that curious; clearly not pre-planned, and we were definitely fucked.
Eirin showed no sign of moving anyway.
'Damn it.'
Dort desperately signaled the black-haired boy.
-Please, cut the crap.
-Didn't you say you'd behave?
-Orphanage, huh? Think of the orphanage!
Unclear how he took it, but the boy nodded slightly.
"I just came to see the face of the father who abandoned my mother."
Dort squeezed his eyes shut.
And seriously pondered if collapsing now would still earn a gold coin.
*
Characters have somewhat predictable "right" answers.
Rural, tomboy, childhood friend.
Combine those, and instead of quiet and gloomy, you get playful and lively.
So what about me now?
My registry backstory read like this.
Cold winter, lost my mother.
A six-year-old somehow scraped by.
Then suddenly, father appears?
The great duke, no less?
'Normal to be pissed.'
Of course, this wasn't reckless.
My life mattered to me.
Already publicly declared as the duke's son.
Black hair confirmed.
No beheading or imprisonment for rudeness.
That'd trash his image.
'But.'
Sole worry: my treatment.
Ducal house wanted my body.
Flip side: locked somewhere, fed, alive—good enough.
Even otherwise, treated as an unwanted spawn confined to the estate.
'So this storytelling is necessary.'
To keep servants from scorning me.
To carve my place in this vast place.
Wrapped in sympathy's shell.
A flower blooming on roadside asphalt? Just admiration.
But if it's a dandelion, and I know its arduous journey?
-Mom! Why abandon me?!
-It's too... cold here...
-A-animals! Don't eat me!
-Ahh, warm. This is my nest...
A tearjerker movie in the blink of an eye.
I wet my lips lightly.
And slowly opened my mouth.
"My mother and I were poor. During bad harvests, we had no food at all."
"......"
"One day, a dirt-caked chunk of bread caught my eye on the ground. Starving, I tried to pick it up and eat it."
Stories need emotion.
So I wove in mine.
Sudden back alley drop.
The bitterness of first moldy bread.
"But Mother stopped me. She said I had noble blood, so I must always carry myself with dignity."
Emotions from when Teresa saved me, biting back tears to quit stealing for the orphanage's image.
"Mother eventually passed. My noble-blooded father never showed, not even then."
The cold indifference of passersby who never helped, no matter the hunger.
"I... I came to ask the family head. Why didn't you save my mother...?"
The tremor in my voice spread; surrounding servants began eyeing me with pity.
The duke, protagonist, stared indifferently.
No—mixed with suspicion: what the hell is this kid on about?
"......"
The duke pondered briefly.
Then slowly spoke.
"I'm truly sorry about that. Luana never told me she was pregnant, so I knew nothing of you until now."
"Hah, the family head jests too much. How does a mother realize pregnancy in just one day?"
"When ducal knights later asked, she denied your existence."
Oh, duke-level savvy?
In an instant, he fabricated a story, passing blame from himself to my registry mother, Luana—right in front of her alleged son.
His natural delivery of shameless lines sent a slight shiver.
"Lady Elena's age is close to mine, so perhaps she feared my existence would shake your position?"
"Likely. Luana was a deep-thinking woman."
"But at the least, with any worry or suspicion, you should have helped us!"
"That worried me too, so I sent knights with ample funds..."
The duke grimaced in apparent grief.
"Likely intercepted midway. They could've pocketed it by looking away. But now the truth's out... I'll investigate thoroughly and punish those knights severely."
Hmm.
Seemed like more could be milked, but...
'Pointless.'
No culprits present, nothing more to squeeze.
Even spinning a tale of winter rejection at the estate gates?
Just the gatekeeper punished.
Time to wrap up.
"So... my mother's death was just a tragedy from petty misunderstandings...?"
I bit my inner cheek hard, tears flowing.
As a grieving son.
"Yes. But I'm glad I could protect you at the very last moment..."
He shed a few tears too in response.
Plan success, but...
'A bit ambiguous.'
Lacking a decisive blow for certainty.
Then...
"Father... did you love Mother?"
I lobbed the final question.
Did you love my mother?
The duke's eyes narrowed at my words.
From his view, claiming love for a one-night stand was a lie.
-Could he tell the truth before a son who'd lost his mother?
Lies didn't matter.
"......Yes."
The duke nodded.
At this point, servant treatment was set.
Son of a woman the duke himself claimed to love.
No rough handling.
Glancing around, servants sniffled.
Dort gaped in enlightenment midway; Eirin shrugged shoulders.
Ignore that.
"Son, may I embrace you once?"
"......Yes."
We shared a deep hug.
To onlookers, a dramatic father-son reunion.
But inside...
'Bold kid, fearless of repercussions?'
'Entered the den of enemies; must secure my own footing.'
The exchanged words were vicious.
'...Hah, Dort brought a snake bastard.'
Squeeze.
The duke gripped my shoulder harder.
'...What do you want, pulling this stunt?'
'What I want...'
I pondered briefly.
I wanted a comfortable life.
Specifically...
'Treatment like the ducal heirs, and a promise of safe release when done... I'd live quietly as desired.'
'All this for that?'
'Important to me.'
The duke fell silent briefly.
Pat pat.
Lightly tapped my back, whispering.
'Yes... that's the black hair for you.'
'...Pardon?'
The emotion in his eyes.
Like the final puzzle piece clicking into place.
Laden with interest.
"Come, let's go."
"...Yes."
We exchanged knowing smiles.
And I safely transitioned from orphan to Rovelen ducal bastard.