Chapter 4
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: The Bastard of the Dreadnote Family
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"Hey, did you hear the news?"
"What news?"
"About that disgrace. The shame of the Dreadnote Family!"
"Oh."
I wondered what it was about this time.
Lately, the eldest son of the Dreadnote Count's family.
From wastrel to pathetic loser, bastard of the Dreadnote Family, woman-crazed bastard, shameful existence.
The household servants were the first to notice that Evan Dreadnote, who had been called by every derogatory name under the sun, had become strange.
From the lowliest maids all the way up to the butlers in charge of the mansion, everyone tacitly agreed on that fact.
Though to be fair, he'd always been strange to begin with.
"It feels like he's suddenly become a different person."
How should she put it?
Even stranger than his usual bizarre behavior?
The changes started from the smallest things.
"...He emptied his plate again today?"
"Yes. Not possessed or anything, but he licked it clean, not a drop of soup left."
In the kitchens of the Dreadnote Count's mansion, during the lull after lunch as a young maid washed dishes, she tilted her head in confusion.
The other servants in the kitchen wore equally incredulous expressions upon hearing her.
The old Evan.
What would that bastard have done?
'You expect me to eat this pig slop? You lowly scum are looking down on me too? You fucking dogs!'
It was routine for him to hurl trays of stale bread and cold soup into the hallways while screaming at the top of his lungs.
Thanks to that, the servants cleaning the corridors had to clear away his food waste several times a day.
"Honestly, it wasn't fit for the count's eldest son anyway."
"What can we do? It's a direct order from the Family Head. Besides, that bastard wouldn't appreciate it regardless."
The food served to Evan Dreadnote was unworthy of a noble.
That was a fact every servant in the household agreed on.
Hard lumps of bread that barely chewed and completely cold soup—served to the son of a count?
Without a doubt,
in this Hestol Kingdom, no noble was treated worse than Evan.
That much was certain.
But about a week ago.
No more commotion came from that bastard's room.
The first day or two, they thought he was up to some whim,
or perhaps passed out drunk on credit-bought booze after sneaking out of the mansion again.
Yet the strange phenomenon continued afterward.
He stopped throwing out half-eaten food,
and the trays once flung into the halls now sat neatly by his door.
The dishes were always scraped clean, to boot.
"Isn't it suspicious? What if he's plotting something?"
"Nah, no way. If he had the guts for that, he wouldn't live like this."
"True. The Young Master lacks any real ability anyway."
Even as they cleaned the stacks of dishes one by one.
The occasional "Young Master" in their chatter held not a shred of respect for Evan.
It was only natural.
To the servants, Evan was nothing but a headache,
a being who could vanish any day without raising eyebrows.
"Anna! You're in charge of that bastard, right? Know anything?"
At the center of the talk was Anna, the maid who had personally delivered his academy admission notice.
The other maids rarely crossed paths with Evan.
Anna, who encountered Evan Dreadnote most frequently, would know more.
"Sigh. I don't really know either. Unless the Family Head orders it, I don't see him."
"Still."
Her brow furrowed in annoyance at the mere thought.
Yet she chewed her lip, trying to recall,
drawing the eyes of the tidying servants.
"That day, when I relayed the Family Head's words... Normally he'd throw a fit and spew curses, but he said nothing."
"Really?"
"For real. He was... unnaturally quiet. Like a completely different person."
Yes, a different person.
Evan, treated as nonexistent in the family.
Like a wounded beast shielding its injuries from the servants and family alike.
Always prone to outbursts, as usual.
But that day with the admission notice.
Something was off.
'He was eerily calm.'
Especially unsettling was his gaze.
Those beastly eyes brimming with lust toward her
and resentment toward the world.
But that day's eyes were different.
How to describe it? Like a cold abyss of unknowable depth.
Not his usual leering stare,
but an indifferent gaze, as if at a roadside pebble. Recalling it even now sent chills down her spine.
While maids and kitchen staff gossiped about Evan in the mansion,
the outside world was beginning to notice his changes too.
Among the outdoor servants, the mansion's old gardener was the first to spot Evan's most striking change.
"You're early today."
Watching Evan now swing his sword with familiarity, the gardener recalled that time.
"Heh, what a sight. That wastrel using the training grounds at dawn."
At dawn, before the knights trained,
the gardener, up early to yank overgrown weeds, doubted his eyes.
The eastern training ground, thick with dust and long abandoned.
Evan had tried swordplay there as a child to impress the Family Head, only to be mocked by the staff, and never returned.
Yet there was Evan, staggering as he swung a wooden sword.
No, "swinging" was generous.
Considering his trash stamina—never lifting a finger outside of brothels—holding the sword seemed effort enough.
His form was a mess; even a layman ignorant of "sword" knew it was awful.
As always.
Just another of his whims.
He'd quit soon enough. The gardener ignored it and focused on weeding.
But as the endless weeds dwindled,
he noticed something odd.
"Hup. Haa...!"
The man who would've quit long ago for drinks
was still swinging that sword.
For hours, who knew how many.
Breath ragged to his throat, body soaked in sweat, yet he gripped the wooden sword.
Staggering on the verge of collapse, then rising to swing again, panting.
The bizarre display ended around midday,
when Evan finally collapsed spread-eagled in exhaustion.
The entranced gardener then clicked his tongue and shook his head.
Unbelievable, but just a whim, he thought.
'He'll drop it in a few days. Just another passing fancy.'
Yet Evan's dawn training continued the next day, and the day after.
His eccentricity—no, his peculiar regimen—persisted without a single skip even now.
The gardener now habitually checked the training grounds at dawn.
There, without fail, was the sweat-drenched, staggering bastard Young Master.
At first, his movements were comical.
Impossible to tell if he was swinging a sword or flailing a stick at the air.
But over time, bit by bit, subtly changing.
His sloppy form straightened; wasteful motions gained precision.
Above all, his once unfocused, dazed eyes sharpened like blades.
"Tch tch tch. He's lost his mind."
The watching gardener muttered unwittingly.
Amused by the wastrel's change? No.
To him, Evan seemed possessed,
like a moth hurtling toward death—utterly grotesque.
Simply unpleasant.
"Who knows what he's thinking."
The gardener clicked his tongue and turned away.
Behind him, the clumsy whoosh of sword through dawn air continued unabated.
That evening.
Dragging myself back to my room and flopping onto the bed, I gasped for breath.
"Every day feels like hell. Damn it."
Who'd have thought I'd put in effort here I never did back home?
But what choice? To wield the Authority properly, I needed stamina training.
My muscles screamed for mercy; I lacked energy to twitch a finger.
Yet thinking of the future meant bold investment was necessary.
'It's about time.'
I felt like death,
but as something seeped into my body from burying my face in the pillow, a faint smile tugged my lips.
Why?
'Here it comes.'
Closing my eyes, I sensed negative emotions flowing from everywhere in the mansion, turning into chilling energy absorbed into me.
The servants' scorn for me.
The knights' mockery.
And their unpleasant feelings too—all of it.
Those emotions fed my Authority in real time, the finest nourishment.
[Absorbing negative emotion 'Suspicion.']
[Absorbing negative emotion 'Disgust.']
[Absorbing negative emotion 'Contempt.']
[Authority experience increases.]
With the system messages ringing in my head,
a sliver of vitality stirred in my fatigue-ridden body.
"Laugh it up, you bastards. Huh? Hate me harder."
That's how I'd level up the Authority faster.
This cursed body couldn't auto-hunt, so I had to grind manually.
At least let the Authority level itself.