Chapter 189
Chapter 189
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Clash with the Father
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The sun had completely set, and a cool night breeze was blowing.
Meanwhile, as the women engaged in their fierce conversation.
Baron Greta and I quietly strolled through the mansion garden.
“...”
The baron stared at me intently, scrutinizing my features.
Then, nodding as if to acknowledge what deserved acknowledgment.
“You seem to have trained quite diligently.”
I was definitely concealing my mana.
Yet somehow, both Valderian and now the baron before me had seen through my extraordinary nature.
“Your mana is faint, but your body looks more agile than the other probationary knights.”
In response to his assessment, I countered with a question of my own.
“Were you a knight yourself, Baron?”
The baron nodded silently at my question.
A middle-aged man with black hair neatly parted down the middle.
For someone soaked in booze and gambling, he had a solid build and an imposing presence.
“Indeed. As you can tell from my hair, I hail from foreign mercenary stock.”
Especially those well-developed trapezius muscles.
They evoked the Northern tribe, the Orun.
“The baronial title came from my father and me making our mark on the battlefield as the ‘Mace Father-Son.’”
*Yeah, I’ve heard of them.*
The Mace Father-Son.
Past war heroes who’d shone on the Northern Front before me.
The two of them had smashed a whopping two hundred enemies with their maces.
*No wonder Miya’s sturdy mana and reflexes were anything but ordinary…*
Especially that deep kiss, her thighs clamped around me.
The grip she had was something else.
*All inherited from her father, huh.*
“To think I’m in the presence of a battlefield hero.”
I bowed my head politely in respect.
Yet even with the praise, Baron Greta’s gaze remained icy.
“No need to humble yourself with me.”
The baron clasped his hands behind his back.
Then, fixing his eyes on my sly gaze, he asked.
“Have you not achieved far greater feats than I?”
“Me…?”
When I pointed at myself, the baron stared off at the lit windows of the mansion.
“An hour ago, the princesses arrived here. All three of them.”
The princesses were here.
My pupils contracted at the words.
“Yes…?”
“All three showed keen interest in you. They rushed over to keep an eye on things the moment they saw you with my daughter.”
As a father, the baron had sensed it on instinct.
“Those ladies wish to take you as their husband.”
“I know.”
My matter-of-fact reply drew a glint from his cold black eyes.
“You knew that… and still kissed Miya?”
The baron’s voice grew steadily chillier.
He might have blown his fortune on gambling, but his love for his daughter burned as fierce as ever.
“That’s…”
“Of course I know. My daughter’s cute, beautiful… utterly endearing.”
He pictured Miya in his mind, holding the family together in his stead.
That dutiful, praiseworthy image tugged his lips upward on its own.
*This scene feels awfully familiar…*
Why were every father I met some extreme daughter fanatic?
“However—what if she ends up as the fourth wife, after those noble princesses?”
He snatched up a stick leaning against a tree.
“My daughter would spend her days enduring their harsh scorn!”
The mace-thick club trained on me.
With the strength that had crushed two hundred skulls.
“No, Baron. No matter how many wives, I’ll treat them all equally. Because I love them all…!”
I forced a smile and waved it off.
“Ha. Equally?”
He sauntered toward me.
Baron Greta loomed a touch taller than I did.
But those signature bulging traps made him feel like a giant.
“What makes a greenhorn baron like you think he can juggle princesses equally?”
A grim creak echoed from his grip on the club’s handle.
As if he’d swing it any second.
“You’ll get swept up and dragged every which way. And even if my precious Miya takes heat, you’ll turn a blind eye in the end.”
He’d rubbed shoulders with plenty of high-society couples before his fall.
He radiated menace at the thought of his daughter caught in that mess.
“I may be a worthless father, but I won’t stand by while my girl walks a bed of thorns.”
He seemed convinced Miya was marrying me out of pity for his failures.
His reputation was shot from gambling and booze—no one would touch him.
“I can’t stomach watching my sweet girl, raised like a pampered kitten, snatched by a sly fox like you.”
“I’m not that kind of man…!!”
His adorable daughter, hand-reared with care, falling to some obvious lech of a fox.
Unable to bear the image, the baron turned to Veil.
“Then prove it yourself!”
Prove.
I swallowed hard at the word.
“Prove you’re a man who can embrace the empire’s three loftiest ladies—and still cradle my daughter!”
“…”
He had a point, come to think of it.
As a father myself, I’d be plenty uneasy handing my daughter to a guy like me.
Better reassure him, at least somewhat.
“Very well.”
I reached for Irina’s treasured sword at my waist.
But with his own mace long pawned, the baron geared up for a stick duel.
In kind, I gripped an old wooden sword propped against the wall.
“I’ll humor you.”
“Gutsy. I like that, Baron Veil.”
Like Miya with her hand axe, her father clutched a matching one-handed weapon.
“Don’t expect me to hold back for being an old man.”
His eyes burned with resolve.
A veteran hunter eyeing his fox.
“I won’t be as easy as you think…!!”
We circled in wide steps, tracing a grand ring.
Watching for an opening amid the tension.
“Hup!!”
True to his hero status, the baron lunged first.
His massive club swung straight for my skull.
*Easy dodge…!*
But pride? Curiosity about the legend?
I opted to meet the baron’s club head-on.
That instant.
Kwaaang---!!
A thunderous crash like earth splitting.
The shockwave rattled the garden’s barren branches.
*What power…!*
Like the hammer god of Northern myths.
Now Miya’s sturdy mana made perfect sense.
No vice-captain-level mana or polish.
But raw strength, like a scrawny lumberjack splitting logs solo.
“Impressive… Your grit and stamina hold up, Baron Veil.”
White smoke curled from our locked wooden sword and club.
We pitted near-equal might in a raw test of strength.
“You’ve got battle-forged skill yourself, Baron.”
I’d clawed up the Northern Front on grit and scars.
Facing a front-line predecessor felt oddly heartening.
My lips quirked up on their own.
“Did you just… smirk?”
My ease warped his face to mythic stone.
Emperor-like shadows pooled under the baron’s eyes.
“At ease, are we? Fine—block this.”
Fierce blue mana erupted in his grip.
The moment he whipped the deadly bludgeon.
“…!”
Instinct hurled my head down in a flash dodge.
Buwoong!!
A mere swing tore the air with lethal whooshes.
I countered from my crouch, wooden sword whipping out.
Target: his flank.
Same as those gladiator knights I’d thrashed by day.
But.
Kwaaang--!!
“Fine counter, Baron.”
He’d read it—hiked a calf high.
Mana surged to his leg, parrying my blade.
“Though I’ve caught Northern axes barehanded.”
Miya-esque sturdy mana sheathed him head to toe.
Like ironclad plate.
“Hit me manlier! Heavier!!”
Mana-armored, he unleashed a barrage.
I parried every blow with wood.
But against mana-clad force.
Pushback was inevitable.
A war hero—he left me no choice but to unveil.
*Tricky spot.*
Unleash true mana, risk injuring him?
I’d be the brute who floored a cherished woman’s dad.
Plus, his family-head pride was in the gutter.
Crushing him flat here would paint an ugly picture.
Parrying, I sorted my thoughts slow.
At last.
Honoring his earnestness, I wreathed my arms in mana.
Deep, honed blue power.
Kagak---!!
Burnt wood stench wafted from the renewed clash.
But the baron pressed on relentless.
“You’re finally using mana, Baron Veil!”
He gauged my depths with all he had.
His daughter meant that much.
“Show your true strength!!”
Blue flames roared along the club.
No deadlier tool than a powered bludgeon.
“You’re formidable…”
Yet.
I left my wooden sword unenhanced.
“I see now where Senior Miya’s iron will and gifts spring from.”
Cracks spiderwebbed inside the blade—I let them spread.
Jeojeok---.
“Hup…!!”
Whole-body mana surged; I shoved his strike aside.
Glaring, I ignited blazing golden aura.
“As empire hero and Northern Front senior, I’ll meet you in full earnest.”
Golden radiance flooded the dim, desolate garden.
The warm glow lit a spark in Baron Greta’s eyes.
“Swordmaster…”
I’d known this man was no lightweight.
But I’d pegged him a pretty-faced seducer of princesses.
“And the Northern Front…?”
Long toil, iron spirit—the Swordmaster realm churned his gaze.
Suspicion ebbed from his black eyes.
“Then—here I come.”
I gripped the wooden sword long-sword firm.
Blurring into afterimages, I charged.
“Yes… Now I believe it…”
Baron Greta tracked my wind-cutting rush.
Composure snapped back; veteran eyes hoisted the club.
“But Swordmaster alone doesn’t earn full marks.”
Like the ‘Mace Father-Son’ smiting the emperor’s foes.
“Prove you’re fit for the empire’s finest ladies!!”
The old knight hammered down with daughter-guarding zeal.
But the clash-moment.
“…!!”
He spied it.
White aura blooming soft from my left chest.
“That’s…!!”
Once, knight Greta had fought afar, guarding Emperor Leonhardt.
He recalled the white-aura wielder charging ahead of his men.
Highborns hid behind meat shields, sparing their hides.
Leonhardt strode first for his folk.
Greta had thought then.
*Ah. Leonhardt alone suits the throne.*
True man, piercing all creation.
Yet this youth before him.
The face-pretty philanderer matched the emperor’s might.
Kwaaang---!!
Gold met blue in cataclysm.
Feral shockwaves raged.
“Hueup…!!”
The baron braced against my force.
Instinct screamed truth.
A power beyond him.
He’d fly helpless, crash down.
Surrender his girl.
Resigned mid-fight, Baron Greta’s eyes drifted shut.
But then.
Jeojeok…!!
Eyes snapped wide at my sword’s fracture.
Our weapons locked.
My wooden sword—mana bare.
“No way!”
He twigged: I’d baited the break.
Snap—blades sundered; we crossed paths.
―――――.
We passed, fight done.
Mana auras faded quick.
“…”
Baron stared at my broken-sword stance.
Awkward grin from me.
“Well… Bad timing for my weapon to snap…”
I displayed the bisected wood.
Deep sigh.
“Should’ve factored durability against a bludgeon… My mistake.”
Weaponless, I was out—spar null by fluke.
No helping it, I told him.
“Practically my defeat.”
My concession-loss claim sealed his lips tight.
Eyes bored into my face…
“You’re one hell of a character.”
A smirk quirked his mouth.
“Now I get how you bewitched those princesses.”
Club thudded to earth from his grip.
Serious gaze resumed.
“No swagger in your power. Lifting foes instead. Echoes His Majesty.”
He knew.
I’d steered the sword’s doom.
“Haughty princesses fell for that. My Miya too.”
Beast-snort from the baron.
Fist clenched.
“To salve my head-of-house pride, you rigged a fluke draw. Hate to admit—I’m irked. Toyed with!”
But Miya’s dad heaved a sigh.
Then…
“Yet—considering the foe’s heart, sparing him? Worthy of praise.”
He’d served near monarchs enough to know.
Prime leadership: guiding by uplift.
“…”
Baron eyed his mansion’s parlor window.
Someone within his thoughts.
“Thank you for understanding.”
Silent bow to him.
A sidelong glance, then quiet words.
“Your caliber… Entrusting my daughter wouldn’t be so bad…”
Thick lips parted.
“No objections to courtship. Just…”
Stare-down intense.
Handshake proffered, plea attached.
“Keep that heart unchanged.”
“…”
I eyed his hand wordless.
Smirk; clasp met clasp.
“Understood, Baron.”
Bright smiles traded.
“Please, take good care of me going forward.”
Mutual regard sealed the shake.
“By the way—beef up that toughness.”
“Yes?”
Grudges gone, earnest counsel flowed.
“Seen His Majesty oft. His daughters? Latent might’s no joke, even if dormant now.”
Chuckle; shoulder pats.
“Like me—my girl won’t go easy.”