The Hero of the Trial (2)

The mansion corridor.

"He's in the dungeon right now, correct?"

Evancal asked as he strode across the red carpet, addressing the servant who trailed behind him.

"Yes, sir."

"You're certain?"

"I followed him all the way down and saw it with my own eyes."

Hearing the answer, Evancal let out a small sigh.

"Hah… I thought I was actually going to die, that fucking bastard."

A vile smile soon spread across his lips.

"Even better. Everything's falling into place for me!"

The leading candidate for family head had been Evancal's older brother, Azehar.

But he had been beheaded by Sirius.

"That piece of trash will be executed soon enough."

Sirius had murdered his own kin. Even for a noble—no, especially for a noble—there was no sweeping that under the rug.

"Then I'll be the only one left! Hahaha!"

If Sirius disappeared as well, the sole remaining heir would be Evancal himself. The vast house of Everhart would become his.

"Hahaha! Even that garbage can be useful sometimes!"

Evancal threw his head back and laughed until the corridor rang with the sound.

At the same time, a single scene rose unbidden in his mind.

Sirius looking down at him, sword dangling from his hand, blood still dripping from the blade.

The fact that he had felt terror toward someone he had always dismissed as a weakling was so humiliating it made his skin crawl.

So he laughed.

He laughed with deliberate, raucous abandon, trying to bury the memory.

He shoved the deep hatred he felt for Sirius down into the darkest recesses of his heart.

"It's just Father and me for dinner tonight, right?"

Evancal pictured a bright future.

"He might even acknowledge me as the next head! Hahaha! Don't you think?"

"Absolutely, sir!"

Hahaha!

Evancal's and the servant's laughter filled the long corridor.

But Evancal was overlooking one decisive truth.

How bone-chillingly cold-blooded his father—the head of Everhart—truly was.

That man was not so weak as to waste emotional energy on something as trivial as a child's death.

Evancal still had no idea how coldly the sun hanging above his head had already gone out.

I walked the corridor.

Word must already have spread; several of the servants who caught sight of my face startled and flinched.

They were probably wondering how I had managed to get out.

—Young Master, how are you even…

—Shh! He'll hear you!

Watching them, a faint irritation rose inside me.

Petty.

That thought was not my own.

It was an emotion carved deep into the body of Sirius Everhart—a habit that now belonged to me.

This flesh that had become mine found the mere existence of whispering servants distasteful.

Not just the speech patterns… even the emotions are being affected?

It did not feel uncomfortable. It settled in as naturally as if this body had always been mine.

Even so, my mind was not about to be swallowed or swayed by the body of Sirius Everhart.

My will was not so frail that it would lose to a man who had been nothing more than a wretched extra.

Thud. Thud.

I ignored them and walked on.

But the mansion was so vast that I kept encountering new faces whether I wanted to or not.

"Hiiiek!"

"Y-Young Master!"

I passed countless servants and butlers.

And then I spotted a familiar face.

"Haaaah…"

A knight with a stern face, bandages wrapped around his body, was walking along with a sigh so deep it seemed ready to bore a hole in the floor.

Thud.

At the sound of my footsteps he lifted his head from the ground he had been boring holes into with his stare. Then he looked at me with a flustered expression.

"Y-Young Master."

There was a reason his face was familiar.

"One of the Ironblood Knights."

He had been among those who drew their swords to stop me when I took Azehar's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠head.

"…Are you unharmed, Young Master?"

The expression with which he spoke to me was dark. I imagined that was because of me.

Sirius's standing within the family had been abysmally low.

He had never once distinguished himself in martial matters, so it was no surprise the knights had treated him as if he did not exist.

In their eyes he must have been a joke. Their lord—his father—and his other brothers had all been born with innate talent for the martial path; only Sirius had been the exception.

They never spat on him or openly scorned him, but through thorough indifference and quiet contempt they had isolated him completely.

And then that incompetent fool had suddenly cut off his own brother's head and knocked the charging knights down like paper dolls. Of course the man looked deflated.

The moment our blades crossed lasted only a heartbeat, but it was more than enough for us to gauge each other's level.

I expected it had been the same for the knights.

Just as I had taken their measure, they must have realized the truth while receiving my sword.

How strong I was.

By now the knight was probably thinking Sirius had been hiding his power all along.

"I am fine."

"…I see."

His face was full of emptiness.

It was the look of a man who no longer knew how he was supposed to regard me.

"I… I apologize for everything until now. I never knew the Young Master possessed such tremendous skill."

He squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head.

The tremor in his voice suggested he expected nothing kind from me.

"…You may not forgive me, but I mean it from the heart. The other knights feel the same. We all regret having looked down on you."

He poured out his sincerity.

The tension in his body loosened a fraction, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He looked ready to endure whatever harsh words I might throw at him.

I, however, had no intention of berating him.

"It is fine."

"…Pardon?"

The knight raised his head and stared at me with wide, round eyes.

I read the emotions lingering in them.

Confusion and astonishment.

"I never once cared about any ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of that."

The one the knights had ignored was Sirius, not me.

And I did not particularly like Sirius either.

He had been nothing more than a wretched extra who had not even tried to protect his fiancée.

"I forgive you."

That was why I could so easily speak words that would sound magnanimous to anyone listening.

"…Huuuh."

The knight before me looked thoroughly shocked; his mouth fell open wide enough that I half wondered whether a fist would fit inside.

"T-Truly, Young Master?!"

He stammered even worse than before as he asked again.

The reaction was so extreme that I briefly wondered whether some incident I did not know about had occurred, but since it was not something I had lived through myself, I simply nodded.

"I do not speak falsehoods."

I personally had no qualms about lying. Sirius, however, was different.

He had believed a noble's words carried a weight unlike any other.

And the knights would know that fact well.

"…Haha. So that was it. The Young Master has always been the same; we were the ones who wavered. Only now that you have proven your strength do we finally bow our heads… it is truly shameful. If I could, I would tear off the insignia I have clung to like my own life with my own hands, so wretched do I feel."

He clenched the Ironblood Knights' insignia on his chest in a white-knuckled grip.

"…Young Master! Thank you for giving us another chance!"

Tears poured down his face as he expressed his gratitude, thoroughly moved.

I found the display a little burdensome.

I had expected something along the lines of an awkward "Haha, thank you" after being forgiven. I had not anticipated this level of overacting.

Had knights always been this tearful a breed?

Romance fantasy really is different.

In the world where I had lived as a hero, knights had been thugs.

Comparing those bastards to the knights of this world seemed unfair.

To be moved to tears by something as trivial as my forgiveness…

Yes. I still preferred romance fantasy over dark fantasy.

"An Ironblood Knight should not look so crushed."

I gave his shoulder a light pat as I spoke.

"Your skill was not bad. Keep training."

Then I walked on without looking back.

The sound of sobbing rose behind me, but I did not bother stopping my steps.

Click.

I stopped before a massive door.

Beyond it, the head of Everhart—Sirius's father—would be attending to his duties.

"The lord is receiving a guest."

The butler standing before the door recognized me and raised a hand to bar my path.

I glanced at him.

"Are you not curious how I came to be standing here?"

"There is no cage in this world that can hold a savage beast like an Everhart."

The butler stroked his beard as he replied.

"I have heard the news."

His sharp gaze, glinting behind a monocle, swept over me.

"To my eyes, nothing appears to have changed."

"Step aside."

I snapped at him, irritated by the way those eyes seemed to pierce straight into my core.

Yet the butler suddenly showed an unexpected reaction.

"As expected, the child of a tiger is still a tiger. You have been admirably hiding your fangs all this time. I am impressed."

The ice-cold face melted into a faint smile, and he nodded.

There seemed to be some small misunderstanding, but I had neither the leisure nor the desire to chat with the old man right now.

"You talk too much, butler. I have come to see the lord. Open the door."

I spoke down to the old man before me and deliberately furrowed my brow.

It was treatment that would have offended an ordinary person.

Yet the butler smiled with his eyes, as if he found the sight of me delightful.

"Please wait a moment. The guest will be out shortly."

The butler was the head of a family that had served Everhart for generations.

They were the house that dirtied their hands on Everhart's behalf; few even knew of their existence.

There was no honor in the work, and the tasks themselves were filthy and grueling.

Even so, they were sincerely loyal to Everhart.

That was why the butler smiled so brightly at the sight of me refusing to back down.

"Count Lowell?"

"As expected, you already knew. He arrived quietly; most would not have noticed. Impressive."

"I met my fiancée in the dungeon."

I had no particular desire to grow close to Everhart's shadow.

He, however, did not seem to share that sentiment.

"The Lowell count family may not match Everhart, but they have a reasonably long history. Their influence at the center is not bad either, so they made a decent match for a betrothal."

He spoke to me. Apparently the sight of Sirius finally showing an Everhart-like face pleased him.

And so he offered genuine advice.

"But they do not suit Everhart. Even if there were hundreds of noble houses like the Lowells, they would still fall short of us. Now that you have cast off your shell and revealed your presence, it would be best to proceed with an annulment."

I could tell from his eyes. He was speaking out of genuine concern for me and the family.

"It also happens that the Lowell family has been getting above themselves of late, so the timing is excellent. For some reason the lord has been allowing Lowell's insolence; this may be the opportunity."

Eyes full of expectation flashed.

"Take Count Lowell's head and solidify ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Everhart's prestige. Do that, and I will support you, Young Master."

Cutting off Azehar's head must have left a deep impression.

It was a proposal the original Sirius would never have received.

Taking a head is not difficult.

Count Lowell was one of the enemies I had to bring down anyway.

And with this old man's guarantee, I could drop the count's head this very moment without any trouble.

Everhart's shadow possessed more than enough power to bury a count's assassination with ease.

I recalled the Count Lowell I had seen in the original work.

Just thinking of him made my fists clench tight.

I could not forget Olivia weeping after being abandoned by her second set of parents as well.

Her misfortune had never been a mere string of text to me.

I will use the butler to bring down the Lowell family.

That future was already decided. Because I had decided it, Lowell—who had wounded her and would wound her again—would fall.

But it had to be done entirely under my lead.

I could not allow myself to be swayed by the butler before me.

"You overstep."

The words I just spoke were not something Sirius's body had filtered and spat out on its own.

I had poured the emotion into them myself.

"That is as far as my tolerance goes."

I looked down at him with cold eyes.

Knowing the original work, I knew exactly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠how cruel a man he was.

I did not like that such a man was taking an interest in Olivia.

"Haha. Forgive me. Age leaves one with nothing but meddlesomeness."

Even under my icy gaze the butler did not lose his smile. If anything, it only deepened. My behavior must have suited his tastes.

"Young Master—no, Young Lord. So what will you do? I will respect your choice."

In the original he had never been this kind a person.

Even so, there was no need to be more wary of him than necessary.

I already understood the principle behind his actions.

"Shut your mouth. I have no need for your respect."

Those who reign do not require anyone's recognition.

I did not consider myself such a great person, but if the situation demanded it I could play the part.

"I am an Everhart."

I fixed him with a gaze heavy with killing intent.

"Do you think I will need your help to devour this family?"

Honestly, I did. With the shadow's assistance I could skip a great many tedious steps.

But I would not beg for help.

If I let myself be dragged around by the shadow, I would never achieve what I wanted.

"How insolent."

So I intended to keep my distance from him.

"Young Lord…"

Of course, whether things would go the way I planned was another matter entirely.

"…You have grown splendidly."

That was the thought that crossed my mind as I looked at the butler's face, smiling as though nothing could make him happier.