Chapter 2: Have I Returned?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 2: Have I Returned?
“My brother is actually going through with the engagement to the Archduchess of Valdrova?”
Huren Rosnova, the second son of the family, reacted with utter disbelief.
With his slate-gray hair and sharp brown eyes, Huren was the man responsible for the Rosnova family’s administrative affairs and the designated successor to the lordship. He had recently been away in the Empire acting as a proxy for his father, Erembalt, and had only just returned.
“Yes,” the butler reporting the news confirmed with a nod.
“For real?”
“It is the truth, sir.”
“That makes no sense. Did that idiot misunderstand something?”
“He seems to be fully aware of what the engagement entails.”
“Well, if even our eldest brother understands it, there’s no way that brat wouldn’t…”
Huren scratched his chin. Even with his vaunted intellect, he couldn’t wrap his head around the situation.
‘Faced with the choice of exile or death, why on earth would he choose death?’
Was it a desperate, pathetic attempt to prove his manhood to their father? Regardless of the reason, the decision had been finalized by the Empire. Once accepted, it couldn't be revoked.
The same applied to Ferda. If he were to suddenly change his mind and say, ‘Actually, I’m just going to leave this house,’ he would be branded a violator of Imperial law. His head would be swiftly separated from his shoulders.
“So, what is he doing now?”
“He is scheduled to depart today, so he should be preparing to leave as we speak.”
“Is that so? Then there’s still a bit of time for a brotherly chat.”
Hearing this, the butler masked a look of inward exasperation. It was Huren, more than anyone else, who had first shown loathing toward Ferda and led the bullying against him for being the blue-eyed child of a concubine. It was laughable for him to speak of 'brotherly' matters now.
Huren strolled down the hallway with his hands behind his back, looking as if he were taking a leisurely walk through a private garden. When he arrived at Ferda’s room, the maids who were supposed to be attending to him were huddled outside the door.
“Why are you all standing out here instead of attending to him?”
The maids jumped in surprise and bowed their heads, trembling.
“T-that is, we offered to assist him, but he ordered us to stay outside…”
“Ridiculous. So you’re just waiting out here like statues?”
“Yes…”
“Pathetic things. Is he actually trying to dress himself? He’s a noble, however lowly; how could he possibly know how to do that?”
Huren grumbled irritably, but internally, he was gloating.
‘I knew it! Now that the moment of truth is here, he’s throwing a tantrum because he’s too scared to go!’
Huren cleared his throat and burst through the door without warning.
“Ferda! You brat, what do you think you’re doing, not even preparing properly—!”
Huren, ready to unleash a torrent of fury, was suddenly struck dumb. The image of Ferda he had pictured—sprawled out on the bed and whining about his fate—was nowhere to be found.
Instead, Huren saw something impossible.
‘He’s... dressing himself?’
Ferda was standing before the mirror, calmly fastening his own buttons.
“How can you just barge in without knocking, brother?”
Ferda didn't even turn around, effortlessly pointing out Huren’s rudeness.
“I thought you’d be holed up in bed crying.”
“Why would I do that? How could I afford to be sluggish on a day as important as today?”
“Then why are you making the servants wait outside?”
“It’s simply because I can put on my own clothes. I won’t be able to rely on the help of maids where I'm going, anyway.”
His tone was eerily calm. His gaze remained fixed on the mirror as he inspected his appearance. Huren blinked, stunned.
‘Is this really the same guy?’
What kind of person was Ferda? He was a parasite in human skin who had survived by smiling obsequiously at his tormentors. But now? He was as composed as a seasoned veteran.
‘A mere Ferda...’
For the first time in his life, Huren felt a strange sense of tension emanating from his younger brother. To mask his unease, Huren cleared his throat and changed the subject.
“Ahem, right. I heard you accepted the engagement to the Archduchess of Valdrova.”
“Yes.”
“If you’ve read even a single book, you should know what that engagement means.”
“I know it well. Isn’t it just a polite way for the family to tell me to get lost and die?”
“Why put it like that? Even so, would Rosnova send you away without a single penny? We’re helping you so you can at least stand on your own two feet.”
Ferda thought to himself.
Money….
Yes, they would give him money. How much? Enough to live on for ten years—by a commoner's standards. For a noble like Ferda, it was a pittance that would be squandered in three days.
‘Well, I ended up giving all that money to my master back then.’
It wasn't because he wanted to. It was because the only magic master willing to take on a late-blooming disciple was a man who cared for nothing but gold. He hadn't taught much, but simply having access to his library had been the foundation Ferda needed.
‘That old man is probably still obsessed with money and women even now.’
Ferda let out a short snort as he recalled those days.
‘This brat is laughing?’
Huren was convinced that Ferda must have misunderstood the situation. Otherwise, there was no way he could be acting with such leisure.
“No matter how I look at it, you seem to be mistaken. Do you know why engaging the Violent Dragon is a death sentence?”
“How could I not? I know it well. Didn't her first fiancé get torn to pieces?”
The Archduchess of Valdrova’s first fiancé was the 3rd Imperial Prince—an uncle to the current Emperor. He was famous for being brilliant, exceptionally handsome, and well-liked. He had even been considered a candidate for the throne before declining the position.
That 3rd Imperial Prince had been reduced to a pulp, his body so mangled it was beyond recognition. It happened less than a day after he arrived at the Archduchess’s side.
Based on that incident, the public reached a grim conclusion:
The man who becomes Valdrova’s fiancé must possess abilities exceeding those of the 3rd Imperial Prince.
Since then, Valdrova had searched for a new fiancé, but no one volunteered. Even the near-perfect 3rd Imperial Prince had failed; there was no way anyone else could fill those shoes. Still, a fiancé had to be selected, so one noble was chosen every year.
The problem was that they all either fled or declared they would strike their names from their family registers to escape the duty. Gradually, the engagement took on a different meaning, becoming a convenient pretext for noble houses to cast out unwanted children.
“Do you believe you can achieve what even the 3rd Imperial Prince could not?”
Could he?
“I don’t know.”
To be honest, he wasn't sure. Even as the man who would become the youngest 8th Circle Archmage in history, he couldn't say for certain. However, Ferda was no longer the type of person who only moved when he had certainty.
“Well, I suppose I’ll find out when I get there, won’t I?”
Huren thought Ferda was being reckless. He looked at him with a gaze full of exasperation and issued a cold threat.
“I don’t care what you do, but don’t you dare run away.”
“…….”
“The moment you flee, the Rosnova family will dispatch assassins to take your head. Do you understand?”
Normally, Ferda would have been terrified by that look. But now, Ferda simply stared back at Huren, his eyes devoid of emotion.
“Brother.”
Huren found himself momentarily overwhelmed by that cold gaze.
“W-what?”
“Keep your lower half in check. Everyone knows about those lecherous looks you give our eldest sister-in-law.”
Huren’s face turned a violent shade of crimson.
“W-what?! You... you... what are you talking about?!”
“Even if you want to hit me, please hold back. Your younger brother has to go jump into a dragon’s maw now, so I’ll be on my way.”
Ferda patted Huren on the shoulder as he walked past him. Huren could only stare blankly at Ferda’s retreating back, stunned by the boy's sheer audacity and ease.
* * *
“It was an honor to serve you, young master.”
The butler, seeing him off on his final journey, shed crocodile tears. Ferda looked at those tears intently.
‘He’s saying things he doesn’t mean.’
If those tears had any meaning, they were closer to liberation than sorrow. For a servant, serving a talentless, useless young master in a noble house was a source of shame.
‘Did this guy mess with my food too?’
He hadn't known back then. He had thought that the slippery floors that made him fall or the times he vomited after eating were simply due to his own frail body. How could he have imagined that the servants were responsible?
Normally, it was a realization that would have fueled a fire of hatred and revenge. The only mercy he would have shown was killing them so swiftly they wouldn't even realize they were dead.
‘But what does any of that matter now?’
The current Ferda was incredibly peaceful. The raging flames of his past life had vanished, replaced by a quiet tranquility. Having already completed his revenge once, he decided to hold no more lingering attachments to this place.
Ferda patted the butler’s shoulder and offered a dry word of encouragement.
“Yes, you’ve worked hard. Taking care of someone like me for so long must have been a chore.”
“……Pardon?”
The butler, who had been faking his tears, was so startled that his crying stopped instantly.
“Please look after the Rosnova family in my absence.”
“Ah, yes….”
Ferda turned away. He was far too calm for someone walking toward his death. As Ferda stepped outside the manor, the servant waiting for him greeted him.
“I am Hans, the coachman who will be escorting you to your destination, young master.”
“A coachman?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Ferda tilted his head.
“Am I traveling in a carriage?”
“Pardon? Ah, yes. A carriage. What else would it be?”
“Hmm, I see.”
“Is there a problem, sir?”
“No, it’s nothing. I just thought it felt quite nostalgic.”
“Ah, I see. ……Wait, what?”
No matter how much he thought about it, the coachman couldn't understand what the young master meant.
“Then, we shall depart!”
Neigh!
The sound of a horse’s snort was followed by the rhythmic thumping of hooves. The carriage began to roll.
‘It’s been a long time since I’ve been in one of these.’
In the end times Ferda remembered, carriages had all but disappeared. Or more accurately, they had become niche items for the middle class as the concept of transportation evolved.
‘Their place was taken by Mana Cars.’
At first, people resisted, claiming tradition was being lost. But before long, their superior control and spatial convenience made them a staple for the nobility.
‘Then Sky Carriages came out, and all sorts of other things followed.’
They were all products forged under the name of Magitech.
‘Though it had nothing to do with me.’
For Ferda, who had lived only for revenge, it was a field of magic that held little interest.
‘Magic….’
Ferda had reached the 9th Circle, a feat no one else in history had achieved, and had cast a wish spell. But currently, he was not a 9th Circle Archmage.
‘Just the frail, undervalued Ferda.’
Naturally, he was far removed from magic at this moment. In his past life, he had awakened his magic after leaving home, driven strictly by anger and a thirst for blood. The current Ferda lacked that boiling rage. It was only natural that he hadn't awakened yet.
‘I don’t even want to live like that anymore.’
Looking back, the magic Ferda had wielded was like a drug. It felt good at first, but as his threshold increased, it became an uncontrollable addiction. When he was mad with power, everything felt refreshing, but now it was a terrible memory he never wanted to relive. Ferda liked this current, bittersweet tranquility.
‘Still, I don’t want to live without using magic at all….’
Life was quite inconvenient without it. For instance, dressing oneself. Upon reaching the 3rd Circle, it became possible to put on simple clothes using magic. At the 4th Circle, one could command magic to dress them in complex formal wear automatically.
‘I’ll need to reach at least the 4th Circle if I want to live comfortably.’
If any other mage heard him talking about the 4th Circle as if it were a basic utility, they would have been appalled. But the immediate feeling he felt was a sense of being lost. He had reached the heights of the 9th Circle once, but it wasn't a path he was familiar with in this youthful, untainted state.
What would Ferda, devoid of anger and revenge, need to awaken his magic?
“M-my lord…!”
As if answering his internal question, the coachman’s frightened voice rang out. That alone told him everything.
“W-we have arrived!”
* * *
The carriage had stopped in the middle of a dense forest. A sign stood before an open road.
—Beyond this point is the Archduchess’s territory. Entry is strictly prohibited.—
This was as far as the carriage could go.
“Good work.”
Ferda stepped out of the carriage. The coachman unloaded the luggage and waited by his side, trembling.
“You may go now.”
“But I should wait for the person coming to receive you….”
He was putting up a pointless show of persistence. He had undoubtedly been ordered to ensure Ferda didn't run away.
“A dragon will be here shortly.”
“A-a dragon, sir?”
“Well, likely not the dragon itself, but a subordinate who carries its blood—a Spawn. But to people like you, it might as well be a dragon.”
Cold sweat trickled down the coachman’s forehead. Ferda gestured toward the horses.
“Even if you can endure seeing a dragon, those beasts won’t. If the horses bolt and you can’t get home, you’ll be the one suffering, won’t you?”
“Ah…!”
“So, just report that I arrived safely and head back. It’ll all be for naught if you end up dead, won’t it?”
“I-I understand.”
The coachman didn't persist any longer. He set down a large bag and scrambled back onto his seat.
“Then, I shall take my leave!! Stay healthy, my lord!”
The man didn't even look back as he lashed the horses. The carriage bounced away so quickly it nearly tipped over. Ferda sat on his luggage as if it were a chair and waited.
“The Archduchess’s territory, huh….”
A moment later, a sudden, chilling wind began to blow. Ferda looked up toward the dark forest.
A girl was standing there. She was a young, silver-haired maid.
One shouldn't be fooled by her delicate appearance. She was a Dragon Spawn.
“Are you Lord Ferda Rosnova?” she asked politely.
“I am.”
“I will escort you to the castle. This way.”