Chapter 89: Stories of the Past
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 89: Stories of the Past
"Stephan."
Murchit’s voice was thick with emotion.
But the sentiment lasted only a moment.
"Things are difficult right now, so I’ll be the bigger man and let this slide. Once you’ve cooled your head, you’d better apologize for calling me a murderer."
He spoke as if gently admonishing a child, but to Stephan, it was nothing short of patronizing.
"Don't make me laugh. Are you... are you telling me I’m just barking up the wrong tree?"
"Do you truly believe your own brother did this?"
"I already have the evidence. Look at this!"
Stephan whipped out the scarf he had been clutching. The emblem of the Pascal Mercenary Agency flashed before Murchit’s eyes.
"I know your methods! That filthy tactic of 'creating demand where there is a need'! This all started the moment I said I would monopolize that trade route."
"You’re going to believe the nonsense those merchant bastards spout?"
"It’s not just one person! Everyone who ever contracted with you says the same thing! How could I not suspect you!?"
Murchit fell into thought, absorbing the accusation.
"Fine, maybe I did do those things to the people who crossed me."
He admitted it readily, his tone casual, but then he tilted his head.
"But where is the proof that I interfered in your business?"
"Isn't it right here?"
"This fancy scarf? You can make as many of these as you want."
He fluttered the fabric dismissively before tossing it onto the table.
"My agency has ten thousand registered mercenaries. We have over two thousand of these scarves in stock. Anyone could have stolen one to frame my men. You’re supposed to be the smart one—how did you not think of that?"
"Could you say that even in an Imperial Court?!"
"You want to go to court? You want to go for total destruction? You little shit, you really are pissed off. To think you’d drag your own family before a judge."
"Stop with that 'family' nonsense! You only bring up family when things are hard for you, but when it’s time to eat, we’re strangers, aren't we?!"
"Are you saying I tried to keep the family's wealth all to myself? Hey, Stephan. I helped you plenty when you were struggling. I gave you favors, I did everything I could for you, so what the fuck is the problem?"
"Haven't I been telling you? The problem is that those bandit bastards you lead killed my employees!"
"This little shit is really going to keep calling my men third-rate trash—"
"Murchit Pascal."
Murchit, the veins in his neck bulging, was halfway out of his seat. When Ferda called his name, the mercenary realized the Regent had been watching the entire time and bowed his head.
"My apologies, Regent. I have shown you an unseemly side of my family affairs."
"I do not mind that. However, I must ask you to step out for a moment. I have something to discuss with Stephan in private."
"Of course. I shall take my leave."
Murchit bowed obediently and withdrew. Once he was gone, Stephan pointed at the empty seat and shouted.
"There’s nothing more to see! It was that bastard’s doing!"
His face was beet red.
"Stephan."
"We have to seize him and interrogate him right now! Ask him if he feels relieved after killing thirty-three people!"
"I wanted to do that, but seeing the state you're in, I don't think I can."
"The state I'm in? What’s wrong with me?"
Ferda answered while sweeping over him with cold, piercing eyes.
"You look like nothing more than a ghost thirsting for blood and revenge."
"Revenge. Isn't that why I'm here?"
"The problem is that your revenge does not fit the present. The vengeance you seek now is dragging up grudges from your past as well, is it not?"
"I..."
Stephan wanted to deny it, but Ferda’s words allowed him to regain a sliver of composure.
"I suppose you're right. To be honest, I suffered much at my brother's hands when we were young."
"Tell me."
"Whenever I came home after being beaten by someone, he would say he didn't like my spirit. He’d beat me half to death with a wooden sword, claiming he was 'training' me."
Ferda could understand that feeling, if only a little. After his mother died, Ferda—treated as a bastard—had suffered such harsh treatment countless times.
"And I... no. Let's stop this story."
"No. Do not stop."
Ferda prevented him from ending his lament.
"Express every bit of anger you hold toward Murchit right now."
"What? Why would I do that?"
"Because it will help."
"I don't think it'll be much help..."
"Then consider it an order. Curse him. Shout out everything he ever did to you."
Stephan was flustered by Ferda’s request. However, forced by the situation, he squeezed out the name.
"Murchit... you... you... son of a... bitch..."
It started as a strangled whisper, but that didn't matter.
"You..."
Like a dam bursting, his emotions turned violent in an instant.
"You filthy bastard!!!"
Stephan’s eyes rolled back as he began to scream at the top of his lungs.
"Damn it, that cursed bastard! He prayed for my downfall, and then he pulls this?! Did I look that easy to you?! Huh!?"
"..."
"I'll make you pay! Just like you broke my bones when I was a kid, I'm going to crush every single bone in your body!"
He continued to rage, shouting a long string of grudges accumulated over decades. After ten minutes of non-stop screaming, Stephan’s voice finally gave out.
"Ack! Cough!"
"Have a drink."
"Cough, cough... Thank you..."
Stephan sat down and drained the tea. He slumped in his seat like a man who had been hollowed out.
"Do you feel a bit better?"
"Yes, thanks to you, Regent... I think I’ve avoided a heart attack."
"Then your eyes should be open now. Let us resume our discussion."
Stephan corrected his posture, and Ferda spoke to him.
"To get straight to the point, this does not feel like Murchit Pascal’s doing."
"...Pardon?"
Until just a moment ago, hadn't they been talking as if Murchit was the culprit because of the scarf? But now he was saying it wasn't him?
"Then why did you tell me to curse my brother?"
"So that you would no longer be possessed by your malice. Weren't you harboring thoughts that clouded your reason?"
Stephan found Ferda’s words absurd, but he couldn't deny the truth in them. Had he ever screamed like that before? As a child, he usually just cried with his fist in his mouth; as an adult, the most he did was sob while sipping alcohol hidden in the corner of his desk.
Now, he had poured it all out in a roar.
"You said that contracting with the Pascal Mercenary Agency is no different from making a deal with a devil, right?"
"Yes."
"Didn't you know that from the beginning?"
"I did."
"Then you could have suspected your brother from the very start. But you never showed that suspicion to me until now."
Ferda asked calmly, "What was the reason for that?"
"The reason was... I wasn't in my right mind back then, and..."
"Is that the only reason? You simply didn't think of it?"
At Ferda’s question, Stephan shook his head. It couldn't have been just that. Stephan thought about why he hadn't suspected Murchit first when the attack happened.
Murchit Pascal.
Family and enemy. Since they were young, Murchit had been unable to control his overflowing bloodlust. He had used that temperament to become a mercenary captain. He had charisma and leadership. And having leadership meant knowing the weight of a position—something common thugs did not understand.
Stephan analyzed him as a merchant would analyze another executive, judging him only by documented facts. When he did, the answer came with surprising clarity.
"...The possibility was low."
"The reason?"
"The idea that my brother would retaliate if someone didn't contract with him... honestly, it's little more than a myth. It would be an act of digging his own grave. In reality, most of those cases involved people who hired cheap mercenaries, entered dangerous areas, and met with disaster. They bought cheap goods and then blamed someone else for the consequences."
People see what they want to see and believe what they want to believe. Stephan had been so gripped by emotion that he had missed even such basic logic.
"So, my current opinion is that... a single scarf cannot make that suspicion certain."
Stephan couldn't believe it even as he reached the conclusion himself. Just minutes ago, he was certain Murchit was the culprit and was planning a cruel revenge. He had judged with emotion, not reason, and had been blinded by it. If Ferda hadn't helped him shake it off, he would have ended up destroying his own family.
As Stephan swallowed his hollow feeling, Ferda turned to Ruri.
"Bring Murchit Pascal back inside."
Murchit, who had been waiting, took his seat, and the three-way meeting resumed. Unlike the previous atmosphere that was about to explode, a calm current now flowed through the room.
"Murchit Pascal. I have finished my talk with Stephan, but I want you to say it one last time for certainty."
"Speak, Regent."
"Can you swear that you were not involved in the attack on Stephan?"
Ferda asked so coldly it felt chilling. Murchit raised his index finger.
"I have one principle. Other people are just as precious as my own family. My men and I take up the sword for money to protect others. If we take up the sword to take money, then we’re no different from third-rate thugs or bandits, are we?"
"Yes, thank you."
Hearing Murchit’s words, Ferda gestured toward the scarf on the table.
"If this scarf has nothing to do with the mercenary agency’s involvement, then it means someone was trying to drive a wedge between the two of you."
"Between me and my brother?"
Murchit’s eyes widened. As evident from his face, he was genuinely enraged.
"What kind of bastard had the balls to touch my family?"
"I think I know who it is," the now-calm Stephan replied.
"Who?"
"Our sister, Tilda."
The name that came out of his mouth was another family member.
"On the surface, she acts as if the Dandolo Merchant House is enough for her, but she’s the one who wants the Pascal Trading Company more than anyone. She’s persistent and has been sabotaging me behind the scenes. Besides, she’s the only one who stands to gain from me and my brother being at each other's throats."
"Yeah, that bitch is definitely capable of this."
Murchit, who was quite attached to his family, also agreed at the mention of his sister. It was a strange dynamic.
"Is Tilda Pascal not your family?"
"Don't even mention it. She’s not a woman I can call family."
Murchit answered calmly, though he was suppressing his boiling blood.
"Do you know what she tried to do when my wife was pregnant with our first? Under the guise of a congratulatory gift, she sent my wife poison. Fortunately, I ate it without knowing and suffered for it, but if my wife had eaten it, she would have surely miscarried. I already found her annoying because she didn't have a single likable quality, but she truly crossed the line then."
It was Stephan who was shocked by those words.
"Something like that happened five years ago?"
"I wasn't certain, so I didn't tell anyone. Throwing a fit would have only given that bitch what she wanted."
Stephan, who had assumed Murchit’s personality would have led him to flip everything upside down and scream for her head, had seen a surprising side of him.
"Anyway, she’s a woman with no talent but plenty of greed. Since she doesn't have the ability to be self-made, she probably seduced that old bachelor Henri Dandolo to take over the Dandolo Merchant House, and now she’s trying to swallow Father’s company."
Murchit clenched his fist, which was the size of a pot lid. His veins bulged menacingly.
"So, what will you do, Regent?" Murchit asked. "We could go over there right now, flip everything over, and drag her here."
"Wouldn't that only worsen the mercenary agency's image?"
"You don't need to worry about that. If I can push that witch onto the burning pyre, I don't care if I become a devil. If she touched my family, she must pay the price."
His anger burned fiercely. As a mercenary who had survived the roughest battlefields, he knew well how to use anger as fuel.
"You must not cause her direct harm."
The one who said that was Stephan.
"What? Stephan, are you an idiot?"
"Think about it. Using violence is not the answer. The fact that she started such a malicious act means her plan has clearly begun. In the worst-case scenario, the entire Pascal family could collapse."
"I suppose..."
Since both of them knew what kind of person Tilda was, it didn't take long to convince them.
"She is a woman whose malice runs deep. We must not touch her recklessly until we have firm proof that this was Tilda’s doing."
"Then what do we do?"
Stephan spoke, forcing his racing heart to calm down.
"For now, we act as if we returned without resolving this misunderstanding. We give the opponent exactly what they want. If we do, the plan will surely proceed as scheduled."
"And that’s how we’ll catch her tail."
Murchit slapped his knee.
"Fine. I agree. Let’s draw that woman out properly."
"Understood."
The two brothers, who had almost become enemies, united before a common foe.