Chapter 7
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: A Changed Reception
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"Young master! His Excellency the Duke and the Young Duke have arrived!"
A knight's urgent voice rang out.
I straightened my clothes and stepped out of the tent.
Far in the distance, a group of horses kicked up dust as they approached.
Of the two leading riders, one was my brother Ernst. Shining silver armor draped with a red cape. The Krushtein crest gleamed clearly on his breastplate.
And beside him, the giant.
My father. Walter von Krushtein.
He looked different from how I'd seen him at the mansion. No ornate ceremonial robes, no dignified mantle.
Black steel armor.
A practical design stripped of all excess. Not a single decoration. Not even the family crest engraved.
Two swords at his waist.
One was a longsword.
A demonic sword. One of the treasures few enough to count across the entire Empire.
The other a dagger.
Six throwing hand axes hung by his horse's saddle.
All the same size, the same weight. Clearly crafted for perfect balance.
Less a knight... more a mercenary.
No splendor, no nobility. But dignity? That he had.
And it wasn't the dignity of a noble. It was the bloodlust of a slaughterer.
A ten-year-old's body reacted honestly. Instinctively, I shrank back.
Sir Heinrich stepped forward.
He knelt. The other knights and soldiers followed suit.
I started to kneel as well.
"Adrian."
Father's voice reached me. Low, heavy, resonant.
He looked down at me.
My breath caught.
"Well done! As expected of my son!"
Suddenly, a broad grin split his face.
"Th-th-thank you."
He clapped my shoulders hard.
Thud!Thud!
My bones felt like they'd shatter.
"Over five hundred orcs. Annihilated without a single casualty?"
"...Yes."
"Hahaha! Incredible! Truly incredible!"
His laughter boomed across the entire village.
I opened my mouth cautiously.
"Compared to Father's exploits in his youth, it's nothing."
The laughter cut off.
Father stared straight at me.
"Son."
"Yes..."
"Even humility has its limits."
I didn't dare argue.
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Heinrich."
Father called Sir Heinrich, a pleased smile on his face.
"Yes, Your Excellency!"
"Give a detailed report. How the battle unfolded, from start to finish."
Sir Heinrich rose.
He glanced at me once, then spoke.
"This victory... belongs entirely to Young Master Adrian."
The area fell silent.
Brother Ernst's eyes sharpened once more.
"Continue."
"Young Master obtained information about a ravine to the north of the village. He devised a plan to lure the orcs there and wipe them out with fire."
"Fire?"
"Yes. Combustibles piled on both sides of the ravine, then set alight once the orcs entered. Trapped in that narrow gorge, they had nowhere to flee... not a single one survived."
Father turned to me.
"Where'd you get the intel on the ravine?"
I hesitated for a moment.
Was it right to drag Lize into this?
But I couldn't lie.
"My personal maid told me."
"A maid with military intel?"
"She's originally from this village. She said she used to play there as a child."
"Hmm."
Father stroked his chin. His gaze drifted somewhere behind me.
Where Lize stood.
Hiccup.Hiccup.
A familiar sound drifted from afar.
"Whatever. Intel's intel, from wherever... Heinrich, you followed orders well. Taking commands from a ten-year-old, even if he's my son."
"I was skeptical at first, but Young Master insisted on scouting the ravine himself. Only after seeing it did I realize—we could win."
Father nodded slowly.
"Judgment, strategic thinking, execution. You've got them all."
"The traps—dug by the soldiers?"
"Under Young Master's command, the villagers hauled combustibles and prepared all day."
"Proper command, then."
I glanced sideways.
Brother Ernst stood there.
Smiling as always. Except... that smile was different.
The corners of his mouth were upturned, but something flickered deep in his eyes.
I knew what he was thinking.
How many 'talented siblings' had died or been crippled by him so far?
Official records called them accidents, but anyone who wasn't a fool could guess who was behind it.
Father's praise wasn't a blessing.
It was a curse.
The moment you're deemed a 'prospect,' a bastard becomes a threat.
To the firstborn son.
To the next head of the house.
And threats must be eliminated.
But I was still safe for now.
As long as he didn't give me that.
Truth be told, it didn't make sense. I was only ten, wasn't I?
Grand jeté or whatever, as long as I flattered big brother diligently, I'd be fine.
"Adrian. Step forward."
At the sudden command, I took one step ahead.
Father drew something from his waist.
A small leather pouch.
...No way.
"Kneel."
I knelt.
Father's hand rested on my shoulder.
Heavy. Not just the weight of his armored gauntlet. Something more.
"For the merit of annihilating over five hundred orcs in this battle. For achieving perfect victory without a single allied loss."
Father's voice echoed across the village square.
Please.
Please, no.
"Adrian von Krushtein. I bestow upon you the Medal of Merit."
A silver badge emerged from the leather pouch.
A silver medallion engraved with the Krushtein crest.
The Medal of Merit.
Fuck.
My heart pounded.
Father pinned the badge to my chest.
Cold, heavy metal caught on my collar.
"Congratulations, son."
I was screwed.
Completely.
Monetarily, it wasn't much—silver, not gold.
It had a few enchantments, sure, but on the open market? Wouldn't fetch ten gold coins.
But that wasn't the medal's true worth.
A badge personally bestowed by Father—Walter von Krushtein.
It meant one thing.
'This one is a prime contender for House Krushtein's succession.'
An official declaration.
Bastard or legitimate didn't matter. Ability recognized. Contribution to the house made.
Thus, qualified to vie for the head's seat.
...Or so it proclaimed.
Of course, I had zero interest.
I just wanted a quiet life, maybe as a history professor.
But that didn't matter.
Whether I wanted it or not.
Intended it or not.
From the moment that silver medal was pinned to my chest, I'd essentially declared war on the firstborn, Ernst.
Three days after returning to the mansion, having finished my duties as proxy lord.
I sat at my desk in my room.
A book lay open before me, but I hadn't read a single line.
The silver medal from my chest.
Removed, but it still weighed on me.
That small metal piece on the desk kept invading my vision.
"Young master."
Lize brought tea.
Warm steam rose from it.
"Thanks."
I took the cup but didn't drink.
Just cradled it in my hands.
Lize spoke cautiously.
"Young master, getting recognized by His Excellency the Duke... isn't that good?"
"Lize, in our house, 'talented' means the same as 'watch out.' No matter how talented, I'm just a spare for the legitimate big brother. He doesn't care if I live or die."
"Huh?"
Lize wore a puzzled expression, like it didn't add up.
"I... don't think so..."
"Lize, whatever you think..."
Knock knock.
The knock at the door cut me off.
"Come in."
The door opened, and an elderly servant entered—a veteran who'd served the mansion for over twenty years.
In his hand, a single parchment envelope.
"Young master, a letter has arrived."
"A letter?"
I took the envelope.
It was light.
But the moment I saw the seal, my heart plummeted.
The Krushtein crest.
Not the Duke's, though.
"Thank you."
I kept my voice as steady as possible.
The servant bowed and withdrew.
As soon as the door closed, Lize hurried over.
"Who's it from?"
Instead of answering, I broke the seal.
One sheet of parchment.
A single line of text.
『Tomorrow night, midnight. North annex. Bastard Society』
"...Bastard Society."
I muttered it aloud, and my mouth went dry.
"Bastard Society?"
Lize tilted her head.
"Yeah. A gathering of the bastards who've earned medals."
Lives ticking down until big brother decides to eliminate them, yet banding together—wary of each other, desperate to survive.
Mutual surveillance and mutual reliance.
Hatred and alliances.
An organization built on that knife-edge balance.
"A gathering? Do you have to go?"
"You can attend... or refuse."
"Then just don't go!"
Lize beamed innocently.
I gave a wry smile.
"Refusing sends a message too, Lize."
"A message?"
"It says, 'I have no intention of cooperating with you bastards.' That's the declaration."
Lize's face hardened.
"Then... then..."
"Skip it, and you make enemies. Go, and you get dragged in."
I set the parchment down on the desk.
Either way was bad.
The Bastard Society members weren't on big brother's level, but none could be dismissed lightly.
Each had built their own power bases in their domains.
And there was that rumor, even harder to ignore.
Father distributed missions through the Bastard Society. More precisely, he leaked info to the recognized bastards first—via the Society—before any official announcement.
If it was true... this wasn't an invitation.
It was an order.