The Baron's Gift (3)
The guests fell silent, their brows knitting in quiet distaste.
Benjamin’s words had been that ugly.
All day the Baron had introduced his son to the other nobles, and every time someone remarked, “You defeated an ogre—how remarkable,” or “I hear your gift for magic is extraordinary,” the Baron had answered with the same refrain: “My boy was born with magic, but he has no talent for the sword.”
Everyone gathered here already knew that Roy excelled at magic yet was hopeless with a blade. And after watching the true loser of the magic duel turn out to be James, proposing a sword match now felt more than a little excessive.
No one said it aloud, yet the air thickened with disappointment toward the man called Benjamin Biswald.
In the end the sword bout took place as he demanded. Under the condition that mana would not be used, they fought with wooden practice blades, and Roy was defeated in an instant.
Yet not a single person pointed a finger at him—even though, among the nobles of the Steel Kingdom, skill with a sword or any weapon was considered the most elementary of accomplishments.
One of the reasons Benjamin had wasted precious time coming here at all was Geren.
He had brought his youngest son—who already showed promise in magic—for the same purpose.
Isn’t my boy remarkable? Teaching a talent like his would profit you far more.
Whatever the Baron pays you, I will guarantee three times that sum for life.
Standing under a margrave’s shadow would make expanding your own enterprises far easier, would it not?
The entire magic duel had been a stage he had coaxed his son into building, all so he could snatch Geren away from the Baron.
He had never dreamed that the son he so proudly displayed would lose on that very stage to a mere baron’s child.
Slap!
“You worthless brat!”
The moment they returned to the annex of the baron’s mansion, Benjamin struck his young son’s cheek with full force.
Winning the final sword match meant nothing when he had lost the one that actually mattered.
Geren would never light up at the sight of this boy’s talent; instead he would look at the baron’s son and swell with pride at the results of his own teaching.
“Damn it all! Nothing has gone right since I set foot in this place!”
“Please calm yourself. What fault does the child have? That boy is simply a monster.”
“I still can’t believe it. What does a seven-year-old eat to turn out like that—on nothing but a baron’s bloodline.”
Then he remembered the “mutant seizure” his wife had mentioned a short while earlier.
Knowing of it changed nothing.
Leaning back in his chair, Benjamin’s brow furrowed deeper than it ever had.
“Brother…”
At that moment Sissel quietly opened the door and stepped inside.
He had ordered his servants to keep watch so no one would overhear, yet Sissel, staying so near, could not be kept in the dark.
“Sissel… I’ve shown you an ugly sight.”
“No. I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I… I have a good idea.”
Sissel already understood exactly what her brother wanted.
The reason Benjamin had most resented her marriage to the Baron was that his cherished little sister had been given to a mere baronial house.
Their bond was far stronger than any he shared with his other siblings—strong enough that they secretly shared the Greenhilt family’s most forbidden secrets.
“The eldest son, Eric, is also staying in this mansion. Targeting him would be far easier. Making Geren your man may be difficult, but in a few years, once my own child grows, he will naturally begin teaching that child, won’t he? When that time comes, another chance will open—the chance to bring Geren under your wing.”
“Hmm…”
“There isn’t much time left. Set Geren aside for now and take the other prize first.”
“Very well. I understand. Now leave. Don’t earn the Baron’s dislike over something like this.”
“Yes.”
The instant Sissel slipped out of the room, Benjamin summoned every one of his servants.
“Kyaaaah!”
A sudden woman’s scream turned the entire mansion upside down.
The banquet that had continued from Roy’s birthday party well into the evening had not yet ended. Wondering what the uproar could be, every guest moved toward the source of the cry.
“What in the world is this disturbance!”
The Baron could not allow such a joyous day to be ruined; he urgently tried to grasp the situation.
“Th-that is… Lord Eric…”
“What about Eric!”
“Lord Eric… assaulted the maidservant who arrived with Sir Benjamin… that is… he-he struck her.”
“What!?”
The Baron immediately scanned the hall for Eric, but his son was already gone.
“So where is Eric now?”
“He has returned to his own chambers.”
“This son of mine…”
Apologizing to the nobles who had gathered at the commotion, the Baron begged them to continue enjoying the banquet, insisting it was nothing serious. The incident had already occurred, and gossipy nobles were unlikely to heed him, yet form had to be observed.
Already the whispers were rising, and fury toward Eric climbed to the top of his head. While settling the scene as best he could, he strode straight for Eric’s room.
Finding the door locked and receiving no answer only stoked his anger further. With so many eyes and ears about, he dared not shout; instead he carefully smashed the doorknob and stepped inside.
“Eric… on the family’s auspicious day, what kind of hooligan behavior is this.”
The Baron kept his voice as restrained as possible. The low, trembling tone carried a rage like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
“…I’m sorry.”
“Do I look as though I came here to receive your apology.”
“……”
“Why did you strike the maidservant?”
“……”
“Answer me at once!”
“I was insulted. In a fit of anger…”
“You’ve been drinking. The reek is overwhelming.”
“I am not drunk.”
“Not even drunk, yet you used violence against a frail maidservant. What insult could have angered you so much?”
“I cannot say. I will accept any punishment gladly.”
“……”
The Baron stared hard at his eldest son’s face for a long moment. Eric could not meet those eyes and kept his gaze fixed on the floor.
“Have I ever asked anything great of you.”
“……”
“I only hoped you would be ordinary, yet even that was too much. What exactly did you learn at the Knight Academy? Aren’t you ashamed before your little brother!”
“I was wrong. I will apologize to Roy myself.”
“Insulted? Did that maid insult this father of yours? Or your mother?”
“…No.”
“Then she must have insulted you.”
“……”
“If you wish to hold your pride before others, first equip yourself with the skill to match it. Nothing is more ridiculous than a man without ability putting on airs.”
Bang!
The Baron shut the door and vanished.
Eric clutched at his own hair in frustration.
Roy, who had overheard every word from the adjoining room, frowned.
What kind of insult could make him act like that?
He immediately summoned the maid Misha to his chambers.
As a maid, Misha was expected to remain as invisible as possible before noble guests. Yet it was equally impossible to let the maidservants Benjamin had brought roam freely through the mansion’s kitchen. Someone had to serve as a bridge between the kitchen staff and those outsiders, and for the past several days that role had fallen to Misha.
“So you’re saying the maidservants provoked Eric first?”
“That’s right. Ugh! I should have slapped that bitch myself!”
“Could you say that in front of Sir Benjamin?”
“Hing… please forgive me.”
Roy lounged on the bed with an air of self-satisfaction while speaking with Misha. An entire day of greeting nobles, plus thirty consecutive pointless wastes of mana, had left him utterly exhausted. The sword duel, in which he had done nothing and been thoroughly beaten within ten seconds, had nothing to do with his present fatigue.
“So. What exactly did she say? That maid.”
“……”
“Don’t mind me—just say it. I won’t scold you.”
“W-well…”
“If you don’t speak quickly I may have no choice but to drag you before Sir Benjamin.”
“Hing. I didn’t catch everything, only from the middle… that maid said…”
The conversation Misha had overheard went roughly like this:
“I hear there’s a useless person in this mansion?”
“Who?”
“You know—the eldest son of this house. Worse than his seven-year-old little brother, they say.”
“Ah, I heard that too. Formed a party and then does nothing? The succession is bound to go to the child who inherited the margrave’s blood, so he’s already given up or something?”
“Shh. Someone might hear. Ahahaha. But then the boy who supposedly killed an ogre wasted his effort too, didn’t he? Pfft.”
Listening, Roy simply closed his eyes while still lying on the bed. The furious Misha edged closer to check whether he had fallen asleep.
“Young master? Don’t tell me you made me talk and then just dozed off?”
“……”
“Woo~ Young Master Roy lost the sword duel~”
“Misha.”
“Eek!”
Startled, she sprang back from the bed.
“S-sorry! I was only checking if you were asleep. My little siblings always pretend to sleep and—”
“Be quiet. And never repeat to anyone what you just told me.”
“Huh? That Young Master Roy lost the sword duel?”
“No, not that! The things you heard from those maids.”
“But if the Baron asks…”
“Don’t. One wrong word and your head could roll.”
“Hic!?”
Those maidservants almost certainly carried noble blood. Servants of a margrave’s household would never be commoners. Whether daughters of lesser nobles or members of a famous house’s branch family, they were still nobles.
If Misha’s tongue slipped, the consequences could be severe.
Even so, something did not add up. No matter how bold those maids might be, they would never openly trash-talk the lord’s son in plain hearing. That Eric had overheard and flown into a rage meant they had spoken at the precise moment he was most likely to hear.
Someone put them up to it. And the culprit is obvious.
The Baron already knew as well—who had done this, and what they hoped to gain.