Chapter 17
Chapter 17
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Enemy
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It happened in an instant. Unable to withstand the sudden impact, the man's massive body toppled backward. Berik mounted him and mercilessly drove his fists down.
Thud! Thud!
"Uh...."
The companions standing nearby watched the scene in a daze for a moment. Sure, it was a surprise attack, but this wasn't a guy who should go down from a single punch. He looked like he could grab Berik by the hair and hurl him away any second, just like before.
Yet he was taking a one-sided beating.
"St-stop him! Stop him!"
"Are you crazy? What the hell, Berik!"
"You lost your damn mind!"
But the reaction from the guy pinned underneath was strange. He collapsed pathetically without so much as twitching a finger, as if he had passed out.
Only then did his comrades panic and rush at Berik.
"Get off!"
" Snap out of it!"
Berik's breathing was ragged and irregular. His momentum was ferocious, like he had taken some kind of drug. It took five or more trainees piling on to finally drag him off.
"What the hell are you doing right now!"
"What happened?"
Deo and the instructors came running at the commotion.
A sprawled giant of a man and Berik, craving blood. It was hard to believe this had happened with bare fists, no weapons. If Berik had been the one knocked down, it might have made sense.
"Haa... haa.... Haha!"
"He's completely lost it, Instructor!"
"Berik just charged at him out of nowhere!"
Berik lay flat on the ground, bursting into laughter. His refreshed expression was a sight to behold. The trainees pressing him down with their bodies recoiled in disgust, frowning. The instructor lifted his chin with a boot.
"Berik."
"Ah. Fuck, this is the stuff."
"Berik!"
"The bastard who turned his back mid-spar is the real idiot!"
His bellowing roar was chillingly hot-blooded. The instructor kicked his face as if it wasn't worth responding to, and soon Berik's pained groan erupted.
"Take that one to the infirmary, and bind Berik and drag him to the punishment room."
At the instructor's command, everyone moved with crisp efficiency. As Berik was hauled away, his eyes locked with Ian's. Unlike Ian's impassive expression, Berik's eyes gleamed with the excitement of an adventurer who had found treasure. He must have been overwhelmed with satisfying pleasure.
'Definitely a madman.'
Ian agreed with what the trainees had said. Among all the sword-mages he'd seen, this guy ranked at the top for being a total pain in the ass.
On the flip side, it also meant he had no fear in battle. A warrior who didn't fear death had no equal.
"Master Ian."
"Ah."
Deo approached Ian, furrowing his brow.
"What did that guy do?"
The words didn't match his tone at all—it wasn't concern. It was closer to a perfunctory question. Ian dusted off his sleeves and replied.
"Nah. I just got an earful of abuse."
"...Unfortunately, we'll have to wrap up for today. Young Master Chel's condition aside, the training grounds are a mess."
Chel lay spread-eagled in the shade, catching his breath. His plump belly rose and fell laboriously. At least he had moved around some.
Not only that, but blood pooled where the man had been pinned, so it was clear training was done for the day. Assuming Ian's goal was just the training.
"Sure. But about that Berik fellow."
Deo, turning to leave, paused at Ian's call.
"What will his punishment be?"
"He's such a troublemaker that we'll have to hold a meeting, but he'll probably get the whip and be kicked out."
And any pay he'd received so far would be confiscated under the pretext of compensation for damages. Ian walked away expressionless, but inside, he smiled in satisfaction.
'It wasn't intentional, but it worked out well.'
Berik's current status was as one of Derga Bratz's private soldiers. But if he was expelled and became free, forming a connection would be much easier. A guy who blindly chased strength would surely seek out Ian over that mysterious sensation he'd just felt.
'With a temperament like that, he'll crawl here on the day he gets whipped.'
Ian shook his head with a wry smile, glancing at the back door of the training grounds where Berik had vanished.
A fiery one. If Contract Magic were possible, that could control him, but it was beyond Ian for now. He'd have to handle him like a beast, coaxing him this way and that.
"Huff, huff...."
"Brother. Are you okay?"
"...I-I can't do it. I really can't!"
Chel wailed in near tears, venting his frustration. Ever since seeing Ian's golden eyes, he hadn't raised his voice like this. It must truly be beyond him.
"Understood. Handle it yourself from now on, brother."
But Ian flashed a smile implying he wouldn't let it slide if Chel made the count cut off his own training opportunities because of him.
Whether Chel got it or not, he wiped his sweat and struggled to his feet. The pool of blood on the ground was gruesome, and the distant crack of whips and screams were frightening.
The training grounds really weren't for him, Chel realized once again.
* * *
And the next day.
The official third luncheon with Lord Molin began. The garden was even more vibrant with fully bloomed flowers. Molin, Mac, and Drgor led the meal far more comfortably than before.
"So that's when I asked the young lady for the favor."
"Ah, I've heard that story before."
"Madam must know it well too."
No more meaningful insinuations like before, no power plays with Derga. No tricky questions to test Ian either. Centered on Countess Mary, they only chatted about trivial social gossip. It was clearly a change because Ian had coordinated with them behind the scenes.
Derga, who had been silent for a while, finally spoke up.
"Lord Molin."
"Yes, Count Bratz."
"Has Ian been shown around the territory well?"
There were suspicions, but no evidence. Chel and Deo knew nothing, and Broche had checked three times amid his busyness. But there was no leverage.
"On his first outing, we went to the park after lunch. The weather was perfect for a walk, and the academy debate was splendid. It's a vivid memory."
"...That's fortunate, then."
"Oh, right. Master Ian. Will you show us that room you mentioned last time today?"
Room? What room? For a brief moment, Ian recalled.
When Molin first suggested going out, hadn't he jokingly asked if Ian wanted to see his room?
Ian glanced at Derga and smiled. The steak on his plate had vanished cleanly. If permission came, it might be best to stand and end the meal right there.
"Is that alright, Father?"
"I'd like to join, but...."
Derga tried to tag along, but the presence of the aide hovering at the garden entrance was overpowering. He fidgeted like a whining puppy, making it worse. There must be urgent business left.
"Finish entertaining the guests, Madam."
He clicked his tongue inwardly and glared at Countess Mary. His instructing tone was overbearing, like a plea.
"Yes. Of course."
The chill had grown even colder since their fight. At least in front of guests, she maintained that much face.
Countess Mary wiped her hands with a napkin and smiled radiantly. Like an actress changing expressions on stage.
"Shall we get up, then?"
"Sounds good. Great meal today too. Excellent."
As everyone set down their utensils, the waiting servants bustled about. One approached the countess as if on cue and whispered something.
"Ah."
"Is something wrong, Madam?"
"Sorry. Lady Merelrof's attendant is waiting at the main gate."
"You mean the Countess Merelrof of the neighboring territory?"
Mac asked, slightly surprised. Merelrof Count. Being on the frontier, he wasn't big in high society.... But from Countess Mary's demeanor, she seemed to know her very well.
Countess Mary smiled in agreement. A smile laced with mockery.
"Yes. She has something for me to receive. Ian, take the guests to the room first? We'll bring tea shortly."
The countess gracefully excused herself. Derga gave his final greetings and headed to his study, and Ian led the guests to the annex room.
Creak.
"As they say, a room reflects its owner. Very bright and cheerful."
Mac looked around, praising it. The three sat on the sofa. Ian fetched parchment and a pen, pointing to his chest. Everyone knew what the red brooch signified.
"Thank you, Lord Mac."
"You mentioned practicing your handwriting. May we see?"
"Of course."
Mac and Drgor filled the silence with endless chatter to buy time until Countess Mary arrived. Ian gripped the pen and wrote a simple sentence.
-What should I do?
-Is access to Count Derga's study possible?
-I go up constantly for mana stone regeneration.
A pretext for visiting the study. Ian suspected it was about tax issues, as expected. Molin paused, choosing his words carefully.
-We need to confirm the total grain harvest from the territory and the coal mine production from the Monne Mountain Range. Also, the farmer tax rate records from last summer to now. Copying is best, but if difficult, just note the numbers and stamp with the seal.
So they did have a coal mine. But coal wasn't a huge asset anyway.
Even without detailed lists, a stamped document would count as a whistleblower report, enabling forced searches.
That was why nobles treasured their seals, and why entrusting a seal was a common measure of loyalty.
-Does that mean the Bratz family is embezzling taxes?
-Suspicion only for now.
Ian feigned hesitation as he wrote.
-Embezzlement is a capital crime that destroys a house.
He needed their oath not to annihilate the family.
If Bratz Castle vanished, Ian's position would too. And with Derga's blood mixed in, he'd likely become a palace slave. He'd have to spend his life repaying the embezzled taxes.
-If I oppose registering you, you're not Bratz family. You'll avoid execution, no border crossing needed. How good is that?
'Look at these guys.'
As expected, Molin didn't give the desired answer. He assumed Ian wouldn't know the aftermath and didn't care much anyway.
A mana user might be different, but for a brothel kid, that was plenty of reward.
'Natural choice, but inconvenient.'
Given his position, he couldn't openly demand the family's survival. To topple Derga, palace power was essential. But seeming too shrewd would be trouble.
"Ah."
Lost in thought, a gasp escaped Ian unbidden. Mac and Drgor turned at the sudden sound.
"Master Ian?"
"Sorry. Bit my tongue."
"Be careful. Even small wounds hurt."
Molin's kind concern didn't sound kind. If dragged along like this, there'd be no escape. Ian refined the idea that had just struck him and wrote.
-Then I have one proposal.
-Please, as you like.
A way to protect himself from the palace's judgment and preserve the territory's ownership. The enemy of my enemy is a friend, right? Derga and the palace still shared a common foe.
-I won't register, but I will meet the Cheonryeo Tribe.