The Bet Between Father and Son (1)
In truth, Xiel had not yet departed.
He stood rooted to a stall in the market square of the Hopel estate. Drawn in by an intoxicating aroma just as he was about to set out, he had found himself utterly powerless to walk away.
"You've eaten so much... is your stomach really all right, sir?"
"It is delicious. Therefore, I eat a great deal."
"W-Well, I'm certainly grateful, but..."
What Xiel was currently devouring were clusters of fried nuts bound together with assorted ingredients. Rolling them in a thick coat of honey yielded nothing short of heavenly flavor.
"The savory and the sweet alternate in pleasing harmony."
"You've got a sharp tongue, sir! That's the pride of our Hopel estate, paired with the finest honey in all the South!"
The stall owner boasted with overflowing pride, though he still could not mask his growing concern.
"Still... are you sure you're feeling okay? In all my years, I've never seen anyone put away food like you do."
"My stomach is entirely functional."
With that flat declaration, Xiel popped his fortieth treat into his mouth.
This was despite having already finished a proper meal back at the Hopel family manor.
It seems student Celia Rihardt was correct when she said dessert goes into a separate stomach.
Each piece was roughly the size of a newborn infant's fist—hardly small by any measure. Even as he fretted, the vendor was beaming on the inside.
I'll be packing up early today!
He had spent two decades hawking wares in this market, yet he had never encountered a customer quite like this. The envious stares burning into him from neighboring merchants were a welcome bonus.
After finishing precisely sixty of them, Xiel glanced toward the horizon and noticed the sun was beginning to dip.
It is time to depart.
It was a slight pity, but the world was vast and full of delicious things. Something else would inevitably cross his path.
"It was a fine taste. Farewell."
"Safe travels, sir!"
The merchant burned the departing silhouette of his handsome, voracious patron deep into his memory. A nose sharp enough to cut paper, paired with mystical amber eyes!
"Hey, you sold out your entire stock today, didn't you? What on earth does that guy do for a living?" asked the owner of the fried pastry stall next door, his voice dripping with jealousy.
"How should I know? He just stood there eating non-stop. Though honestly, it looked less like eating and more like the food was simply vanishing into his mouth."
"Judging by how neat his manners were, you think he's a noble?"
"What, so the rest of us eat like ravenous beggars?"
"Come on, who else gets drilled in table etiquette like that except nobles?"
Is that so? By that logic, could he be a young master from some remarkably high house?
The merchant was quietly mulling the thought over when a rough voice cut through the air.
"A question for you. Have you seen a man with amber eyes around here? Roughly this tall, slender build."
It was a knight trailed by a squad of mercenaries.
The Tollen Merchant Guild?
The crest blazoned across the knight's armor left no room for doubt. It was the gold-coin emblem he had heard whispered about in market rumors.
The stall owner promptly shook his head. "Can't say I have, milord."
"I will ask once more. Are you certain you haven't seen him? And was he traveling with anyone?"
"Like I said, I don't know."
A bustling market alley was a ruthless place where letting your guard down meant getting gouged and swindled. Even so, the alley had its own code of honor: loyalty to the customer who had bought out your entire cart.
Whatever they're chasing him for...
He refused to betray the patron who had let him pack up his stall before dusk.
"You there. Did you see him?" the knight barked, rounding on the baker.
"Haven't seen a soul like that, milord."
The pastry merchant went one step further, his brow furrowing in open irritation. "Judging by your crest, you're with the Tollen Merchant Guild. If you're looking for someone in our territory, shouldn't you be asking the manor guards rather than harassing common vendors? How about it—shall I fetch the estate patrol for you right now?"
In short: get lost.
It wasn't merely out of loyalty to Xiel. The Tollen Merchant Guild's foul reputation had long since spilled out of the East and crept into the neighboring South and North. Their signature tactic was notorious: seize control of an impoverished domain's economy, drive out the local merchants, and establish a ruthless monopoly with inflated prices. To native townsfolk, Tollen's crest was practically the devil's own brand.
"..."
Faced with such blatant hostility, the knight and his mercenaries grudgingly relented.
"Fine. We will search elsewhere."
The moment the armed men turned away, the merchants let out collective sighs of disgust.
"Damned vultures. Raising hell in the East wasn't enough, so now they're slithering down South..."
"Not in our territory, they won't. We can't just let this slide. We need to report this to the manor—tell the guards that Tollen bastards are creeping around our domain hunting someone."
"Agreed. I'm already packed up, so I'll run over to the garrison myself," the honey-nut vendor offered, rolling up his sleeves.
Even then, the vendors had no inkling that the man the Tollen Merchant Guild was hunting happened to be an honored guest of House Hopel itself.
Meanwhile, thanks to the tight-lipped solidarity of the local stallholders, Xiel cleared the Hopel estate without further incident and made his way toward the Kundel domain.
Once I finish the visit at House Kundel, the home visits will finally be complete.
No further assassins had appeared. Erasing every trace of the previous hit squad seemed to have paid off.
Even so, the underlying threat had not vanished.
To send assassins with explicit orders to take me alive... does that mean they want something from me?
Xiel knew little of the mercantile mindset. If one examined the trigger strictly on the surface, he had merely intervened in the Riversong family's affairs and disrupted their takeover. But would anyone genuinely spend six million Cel—enough to buy six million chicken skewers—just to capture someone alive over a petty business slight?
Did someone trace the syndicate's tail back to me?
Xiel halted in his tracks.
Six million Cel. To high nobles, it might be pocket change, but to Xiel, it was an astronomical sum.
Or perhaps there is an entirely different reason.
There could be a hidden motive of which he was entirely unaware.
The Tollen Merchant Guild. Xiel etched the name into his mind once more, factoring in their total extermination should circumstances demand it.
Shring.
Xiel drew the black dagger he had looted from the assassins' corpses, turning the dark steel over in his hand.
This should serve as critical evidence.
Physical self-defense was trivial. It mattered little whether the Tollen Merchant Guild dispatched another wave of assassins or an entire platoon of Great Knights; he could simply butcher them all and move on.
Yet that was an assassin's logic. Xiel, who was striving to settle into an ordinary civilian identity, was searching for an approach more befitting a proper instructor.
I truly cannot comprehend why they are pursuing me.
Simply because he had obstructed their attempt to swallow the Riversong family? To Xiel's way of thinking, such a motive was incomprehensible. He hadn't even killed their mercenaries, yet they had gone so far as to hire elite assassins to take him alive.
"..."
Xiel froze mid-stride.
"...Could it be?"
He felt a faint jolt of genuine alarm. His thoughts tangled into a knot—a sensation he had rarely experienced since the breaking of his brainwashing.
...Have they caught wind of my true identity?
Having pruned away every illogical explanation, a chilling possibility rose from the dark corners of his mind. It was a spectacular misunderstanding, yet perfectly plausible from the hyper-vigilant perspective of a former weapon.
Had the leaders of the Tollen Merchant Guild known what he was thinking, they would have collapsed in sheer terror. But in Xiel's mind, the conclusion had already solidified.
"..."
Cold pragmatism returned in an instant. He possessed no definitive proof. It should have been impossible for anyone to discover his past as an assassin, let alone his identity as the Phantom. He had systematically severed every tie and obliterated every scrap of evidence.
However, if he had somehow aroused suspicion...
I will conclude the home visits first, then dispose of them.
In that solitary moment, the Tollen Merchant Guild became the designated target of a legendary myth.
Regardless, only one home visit remained. First things first.
Student Deleve Kundel's consultation... will likely take considerable time.
It was not that Xiel harbored any favoritism toward the boy, but Deleve's file was by far the thickest. Over the course of the semester, he had achieved dramatic growth—growth of an entirely different nature than Yurio's. He had even made the audacious attempt to fuse the swift sword style into the Kundel family's heavy swordsmanship.
In terms of raw natural talent, Deleve was unequivocally the finest among all the students Xiel had taught this term. Furthermore—though Xiel remained blissfully oblivious to it—Deleve's sentiment toward him had long transcended simple respect and bordered on outright veneration.
"I must hasten my pace."
Xiel's strides accelerated, leaving behind a pace that the Tollen scouts fumbling through the Hopel market could never hope to catch.
"Hmph."
Amos Kundel.
Patriarch of House Kundel, Great Lord of the South, and a man whose authority stood second only to the Emperor. At the zenith of his prestige, his influence had touched the heavens, prompting the imperial court itself to warily keep him in check.
Yet that very titan was currently...
"Father, what is the matter with you?"
"Ahem. It is nothing. Perhaps I should have another cup of tea."
"You finished one just a moment ago..."
"..."
He was openly betraying his anxiety right before his youngest son.
I haven't seen Father act like this since the night before he played cards against Uncle Darren Rihardt.
Indeed, Amos was uncharacteristically high-strung ahead of Xiel's scheduled home visit. The reason was disarmingly simple: he had not surrendered his ambition to recruit him.
This time, I shall demonstrate our worth properly.
This was Kundel territory. Out in the capital, their appeal might have seemed muted, but the instant Xiel set foot within the Kundel manor, his heart would surely be swayed. The most prosperous domain in the South! The grandest estate in the empire's southern reach! In history and scale alone, House Kundel was a colossal lineage without equal.
Once he arrives, he will want to linger here for days on end.
Just as the corners of Amos's mouth curled into a satisfied smirk, a voice chimed in.
"Um... Father."
"What is it, Deleve?"
"Are you truly serious about scouting Instructor Xiel?"
"Hmm." Amos pondered the question for a heartbeat before answering firmly. "Of course. A talent of his caliber must be brought into our house at all costs. His martial ability far outstrips the rumors, and there are countless vital roles he could fulfill within our family, wouldn't you agree?"
Every prominent house placed immense value on recruiting outside prodigies. For great territorial lords of Kundel's and Rihardt's stature, the contest for supreme talent was nothing short of cutthroat warfare.
"I simply believe the instructor will not accept."
"Why? Because of the rumors that he turned down the Imperial Palace? You think our house stands no chance because he rejected the Crown?" Amos crossed his arms with absolute confidence. "One simply needs to make an offer he cannot possibly refuse, my boy."
"No, that's not what I mean. I simply know Instructor Xiel wouldn't take it. That is just the kind of man he is."
Amos could not fathom what his youngest was trying to say. Naturally, the boy had spent far more time observing the man over the past semester, but even so...
"Then shall we make a wager, son?"
"A wager?"
"Indeed. A wager on whether Instructor Xiel accepts my proposition or declines it."
Deleve accepted without a moment's hesitation.
There is no way in the world the instructor accepts.
"And the stakes?" Deleve asked.
"If I win, you will accompany your father on the Southern inspection tour starting next week."
"...Wow. That's cruel."
Deleve's face twisted into an agonized grimace. The southern inspection tour was an infernal schedule that made his older brothers wave their hands in horror at the mere mention of it. Traveling across every subordinate house in the South at an unrelenting pace was grueling enough, but every single evening concluded without exception in a mandatory sparring match against their father. The training intensity was sheer brutality.
Wait... would that really be so bad?
Having already survived Xiel's hellish training regimens, Deleve suddenly found himself wondering if it might actually be manageable.
"Fine. I accept those terms. In that case, it's my turn to name a prize, right?"
"Go ahead. Name it."
"Teach me the Kundel Heavy Sword Secret Art."
The unhesitating demand took Amos aback. "Why bring up the secret art so suddenly? Even your eldest brother is only just beginning to grasp the threshold of it."
"Celia already mastered her family's secret technique toward the end of the semester."
"..."
It was that childish rivalry again.
"Very well. You have a deal. I will impart the technique, but I cannot guarantee your success. As you well know, the likelihood of failure is exceedingly high."
"I'll master it before the break ends."
Amos smiled warmly at his youngest son's blazing determination.
"A commendable attitude."
He paused, his gaze softening as he regarded the boy. "Deleve, do you know why your father goes to such lengths to recruit a prodigy like Instructor Xiel?"
"Because the instructor is exceptional?"
It was the most fundamental truth, yet it was an answer focused solely on the surface.
He is still young.
Perhaps it was because he was the youngest. Had it been his elder brothers, they would have started racking their brains trying to deduce the political subtext behind the inquiry. Yet this earnest simplicity was far more endearing.
"Yes. Because he is exceptional. But you must also learn why our house requires such exceptional men."
"To make our family stronger?"
Again, an answer focused purely on fundamentals. Amos nudged the conversation in a slightly different direction.
"More precisely, so that our house does not remain content with reigning over merely the South."
"Not content with merely the South... wait!" Deleve's eyes went wide as saucers. "F-Father, what you're saying right now... don't tell me you're planning rebellion..."
"...Deleve."
"Yes, Father."
The boy had turned dead serious. Amos replied with equal, pained gravity.
"Your father's ambition is... not quite that grandiose..."
The boy's imagination had run entirely off the rails.
"And Deleve... if you ever breathe a word like that outside these walls, it will spell utter disaster. Never, ever speak of it again, understood?"
"Understood. I will take it to my grave."
"No, that's not what I mean at all..." Amos hurried to clear the air before his son misunderstood any further. "We seek to expand our influence into regions where our banner does not yet reach, Deleve."
"Ah, so the imperial throne—"
"Not that! The Southeast, the Southwest, territories like those! And if fortune favors us... even into the East!"
Should they rest satisfied as mere lords of the South, or should they broaden their reach into a far vaster power?
"There are ambiguous border territories where no great house holds absolute dominion, yet none can be said to lack influence either. Those contested fringes are our objective."
"I see. Will we have competitors?"
"Of course. The Rihardts, for one. Or perhaps the Rihardts... and the Rihardts."
Always the Rihardts. But there was one more player.
"And the merchant syndicates."
"Merchants...?"
"In the past they were negligible, but their power today has swollen beyond what anyone can comfortably ignore. We must keep them in check, establishing our presence before those coin-counters can monopolize the provinces."
Deleve nodded slowly, finally grasping his father's reasoning.
That was a close call. He nearly thought I was raising a rebel army.
"That is precisely why we need exceptional individuals," Amos concluded smoothly. "Men capable of spearheading our future expansion."
"I understand now, Father."
Amos offered a gentle smile. Right on cue, the double doors swung open.
"My Lord, Young Master. Instructor Xiel Steelheart has just arrived at the main gate."
He was finally here. Amos traded a meaningful glance with his son and rose from his chair.
"Let us go receive him, my boy."
"Yes, Father."
Yet it was not merely the head attendant who had arrived with news.
"My Lord."
"Head Butler? Weren't you seeing to the courtyard reception?"
The head butler strode into the study. His expression bore its usual professional composure, but what rested in his hands was anything but routine.
"Two urgent dispatches have just arrived—one from House Riversong, and one from House Hopel."
"Urgent dispatches...?"
Amos hesitated for a second before breaking the wax seals on the spot. His eyes scanned the parchment sheets.
Instructor Xiel... has incurred the wrath of the Tollen Merchant Guild and may be in grave danger?
Such was the gist of the letter from House Riversong.
And the Tollen Merchant Guild has entered the domain in active pursuit of Instructor Xiel?
Such was the warning from House Hopel.
Amos's mind raced through the implications at lightning speed.
A golden opportunity has fallen into my lap.
A broad, triumphant grin spread across his face as he turned to Deleve.
"My son. It seems I have already won our wager."
Amos was certain of it. Instructor Xiel would have no choice but to accept his patronage. The Tollen Merchant Guild was an adversary that a mere elective lecturer from an academy could never hope to withstand alone.
"...?"
Deleve, however, remained entirely steadfast in his conviction.
No matter what happened, Instructor Xiel would never accept the offer.
Because...
Instructor Xiel is invincible.