Chapter 136: Get Out, You Bastards (1)
Chapter 136: Get Out, You Bastards (1)
Watching Alex and Garcia’s moment of reconciliation, Patrick spoke up.
“How heartwarming.”
“Ho-ho. Is it?”
“Tsk. Whenever I see something heartwarming, I feel nauseous and break out in hives.”
“……”
Just what was wrong with this kid?
The Sword Saint found himself wondering less about how high the boy’s martial realm reached and more about how low his character could sink.
“Anyway, if you’re done with your business, please leave.”
Seeing Patrick shooing him away with a flick of his wrist, the Sword Saint couldn't help but sigh.
To think he’d be treated with such utter neglect.
The Sword Saint, who had never experienced such a reception in his entire life, suppressed his miserable feelings and spoke.
“May I offer a word of advice?”
“I have a list of things I hate, and old people nagging under the guise of ‘advice’ is number twenty-six.”
“Agh! You’re so young, why do you hate so many things?!”
The Sword Saint was truly the Sword Saint. He was the first person to actually call Patrick out on it.
“That’s just how I am.”
Not that it worked on Patrick at all.
The Sword Saint pressed a hand to his forehead and said, “Just listen. Just this once.”
“Tsk. Fine, go ahead.”
The Sword Saint took a deep breath and continued.
“The Empire has officially offered you a Count title. They’ve also proposed an engagement to the Princess.”
“RE! JECTED!”
Patrick crossed his arms in a firm 'X' shape, refusing instantly.
The others watching the scene stood with their jaws dropped.
What did they just hear?
An Imperial title? A Countship? And an engagement to the Princess?
They were offering that to this lunatic?
Why? Had the Emperor lost his mind?
And even more baffling—this lunatic was rejecting it? Why on earth?
While the situation was full of things they couldn't understand, the Sword Saint spoke as if he had expected this.
“Right. Then that’s that.”
“You give up quite easily.”
“I am merely relaying His Majesty’s proposal. It’s no loss to me if you refuse.”
“Is that okay? Won’t the Emperor scold you?”
“Who? The Emperor? Scold me?”
Ah, right. He was the Sword Saint.
In terms of reputation and power within the Empire, he was a figure the Emperor couldn't afford to offend.
Patrick accepted this logic quickly. Even in his past life, the picky leaders of the Nine Great Sects and the Beggars' Union couldn't easily reprimand their sect’s ultimate masters.
The Sword Saint continued.
“To be honest, I wasn't keen on the idea myself.”
“Really?”
“I don’t like the idea of turning a young man who should be focusing on growth into a tool for political power.”
“Well, that’s true.”
“Furthermore, you becoming a member of our Imperial Family would be more than a tragedy—it would be a catastrophe. What sin did the Princess commit to deserve that?”
“Hey, old man.”
“What? Why? Am I wrong?”
“Ugh….”
Even Patrick had to admit that 'Imperial Prince Patrick Schneider' didn't quite fit. That was why he had rejected it so flatly in the first place.
The Sword Saint gave a small smirk at Patrick’s reaction, then his eyes turned serious.
“From now on, many people will approach you with sweet offers. Power, wealth, fame—they will try to lure you in with countless temptations.”
“I know.”
Did he think Patrick had won the tournament without knowing that would happen? Patrick was well aware.
“Do not let yourself be shaken. Power is like a sweet poison; once you get a taste for it…”
“It rots a person.”
“……”
“I’m well aware of that fact.”
I probably know it better than you do.
During his time active in the Murim Alliance, he had seen it until he was sick of it.
How a noble monk, a dignified Taoist, or the descendant of a prestigious family could become filthy and despicable when fighting over a shred of profit or power—he had seen enough.
Patrick gave a short laugh.
“I know what you’re worried about, but to put it bluntly, it’s a waste of concern.”
“……”
“Whether the world is filthy or clean, I am who I am.”
“……”
“I’ve realized that’s the only thing I need to keep in mind.”
A smile spread across the Sword Saint’s lips at Patrick’s words.
He was different. Definitely…
This kid is different.
Perhaps his grandson had found a goal he could never catch up to for the rest of his life. Whether that would be a blessing or a curse remained to be seen.
The Sword Saint reached into his robe, pulled out a small medal, and held it out.
“Take this.”
“What’s this?”
“A sort of guarantee and a token. Only a few of my close associates and disciples possess one.”
“I told you I’m not becoming your disciple.”
“Just take it.”
“……”
Seeing Patrick’s grumpy expression, the Sword Saint gave a bitter smile.
“Possessing that means I personally guarantee your identity.”
“Oh? Does that mean…?”
“Wouldn't it be easier to shake off the gnats if you could use the Sword Saint’s name as you please?”
“Ooh. So this is like a Token of Gratitude?”
“A what?”
“Hehehe. A Token of Gratitude, eh? How long has it been since I last received one of these?”
A Token of Gratitude.
In the Martial World, it was a type of marker given by a sect when they owed someone a great debt, meaning, ‘We will surely repay this later.’
In his past life as the Radiant Dragon Hero Jincheon, he had received many of these. He had been so active across the land and placed so many people in his debt that they had no choice but to give them.
However, as time went on, people became increasingly reluctant to give Patrick—Jincheon—any Tokens of Gratitude.
Because everyone who gave one to the Radiant Dragon Hero ended up reacting the same way…
[I should have just died back then. If I knew I would commit such a sin against my sect, I should have just dropped dead right there…]
That was the typical reaction.
Usually, when someone gives you a token, you’re supposed to show some restraint, but the Radiant Dragon Hero Jincheon never hesitated to strip a sect down to its very foundations. In fact, he had literally pulled the pillars out of a sect’s building once.
Thus, an unwritten rule was born in the Jianghu: Better to die than to give the Radiant Dragon Hero a Token of Gratitude. It’s better for the sect that way.
The Sword Saint, who couldn't possibly know this, had just handed over a token in his own name to Patrick.
Patrick stared at the shining gold medal with a devious smile.
Hehehe, so this is the Sword Saint’s Token of Gratitude—no, his personal token? How should I use this?
The value of this token, symbolizing the Sword Saint’s backing, was extraordinary. It was essentially permission to use the Sword Saint’s name.
Regardless of his actual skill with a sword, the authority brought by the name of the Sword Saint—the man who had built a reputation as the strongest knight on the continent—was absolute.
Even though Patrick had won the tournament at Arcana with shocking results, the Sword Saint’s fame was still overwhelmingly superior.
If he used that name…
“Hehehe. You mean it, right? No take-backs.”
For a moment, seeing Patrick’s wicked expression, the Sword Saint seriously considered whether he should take it back. But…
A debt must be repaid.
Because of the duel with this young man, his precious grandson had grown immensely. The poison of arrogance and conceit had been drained, and the boy had realized how long and arduous the path ahead of him truly was.
Most importantly, the look in his grandson’s eyes when he looked at him no longer held submission or servility. The flaws he thought might never be fixed had vanished.
Compared to that debt…
“Yes. Use it as you wish.”
“Oooooh. As expected of the Sword Saint. You’ve got a big heart!”
“……”
“Just out of curiosity, how far does the guarantee of this medal go? What’s the limit for a collateral loan?”
No, seriously, should I take it back?
*
“Ah… so warm.”
The gaze Patrick directed at the mountain of treasure piled before him was nothing short of benevolent.
It was extremely rare for an emotion like benevolence to appear on this man’s face, but right now, it was justified.
“Whoa…”
“How much is all that worth?”
“This is too much. Seriously, too much.”
“The world is rotten.”
Piled before Patrick was a heap of treasure taller than a man—no exaggeration. It looked like a scene from a legend where a pirate’s hidden stash had been discovered.
Amazingly, this vast wealth had been ‘voluntarily’ offered by people just to get on Patrick Schneider’s good side.
To his comrades, this was something that simply shouldn't be happening.
“Whee-hee-hee! Treasure! Treasure! I’m rich now!”
Especially seeing him like that made them feel it even more strongly.
Watching that guy burrowing into the pile of treasure like a rabbit, popping out here and there, having obtained both wealth and fame…
“It’s not right. This just isn't right.”
“We need a revolution. A revolution to change this rotten world…”
“O Yupinel. You are listening to me, right?”
Sitting atop the pile of treasure, Patrick spoke to his seniors who were lamenting his luck.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. This is why poor people stay poor. They never think about working hard themselves; they just waste their lives being jealous of the rich. That’s why there’s no progress.”
His words immediately provoked his seniors.
“Hey! Who are you calling poor?!”
“My family has plenty of money too!”
“Even Princess Isabella is right here!”
“The Lobski family territory is ten times larger than yours!”
In response to their claims, Patrick pulled out a folding fan he’d found somewhere, snapped it open, and fanned himself haughtily.
“Tsk, tsk. Is that your money? No, it’s your family’s money.”
“Urgh…”
“Dammit…”
It was true.
Patrick fanned himself gently, his face looking incredibly punchable as he spoke.
“You parasites, who haven't earned a single copper coin through your own strength, dare to be jealous of the success story of the self-made Patrick Schneider?”
He was right.
Tragically, everything he said was correct. That was what made it so sorrowful and frustrating.
“Sigh. This is why poor people are… here, take this and get lost.”
Patrick tossed a single coin toward his comrades.
Faced with this filthy and desperate reality, Alex and the others fell to their knees, prostrating themselves on the floor.
“Whee-hee-hee-hee! I’ve always wanted to try that!”
Patrick’s incredibly frivolous laughter rang in their ears.
“Schneider.”
Just then, Professor Late entered the room.
“Ah! You called, Professor?”
As Patrick scurried over, Professor Late spoke.
“The mages from the Tower of Truth and the Elves have come to see you again.”
“I told you I’m not meeting them.”
While Patrick had been meeting many guests to collect his ‘dues,’ he had avoided meeting the truly big players.
However, despite his refusals, the mages of the Tower of Truth and the Elves of Evergreen were persistent in their attempts to meet him.
“They are practically begging to see you. Is there no way?”
When Professor Late spoke with a desperate expression, Patrick scratched his cheek.
“Would it be very troublesome if I just left without meeting them?”
“Judging by their behavior, if you don’t meet them here, they look ready to chase you all the way back to the kingdom.”
“Tsk. They’re like leeches.”
The world-renowned mages of the Tower of Truth were being treated like leeches and stalkers.
“I guess I have no choice. I should at least see them once. Tell them to come in.”
“Thank you.”
Professor Late, who had been feeling his life shorten every day caught in the middle, let out a sigh of relief.
*
A short while later.
Old men draped in robes and carrying staves entered, escorted by magic swordsmen.
One of them stepped forward as their representative.
“It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Hauzen Burkman, from the 6th floor of the Tower of Truth.”
“Hello. I’m Patrick Schneider.”
“Yes. You said you were busy before; have you finished your business?”
“Mostly.”
He had collected about as much as he could. It was time to head home, but he figured he should clear out the 'leeches' before leaving.
“So? What brings you here?”
When Patrick spoke as if telling him to get to the point, the mage named Hauzen said, “There are a few things we would like you to tell us.”
“Go ahead and ask. Oh, but you know whether I answer or not is up to me, right?”
At Patrick’s words, the other man sighed and spoke.
“The ma… sword… ahem…”
They still hadn't reached a conclusion on whether it was magic or swordsmanship. Even though three mages had debated it passionately until their faces turned red.
The compromise they had reached was…
“We wish to ask about that technique.”
“Technique? Which one?”
When Patrick asked as if he had no idea, Hauzen explained specifically.
“The technique of controlling swords in mid-air, and the technique of summoning a demonic beast with aura to attack the enemy.”
“Ahhh. Those.”
“Yes. We have requested this meeting to ask you to teach us about them.”
“Hahaha. I see.”
“Hahaha. Indeed.”
In a warm and friendly atmosphere, the two looked at each other and laughed.
Then, with the same smiling face, Patrick pointed his thumb toward the door.
“Get out, you bastards.”