Chapter 86
Chapter 86
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 86
Chapter Title: That Man
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That was the second reason Lena Rubel was poor. The Rubel family that Lena remembered had been a proper viscount's house. Why would a family like that sell off their daughter? Just for the father's ambition and social climbing? There were too many suspicious parts for it to be that simple. So Lena investigated. She spent quite a bit of money and manpower over several years digging into her father's past. She persistently looked into it, over and over. And when she finally reached the truth, Lena let out a quiet sigh. Regina's words naturally came to mind: "You don't have to forgive him, but pity him."
Her father was a far greater liar than Lena had imagined. But even from the mouth of a man who was false from head to toe, truth had leaked out at times.
―We weren't doing anything wrong, so why did you go that far?
When Lena had asked, pretending to know nothing, the marquis had answered like this.
―Because we were lowly.
―Lowly as insects, we had no choice.
―Either we all died together, or we cut off a finger.
This was the most honest thing he'd said lately. At the same time, it perfectly described his life. The marquis—no, Cardo Rubel—no, the man whose real name could no longer be found at this point—had admitted that he himself was a lowly being. And because of that, he thought himself superior to others. It sounded contradictory, but it was the truth. The man who was now Cardo Rubel had originally been a servant of Viscount Rubel's house.
***
“Wraiths are coming!”
“Hold the formation!”
“Punish anyone who flees!”
Shouts, screams, sobs, and occasional laughter. The noises erupting from the heart of the battlefield were enough to drive a person mad. Those pushed to the brink moved on instinct alone, forgetting whether they were killing or being killed.
In the 80th year of the Empire, a rebellion broke out in the West. The rebels who had seized an altar—known as the Heretics—raised their banners against the Emperor's tyranny and summoned wraiths right in the middle of a major Western city. Over a hundred Heretics led over a hundred wraiths to seize the city, and in response, an army dispatched in the Emperor's name arrived. Thus, a once-prosperous city was reduced to a battlefield tangled with the living and the dead.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A wraith let out thunderous roars as it barreled through a narrow alleyway. Its scaled body repeatedly smashed into the walls on either side. That was because soldiers hiding behind the walls were thrusting spears and swords through the windows to scrape at the wraith's flanks. It was a strategy utilizing the features of the urban terrain. But the wraith, knowing no pain, ignored the crude weapons and charged ferociously toward the main force ahead.
It was when the snake-like wraith poked its head out from the alley.
“Now!”
Soldiers pressed against a blind spot outside the alley slammed their spears down on the wraith's head. But the wraith's scales, hard as iron armor, refused to be pierced, and under the Heretic's control, it raced toward the knights with clear purpose. The wraith was aiming for the commander hiding behind the knights.
“Protect His Excellency!”
“Where is Rubel!”
It was when the commander's attendants screamed.
As if he'd been waiting, a young man leaped from the second-floor window of a building. He plunged boldly, spear first, slamming his entire body down onto the wraith's head. There was a sound like splitting firewood. At the same time, the wraith's triangular head cracked open, spraying black blood everywhere.
“Uwooo!”
The watching knights roared.
But it wasn't over yet. The wraith, not fully dead, twisted its long body. Covered head to toe in the wraith's blood, the young man discarded his spear and drew his sword. The ragged wraith whipped its tail at him. Dodging the fierce scales by a hair's breadth, the young man dove under the wraith's neck. Then, twirling his raised sword in an acrobatic flourish, he finally severed the wraith's head clean off.
The moment the wraith's head fell, a piercing scream echoed from elsewhere in the city. The young man heard it and laughed. It was the cry of the one who had summoned this wraith, driven mad.
“Rubel did it again!”
“Rubel!”
“Rubel!”
The knights and soldiers chanted the young man's name. At that, the young man—Cardo Rubel—wiped the blood from his cheek and grinned happily.
. . .
“What a loathsome bastard.”
A man who had been watching Cardo Rubel spat out his quiet contempt. He was a low-ranking noble serving House Rubel and Cardo Rubel's squire.
“Die already, you fool. Stop showboating.”
But he showed no respect at all for the young master he was supposed to serve. On the contrary, away from prying eyes, he insulted and belittled him. Yet, as if accustomed to it, Cardo Rubel washed his hands and replied.
“Why don't you act like a proper squire?”
“You act like a proper stand-in, you lowly scum.”
Despite the man's bark, Cardo just smiled quietly. Hiding volcanic rage in his gut and smiling was second nature to him.
The 80th year of the Empire. Everything was at its worst. Wraiths swarmed the border regions, endless wars had emptied the granaries, and imported slaves had left commoners without work. Try to farm, and there was no land; scrape together a job, and you earned just enough for a slave's meals. A dry loaf for one meal a day was good fortune, and vegetables on the table meant wealth. So if you could fill your belly, there was nothing you wouldn't do—and the young man now called Cardo Rubel was no different.
“It was a joke. Don't get so mad. What if someone sees?”
At the squire's threat, Cardo laughed flirtatiously. Only then did the squire relax his expression, seemingly satisfied. In truth, this was only natural. The one now posing as the viscount's son was originally a servant of House Rubel. A lowly forester who knew nothing but hunting. The reason such a man was temporarily using Rubel's name to play noble was the Heretics' rebellion. The Emperor had ordered the Western nobles to immediately crush the traitors, and the Western Duke had conscripted sons from each house. But Viscount Rubel, a noble on the Western fringes, didn't want to send his precious son to the battlefield. So he selected a servant of similar age to his son—one handsome enough, who could pass for noble if dressed properly—to serve as a stand-in. Thus chosen was the young forester hunter, and now he was playing the noble under the name Cardo Rubel, a role fate hadn't intended for him.
The squire, fully aware of this, seethed at having to serve such a lowly thing as his master. Moreover, Cardo Rubel's unexpected heroics were beyond expectation. Viscount Rubel had hoped Cardo would die quickly. If word got out that he'd cheated on the Emperor's orders, it would be trouble. So he'd pulled strings to place him on the front lines, but far from dying, the man thrashed about like a fish in water. A guy with no military training whatsoever was cutting down wraiths like a veteran knight, to the point where his name was now called out in key moments.
‘This is getting hard to clean up after.’
Rubel's squire felt a sense of crisis. Cardo Rubel was a fiction from the start. Someone whose presence shouldn't grow. The only silver lining was the incompetent commander. He knew only how to steal credit from his knights, not how to promote those who shone. Rubel's squire took some comfort in that. And he bided his time. The purge of the Heretics was nearly over. Cardo Rubel had to die before then—by wraith, or some accident. The squire believed his mission would be easily accomplished. A commoner kid who knew only hunting? He could handle him without issue.
The squire was completely mistaken. Cardo Rubel, already seizing his chance, had no intention of going quietly. Moreover, he was far shrewder and luckier than imagined.
. . .
He had no formal education, but his hunter's instincts were sharper than anyone's. So he'd long sensed he'd be disposed of once the rebellion was quelled. But that didn't anger him. The young man who became Cardo Rubel was glad to have played noble, even as a stand-in. He hadn't known such good things existed back in that shabby hut. The clothes he wore, the food he ate, the bed he slept in, even the way people looked at him—it was all worlds apart from his forester days. The solitary hunter finally realized something: he liked people. The moment he did, ambition sprouted. He didn't want to let go of this rare opportunity—and he decided he wouldn't. Fortunately, it was easy. The pompous nobles were dumber than thought, and hunting was his specialty.
Just before the rebellion's suppression ended, before House Rubel could discard him, Cardo went to the captured Heretics. There, he made them a proposal. That night, the freed Heretics launched a final desperate assault. Somehow, they knew the suppression army's inner workings inside out, and in an instant, they breached the commander's quarters. The commander sensed death and wailed pathetically. Then the savior appeared: Cardo Rubel, who had already racked up feats during the operation. The commander, ambushed, saved his life thanks to Cardo, and with that final battle, the rebellion was fully crushed.
The Western Marquis, the commander, saw Cardo Rubel as his lifesaver. So when he went to the imperial palace for the postwar report, he took him along. Then, returning to the West, he personally visited Rubel's territory to meet Viscount Rubel.
“Your son saved my life.”
The Western Marquis praised Cardo Rubel effusively to Viscount Rubel, who swallowed his discomfort and had to affectionately pat his fake son on the back. While the Western Marquis stayed, Cardo was treated like the real viscount's son. A few days later, on the night the Western Marquis finally departed. Cardo Rubel was preparing to sleep in the finest innermost room, as usual. Stealthy footsteps roused the hunter's sharp ears, and soon, without a knock, several burly men burst into the room. They were Cardo Rubel's squire and servants.
“What is it?”
When Cardo naturally addressed them rudely, the squire let out a hollow laugh. Then he bared his teeth and growled.
“You really can't tell heaven from earth, you lowly scum.”
As he spoke, the squire drew his sword. The other servants raised ropes and clubs. But Cardo sat unmoving and said leisurely,
“Ever heard of 'toss the dog after the rabbit'? It's an Eastern saying: after catching the rabbit, you boil the dog.”
“Now you get your place.”
“You're the one who doesn't.”
“What?”
“Both catching the rabbit and boiling the dog are the hunter's job, you stupid housepig.”
With that, Cardo sliced his own finger with a hidden dagger. The squire hesitated, not knowing what it meant, then his eyes widened. A foul sulfur stench filled the air from all sides.
On the night the Western Marquis departed, wraiths appeared and swept through Rubel Castle. It was the work of Heretics bearing a grudge against Cardo Rubel. That day, everyone in House Rubel died. Everyone except one person: Cardo Rubel.
. . .
Having lost everything overnight, Cardo Rubel settled in the capital with the Western Marquis's pitying aid. After that, everything went smoothly. The ambitious forester rapidly acquired noble qualities, and he even married a wife to solidify his position. Everything he touched prospered, his connections and influence grew daily. He even got a pretty daughter and a clever son—everything was perfect. But then that man appeared, and it all went wrong.
“Nice to meet you. You must be Lena.”
The man who visited Rubel mansion greeted the viscount's daughter without ceremony. Then, with a mischievous addendum,
“You're a 'Rubel' too, huh?”
The man who asked Cardo Rubel's daughter that. He was the greatest mistake of Cardo Rubel's life. He was the squire of House Rubel, who had miraculously survived the Rubel Castle massacre.