Chapter 69
Episode 69
"Disciple of a Transcendent?"
"The Flame Sword's disciple, you say?"
"That country bumpkin hit the jackpot."
Envious murmurs spread through the crowd as jealous gazes turned toward Logan.
"Y-Your Excellency! Please grant me an opportunity to prove my martial prowess as well!"
"I, too, believe my talents are no less than his!"
"Give me a chance too!"
The voices of young men, burning with envy, clamored around him.
Each of them wore splendid tailcoats that strained against their muscular frames—clearly either knights or nobles who had attained knight-level skills.
But—
"Among you lot, is there anyone who reached intermediate knight rank by their early twenties?! Or possesses the strategy and tactics to lead two life-or-death battles for your family to victory?! And above all else—"
The Count's booming voice silenced the clamor.
"—do you have the courage to endure humiliation, bow your head, and personally engage in trade in the capital for your family's sake?! I value Logan MacLaine's actions more than his skills!"
With those final words, the banquet hall fell silent.
Even the way people looked at Logan had distinctly changed.
'Why would he say that...?'
It wasn't exactly an exaggeration—everything said was true. But Logan couldn't afford to acknowledge it.
The moment he showed even a hint of agreement, he'd be trapped. If he stubbornly refused, he'd give Vifros the justification to move against him.
Fortunately, Logan had a solid defense prepared.
"Your words honor me greatly, but I already have a master I've sworn to serve."
"Hoh? Wasn't your master your father, Baron Patrick MacLaine?"
"No. By fortunate circumstances, I was able to pledge myself to an extraordinary mentor."
"...Even so, it's no matter. They say one can never have too many mentors in life. The same goes for martial arts. I doubt your current master would oppose you learning under the Flame Sword, one of the kingdom's most renowned aura users."
Of course, that was nonsense.
Every knight lived by the adage: "Serve your lord, your master, and your father as one."
Originally, it meant to serve one's master with the same loyalty as one's sovereign—but it was also interpreted as a warning against serving two masters.
In this regard, knights and mages shared similar traditions.
Some masters would even execute disciples suspected of leaking secrets to another mentor.
There was no way the Count didn't know this—his insistence was nothing but coercion.
"My apologies, but I must refuse. My master would never permit it."
At Logan's razor-sharp rejection, the Count's expression froze coldly. The previously heated atmosphere plummeted into silence.
Yet the Count soon smiled again and spoke.
"Ah, the decisiveness of youth. But soon, the Flame Sword will visit my estate. Why not receive his guidance then? I intend to offer this opportunity to all the heirs under my banner—including you. If need be, we can invite your master as well."
"Oh...!"
"As expected of the Count! Such generosity!"
The Count had subtly formalized MacLaine's subjugation while securing the heirs' prolonged stay.
Only then did Logan fully grasp the Count's intentions.
He was determined to ensnare MacLaine—whether through vassalage or outright conquest. The moment Logan stepped foot here, MacLaine's options had already narrowed.
Yet he couldn't outright refuse again.
'He'd arrest me on charges of insult or outright draw his sword.'
From the start, the Count had left him only one choice.
'At least I prepared countermeasures in advance.'
Praying it wasn't too late, Logan bowed slightly.
"Your generosity overwhelms me. If you insist, I have no choice but to accept. I shall await the opportunity."
As he stepped back, lost in thought—
"Thank you for accepting my proposal, Young Lord Logan."
The Count smiled broadly and surveyed the room.
"MacLaine's decision marks the beginning of our southwestern region's reunification. And—"
With practiced ease, he paused for dramatic effect before continuing.
"Truthfully, before arranging this gathering, several discussions had already taken place. Baron Jeff Percival and Baron Derek Lufman, with whom I've long shared ties, have already pledged to unite under the Vifros banner."
Their families nodded knowingly—even Logan had anticipated this. The only ones stiffening were Pereta's group.
"To honor their loyalty, I shall bestow gifts upon their heirs."
Clap. Clap.
At the Count's signal, the banquet hall doors swung open.
A dozen knights entered, escorting a cart draped in silk.
Rumble.
On the cart sat a display stand covered in fine fabric, atop which rested two transparent glass cases.
All eyes were drawn to the contents.
A stunning longsword with a sleek silver blade that shimmered with an ethereal glow.
A massive war hammer, crude in shape yet radiating an eerie blue light—taller than most grown men.
The extraordinary gleam marked them as anything but ordinary weapons.
"Artifacts?!"
"With mana radiance that dense, they must be at least Class 3..."
"Naturally. The Count's dignity wouldn't allow anything worth less than millions of gold."
"As expected of a treasure collector..."
Artifacts—magical tools imbued with permanent enchantments, either through inherently mana-rich materials or specialized infusion techniques.
While elemental circle mages could craft artifacts, those from the Wizard School (class-based mages) were far more versatile. Thus, artifacts were typically graded by their enchantment class.
But versatility came at a staggering cost. Most were custom-made for wealthy patrons, with mithril being the cheapest material available.
To justify the expense, weapon artifacts were usually enchanted with at least Class 3 magic—requiring a Class 5 mage to craft.
The price? Astronomical.
'And he's just giving these away? Impressive...'
Logan inwardly scoffed.
No one could deny their envy of Vifros—one of the kingdom's top three magnates. Especially since their wealth came from swallowing his ancestors' lands.
"Silence!"
Though he barked the order, the Count wore a satisfied smile at the crowd's reaction.
"Ramon Percival. Step forward."
"Yes!"
A sharp-featured man in his thirties with brown hair approached.
"Do you swear loyalty to me?"
"Yes. On behalf of House Percival, I pledge my allegiance to Count Roger Vifros."
"Good. I, Roger Vifros, accept your oath and bestow this sword in recognition of your loyalty."
"I shall serve with all my heart!"
"Lampthon's Sword is a Class 3 artifact that enhances its wielder's strength and cutting power. May it hone your skills further—so you may protect your house and serve Vifros!"
"Your grace humbles me!"
As Ramon knelt, the Count called another.
"Eric Lufman, step forward!"
"Yes, Your Excellency!"
"Do you swear loyalty to me?"
"Yes. I, too, pledge House Lufman's allegiance to Count Roger Vifros."
"Good. I, Roger Vifros, accept your oath and bestow this war hammer in recognition of your loyalty."
"I shall serve with all my heart!"
"Saxen's Hammer is likewise a Class 3 artifact—a weapon of monstrous strength that multiplies impact force. May it crush all who stand against your house and Vifros!"
"Your grace humbles me!"
The heirs knelt as if receiving knighthoods, a scene the crowd accepted as natural.
To Logan, it was suffocating.
Moreover—
"I am not stingy with rewards. All houses who join Vifros shall receive their due!"
The Count's gaze lingered on Logan—no accident.
Just as the pressure mounted—
"With treasures like these, surely Young Lord Logan's sword must be superior?"
The idiot from Pereta suddenly spoke up.
Though he whispered, his voice carried.
"My lord?!"
His knight gasped.
"You damn—sigh."
Logan's expression twisted, but Flon grinned foolishly and rambled on.
"I mean, isn't the Count showing off a bit much? To my eyes, Young Lord Logan's sword seems far finer."
The crowd murmured as the Count's face hardened—yet Flon remained oblivious.
"Then again, failing to recognize true talent does explain why—mmph!"
"M-My lord has had too much to drink!"
The knight clamped Flon's mouth shut, but the damage was done. The hall's mood turned icy.
Logan, now inexplicably entangled, could only stare in disbelief.
'Is this fool really digging his own grave over wounded pride?'
He had hoped rumors of Hamar's sword, Lux, would reach the Count—but not like this.
The method to obtain a true dwarf's masterpiece was simple, yet greedy nobles never considered it.
'I wouldn't have either, if I hadn't seen it myself.'
His worst-case plan—if the Count forced the issue—was to negotiate or stall.
But now—
'This rotten bastard...!'
A thunderbolt of idiocy had upended everything.
"Ohoho. So Young Lord Logan's sword is truly exceptional?"
The Count's gaze locked onto Logan's waist.
No longer the eyes of a unifier—but a treasure hunter's, brimming with greed.
"...I merely had the fortune to acquire a dwarf's work."
"Hoh? A dwarf's work? A genuine dwarf masterpiece's rarity alone would rival an artifact. The enslaved dwarves lost their ancestors' craftsmanship long ago."
'Just promise them freedom, and you could have one too.'
Logan stifled a scoff. Survival came first.
"May I see this sword?"
If he handed it over now, he'd never get it back.
So—
"Though young, I am still a knight. I cannot recklessly part with my companion. My apologies."
No matter what, he could not yield it.
"It far surpasses those low-grade artifacts. My first true masterpiece. Have you heard the legends of dwarven soul-forged arms? They cannot be remade at will."
Hamar's proud words echoed in his mind.
A dwarven soul-forged masterpiece.
Even without the myths, Lux—tailored to Logan's physique and soul—had become an extension of himself.
Yet the Count persisted.
"Your sword is your companion? Heh. How quaintly old-fashioned. Very well—how about a duel to showcase its merits?"
"A duel?"
"My two newly gifted artifacts need testing. Ramon Percival, you're intermediate-ranked, correct?"
"Yes, my lord. Though unworthy, I reached that realm some years ago."
Humble words—but reaching intermediate aura user by thirty was no small feat.
Now armed with Lampthon's Sword, Ramon radiated confidence.
"Let us enjoy a display of our land's future leaders' prowess!"
Clap. Clap.
The crowd cleared a space at the center.
'I never agreed to this...'
His opponent was already donning armor over his party attire.
Dragged into an unplanned hassle, Logan scowled—
"But a mere duel lacks stakes. Let us set terms."
The Count's eyes gleamed mischievously.
"If Ramon wins, I claim that dwarf-forged sword. If Young Lord Logan wins, I shall gift him a suitable artifact. Agreed, Ramon?"
"Your will is my command."
"What say you, Young Lord Logan?"
Though blindsided, this changed things.
"I accept."
"Such boldness!"
Lose the sword? Not happening.
"Your generosity leaves me in awe."
Yours, you mean.
Their veiled exchange ended with simultaneous smiles.
'What a windfall.'
His irritation at Flon had long vanished.
In Logan's eyes, the fool had just handed him a free artifact.