Surpuk Duke (1)
Owen parted ways with Count Drun and headed for Bris, the capital of the Surpuk Duke's domain.
When he had first left the farm, it had just been him and the miserly servant Ben. But now, they had become a grand procession.
The captured bandit knights, the knights Count Drun had assigned him, and even their squires trailing behind—it had all swelled into a massive group.
The prisoners wore funeral faces, but for the others, it was a merry journey.
Count Drun's knights were eager to befriend the young hero Owen, who led the way.
Owen got acquainted with them and listened to their thrilling tales of valor by the campfire each night.
But without a doubt, he wasn't the most excited one on this trip.
"Uahaha! You lot! It's too late for regrets now!"
A scrawny old man riding a donkey, swinging his whip wildly.
It was none other than the miserly servant Ben.
In just a few days, he had become the star of the procession.
The reason? He was gleefully herding the bandit knights like rats.
Riding his pint-sized donkey—about the size of his own frame—he zipped back and forth along the column all day, cracking his whip.
"You scum! Bet you never saw this comin' in your sorry lives!"
He threw himself into the task with such zeal that the accompanying knights didn't even need to manage the prisoners.
After a few days of this, even these former knights—who were bandits now—were begging Ben for mercy.
Owen, watching it all, could only let out a hollow chuckle.
"Heh heh, they say there's no hero before the whip...."
The knights around him found it amusing instead.
A fired-up old country bumpkin tormenting villains made for quite the entertaining sight.
"Ben."
At Owen's call, Ben steered his donkey over, lashing out at a nearby prisoner on the way.
Crack!
"How dare you glare at his noble young master!"
"No, it was just a reflex 'cause of the noise...."
"Don't matter the cause. Results are what count."
"...Who knew a taste of petty power could change a man like this."
"Change? Glad this geezer finally found his calling at my age."
"And what's that?"
"Slave trader!"
"......"
Owen felt he needed to stop Ben from embracing his new "vocation."
"Bris is right around the corner. Hand over the whip."
"No! This is my late-life bliss! I won't stand for such tyranny!"
"Quiet."
As Owen said, after another two hours, Bris came into view—the capital of the Surpuk Duke's domain and the grandest city in the East.
The city was so vast that buildings sprawled far beyond its massive walls.
From here on, Owen planned to dismount and march on dragonback.
To show off his dignity, naturally.
"Behave yourself, Ben. Everyone will be watching us."
"Gotcha. No worries. This Ben won't embarrass ya, young master."
Owen pulled Grenville from the dragon scroll.
"Eung!"
As the red dragon materialized, the accompanying knights burst into admiration.
"Saw it on the battlefield, but it's still incredible!"
"Too bad I missed the part where it breathed fire."
Even those who had seen Grenville before couldn't stop marveling—what would the citizens of Bris think?
As Owen's group appeared, people flocked from all directions.
"Whoa! What's that red dragon?"
"A Tokay dragon? Never seen one that red. A variant?"
"No joke!"
The onlookers gawked endlessly at Grenville's form.
And rightly so—the Super Red variant was exceedingly rare across the vast Empire.
"Heard there's a man-eater out there. Is that it?"
"Nah, look—that young knight's riding it just fine."
Soon, attention shifted from the red dragon to the young knight atop it.
"Who's that?"
"Knights with Count Drun's banner are following him. His son?"
"Doesn't seem like it."
The watchers soon got their answer.
Count Drun's knights, as rehearsed, shouted in unison during the march.
"Owen of the Leire family has crushed the bandit knights led by Malton!"
"Now we bring these bandit knights before the just Surpuk Duke for the law's judgment!"
The knights faithfully hyped Owen as instructed.
Hearing this, the crowd realized the identities of the bound sinners shuffling along.
Outrage erupted as they hurled objects at the prisoners.
"You filthy scum!"
"Good riddance! The Duke won't let you off easy!"
"I'll watch you hang from the gallows!"
Bandit knights were villains beyond the law.
The Empire didn't treat them as human.
Curses rained down.
Naturally, Owen—who dragged this pack like frightened mice—drew all eyes.
"Did that Owen guy really take them down?"
"Feels like Count Drun's backing him."
"You blind? Look at that dragon he's riding. That alone could smash a bandit crew."
"Damn... speechless. A kid with a dragon like that? Is Leire some big name?"
"Huh? Never heard of 'em."
As the citizens puzzled, an old retired mercenary butted in knowingly.
"You fools! Sir Leire was a famous dragon knight back in my glory days!"
"R-really?"
"Yup! Fine man he was. Lost track of him for years—wondered what happened. Turns out he had a grown son like this! The Leires are rising again!"
The old mercenary was bluffing, really—he'd only glimpsed Logan from afar.
But war stories from glory days are always like that.
"Sir Leire swept through orcs on dragonback, saving our besieged unit!"
He spun tales true and false with gusto.
"Ooh!"
The crowd's awe made him feel alive again after ages.
Soon, the commotion drew the gate guards, but Owen didn't need to intervene.
They spotted Count Drun's knights and backed off hastily.
Owen, observing, inwardly admired.
'They say Surpuk Duke favors Count Drun above all—looks like it's true.'
But even they halted at the gates.
No one could release a dragon inside Bris's walls.
Only with the Surpuk Duke's permission.
"Halt! No dragons from here on!"
At the gate captain's command, Owen returned Grenville to the scroll.
"Good work. Rest up, Grenville."
They entered the city without issue.
Owen took in the East's most prosperous city, sensing the majesty of its ruler.
His meeting with that very lord was now at hand.
After handing the bandit knights to the guards, Owen was invited to Count Drun's mansion in Bris.
It was grand and imposing, his lodging whenever in town.
There, Owen rested and sent an introduction letter to the Surpuk Duke's palace.
A few days later, a reply came from the court.
The retainers' heirs were scheduled to pay respects in two days—join then.
The messenger also relayed that the Duke wanted to see Owen's dragon.
"Sir Owen Leire. His Grace permits bringing your dragon scroll into the palace. Cherish his interest and ensure no mishaps."
"Understood."
"Also, come in armor with your sword."
Two days later, Owen headed to the palace as appointed.
"This way."
Guided by a servant, he arrived at the training grounds.
Owen nodded slightly.
'As expected. They say Surpuk Duke reveres the martial way, building multiple training grounds even in the palace for practice—and it's true.'
The grounds buzzed with young nobles. Owen now understood the armor order.
They were all geared like heading to war.
The Duke seemed intent on inspecting the youths' skills alongside greetings.
"Oh? Who's that?"
"New face."
Eyes turned to Owen amid their chatter.
His attire was as splendid as theirs, but the face was unknown.
These scions of powerful houses under the Duke had known each other since childhood.
Owen was a stranger.
"Who might you be?"
Someone asked. Owen replied politely.
"Owen of the Leire family. Here at His Grace's summons."
Even after introducing himself, they tilted heads.
They knew little of the Leires.
The mood turned dismissive.
"Never heard of him."
"Hmph!"
Some didn't hide cold stares or sneers.
Then, a young noble stepped forward with a laugh.
"You must be Owen Leire!"
He was a burly youth with clear blue eyes and a chiseled jaw.
Owen instantly recognized the resemblance.
"Are you Count Bobert's son, by chance?"
"Spot on. How'd you know? Father told me about you. Glad to meet! Name's Anton."
With Bobert's son—the East's power player's heir—greeting him, the atmosphere flipped.
Sudden interest poured in.
"Some big shot?"
"Hm?"
Someone clapped knowingly.
"Ah! The guy who rode in on the red dragon a few days back!"
"What? The knight who nabbed that whole bandit crew?"
"Heard about it!"
Now they swarmed Owen.
In moments, the nobody became a promising ally worth cultivating.
His family was obscure, but backed by two Eastern heavyweights? Word spread.
Sharp-eared ones knew of Bobert's letter and Drun's escort knights.
Young nobles obsessed with connections couldn't resist.
"You really crushed that bandit group solo?"
"Is your dragon really flame-red?"
"Drinks tomorrow?"
Even those who'd sneered now vied for friendship.
Owen, who'd endured such farce plenty in his past life, gave a wry smile but handled it smoothly.
"I'm humbled by the attention from such fine company."
"Haha, too modest."
As Owen basked in the young nobles' focus, a cold, mocking voice cut through.
"Haha! Leire family! Now I remember—that backwater dung-shoveling farmer clan?"
The icy tone pierced like a dagger amid the buzz, silencing all.
Owen looked toward the voice.
A young noble in a flashy feathered hat glared daggers.
"What? Did I say wrong?"
He was handsome at a glance, but his face screamed insufferable prick.
Unlike Magnus, who hid behind a saintly mask—this was the classic rude noble.
Owen spotted the crest on his breastplate and knew the house.
'Russell family. A heavyweight.'
The Russells were one of the Surpuk Duke's "four swords"—fierce vassals.
Drun and Bobert were two of them.
This youth matched their rank.
Open provocation put Owen in a spot.
But Owen wasn't one to flinch.
Feigning ignorance despite recognition, he asked innocently.
"Who might you be? Don't think we've met."
Owen's deadpan retort twisted the other's face.
Stifled laughs erupted around.
"Pfft! Straight-up dissing the Russells."
"Hee hee hee."
Whispers, but audible.
The proud Russell youth flushed crimson, even loosening his collar in frustration.
"Insolent whelp!"
"Just asked your name—how am I insolent?"
"Can't you see this proud crest on my chest?!"
"As you said, I'm just a farmer's boy—don't know it."
"You dare! Dragon knight or not, you've lost your fear! But I'm a dragon knight too. Behold!"
Astonishingly, he drew a dragon scroll from his breast and unfurled it.
Owen was genuinely surprised—he hadn't expected a dragon knight.
Savoring Owen's reaction, the youth smirked smugly.
"Took down a bandit crew alone, eh? So confident? How about a match with Austin of the Russell house?"
"A duel now? On dragonback?"
"Why not? Scared?"
Murmurs rose.
A dragon tournament-style bout was brewing.
Matches like this often left deaths or maimings.
Owen actually pitied the fool.
He knew he'd demolish this Austin if it came to blows.
"Hmm...."
Owen's cautious look emboldened Austin further.
"Not backing out now, are ya?!"
As he bellowed, a thunderous roar crashed down.
"What in blazes are you doing?!"
An old man's voice, but like lightning striking.
Startled, Owen turned to see a stern elder with thick white beard, eyes narrowed in fury.
Someone paled, dropping to one knee.
"Your Grace!"