5th Dragon Stable (3)
Having become the manager of the 5th Dragon Stable, Owen set his first goal.
'First, I'll cut out the tumor.'
The tumor was John and his gang.
To Owen's eyes, they were the sort of scum the world would be a hundred times better without.
But he couldn't just fire them outright for being distasteful.
He needed some leverage.
'Guess I'll have to watch and wait for now.'
An opportunity was bound to arise.
Ben nodded and pointed around the room.
"Ben, let's unpack here."
"We're stayin' in the dragon stable?"
"Yeah."
"No way! Lord almighty! We could be livin' in a fine manor, and you wanna hole up in this rundown dump? The breeders don't even crash here full-time."
As Ben said, everyone had homes on the outskirts of Bris and commuted to the stable.
They just took turns on night shifts.
But Owen planned to make one of the empty on-duty rooms his quarters.
"Looks like this old codger's done dreamin' of riches followin' you around, young master. Aigoo!"
For all his grumbling, the elderly servant Ben moved briskly, starting to clean out one of the rooms.
He soon grabbed passing breeders by the scruff and put them to work.
"The manager's gonna stay here—better hustle and scrub it spotless!"
From that day on, Owen lived in the 5th Dragon Stable. And he launched a major overhaul.
"I'll separate the sick dragons. Don't worry about the nasty-tempered ones—I'll tame 'em myself."
With a true expert stepping in, the long-piled problems finally showed signs of resolution.
Naturally, this irked John to no end.
He was already pissed off enough, and now Owen had practically glued himself to the stable.
It was suffocating.
'I was gonna re-educate the breeders once that punk clocked out, but fat chance now.'
John wasn't the official manager, but he'd effectively taken control of the 5th Dragon Stable.
He couldn't let his power slip away like this.
For a wretch like him, this petty authority was his whole world.
Still, getting one-upped on first sight made him cautious.
And with the gap in their statuses, a direct confrontation was out.
"Hmmm... what to do."
John agonized with uncharacteristic timidity.
In the meantime, days passed, and the stable's atmosphere began to shift bit by bit.
Finally, feeling the pressure, John heard Owen had gone into Bris proper and decided to act.
"Round up the senior breeders on duty right now."
"Got it."
John unleashed his thug cronies to quickly gather only the senior breeders.
He led them to a shady spot behind the stable and growled low.
"Feelin' pretty comfy these days, huh? All of ya?"
The breeders shrank under his threats.
They held the same rank, but John's half-gangster crew was too much for ordinary folk like them.
"N-no, John. We're just doin' business as usual."
"Shut it, you sly rats! Listen up good to what I'm sayin' from now on!"
John bulged his eyes with fury, menacing the lined-up senior breeders.
"Things change a bit and you're all thrilled? Think about it. How long you figure that kid's gonna keep it up? You really think a fancy noble's gonna bunk in the on-duty room forever?"
At John's question, they all went mute as clams.
Because it rang true.
Riding the momentum, John pressed on.
"Listen close. That punk's max goal is rackin' up some results here and bailin'. All this lead-by-example crap? Just for show. You blind? Every noble who's come here before bailed quick. Am I wrong?"
"……."
"Owen's no different. He'll use the 5th as a steppin' stone. Sure, he'll make some splash and split. But after that, who's gonna stick it out with you losers to the end?"
John's intimidation hit home hard.
Because John himself was the longest-tenured fossil in the 5th Dragon Stable.
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Promotion was a lost cause long ago; preserving his spot here was his ceiling.
No matter what anyone said, he was clearly sticking around longer than Owen.
"……."
The breeders clamped their mouths shut.
Seeing this, John smirked viciously.
Looked like he'd reasserted control internally.
"You idiots—do I gotta spell it out every time for it to sink in?!"
John swelled with smug triumph.
But he missed one crucial detail.
In truth, Owen's "trip" to Bris that day was a setup.
A trap to bait out John's move by stepping away briefly.
Naturally, Owen had only pretended to leave, then circled back and hidden to observe.
'What a shitshow.'
He hadn't expected it to be this low.
Owen rose from his hiding spot and burst out.
"Great speech. I heard every word."
"N-no!"
John, riding high, startled at the sight of Owen like a mouse spotting a cat—eyes bulging.
Owen strode straight toward him.
"What was that? Who'll last longer?"
"I-it's not... um."
"No need to tense up. It was damn entertaining, honestly. Makes me curious—who will outlast who?"
"It didn't mean anything special, so please don't—"
"Why's a grown man yappin' so much? You said it, own it. More importantly, why're you sabotagin' my orders? What's the deal with huddlin' everyone here and wastin' time?"
Under Owen's grilling, John broke out in cold sweats.
"Things have been chaotic lately, so I was just tryin' to rally morale. Haha…."
"Overflowin' with enthusiasm, eh?"
"Of course."
"Got it. Then I'll give you a fitting job. Follow me."
Owen led John and his gang to an empty area in the stable.
It had once housed dragons but was now cleared for internal cleaning.
Piles of dragon shit loomed like mountains inside.
Owen ordered them to haul it all to fields outside the city for fertilizer.
Their tools? Just a few shovels and carts.
"Clear out every last bit in four days. No more raisin' dragons in this filth."
"B-but we didn't want to leave it like that. The dangerous dragons made it—"
"Don't worry, John. I'll tame all the dangerous ones. You lot just handle the shit. Just the shit. Hustle it to the fields for manure."
No need to explain how grueling and nasty shoveling those towering dragon dung piles would be.
But when a superior barks, you obey.
John and his crew turned green, loading carts with shit.
Splat! Squish!
The other breeders, peeking slyly, smirked in satisfaction.
They'd dreaded cleaning that backlog themselves—now it was on John’s gang. Sweet relief.
"Serves 'em right, the bastards!"
"Damn straight. Things are finally runnin' smooth since Lord Leire showed up."
"Those gangster punks infested the place—been hell."
After that, John and his crew shoveled shit nonstop for days.
Their stench was eye-watering; people fled at the sight of them.
"Goddamn it!"
"Boss, we just gonna take this?"
"Do somethin'!"
With things this bad, resentment boiled over in the gang.
It wasn't just the backbreaking labor.
They'd skimmed budgets and supplies through all sorts of graft.
Owen's arrival had cut off their fun entirely.
Worse, they now fretted over past sins coming to light.
"Yeah, can't go on like this."
John nodded gravely.
By now, Owen's intent was crystal clear.
He aimed to purge them along with the dung they hauled.
—Who'll last longer?
Recalling Owen's words, John shuddered.
At this rate, he'd be out way before Owen—from sheer breakdown.
His leadership was crumbling too.
The gang, who'd strutted blindly loyal before, now eyed him suspiciously.
Finally, John steeled himself.
"Guess I'll have to call in my connections."
His resolute words shocked the gang.
"You got pull upstairs?"
They'd never dreamed John had noble ties.
John chuckled dryly.
"Didn't it strike you odd? Even for a dump like the 5th, how no managers ever showed?"
"Now that you mention…."
The 5th felt isolated.
A few knights got assigned as managers but bolted ASAP, by hook or crook.
A prison for vicious dragons.
A ward where sick ones withered away.
That was the 5th's image.
Despite stables' importance, it sat far outside Bris.
Unthinkable in dragon knights' heyday—but waning interest made it possible.
"Truth is, I've been pullin' strings to hold this spot. Got a backer. Time to meet 'em in person."
"Ooh!"
The gang lit up with hope at John's boast.
"We trust you, boss."
"Head out tomorrow—we'll cover your share."
John nodded and slipped out the next evening.
"Damn... that pig's greed knows no bounds."
Before leaving, he scraped together all his secretly embezzled loot.
Bribes for nobles left no choice.
He bathed in a stream to ditch the shit-stink, donned his best rags, and sneaked into Bris.
John headed to Bris's pleasure district.
Where fat cats frolicked with perfumed beauties, spending freely.
It was also where a lowlife like John had forged an unlikely noble bond.
His rise started here.
He resented the guy but knew the debt for his sliver of power.
"Hoo…."
Handing over his hard-squirreled stash soured John's face.
Regular tribute already grated—now dipping into emergency funds.
"All that bastard's fault."
His grudge against Owen deepened.
He soon reached a familiar upscale tavern.
The burly doorman recognized him.
"Bald John, huh?"
"Yeah. Here to see Baron Maroon. Send word."
"Sure."
The brute extended a hand.
John cursed inwardly.
'Fuckin' thieves everywhere!'
No choice—he slipped the man a silver coin.
Only then did the doorman grin and head inside.
Soon, a new face appeared, sneering at John.
One of Baron Maroon's trusted aides, who always treated John like dirt.
But John stayed meek.
"Not regular tribute, and you show up? What's the deal?"
"Got business to discuss with the baron. Brought a little gift to help your operations."
John offered his embezzled goods; the man finally nodded.
"Fine. Baron's got a moment. Follow."
"Thank you, sir."
Thinking it was going smooth, John brightened and trailed him inside.
Now to badmouth Owen in every detail to Baron Maroon.
Truth was, John's swagger as the 5th's real boss came courtesy of Maroon, who handled Bris admin.
In exchange for regular skimmed budgets as tribute.
Dirty birds of a feather.
"Oh, John. What brings you?"
Maroon, his massive gut jiggling, looked up from fondling his attendant girl.
The room reeked of fine incense.
John fought nausea, composed himself, and spilled.
He groveled, begging, and barely hooked the baron's interest.
"What? So this punk Owen's wreckin' our operation?"
"Yes, sir! Spot on, Baron Maroon. Come show some authority. He's a real thunderbolt terror."
Maroon pondered.
"Hmmm…."
He could meddle in stable affairs as an admin official.
Nitpicking and reporting up was child's play.
The 5th's neglect was his doing.
But digging deep would unearth endless dirt.
Maroon nodded, deciding.
"Don't worry. Time to dump all the backlog problems on that Owen punk too. Heh heh heh!"
Same time.
As John fawned and rubbed his palms before Baron Maroon, Owen was receiving a guest.
"What? Count Bobert is coming to Bris?"
"Yes, Lord Leire."
The visitor was a messenger from Count Bobert.
His letter said the count would arrive in days and wanted to meet.
"Hmm, where to see him? I'm tied up with stable work…."
"Count Bobert knows you're assigned here. He'll stop by before entering Bris."
"Most gracious of him."
Owen appreciated the count's attention.
A great noble making the trip personally to see him.
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