Chapter 113
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 113
Chapter Title: How Do You Scold Something That's Not Human?
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Robert Bolt stepped up himself, but instead of using his vast wealth of experience points to support himself, he simply provided a massive sum of money.
As the eldest son of a prestigious magical noble family and his close friend, he chose one of the somewhat safer options under the pretext of aiding and funding Isaac's research.
Isaac always had enormous fixed expenditures for research funds, leaving him without a ready source to pull money from for personal desires or shady dealings.
Even as the family's heir, he was in the position of an academy student who had to maintain a diligent image and focus on his grades.
He was already burning through astronomical sums of money, so drawing more would cause issues—which made Robert's support all the more welcome.
But at the same time, it felt regrettable.
'No matter how you slice it, we're already in the same boat... He could've just given me a comfortable push from the sidelines instead of money.'
If he'd made the right call, Isaac would have honestly shared who his target was.
Chloe Dreitna was a fellow student in the same department, so Robert would be surprised, sure.
But with her stunning beauty, the poise and restraint she embodied in silence, and the prestige of the Dreitna family behind her—Robert would have no choice but to respect his ambition and bold instincts.
Robert, the heroic student chasing knighthood and surrounded by women, opting for simple funding and then bowing out?
Was the research outcome less urgent than he'd thought? It was an unexpectedly timid move.
Knock knock.
"Just come in."
Creak—click!
The man who slipped quietly inside confirmed the door was locked, then bowed before Isaac and whispered.
"...Young master. Sorry, but finding a suitable candidate in the capital looks impossible."
Isaac kept his eyes fixed on the flask where colorful reagents sloshed around, his expression darkening.
It wasn't an issue with research progress—the report from Philip's lips just grated on him.
He'd pinned big hopes on Philip, but days of bad news like this only amplified his disappointment.
When he'd begged his father to send Philip, the grilling about "plotting something shady" had been relentless... He'd lined up his prepared excuses and barely scraped by with permission.
But results like these? All that scolding for nothing.
"Tch..."
Isaac hadn't wasted words when he summoned Philip right after his arrival in the capital.
Flash the money, promise a hefty sum—job done.
Philip had mulled it over, sealed a magical contract, and agreed to assist with his "romantic venture."
The explanation before the contract had been straightforward, no lies, nothing heavy. Philip had even laughed heartily, saying he'd step in himself if needed.
But after the contract, when he heard the target's name, Philip freaked—begging to renegotiate, thrashing about. Too late to back out.
Isaac had sweet-talked him: handle the pawns quick and clean the mess, no issues. Only then did Philip finally wave the white flag.
A contract was a contract—he couldn't dodge it now.
Isaac had banked on Philip not refusing from the start. The guy was infamous in the family for his gambling addiction.
The kind who wouldn't quit even after losing fingers.
Without his skills, he'd have been cut loose long ago—but his talents let the family overlook his vice, keeping him on a short leash.
Isaac knew he'd been drowning in recent gambling debts, so this outcome felt inevitable.
But the stalled progress? That he hadn't foreseen—and it pissed him off.
The contract sum could've covered those debts and more, yet here came the lame report. How could he not fume?
"...No one's biting even with that much on the table? Even with escape routes and new identities promised?"
Of course, once the job was done, he'd kill them all for a clean sweep.
Before peeking inside, on the surface it was a vagrant's dream: life flipped upside down!
How could they pass that up? Isaac couldn't wrap his head around it.
"Haaah—"
Isaac removed his glasses, huffed on them, and polished them with a crunch until they gleamed, his face twisting in a scowl.
He'd figured dangling enough cash would draw rats like moths to flame, lining up eagerly regardless of morals.
But reality didn't match.
Here he was, wasting time with no suitable candidate.
"It wasn't zero applicants, but they were all unqualified."
"If they're that low-rent... not even back-alley thug level?"
Philip nodded at Isaac's words, tacking on the details.
"Exactly that caliber. Hiring randos would get us swept away before we could act, just heightening the young lady's alertness. Might as well not start. Better to prep with real pros."
"...You're right. One shot's all we get—two raises flags."
A damsel in distress saved twice by the same guy at the perfect moment? Nothing fishier.
And since the guy in question barely left his room, digging too deep would spark suspicion fast.
"Which means even for a first-year, we need someone who can pressure an academy student... but the back-alley types with pull are desperate for self-preservation above all."
"No progress till you name the target, huh?"
If the marks were that guarded, Isaac got the vicious cycle.
Viable hires would want the target's name pre-contract—and without a contract, he couldn't name names.
"Young master... folks surviving the shadows for years are like rats. They'll sense disaster quicker than anyone and bolt without hesitation. The capital's underbelly? Fiercer than anywhere."
"If they won't bite easy... other options?"
"Maybe... give up on the capital entirely. Bring in outsiders from distant territories who know nothing of local context. Easier cleanup, smoother op. Smaller domains crawl with frog-in-the-well types who fancy themselves top dogs."
Only now did Isaac wipe the scowl, smirking with one corner of his mouth.
"Mind handling it? I've been swamped with experiments lately."
The biggest mistake of Philip's life? Not that cocky gamble where he lost a finger to trash cards.
No—this gig he'd bitten on. A "veteran" like him.
Find actors to scare a girl for a hookup...
He'd nearly burst laughing at the 17-year-old's childish whim, but held it in.
And the absurd payout for helping? Philip wrote it off as book-smart rich kid cluelessness—too naive.
He'd swaggered in at the sight of the sum.
Like a lifeline from the goddess amid his money woes.
But hearing the target? Philip got what it felt like to be duped by the devil.
Reasonable warnings fell on deaf ears—this young master wouldn't ditch his lunatic plan.
Still regretting it a thousand times over even now.
But with the full scheme spilled, Philip had no outs.
Make a spoiled, cash-flush kid's embarrassing fantasy real. The most ridiculous, mortifying job he'd ever taken—and the fattest paycheck.
A trash plan he'd hide from the world... but the money was too good to refuse.
He'd been the fool trusting it blindly, mocking Isaac inwardly. One path left.
"...I'll do my best."
Philip scrapped plans to impress the heir and climb. This was nepotism incarnate.
If the family's future rested on this mess... the Mallory countdom was doomed.
Nail this, pay off debts, vanish to some quiet estate for an easy retirement. Resolved.
After watching Rike Skadi head to the academy that morning, exuding her usual fresh charm, I returned to the yard and spread out a mat to sit.
I'd head to the academy soon enough, but first, I wanted to communicate with Gleipnir as much as possible and get some training in.
"Gleipnir."
Shrring—
I gripped Gleipnir in one hand and drew it out smoothly, while my other hand dipped into my Inventory to retrieve a palm-sized metal lump.
Clink.
This lump in my hand—back in my past life, folks called it a "carabiner."
Common camping gear, hook's buddy and cousin. Sold here under the same name.
I'd stocked high-strength ones resized to my specs in my Inventory.
Before Gleipnir, I'd hooked carabiners or shackles to the ends of my chain mail sleeves, linking weapons like warhammers.
That setup proved efficient for chain weapons, so same approach now.
Yesterday with Rike, we'd tinkered but skipped attaching weapons—so today, Gleipnir's turn.
Click!
The moment the carabiner linked to Gleipnir's starting loop.
Thud—
Like magic passing through the object, it slipped off and hit the ground the instant I clipped it.
"Huh...?"
Try again.
Thud—
Staring at the rolling carabiner, I puzzled over what was happening, turning it over in my mind.
Who could I even ask about this?
Thud!
One more go—and I felt it: subtle, but definite. Before, it ignored and dropped; now, it actively repelled.
Like a kid shoving gross food out with a "Ptooey!"
'Is this a kid or a weapon...?'
When an unexpected snag hits where you least expect, even a battle-hardened vet blanks out.
Long-term, better coax than force or rage.
I scratched my forehead to shake off the frustration, then asked in the gentlest tone, like coaxing.
"...Don't wanna do this?"