Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: What Happened at the Ball (4)
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“Cough!”
A burly man with a face full of scars hung limply, his arms bound by iron chains.
Standing before him was a man with emerald hair that clashed against the grim, murky backdrop.
It was Count Welton.
He lifted the chin of the scarred man—Alfeman—with the tip of his boot.
This was the boss of Ribal, Hys's largest crime syndicate.
“I let you be because you were a nuisance I had no interest in, and because you had some marginally positive effects.”
Of course, he knew all about Ribal.
How could the lord of Hys not know?
He had considered wiping them out at first, but aside from the negatives, they did contribute somewhat to commercial growth, so he had left them alone.
After all, as long as he ruled the territory as a Sword Master, they wouldn't dare commit major crimes. He knew they valued their lives too much to try.
But slave trading? Targeting children, no less?
It was an insane idea, one no sane person would entertain.
Slave trading wasn't rare in this era, but in a Sword Master's domain, it was suicide. And Hys was a Sword Master's domain.
“I won't ask why.”
The count looked down at Alfeman with cold eyes.
The sheer killing intent made it hard for Alfeman to even breathe.
The boss of Ribal might be stronger than an average person, but compared to a true superhuman like a Sword Master, he was less than a firefly.
Facing killing intent of this magnitude head-on would surely make him lose consciousness.
“Hang him from the gallows tomorrow.”
The count lowered his foot and gave the order to the soldier.
He had no interest in why they had planned the slave trade. He would eradicate Ribal without leaving a trace anyway. No reason needed.
“Understood.”
With the soldier's reply, the count exited the dungeon.
It had taken quite some time to clean up the territory.
Even departing now, they wouldn't arrive until dawn.
“Prepare the carriage. We're leaving immediately.”
Count Welton departed for Rizen.
A short time later, someone watched as Ribal's members were dragged away in chains.
He clicked his tongue softly and spoke into the communication orb.
“Ribal has failed. Prepare Plan B.”
“Why are you following me?”
“Just... because.”
Jamie shot an irritated glance at Ash, who was trailing behind him like a lost puppy.
He wanted some time alone, but she stuck to him like gum. Telling her to stop only worked for a moment; by the time he noticed, she was right back at his side.
“This is just between our fathers. You and I have nothing to do with each other.”
“Still...”
And what annoyed him even more was her half-hearted polite speech—using honorifics but trailing off ambiguously.
Jamie was too tired to say more and resumed walking.
Before long, they wandered aimlessly into the ballroom.
“I'm heading in now.”
“I'll go with you!”
“Cut it out already!”
Jamie snapped, making Ash flinch, but only briefly. She soon broke into a beaming smile.
He let out a deep sigh.
“There must be a reason for this. Tell me why!”
“It's really nothing...”
“Stop that! Either drop the formal speech or keep it. Pick one.”
“Then I'll drop it...?”
What more could he say?
Jamie shook his head and turned away. Arguing further would just tire him out more.
“Hehe.”
Now she openly stuck by his side.
She fidgeted for a moment before cautiously speaking up.
“It's just... you're the first kid my age.”
“What?”
“My sister has attended balls several times, but this is my first... I've never had a friend my age.”
Jamie's mind blanked at Ash's sudden confession. He didn't know how to respond.
Like her, he had no one in the territory he could call a friend. He had never needed one anyway. Friends were just obstacles to his greater goals. Unless they were competent subordinates, that is.
Well, it might matter to a real kid.
A black sorcerer who had lived eons resided within Jamie. His body might be young, but his soul was ancient beyond measure.
Ash, on the other hand, was just an eight-year-old girl. Prime age for craving friends.
He felt no pity. Such emotions didn't exist for him.
“Find someone else. I have no intention of being your friend.”
Jamie turned away heartlessly.
He needed to regain his peak power as soon as possible. He had no time to play with kids.
“J-Jamie!”
He ignored Ash's pleading voice from behind.
Ash stared dejectedly at his back, her shoulders slumping.
Friends, huh.
It was laughable to make friends at his age, but he knew well how much of a hindrance they could be—and the devastation of betrayal.
That's what attachments did. They eroded objectivity whether you wanted it or not, making bias feel right.
If he had recognized that sooner and cut ties, he might not have lost.
Jamie's face darkened as bitter thoughts chained together.
Painful memories he had buried resurfaced.
That silly brat had soured his mood for no reason.
He glanced at the main hall.
The ball was in full swing, gentlemen and ladies paired up, dancing gracefully.
Amid the heavy music, they moved lightly and smoothly.
Where had Sears gone? For once, being by her side might feel comforting.
That was when it happened.
“Jamie Welton.”
Someone called his name.
This time, he sensed their approach.
Turning, he saw boys who looked four or five years older. The one in the center had blood-red hair—unmistakably from Count Simon's lineage.
Why is this pest bothering me again?
“What?”
“What?”
Alf scowled at Jamie's curt reply, leaning in close.
Jamie frowned at Alf's face practically in his.
“Back off.”
“Ha! This brat talking short to his elder?”
“Don't you know who our big bro is?”
“Alf, firstborn son of Count Simon and heir to the family!”
The two unclear minions—or friends?—behind Alf chimed in, grating on his nerves.
Jamie felt his eyelids grow heavy.
First things first: shut those mouths.
Silence
2nd Class Spell
“...?!”
“...?!”
The two nobodies panicked, looking at each other as their voices vanished.
“Wh-what's going on?”
Even Alf looked flustered as his minions went silent.
“So, why'd you call me?”
“Did you do this to them?”
“Want me to do it to you too?”
“You little shit! I'm older than you by...”
Alf flinched at the small palm raised before him, halting his yell.
A warning: raise your voice again, and lose yours too.
He cleared his throat awkwardly and glared pitifully at his minions.
“I'm not here to pick a fight.”
“Spit it out quick. I'm not in the mood for long talks.”
This kid for real?
Alf was thrown off by the brat talking like an old soul. He was supposed to be seven.
This wouldn't go smoothly.
“Nothing big. Just thought we'd chat.”
Alf flashed a casual smile and sat beside him.
Jamie was dumbfounded by the audacity. They approach threateningly, he shows magic, and suddenly Mr. Nice Guy.
“Learned magic already? Silence is 2nd class. Impressive.”
“If that's all, leave.”
“As if. I want to talk to my great little bro.”
From “that guy” to “little bro” in a flash.
“I'm not your bro, nor do I plan to be. Get lost.”
“...Don't you know who I am?”
“Count Simon's son, right?”
“And you're Count Welton's son. That's reason enough to talk, no?”
Jamie couldn't fathom how that made sense.
“Not here to badmouth you. The rough start was just surprise at your casual speech. Go informal if you want.”
His cool act now was repulsive, even for a kid.
Jamie stared silently.
“In the future, you and I will rule the eastern nobility. Better get close early, right? I've already got the other second-gen kids under me. Just follow along.”
In other words: I'm the boss of the eastern noble kids; join up.
Wrapped in fancy words.
Jamie sighed at the pathetic pitch.
He made time, and it's playground gang talk.
His youth excused it somewhat, but Diablo Volpir wasting time on this? Infuriating.
Still, yelling at a kid was beneath him. He brushed it off.
“No.”
“...What?”
“I said no.”
Alf was speechless at the firm rejection.
He stared blankly, then scowled deeply.
“You know what that means, right?”
“No idea. Don't care. Don't want to. Leave.”
“You damn brat! Getting cocky, huh!”
Alf couldn't hold back and drew his wand.
As Count Simon's firstborn, despite his father's neglect, Simon blood meant magic talent. Proof: Alf Simon was 3rd class.
Same as that mad mage Hanni of Ribal—no, broader spell repertoire.
“I'll crush that amateur magic. Then you'll call me big bro and follow.”
“Haha. Can't win with words, so magic it is?”
“Nah, planned that from the start. Thought you'd earned nice treatment since you know magic, but you should've said yes when I was being nice.”
Obvious from first glance.
Jamie scanned around.
Ball in full swing, few people nearby but not empty.
Magic here would be noticed, like it or not.
“Adults won't just watch?”
“Don't worry about that.”
Alf pulled a small silver orb from his pocket.
Heavy mana: definitely an artifact.
“With this, no one sees you suffer.”
Not invisibility.
In a crowd, invisibility would draw more eyes.
Only one option.
“Illusion artifact, huh.”
“Sharp eye for a newbie mage. Won't help when you're pissing yourself, clinging to my leg. You two, quit standing there!”
Alf swung his wand; the silence on the minions canceled.
Not all talk, then.
“Hah! Thought I'd choke thanks to that punk.”
“You wanna die that bad? Welton house blinded you?”
Jamie smirked at them. Boring, but things got interesting.
Kid stuff, but decent diversion.
“Laughing?!”
Alf raised his wand high.
Activating the silver orb: to others, they'd look like friendly chatting kids.
Alf's lips curled disgustingly.
“Your Welton house will follow Simon in my generation.”
“Don't turn off the artifact if you hate looking pathetic.”
“What?”
“You're about to writhe in agony, screaming.”
Jamie snapped his fingers.
Curse Magic: The Pain
Inflicts extreme pain / No cooldown
Alf and his two minions let out horrific screams, writhing on the floor.
Jamie burst into laughter for the first time in ages, watching the three squirm like worms.