Do I Have Luck with Subordinates or Not?
“Woof woof woof woof woof!!”
“Noisy mutt, but sharp as a tack.”
Cael was rubbing his brow and muttering under his breath when—
Bang!—the rickety door of the guard post beside the annex's main gate flew open. Out burst Weger, clad in pajamas with a leather breastplate haphazardly thrown over them, one hand gripping his iron sword.
“Oliver, what the hell?!”
'Ho, not bad. Good ears, quick on his feet, no hesitation. You can't teach that—it's innate.'
Cael tracked Weger's movements from the shadows, quietly impressed. Even at this deep hour of night, when anyone else would be dead to the world, the man had grabbed his weapon and charged out at the first bark. It spoke volumes about how much he valued this place.
Weger followed the growling Oliver into the courtyard, then froze at the sight of the crumpled form in the middle, eyes widening in shock.
“Wh-what the fuck?! Oliver, what is this!?”
Bathed in moonlight lay a corpse, throat half-severed, sprawled in a pool of blood. Weger's eyes had caught it before the figure lurking in the dark.
Face paling, he glanced between the barking dog and the body. “D-did you do this!? Oliver!?”
Cael chuckled softly from the shadows at the absurd misunderstanding. “If a dog could slice a man's throat that clean, it'd be a mana beast, not a pup. Quit talking nonsense and clean up the damn corpse.”
“Gah!!!”
Weger jumped at the sudden voice, finally spotting Cael in the darkness. His eyes bulged like they might pop out.
“Y-young master!? What are you doing out here in the dead of night? It's chilly! You'll catch your death of cold!”
Even with the bloodied corpse at his feet, Weger's first concern was Cael's health. The guy fretted over him awake or asleep. Amid this gruesome scene, Cael found Weger's worry over a mere cold both ridiculous and oddly touching.
“For heaven's sake, aren't you curious who that carcass at your feet belongs to?”
“Oh, right! What the hell is this thing? Who is it!?”
At Cael's nudge, Weger cautiously approached and flipped the body over. Wiping the bloodied face, he gasped.
“What the—?! Wait... isn't this that messenger from the main house a few days back?”
“That's right.”
“Why the hell is he dead here? Who dares kill a ducal messenger in the annex courtyard?!”
Weger sounded like he'd caught wind of something gravely amiss. Cael replied flatly.
“No one killed him. I did.”
“Pardon!?”
Weger's mind blanked. He couldn't process it. Sure, the young master had miraculously recovered his health and vigor, but stamina and swordsmanship were worlds apart. As far as Weger knew, Cael hadn't so much as touched a wooden sword since falling ill as a child, right after grasping the basics.
Yet he'd neatly slain a strapping man sent on errand from the main house? Even with Weger's modest skills, he could tell the wound was a single, perfect strike—throat slashed for instant death. No signs of struggle.
“Wh-what's going on, young master!? Explain this madness!”
“Simple. He came to kill me, so I killed him.”
“Say what!?”
A main house envoy assassinating the duke's firstborn? This would turn the entire family upside down.
“Impossible! Why would the main house send someone to assassinate you!?”
Weger bellowed, veins bulging. Cael shrugged casually. “Beats me. I'm dying to know myself.”
Gazing at the moon, Cael swallowed a smirk.
'This place is gonna get fun.'
***
The next morning, the annex dining hall brimmed with savory aromas. Ella, Weger, and Cael sat around the massive table, eating together. Underneath, Oliver wagged his tail, devouring his share from a dog bowl.
Four of them, family-style.
'So these are my people in this world. A modest crew. All the better for it.'
Sipping soup, Cael eyed the pair. In the rigidly hierarchical ducal house, a young master dining with a maid and guard was unthinkable. At first, when Cael had insisted they join him to stave off loneliness, they'd recoiled in horror.
But Cael refused to relive the isolation of the Demon Cult. Heavenly Demon or not, commanding thousands, he'd always eaten alone at the vast Matheonru Tower table. No one near, lest poison taint his food—sipping cold liquor in solitude.
He wouldn't have that here. Overruled, the two had started perched on the table's edge. Now, they chatted naturally mid-bite, right at home.
“This is bullshit, young master! You gotta tell the main house—no, the duke himself!”
Weger yelled, mouth stuffed with bread, still reeling from last night's shock.
Cael frowned, pointing his spoon at Weger's forehead. “...Finish eating first, Weger. You're spraying food everywhere.”
“S-sorry! Oliver cleans up the crumbs anyway.”
Weger gestured sheepishly below the table.
“Even Oliver won't touch bread soaked in your filthy spit.”
At Cael's jab, Oliver whined “Whine...” and turned away, as if agreeing. Ella giggled, but her face soon clouded with worry.
“...Young master... Weger's right. Shouldn't we report it officially? I'm terrified something'll happen to you...”
Ella pleaded, voice trembling. Cael set down his spoon, deciding to explain calmly.
“Think about it. If I move or send word to Father, how do you suppose the puppetmaster reacts?”
“Uh... dunno?”
“Where'd Father go again?”
Weger swallowed. “Not sure exactly, but I heard a monster horde hit the northern front—super strong ones. He's leading the subjugation.”
“Right. A beast too much even for the knights up there.”
“Yeah. Rumor says dragon-tier...”
“Huh, news to me.”
Cael tapped the table. “Anyway. The duke's been gone months—that extermination ain't wrapping quick. How do we safely relay this to the front lines?”
Weger shot up his hand. “I'll go! My legs are thick and sturdy, young master! I'll run day and night, tell him everything!”
Fist clenched in fervor, but Cael scoffed.
“Know your place. With your skills, you'd get a hole in your neck before clearing the territory woods.”
“...Urk...”
Weger slumped. “So I'm holing up here awhile. If we stay put, they won't rush their next move. No word from their assassin, and we're quiet? Paranoia sets in.”
Information blackout—fundamentals of strategy. Cael planned to exploit the gap.
“Huh? What...?”
“Buy time. Best play right now.”
“Time for what? If they send more?”
A grin lit Cael's face.
“We get stronger.”
“Pardon...?”
“I'll make you two strong.”
Ella and Weger gaped at each other.
***
Post-meal, the four—including Oliver—gathered at the disused training yard behind the annex. True to the swordmaster Restis name, even this backwater wing had a full yard.
House tradition demanded even servants and maids master basic fitness and self-defense before chores.
By Cael's sky-high standards, it was child's play, but Ella and Weger had the barest mana control and body fundamentals ingrained.
Hands behind back, Cael stood center-stage, eyeing them with interest.
“Before proper training, let's gauge your foundation. Spar with me.”
“S-spar!? Us against you, young master? No way!”
Weger recoiled. Ella waved her hands frantically.
“Didn't you swear lifelong loyalty, vowing to guard me?”
“Y-yes! With my life!”
The instant reply reminded Cael of Young Il-rang; he chuckled.
'Do I have luck with subordinates or not...'
“Then get stronger. Lip service loyalty's worthless. I plan to climb high in this house—you gotta keep pace if you're following.”
His words shook them. Reclaiming the heirship?
Then—
“Woof!! Woof woof woof!!! Pant pant!!”
Oliver, reading the room, trotted forward, tail wagging, barking boldly—like he was volunteering.
Cael laughed heartily, petting his head. “See? Even the beast steps up. What's a big lug like you scared of compared to a dog? Fine—Oliver first.”
“...Huh? Oliver...?”