Have You Gone Mad, Human?
“Your Grace the Grand Duke? What brings you here?”
Tolstoy Lancaster, the Northern Duke, strode into the Cash Shop without warning, flanked by his red-haired Northerners whose locks gleamed like blood-soaked crimson. The sudden appearance of Tolstoy sent the shop's customers scattering in terror—even the elves in the middle of slapping nicotine patches onto their arms bolted for the exits with horrified shrieks.
“What do you think? What's the only reason anyone visits a magic tower like this? To get a procedure, obviously.”
“A procedure... you mean for a touch-up? Your tattoo doesn't look faded at all.”
People screamed as if they'd spotted a monster, fleeing out the door. But I ignored them, focusing intently on examining Northern Duke Tolstoy Lancaster's face. After all, the last time he'd come for work, he'd gifted me that priceless Northern treasure, the dubure. The fleeing customers were no longer worth my attention.
“A touch-up? Oh, you mean re-inking faded tattoos? Nah, not that—”
“Of course not. You couldn't even handle a little sting last time and screamed like a girl.”
“You... hey, Eric—no, Walter. Long time, friend.”
Walter had closed in without a sound, his brow furrowing fiercely at Tolstoy's words. But I had no intention of letting their reunion play out. These two settled arguments with swords, not words.
“Haha, a new procedure, then? Let's head upstairs right away. I'll handle the consultation personally.”
“Sounds good. You lot wait here.”
“Understood.”
At Tolstoy's command, his crimson-haired Northern entourage bowed and retreated, blocking the automatic doors. I led Tolstoy and Walter straight up to the 11th floor.
“Remember this, Tolstoy. Any rude words or anything that offends the Director, and I'll cut your head off on the spot.”
“Oho, getting fun now, Walter? Give it a shot if you can. My men won't even spar with me anymore—I've been bored out of my mind.”
Just as we stepped out of the elevator toward the director's office, Tolstoy's response drew a venomous grin across his face—like a winter serpent with five heads wallpapered over it—as he advanced on Walter.
“Haha, save the reunion for somewhere private. Come on in, Your Grace.”
“We'll play later, Whilter.”
“Get lost, Tolstoy.”
Invisible waves of murderous intent rippled through the air. I physically separated them—pushing Walter back and pulling Tolstoy forward—ushering them into the office. Grown men with disaster-level power were a hassle to handle casually.
“Have a seat here, Your Grace. You mentioned a new procedure... Is your current tattoo not enough?”
Tolstoy, owner of an idol—no, actor-level smooth and handsome face, had covered it with grotesque reptilian tattoos just to make himself look fierce. From the reactions earlier, they were still having the desired effect. But strangely, his micro-expressions read more sorrowful than satisfied.
And right as that puzzled me, Tolstoy shook his head with a melancholic expression.
“No, I'm quite satisfied with my tattoos now. More than I wanted, even—people keep their distance just like I intended. But...”
“...?”
“Someone's come along whom I want to get close.”
What the hell kind of nonsense was this? He'd inked the five-headed serpent—the symbol of the Lancaster Duchy—all over his neck and face to instill overwhelming fear. And now he wanted someone to approach him?
I swallowed the words I couldn't say aloud and asked tentatively,
“Don't tell me... you've found someone you like?”
Tolstoy blushed in a way that didn't suit him and hesitated. I was genuinely surprised and pleased.
Whether Tolstoy fell in love or not was none of my business. But what he was saying now meant erasing the tattoos draping his neck and face—which meant tattoo removal fees, at least double the original cost.
“Congratulations, Your Grace! Tattoo removal is quite a complex procedure, so the price will be considerable—”
“That's what I'm agonizing over. Whether to erase them... or get more.”
“...?”
As I mentally calculated removal laser fees, his unexpected words froze me solid.
More? What more could you possibly add, man?
Even if I'd done the work myself, his face was already nightmare fuel for anyone without steel nerves. Sure, excluding face and neck, there was plenty of skin canvas left—but adding more wouldn't win him any favors with his crush.
Still, his choice. If he wanted to jump into the fire, I had no duty to stop him.
“Adding more tattoos is a fine option too. Whatever you decide, Your Grace, I respect your choice. Your skin is yours alone, and so is the decision.”
Whether he added more or not, I'd respect it. Either way, it'd fatten my wallet.
“But first, please tell me the design type, size, placement, and your reason for wanting additional tattoos.”
My real job was doctor. Before any procedure, I needed to probe his intentions. At minimum, understanding his goal let me cover my ass if things went wrong.
“Hmm... Better start from when I first met her.”
Tolstoy crossed his arms and nodded thoughtfully at my question.
“You know the Northern Continent—especially my Lancaster Duchy—produces the most magic stones across the continent. And the stones from our monsters hold far more mana than dungeon ones.”
I nodded lightly at his explanation.
Magic stones were mana-infused ore. Adventurers hunted dungeon monsters for them as their main income. But non-dungeon areas sometimes spawned monsters too, and those in the North—especially Lancaster—were famed for ultra-pure mana.
They said Tolstoy's hair wasn't the typical dark crimson of Northerners because he'd led charges against monsters, absorbing their magic into his roots.
“That's why people from other continents always crave Northern stones, even at higher prices—the quality's unmatched.”
Ting—
To prove it, Tolstoy pulled a finger-sized black stone from his pocket and flicked it to me.
To me, it was just a shiny black rock. But mages or priests who sensed mana felt the intense surge the moment they touched a high-mana stone.
Ah... damn it. Such a pain.
I wanted to skip the fluff and hear about the woman changing the Northern Duke's heart. But seeing his crooked smirk, he clearly craved praise. Customers were kings, so I played along.
“Impressive magic stone.”
“Obviously.”
Satisfied, Tolstoy grinned, his winter-serpent face twisting grotesquely.
“As you say, our stones are so exceptional that everyone wants to trade with the North. But we can't fulfill every demand. Monsters swarm us, sure, but demand outstrips supply. And she—from the East Continent—was one of those seekers.”
“From the East Continent?”
Tolstoy bashfully nodded, his fierce face softening.
“Northern stones always fall short of demand. But we can't limit trades to old partners—who knows when a rising star like you, Miner, might appear.”
“So you hold back a quota for potentials?”
“Exactly. But we Northerners revere martial prowess, so suitors duel monthly. The victor claims that month's stone contract.”
“Then that lady... she won the duel?”
“From January of Ailene Year 562 to this December. She hasn't lost once. To anyone.”
I'd wondered what woman could captivate Tolstoy. Now I got it: overwhelming strength unrelated to looks. That was his sole criterion for judging others.
“At first, pure curiosity. A woman far younger than me wielding aura? Intriguing. But she wasn't just a sword master.”
His eyes sparkled with lovesick gleam amid the serpents I'd inked.
“Her sword style—utterly unlike the North's. Like a sword goddess dancing on earth, sharp and merciless. For the first time, I fell for someone.”
But his elated face soured into bitterness.
“So a few months back, I invited her to meals under trade pretexts. She eats as boldly as she fights.”
Love glasses make everything beautiful, huh? Sounded like Tolstoy.
“But getting closer proved tough. The more I approached, the more she distanced herself formally. And when I confessed... she said my facial tattoos creeped her out.”
Understandable. Kissing him would feel like facing gaping serpents on both sides. Even steel hearts would falter.
“So I want to etch her into my chest.”
“Yes, laser removal would erase it... wait, what?”
I'd expected laser removal talk, but his bombshell caught me off guard.
“You're serious?”
“I told you—I was debating erasure or more. If she'd demanded full removal, I would've. But she just said the face ones gave her the creeps.”
No, man! You've been here, so you know tattoos can be added or removed! Think that Eastern swordswoman does?
She looked like a lifelong bladeswoman from the East—no way she'd care about tattoos, let alone know removal clinics existed.
“Hmm... yeah, on second thought, adding more beats erasing.”
Swoosh—
Propping his chin thoughtfully, Northern Duke Tolstoy drew a crystal orb. The projected image inside left me speechless.
“I want this on my chest.”
“A person's... face?”
Have you gone mad, human?