Chapter 83
Chapter 83
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 83
Chapter Title: Nest of Greenhorns
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The crowds waiting their turn parted, yielding a path before Manus's intimidating stride.
Thud, thud!
A mansion boasting overwhelming grandeur came into view ahead of the satisfied Manus as he walked the cleared path.
It was the residence of the Kalia Warrior Clan, known as Iron Wall—a fortress said to hold out for a full week even if surrounded by monsters from a great calamity.
True to its name, it resembled not a noble house but a battlefield stronghold.
"Welcome, Young Lord."
As he passed through the crowds, a servant was already waiting ahead, greeting Manus politely as if fully aware of his visit.
"Where's Father?"
"The Patriarch awaits you in his study. This way, please."
Following the servant's guidance, Manus slowly made his way until he reached a large door.
Swish, swish!
Manus gave a slight nod after a final check of his attire.
Confirming his readiness, the servant carefully knocked on the door, embossed with an antique lion's head.
Knock, knock!
"Patriarch. Young... no, Young Master Manus has arrived."
-Send him in.
A deep, cave-like voice echoed from within, and the servant slowly opened the door.
Manus strode in without hesitation.
Whoosh!
A small statue hurtled toward him with terrifying force, striking him square in the forehead.
Thud! Roll, roll...
The statue, having lost a contest of hardness against Manus's skull, split in two and tumbled across the floor.
Though the blow made stars dance before his eyes, Manus endured silently without changing expression.
Drip...
A single trickle of blood ran down his forehead.
"I've heard the story. You got humiliated by that halfwit Ian?"
The middle-aged man, exuding an oppressive aura like a massive lump of steel or boulder, glared at Manus from his seat.
With his red hair, square jaw, and thick beard enveloping it...
His rugged appearance evoked a bandit chief from the Baekra Mountains of the Eastern Continent. Yet astonishingly, this fierce-looking man was none other than Count Wilhelm Kalia, current Patriarch of the Kalia Warrior Clan.
"You fool. Do you think I named you heir so you could be toyed with by trash like that?"
At Wilhelm's biting criticism laced with venom, Manus ground out his response through gritted teeth.
"...If only Alsar hadn't shown up out of nowhere to interfere... I could have paid him back tenfold."
Manus growled without backing down an inch, prompting Wilhelm to click his tongue.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk! If you'd acted first before Alsar appeared, that would have been the end of it. There's only one reason you hesitated there. You're weak."
"......"
Regardless of Manus's ambiguous silence—agreement or defiance—Wilhelm pressed on.
"The strong need fear no one. Think about why the townsfolk didn't dare touch you, even as you treated them like livestock right in front of the mansion. It's simple, Manus. You're stronger than them. Never forget that."
'You knew that full well, yet here you are, wasting away in this backwater corner because you couldn't surpass Paon Lichtenauer?'
Words of retort rose to his throat against his father and Patriarch, but what emerged from Manus's lips was entirely different.
"...I'll keep that in mind, Father."
It couldn't be helped.
Though Manus himself was one of the rising stars vying for heirship...
Wilhelm was the head of the Kalia Warrior Clan, one of the three vassal houses upholding the Lichtenauer Martial Clan.
...The gap between him and that monster was still too vast for comparison.
It wasn't yet time to bare his fangs.
Not until the day he ascended to Patriarch.
Unaware or uncaring of Manus's inner thoughts, Wilhelm asked,
"So, what of the task I gave you? Bringing back Ralph Kalia."
Now that Ian and the Latent Dragon Squad had just successfully completed their mission in Shuraton and returned to the clan...
Something was brewing once more within the Lichtenauer Martial Clan—starting from the Kalia Warrior House.
"...What the hell is going on here?"
Ralph asked dumbly to his surroundings, but no answer came.
"...No idea. Me neither."
Ryu An Pallkion's delayed reply was just as dumbfounded, offering little clarity.
While Ian remained at the Patriarch's audience, the Latent Dragon Squad had returned to their quarters first—only to gape at an utterly unexpected sight.
Their dilapidated shack, fit to be called a haunted house or stable, had vanished without a trace.
In its place stood a sleek, cozy building.
Clang, clang, clang!
The hammering sounds echoing from the clan's outskirts continued even as the squad snapped out of their daze.
But all things have a beginning and an end.
Clang!
With the final hammer blow fixing the sign at the building's center by a Lichtenauer Martial Clan craftsman, the noises finally ceased.
-Nest of Greenhorns.
No illusion.
It was the new home of the once-rickety Latent Dragon Squad, whose doors had seemed ready to fall off at any moment.
"Heave-ho! Whew, that was tough. Hey, this is the Latent Dragon Squad, right?"
The carpenter, wiping sweat after finishing the sign, approached the squad members.
"Ah... Yes. That's us, but... what happened here?"
"Huh? You didn't know?"
Swish!
The carpenter pulled out a neat document and continued.
"Second Young Lord Ian Lichtenauer commissioned us before heading to Shuraton. Money no object—just build something flashier than any other strike squad's quarters. Man, he showed up out of the blue like that; I was baffled. Sudden job, but we made the deadline somehow. Sign here. And here."
The proffered papers listed the construction fee in bold figures.
The squad members' eyes widened as they read.
"One, ten, hundred..."
"H-How much is this? Is... is the unit in silvers?"
Sylvia Clonen stammered in shock, but the carpenter grinned.
"Nah, gold of course. Don't be ridiculous."
One, two, three... The squad members, lined up rigidly, watched the zeros dance wildly in their pupils.
Perhaps their huddled, trembling forms—like skittish herbivores—were amusing.
The carpenter chuckled softly.
"Young Lord Ian already paid most upfront, save the balance. No need to freak—it's just formalities."
At his words, Ryu An Pallkion hastily signed as representative on the two sheets. The carpenter pocketed one and turned away without lingering.
"Anyway, go check it out. He put a lot of thought into it; you'll love it. Lower strike squads living like this? You're probably the only ones. You guys got one hell of a leader."
Pat, pat!
With shoulders clapped enviously, he left. The squad stared blankly at their new home for a while.
"...Who knew a day like this would come for us."
The members gazed with fresh emotion.
Or more precisely, they had known. That someday they'd escape that absurdly shabby place.
But not in under a year.
"Our leader... When did he prepare all this alone? He should've said something—we could've shared the burden."
No matter that Ian was direct lineage, building quarters this size must have cost a fortune.
"...For us, he went this far..."
A swell of gratitude warmed their chests.
Until now, the strike squads that wanted them demanded blind obedience, seeing them only as tools.
That demand wasn't wrong, per se.
Hierarchy and obedience.
Following superiors' orders was natural in a strike squad.
But they were the ones who'd been ousted even from their groups for refusing to bend their stubborn wills.
The more force used to compel them, the more they rebelled.
Those who tried to exploit them weren't wrong either.
The Latent Dragon members were talented, even if sidelined for their twisted upbringings in clans or factions.
But talent didn't mean they'd accept exploitation.
Thus, they'd drifted unaffiliated.
Until assigned to the Latent Dragon Squad at money's end.
At first, hearing their leader was the clan's "halfwit" Ian, they'd despaired, feeling discarded.
Mistake. Arrogance.
Ian was magnanimous enough to embrace their prickly talents—like needles from a pouch.
He never abandoned their hedgehog spines, offering unstinting advice tailored to each.
And now, a new nest for them.
Thud, thud!
As they basked silently in感动, slow footsteps approached from afar.
"Oh, already done? I was worried it might run late. But... why are you all standing there gawking instead of touring inside? I figured you'd be poking around everywhere by now."
"Leader Ian...!!"
Recognizing the voice, the squad rushed toward him en masse.
"Wh-what's this? Why the mob?"
"Leader! What is this, seriously?! Stuff like this... this should be a group effort! Why shoulder it alone...?"
Helena whined at Ian, voice thick with joy and frustration.
The others said nothing, but their straight gazes mirrored her feelings.
"...This isn't right. You've suffered the most among us, Leader. You can't bear this cost alone...!!"
"Huh? What are you all talking about? What do you mean I bore it alone?"
As Ian shot back at Ryu An's words, Dane bellowed.
"Quit playing dumb, Leader! The carpenter told us. You paid everything except the balance...!"
"Oh, that?"
Ian finally dispelled their misunderstanding.
"Paid for it with our spoils of war."
"Why would you alone... Wh-what did you just say?"
Ian repeated clearly to the stunned Dane.
"I mean, we covered it with the loot we brought back. So no need to thank me."
"......"
"......"
Silence descended heavily on the squad around him.
"Ah, haha! Still, plenty left over, right? Th-that's fine then! Right?!"
Helena's voice quavered uneasily.
"Hm? Leftovers?"
Scratch, scratch.
Ian scratched his head, mentally tallying.
"Let's see... What's left should cover winter training gear, food... Oh, potions too. What do you think, Hans? Enough?"
Screech!
"Hahaha! More than enough, Young Lord."
Hans emerged from the new building's entrance, answering Ian's question.
"H-Hans the steward? Where'd you... No, forget that! What did you just say, you leader bastard?!"
Helena's polite tone shattered into something indefinable at the hope-crushing reply.
"All spent. But hey, new digs—so satisfied, right?"
"Wh-what..."
Squad members clutched their necks one by one.
Level-headed mage Dane recovered first.
"W-Wait! Even so, the Shuraton rewards from His Excellency! Those must be left... right?!"
Yeah!
The Shuraton spoils surely remained...!
Others eyed Ian with faint hope at Dane's plea, but he shook his head, crushing it.
"Those cover the balance. Once paid... nothing left."
Clink!
Ian pulled out a tiny pouch of gold coins.
"What's that? Why bring it out now... N-no way? No?"
Ian grinned at their denial of reality.
"This is it."
The wagon-filling treasures, after clan tribute and builder's balance, dangled cutely—now tiny—in his hand.
"You damn leader bastard!!"
Helena finally cursed outright, but Ian hummed cheerfully toward the door.
'Money doesn't matter, you lot.'
A full belly and warm back breed sloth.
Can't have that.
What he and the squad needed now was rigorous training to climb higher.
Hence the overkill dorm remodel.
A proper training ground meant the building could withstand harsh drills.
'You're coming with me.'
Solo rampages like his past life had limits.
This time... Ian would solidify his own force.
With that resolve, Ian was gearing up for a brutal winter training regimen.
But unaware of his intentions, the squad could only seethe in madness.
They didn't know.
The real madness started now.