Caravan Ambush (1)
After finishing his bath, Cloy arrived with a change of clothes for him.
"I've prepared clothes for you to wear, young master. Please change, and I'll escort you to the Count afterward."
She seemed more at ease around him than before; the tension in her voice had eased. He took the prepared garments. A luxurious silk shirt and neatly pressed trousers. He changed slowly and stood before the mirror.
Oh.
Clothes make the man, huh? Just swapping outfits had elevated his entire image to something refined.
Being nobility really is the best.
Once fully dressed, he followed Cloy down the hall. As they reached the Count's study after traversing the grand corridor, the door opened and Edgar greeted him.
"Young Master Ethan, the Count is waiting."
Now it was time for a one-on-one with Count Hartwell. He felt a twinge of nerves, unbidden. After all, he wasn't the Count's real blood.
Bella must've put in a good word.
He took a deep breath and strode into the study. Vintage bookshelves and a desk immediately caught his eye. Behind the desk sat a middle-aged man—Count Benedict Hartwell—staring at him. His dark brown hair and well-groomed beard lent an air of sophistication, but shadows of fatigue lingered around the Count's eyes.
He bowed in proper etiquette.
"It's an honor to meet you, Father."
The Count eyed him for a moment before speaking in a gruff tone.
"Rise. That's a title you're not used to, is it?"
No warmth in response. The Count continued indifferently.
"Well, I assume you've had no major issues during your time away?"
It was a perfunctory question, not one a father asks his flesh-and-blood son.
He doesn't care at all.
He hadn't expected fatherly affection from the Count anyway. They were just playing the roles of father and son to get what each needed from the other.
"Yes, thanks to your concern and generosity, I've managed without incident."
He replied in kind, formally. He had no intention of dragging out this awkward exchange.
The Count then welcomed his return and unilaterally outlined future plans: tutors, escort knights, and the responsibilities as a family member.
"I'll keep that in mind, Count."
"Go rest now. Someone will fetch you for dinner later."
That ended the Count's words, signaling the audience was over. But Ethan felt it couldn't just conclude like this.
I can't leave it at that.
To live comfortably going forward, he needed to imprint his presence on the Count. And he had his own demands, of course.
Instead of turning to leave, he quickly gathered his thoughts and spoke to the Count.
"Count, you know well why I've come here."
You called me because you need me, right?
"Though I'm still immature and lacking, if you'll permit me, I'll gladly fulfill my role."
I'll do what you want, so grant me one thing in return.
He acted as polite as possible while projecting usefulness. He hinted at grasping the Count's intentions while pledging devotion to the family.
"Hm…"
The Count seemed caught off guard that he'd spoken up so boldly first. After studying him, he probed as if reading his mind.
"Very well. What is it you want?"
Jackpot!
For starters, he needed money to handle future affairs. Even as a bastard, he was the Count's son now—there'd probably be a monthly allowance, but it wouldn't suffice.
Still, he couldn't naively blurt out "money" to the question.
"Count, I've faced many hardships to reach this position."
Way too many. Worked like a dog in the underground mines, escaped, and only ended up here because the original bastard son died.
"I know my time as a bastard leaves me deficient for a noble's path. But now that I'm part of House Hartwell, I believe I must show a different face from my past."
Excuses to extract funds flowed smoothly from his mouth.
"Communicating with those who serve the family is good, but leading them materially is also key. If I connect with them and win their hearts, it will ultimately serve your will, Count."
Words poured out better than he'd ever imagined. In short, he needed money to adapt to the family. Framing it as for the subordinates sounded better than admitting personal use. And the Count would want him integrated quickly.
Fortunately, it worked; a faint smile touched the Count's face.
"Hm… Indeed. From now on, Ethan, you must be part of the family."
Finally, the Count said his name.
"Very well. I'll have Edgar provide you extra pocket money."
With money secured, the Count dismissed him. Having gotten what he wanted, lingering was pointless.
Maybe nap before dinner?
Satisfied, he left the study.
As Ethan departed the study, the Count sank into deep thought. The recent conversation replayed in his mind.
"Ethan…"
Complex emotions laced the name that slipped from his lips. A child from a one-night mistake, half-noble born to a lowly mother. He'd summoned him purely for the family's sake—a puppet to send to the front lines in place of his other sons.
Yet the exchange had shaken the Count's assumptions.
"Truly the son of a tiger."
He'd lived like a commoner for years, likely without proper education. He'd learned some etiquette from Kael, but what he'd just shown went beyond mere training. The cunning to twist words for his desires, the bold audacity—it was innate talent. No matter how he'd grown among dogs, tiger blood couldn't be denied.
"Intriguing."
Suddenly, he recalled Mage Bella's assessment of Ethan. The mage, summoned for blood confirmation, was the Magic Tower Master's direct disciple, known as the Red Witch. For the notoriously picky Red Witch to call him extraordinary was no small matter.
"An unexpected prize has arrived."
A faint smile curved the Count's lips.
Right after leaving the Count's study, he ran into someone else. Taller and more robust than him, exuding a vibe similar to the Count's.
"Ah."
No need to ponder—he knew instantly. This was to be his brother.
Probably Bastel.
Bastel Hartwell, the Count's second son. The eldest, Albert, was studying at the Imperial Academy, so naturally absent from the estate. Excluding the youngest sister, Bastel was the only sibling here.
Bastel's eyes chilled upon spotting him, glaring like a predator eyeing prey.
Oh, something's off.
Even as a bastard, such overt hostility was unwarranted. The fact he showed it meant something bad had happened to Bastel.
And that something was…
The mine shutdown must've hit him hard.
Bella had mentioned Bastel ran a business. His mother, the Countess from a major trading house, surely backed it. With the magic stone mines collapsing, they were in a bind.
Bastel's the type who wears his heart on his sleeve.
Ethan flashed a subtle smile and decided to offer Bastel a glimmer of hope. He'd already ordered Black Raven to aid affected merchants and nobles from the mines.
They've probably compiled the list by now.
His capable Black Raven would handle it. Compensation wouldn't be long in coming.
He greeted Bastel first.
"Your humble brother greets you, Brother Bastel."
As polite as could be, but Bastel snapped irritably.
"Who the hell's your brother? You filthy-blooded bastard!"
Oh, straightforward. They'd cross paths often, yet here he was, baring fangs openly. But Ethan's patience, forged in his past life, held firm. Retaliating would be foolish. Knowing why Bastel was angry, he kept his smile relaxed.
"Haha, Brother. You seem quite upset. But good news should come soon—try not to worry too much."
The good news meant Black Raven's aid. Bastel seemed about to react, but Ethan had no plans to elaborate. He said just that and slipped away.
By dinnertime, his mood should improve.
Humans were simple creatures. Bad news soured moods; good news brought smiles.
Time for a quick nap?
This was nobility's privilege: sleep when tired, eat when hungry. On his first day in House Hartwell, he'd savor that leisure.
Watching Ethan's retreating back, Bastel's eyebrows shot up. Deep wrinkles furrowed his forehead, contempt dripping from his thin lips.
What the hell is with that guy?
He'd recognized the boy emerging from their father's study at a glance—his half-brother, Ethan. Truth be told, there was no reason to bully him; he was meant to enlist in their place.
But Bastel's gut boiled. News of the magic stone mine collapse, heard from his mother, flashed through his mind.
His mother's family, the Rosemund Barony, ran the empire's largest trading company. They'd invested heavily in mines, especially those three magic stone ones. And now, they'd collapsed one after another in days. Recovery timeline unknown. The losses fell squarely on Rosemund.
Ironically, it crippled Bastel's own business too. Support from Baron Rosemund, his longtime backer, had dried up.
Bastel sighed deeply, grinding his teeth.
For this to happen right when that bastard shows up.
He spat curses at his half-brother. But Ethan, the target, remained unfazed—even smiling coolly and babbling about good news soon.
Is he insane?
Yet something in Ethan's demeanor stirred an inexplicable unease. And that instinct proved right.
"M-Master Bastel!"
One of his attendants came rushing, panting, sweat beading on his brow, eyes wide with terror. Something grave had occurred.
"What is it?!"
Bastel snapped irritably. The attendant stammered.
"Th-the caravan… our caravan was ambushed!"
Bastel's eyes bulged. A chill gripped him as his gaze involuntarily drifted down the corridor where Ethan had vanished.