The Bastard's Pathetic End
Brooks's lecherous gaze fixed on Emilia, the noble bastard. It cleared up a few misunderstandings about him. First off, he really was the young master of a count's family. And the Hartwell house hadn't fallen; they still held their position as a count's family in the principality.
So why was the young master of a count's family living here like he was no different from a commoner? The answer was surprisingly simple.
'Bastard.'
Brooks was the illegitimate son born between Count Hartwell and his concubine. He didn't know why he'd grown up here, but apparently the family had taken an interest in him late in the game. Ethan even learned that knights from the Hartwell family were due to arrive in the village in a few days.
This wasn't from his own questions—Brooks had bragged about it himself.
The village chief approached Ethan and Emilia, clearing his throat.
"Ahem. You two, give your thanks to young master Brooks. Without his permission, you'd have been kicked out on the spot!"
Everyone nodded at the chief's shout. The villagers had originally planned to drive Ethan and Emilia away. They weren't locals, after all. But Brooks had stepped in.
"Don't be too harsh on them. Taking in poor kids with nowhere to go is a noble's duty, right?"
Thanks to that, they hadn't been chased out and could join the village festival. The guy had struck a dignified pose while saying it.
"Of course, of course! The young master is right! As expected, you're so magnanimous!"
"Young master Brooks is the only one fit to carry on the Hartwell name!"
The villagers, including the chief, rubbed their hands together and fawned over Brooks. In this village, he was king. Even as a noble bastard, with family knights coming soon, who would dare defy him? They just smiled and spouted lines like, "As expected, Sir Brooks has the best character!" to stroke his ego.
Ethan shook his head at the sight.
'What a bunch of bootlickers.'
Strictly speaking, Brooks wasn't officially a noble bastard yet. He had the potential to be one, but he hadn't been formally acknowledged as blood kin. In this world's lore, nobles requested paternity tests from the Magic Tower to confirm their lineage. Only after the tower's verification did they recognize the child as half-blood.
A mage from the tower would likely accompany the Hartwell knights in a few days. Only then could Brooks be officially accepted as a bastard with half noble blood.
'Well, if he's that confident, it's probably true.'
He acted so boldly, so it had to be legit. But Ethan couldn't view Brooks favorably. The reason he'd let them stay in the village was obvious.
The guy was into Emilia. He was still shooting her blatant, predatory looks—who wouldn't notice?
Emilia was sharp; there was no way she missed it. Her expression was sour, naturally.
'Can't blame her.'
Even putting it nicely, Brooks had the looks of a greasy toad. Greed oozed from every pore. Some might like the noble blood, but not Emilia, apparently. If she was into him, Ethan might have cheered her on—but no.
He checked her reaction and gave a slight nod. Regardless, Brooks had made this possible.
"Thank you for your hospitality, young master of House Hartwell."
A simple thanks cost nothing, so he tossed it out to stroke the guy's ego. Then they dug into the village's feast.
"D-delicious…!"
Emilia took a bite of meat and broke into a blissful smile. After days of bland gruel, who wouldn't? Ethan felt the same. It had been ages since he'd had meat. His body practically cheered at the taste.
'Eat first, think later.'
He needed to stock up on nutrients while he could. Who knew when the next chance like this would come? Their final destination wasn't here anyway. They had to recharge and leave soon.
* * *
The village festival dragged on into the night. The food ran out, and drunken villagers staggered home.
"We'll head in now, young master! Have a peaceful night!"
Reality was different. The villagers had left just Ethan, Emilia, and Brooks behind.
'Someone's got a brain.'
They'd coordinated ahead. Ethan watched silently. Then his eyes met Brooks's. The guy was flushed from booze.
"Ahem."
He coughed awkwardly and spoke.
"Shall we take a stroll?"
Brooks staggered to his feet. And so Ethan and Emilia ended up walking the village outskirts with him.
The rural night wrapped them in languid peace. Crickets chirped noisily in the dark, and a chill wind rustled the leaves. Ethan breathed deep, the scent of grass filling his lungs.
"I moved around a lot as a kid. Then we settled here. Back then, I thought it was 'cause we were broke. Mom never mentioned my dad, not once."
Over the crickets' chorus, Brooks began his tale. Ethan listened closely—the bugs were so loud, he'd lose the words otherwise.
"Life was tough. No dad, so the village picked on me, looked down on Mom. Funny part? She struggled like that till she died. And now my family comes looking."
Brooks laughed hollowly. Up to here, it sounded like a sob story. Ethan might have pitied him without preconceptions. But the tone shifted.
"Stupid, right? If they'd come clean sooner, Mom and I could've lived easy."
He scoffed at his own mother's foolishness. Ethan frowned slightly, but what could he do? That was Brooks's mindset. If anything, his late mother had been wise.
'Idiot.'
Why would Count Hartwell suddenly seek him out? Why abandon him till now? Just craving blood ties? Nobles weren't that naive. If he'd flaunted bastard status early, would Brooks even be alive? He'd have been dead, beast food by now.
Nobles hated their blood mixing low. Sure, lust happened, but they buried the shame. Ethan had seen it plenty in the game: quiet assassinations, forcing bastards into the army instead of legit heirs...
'Come to think of it, the Hailstone Principality borders the demon realm.'
The demon realm: monster-infested hell. Another reason the Arcadia Empire didn't annex it outright—they wanted the buffer against demons. The empire bordered it too, but the principality took the brunt.
'Poor bastard.'
Suddenly claiming him now? There was a reason. Their ages were close enough. Answer: cannon fodder.
Bordering demons, Hailstone sent officers and soldiers to the frontlines: two years for officers, five for grunts. Noble sons did officer duty. Even they couldn't dodge enlistment. Hartwell was no exception. But the countess's heirs were successors. Frontlines were death traps on bad luck.
Brooks's role? Proxy enlistee for the heir. But they wouldn't ship off an ignorant kid raw.
'A year of "education" in noble life first—not all bad.'
That was it. If Brooks was sharp, he might seize power—but he didn't seem the type. His current ramble proved it.
"That's why I know commoners' hardships. I grew up that way."
Brooks stopped, turning toward them—staring at Emilia.
"You're Emilia, right? How about it? When the knights come in a few days, come with me."
He closed in, proposing she join him at the family estate. Then he eyed Ethan.
"Won't leave you out either—fair compensation. Sounds good, yeah? Your sister's a noble now, you get cash."
Ethan had introduced them as siblings. In short: take Emilia, pay Ethan off.
He couldn't help frowning.
'What a fool.'
Brooks was a bastard—barely adapting himself, time for her? Empty promises meant nothing. He'd rank below incoming knights anyway. If Emilia wanted to go, fine—but her face was stone.
No need to reply, but Brooks took it wrong.
"...Daring to ignore me?"
He scowled, raising his voice, face peaking in arrogance.
"I fed you lowly scum, and you ignore me?! One word from me, and you're dead!"
Booze loosened his control; he even wobbled.
"No—I'm to be count someday?"
Now delusions flew.
"No need to beg lowborn permission."
Brooks lunged at Emilia, clawing her clothes like a beast in heat.
"Kyaa!"
She screamed. It echoed, but no one came. Streets empty—villagers knew and ignored.
"What trash."
Ethan's mood soured. He drew his waist dagger, pressing it to Brooks's throat.
"Stop, you bastard."
Threat, not kill. Killing a noble— even bastard—was heavy crime.
Brooks's eyes bulged at the blade.
"D-daring to put a knife to a noble's throat? You're dead!"
Sobriety hit with mortal fear.
"Back off now, and I'll forgive you specially."
Ethan had no plans to escalate. But trust no one here.
"Get up."
Dagger steady, he rose, shoving Brooks from Emilia. Proper distance, then warned.
"We're leaving. Forget this happened."
Best option. Mine trouble already risked pursuit—killing noble would complicate everything. Ethan sheathed slowly, backing away. Dagger ready, he moved to Emilia.
Brooks stood frozen, head down. Good.
Ethan whispered to her.
"Time to go."
She nodded faintly. Dark night, but staying was riskier—she knew.
As they turned—
"You filthy lowborn scum!"
Brooks roared. Rage shook him visibly.
"Daring... to defy me!"
He charged drunkenly, small rock in hand. Reason gone.
"Hah. Should've drunk nicely."
Ethan raised his dagger grimly. One chance given—wasted by Brooks.
"Dieee!"
Brooks bellowed, speeding up. But his legs buckled—he tripped, head smashing his own rock.
Thud—
Blood poured. A gruesome sound.
"?"
Not a scream. Just... gone. A pathetic end.