Chapter 24. The Nobles of the North (1)

The scent of fragrant tea lingered in Sid Karsen's private office.

It was an aroma meant to soothe the mind, yet an odd tension hung in the air.

"......So, you're saying you've taken a liking to my brother? That you intend to work with him?"

Sid set down his teacup as he addressed Doctor Crombell. His tone was less composed than usual—Crombell's attitude had rubbed him the wrong way.

"You received Sion's letter and came here. And now you're acting strange? You want to stay, but you don't know what might happen? What exactly is going through your head?"

The word intentions had slipped out. The usual slick, businessman-like smile was momentarily absent.

Of course, Crombell paid no mind. He merely sank deeper into the sofa, staring blankly out the window toward the coliseum before finally speaking.

"It's not a matter of liking or disliking him. It means I was completely wrong about him. Me, of all people! Ugh... what a fool!"

Crombell absentmindedly fiddled with the custom-modified magical telescope tucked in his coat.

There was no point in adjusting it indoors, yet he fidgeted with it as if he could see something.

Sid Karsen disliked Crombell's demeanor even more. The man seemed downright unhinged.

"Until I arrived here, I thought of Sion Karsen—your brother—as nothing more than a fool."

"......."

Even if that were his true opinion, he could have phrased it more diplomatically. But Crombell made no such effort.

In other words, he didn't bother with pretense.

"A 'precious fool' I could string along to squeeze research funds out of. But he... turned out to be someone entirely unexpected."

Crombell's eyes glittered with curiosity—though not necessarily goodwill. Just pure, simple curiosity.

"You thought he was a half-wit, but he's actually a genius?"

"No, no. It's not that simple. It's more like... he had this air about him. As if he could see beyond the present. Normally, when someone hides their true abilities, there's a reason for it. But I can't even begin to guess his... Ugh. I can't explain it precisely, but my instincts are telling me. This isn't just some passing acquaintance."

Doctor Crombell's instincts were frighteningly accurate. But neither he nor Sid Karsen could fathom the deeper implications.

Crombell rose from his seat, straightening his uniform.

"Young Master Sid. I must formally request an audience with the head of the Karsen family soon."

"Why do you need to see my father?"

"If I'm to forge a deep connection with the third son of the Grand Duke's household, isn't it proper to pay respects to the family's patriarch?"

He wasn't wrong. If this were just a brief visit, it wouldn't matter. But if he intended to stay long, greeting the family head was basic courtesy.

However, Sid shook his head as he took in the unnerving gleam in Crombell's eyes. Little brother, what kind of lunatic have you brought home?

Of course, Crombell remained indifferent. He truly didn't care what others thought.

At the same time, the Daikah Count's estate was steeped in a funeral-like atmosphere.

There was one reason: the photograph Sion Karsen had delivered to the Daikah household.

"This...."

Count Gidrun Daikah trembled as he stared at the black-and-white image.

It showed Guseto handing money to the spearman Sian. The moment he saw it, the Count knew—his son had screwed up.

"Was this the only thing sent?"

The servant hesitated before answering.

"...Yes. That's all. We pressed Roman, that servant of his, but he insisted there was nothing else."

"......."

No further explanation had been given. And that made the warning all the more terrifying.

"This spearman, Sian. Where is he now?"

"Well... at the hospital run by the Karsen family...."

Sian had been severely injured ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in his duel with Sion Karsen. Sion had stepped in, claiming he would assist the warrior wounded by his own hand.

He covered all expenses—surgery, hospitalization, rehabilitation, security—effectively securing Sian's person.

Count Daikah felt as if the sky were collapsing. And for good reason. His son had hired someone to harm—or even kill—the third son of the Karsen family, one of the North's most powerful houses.

Had there been no evidence, it might have been deniable. But now, both the evidence and the witness were in Karsen hands.

If the Lord were to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠emerge from seclusion and take action? At worst, the entire Daikah family could be erased.

The Count clenched his fists, shaking with fury and dread. His restraint finally snapped.

SMACK!

He struck Guseto across the face.

"F-Father...."

"Father? I have no son like you!"

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

The Count's palm rained down on Guseto's cheeks without mercy.

"I-I'm sorry."

"Shut up!"

The Count's rage only grew. No, seeing his incompetent son's demeanor made it worse.

The continued blows left Guseto's face swollen and bloody, his nose broken, his eyes red and swollen.

Though nothing spilled out, a couple of teeth rattled loose in his mouth.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?!"

"I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

The beating continued. Now, the Count wasn't using his palm—he balled his fists ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and struck as if to kill.

Kicks, knee strikes. To an outsider, it might have looked like he truly meant to murder his own son. The more violence he unleashed, the more frenzied he became.

When he finally drew a sword from a guard's scabbard, the retainers rushed in to stop him.

"Let me go! I'll cut this wretch down where he stands! He's no son of mine! A useless piece of trash dragging our family into ruin?! Release me! I'll kill him!"

"Your Lordship! Calm yourself! Killing the young master won't solve anything!"

Only after their desperate pleas did the Count regain some composure. He forced Guseto to his knees before everyone.

Guseto hunched over, shoulders trembling. No matter how dire the situation, this was excessively cruel for a father.

"All of you, bear witness! From this moment, this wretch is no longer of House Daikah! Henceforth, he shall be treated as a criminal!"

The Count raged like a wild beast. But the retainers knew—his fury was laced with hypocrisy.

Not long ago, the Count had secretly delighted in watching his son manipulate the Grand Duke's third son like a puppet.

Seeing Guseto coax secrets and funds from the "half-wit," the Count had basked in the twisted satisfaction of feeling superior to the Grand Duke's family. He had turned a blind eye.

But.

The "half-wit" Sion Karsen had become the Golden Star Tournament's champion. His standing within the family would be entirely different now.

If he had once been an inconvenient nuisance, he was now a son to be proud of.

Public opinion in the North favored him as well. The courts would be no exception.

"Had I known Sion Karsen was such a monster, I'd never have let you provoke him! You dared to arrange an assassination attempt on the Grand Duke's son?! Your petty scheming has doomed our entire family!"

Only when the situation turned against him did he fly into a rage—this was Gidrun Daikah in a nutshell.

Guseto remained silent. The humiliation, shame, and disgrace he felt now only fueled his hatred for Sion Karsen.

Logically, Sion hadn't done anything wrong—he had. And this disgrace had been inflicted by his father and family. But at least, in his mind, that was how he saw it.

Then. A retainer rushed in urgently.

"My Lord! Urgent news!"

"Speak."

"It's just that... here...."

"Out with it!"

The retainer hesitated, glancing at Guseto, but under the Count's roar, he had no choice.

"Sion Karsen has arrived at the estate."

"".........!""

The Count. The retainers. Guseto. All were stunned. They hadn't expected him to come so soon.

"......What? Who's here?"

"S-Sion Karsen, my Lord."

The Count realized his mistake. He had planned to beat Guseto first, then visit Sion to apologize. He never imagined Sion would come to him.

"Prepare the reception hall at once! We must receive our guest properly! And bind this wretch's hands and feet!"

Count Daikah dragged Guseto like a dog, forcing him to kneel in a corner of the reception hall.

He ordered all retainers to remain standing, then spoke stiffly.

"Show him in!"

Creak—

The doors opened, and the steady click of boots echoed through the hall.

Golden hair like sunlight, deep eyes, an unwavering stride, an immaculate uniform. Anyone could see—this was nobility incarnate.

Sion Karsen.

He was no longer the man they had known. How could he have changed so much? The answer was already clear.

A beast that had hidden its claws.

A dragon preparing to ascend.

"W-Welcome. I should have come to you first. My apologies for receiving you in such a humble place."

"......."

Without a word, Sion walked past and took the seat of honor without hesitation. He didn't even glance at Guseto—as if he wasn't worth acknowledging.

"Have a seat."

The Count was bewildered. Sion's actions were so natural, as if to say, This is how it should be.

The Count instinctively sat beside Sion, while the others awkwardly took their seats.

The Count spoke first.

"I have no excuses. Though I only learned of this late, I've punished my son. But I know it's not enough. This is all due to my failure as a father. I can only beg for the Grand Duke's mercy."

Sion's expression remained cold. Instead of answering, he stared at Guseto, whose face was ashen.

'Maybe the Count is the reason he turned out like this.'

Sion recalled his past self before the regression—how he had strayed under the weight of his father's legacy.

Of course, seeing his elder brothers, perhaps the problem had been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with him all along...

Regardless.

"I'll accept your apology, Count. However."

Sion's voice was low.

"I've heard your family manages the distribution network for the North's liquor trade."

"Ah... yes, my family has overseen it for generations."

"I'd like to take control of a portion of that distribution."

"......!"

Everyone except Sion was stunned. They had expected threats, demands—not a practical profit grab.

Count Daikah trembled. With his family's survival at stake, he couldn't refuse. But it still burned.

The retainers and Guseto felt the same.

Of course, Sion had no intention of giving them an opening. His voice was icy.

"Count Daikah."

Sion stood. As if further time here was a waste.

"Your answer?"

The Count's face twitched. But he had no choice. He rose and spoke.

"Understood. Send me the list of products, and I'll transfer the distribution rights."

"A wise decision."

Without another word, Sion left the hall. The Count and his retainers could only stare blankly at his retreating back.

'Ah. So he truly was a dragon.'

The Count watched until Sion vanished from sight, then collapsed into his seat.

Then he ordered his retainers.

"Lock this wretch in the family dungeon at once. And don't feed him until I say so."

Guseto wept and apologized, but this only stoked the Count's fury further.

After seeing Sion Karsen, the sight of Guseto sniveling made his stomach churn.

While the Grand Duke's son soared, his own was here, sniveling like a worm.

The Count roared.

"Take him away—now!"