Chapter 261: The Profligate
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 261: The Profligate
After Liya left, Muen sat alone in the quiet restaurant, seemingly still reminiscing about the sensation at his fingertips.
As expected of a future Saintess, that little hand was truly...
"Ahem..."
Just then, a sharp, dry cough interrupted his thoughts.
Sean approached his side and said respectfully, "Young Master Muen, the interrogations of everyone in the restaurant are complete. No one recognizes the two who tried to assassinate you; it seems they slipped in midway through the event."
"That’s normal. After all, my actions are unpredictable. For a temporary assassination like this, they couldn't have been lying in wait for long."
Muen interlaced his fingers and propped up his chin, his gaze drifting almost imperceptibly over Sean.
"What concerns me more is why I would face such a terrifying assassination attempt just for having a meal. Didn't the assassins arrive a bit too quickly? Assassins of that caliber aren't exactly easy for just anyone to deploy."
"I... I absolutely did not leak your whereabouts, Young Master Muen!"
Sean suddenly lowered his head, breaking into a cold sweat. "Our meeting was a coincidence; I had no prior knowledge. Furthermore, I was with you the entire time and had no opportunity to send word. Please, Young Master Muen, believe me. I..."
"Fine, I didn't mean to imply I suspected you."
Muen gave him a faint glance before withdrawing his gaze.
Sean Jones was a staunch member of the Royal Faction and bore a deep grudge over the death of his wife. No matter how one looked at it, he had no motive to betray Muen.
As for how his whereabouts were leaked...
The one being watched was actually Celicia, wasn't it?
No, more accurately, it was Celicia’s small courtyard.
Otherwise, that chocolate wouldn't have been delivered so precisely back then. He must have been picked up by their scouts the moment Lawrence carried him away from there.
He just hadn't expected to be targeted in the morning and assassinated by the afternoon.
Those people certainly acted decisively.
"Then, Young Master Muen, what should we do next?" Sean asked, letting out a long sigh of relief upon seeing that Muen didn't suspect him.
"What to do... Go back and hide in the Academy, of course. I don't think we'll catch those people slipping up just because of one failed assassination. Since they dared to act, they must have prepared a follow-up plan."
Muen tapped the table, lost in thought. "As for you, just focus on being the Magistrate for now. Don't worry about anything else. You probably don't have the qualifications to step into this whirlpool yet. Someone else will help me handle the matter of the assassination."
"Understood."
"Oh, right. You can go ahead and interrogate that surviving assassin thoroughly. The result doesn't matter. What matters is that you must deliver that result... to His Majesty."
Sean froze for a moment, then realized the intent. A flash of ruthlessness, which he hadn't shown before Muen, flickered in his eyes. He grinned coldly. "Rest assured, Young Master Muen... I am quite skilled at 'interrogations.'"
"Is that so? Good."
Looking at the confident Sean, Muen couldn't help but smile.
He didn't care how much trouble the information pried from the assassin's mouth would cause those hiding behind the scenes. As long as it could disgust them a little, Muen would be perfectly satisfied.
After all, in the entire Duke’s household, he was essentially a commander without an army. Although he could mobilize some resources in the Duke's name—and it wouldn't be hard to pay a price to hire powerful experts for personal protection—it would be irrational to go head-to-head with those people for no reason.
They were, after all, still hiding in the shadows.
Therefore, the safest course of action was to obediently scurry back to the Academy.
He refused to believe those people were so omnipotent that they would dare stretch their claws right under Teacher Mela's nose.
Playing it safe and growing in the shadows was the right path.
And, in every sense, time was on his side.
Once the engagement ceremony with Celicia was complete, he could openly cling to her black-stockinged thighs every day.
When that time came, as long as he held on tight, why would he fear these lowlifes who didn't even dare show their faces and only played petty tricks in the dark?
This was Belland, after all, not their backyard.
"It's getting late. I'll be going now."
"Safe travels, sir."
"I'll leave the cleanup to you."
"It is my duty."
After a casual farewell to Sean, Muen walked toward the Academy with his hands behind his back, humming a little tune as if he hadn't just experienced a soul-stirring assassination attempt.
It was a pity he couldn't walk side-by-side with that future Saintess; otherwise, it would have been a truly pleasant experience.
*
Late at night.
The moon was dark, and the wind was high.
Lawrence took off his conspicuous armor and changed into plain clothes. He used a wide-brimmed black hat to obscure his face, cautiously making his way to a remote manor.
After confirming he wasn't being followed, Lawrence knocked on the manor's gate.
"It's me, Lawrence," he whispered toward the interior.
Creak—
The rusted gate slowly opened, letting out a harsh, grating sound like the shriek of a vengeful ghost.
However, there was no one behind the gate; it was as if it had opened on its own.
Lawrence wasn't surprised. He pressed down his wide-brimmed hat and stepped inside.
The gate closed automatically behind him.
The manor was silent. There were no lights and no signs of people.
On both sides of the path—which could barely be called a road—weeds grew wild, nearly reaching his waist. The place looked long-abandoned, devoid of any sign of life.
Lawrence carefully pushed through the weeds until he reached the deepest part of the manor.
The building, covered in withered vines, reeked of age, looking like a ghost's dwelling from a storybook.
Lawrence took a deep breath and glanced at the tightly shut main doors, but he didn't enter through them. Instead, he reached out and lifted a section where the vines were thickest, revealing a hidden secret door.
He bent down and entered.
Dim candlelight flickered within the pitch-black passage.
At the end of a spacious room, a man whose face was obscured but whose stature was imposing stood with his hands behind his back. He was staring at a large portrait on the wall.
It was a woman, but the light was too dim to see her features clearly.
Lawrence stood in the shadows, head bowed, waiting respectfully in silence.
After a long time.
The man didn't even turn to look at Lawrence. He continued to gaze intently at the portrait and asked casually, "You saw him?"
"Yes."
"Your impressions?"
Lawrence pondered for a moment before saying, "Just as the intelligence suggested. His Fighting Spirit is at the Second-Tier, but his foundation is very solid. It's clear the Duke built a very good base for him. As for Mana... his capacity is decent, but his level... I can only say he has reached the average standard of the Campbell family."
"And...?"
"And..." Lawrence paused for a beat. "He is exactly as the rumors describe."
"The rumors?"
"Unsteady gait, dark circles under his eyes—obvious signs of overindulgence. From every angle, he truly is nothing more than a profligate noble playboy."
"..."
In the suffocating silence, the man finally turned around. He gave Lawrence a deep, searching look.
Lawrence was drenched in cold sweat, feeling as though he were under immense pressure. He kept his head down, not daring to meet the man's eyes.
"Is that so?"
The man suddenly chuckled. "Then you've worked hard, Lawrence. You should rest well, considering you just went through a major battle."
"It was no trouble. It is my honor to serve you."
The man seemed to have nothing more to say and simply waved his hand.
"I will have someone send your payment to you."
"Thank you!"
Lawrence felt as if he had been granted a divine reprieve and hurried back into the darkness.
When he stepped out of the manor, he realized his clothes were completely soaked through.
*
"Heh, so it failed?"
After Lawrence left, the man looked at a letter that had appeared in his hand at some unknown point. A bone-chilling sneer suddenly crossed his face.
"What a fine 'profligate' son of a Duke."