Episode 17
It all happened in an instant. Unable to withstand the sudden blow, the large man crumpled backward. Beric immediately pounced on him, mercilessly hammering his fists down.
Thwack! Thwack!
“Ugh…”
The others standing nearby watched in stunned silence. Even if it was a surprise attack, there was no way a man of that size would go down from just a couple of punches. He looked like the type who’d grab Beric by the hair and throw him off any second now.
But instead, he was just taking it—completely overwhelmed.
“Stop him! Stop him!”
“Are you crazy? What the hell are you doing, Beric?”
“Has this guy lost his mind?”
Yet the man beneath Beric didn’t react at all. Like he was unconscious, not even a finger twitched as he collapsed utterly defeated. Only then did the others panic and rush to pull Beric off.
“Get off!”
“Snap out of it!”
Beric’s breathing was ragged and uneven, his ferocity almost drug-induced. It took five trainees working together just to drag him away.
“What the hell is going on here?”
“What happened?”
Deo and the instructors hurried over amid the commotion.
Seeing the massive man sprawled on the ground and Beric thirsting for blood, it was hard to believe this was all happening without weapons—just fists. It would make more sense if Beric had been the one knocked down.
“Hah… hah… hahaha!”
“This guy’s completely lost it! Instructor!”
Beric lay flat on the floor, bursting into laughter. His expression was one of pure relief—it was almost comical. The trainees pinned beneath him grimaced in disgust. One instructor kicked Beric’s jaw.
“Beric.”
“Ah, damn it, this is the feeling I live for.”
“Beric!”
“The idiot who turned his back during sparring is the real fool!”
His furious shouts were chillingly intense. The instructor, clearly not worth responding to, kicked his face again, and Beric let out a pained groan.
“Move the other man to the infirmary. Restrain Beric and take him to the punishment room.”
At the instructor’s command, everyone moved with military precision. As Beric was dragged away, his eyes met Ian’s. Unlike Ian’s calm expression, Beric’s eyes sparkled with excitement, like an adventurer who’d just found treasure. He seemed overwhelmed by a satisfying thrill.
‘Definitely a madman.’
Ian agreed silently with the trainees’ assessment. Beric was one of the most reckless magic swordsmen he’d ever seen.
On the other hand, that recklessness meant he had no fear in battle. A warrior who fears no death has no equal.
“Ian.”
“Hmm?”
Deo approached Ian, frowning.
“What did that guy do?”
His tone was surprisingly casual, more a formality than genuine concern. Ian brushed off his sleeve and replied.
“Nothing. Just got a mouthful of curses.”
“…Well, I guess we’ll have to call it a day. With Chel’s condition and the chaos in the training grounds.”
Chel lay sprawled in the shade, catching his breath. His round belly rose and fell with effort. Just moving was an achievement for him.
Besides, the bloodstains where the man had been pinned made it clear today’s training was a bust—if Ian’s goal was training alone.
“Right. But what about that Beric fellow?”
Deo stopped in his tracks at Ian’s call, turning back.
“What’s the punishment?”
“He’s such a troublemaker, we’ll have to discuss it, but he’ll probably get whipped and kicked out.”
And all the wages he’d earned so far would be confiscated as compensation. Ian kept a blank expression as he walked away but smiled inwardly.
‘Not intentional, but it worked out well.’
Beric was currently a mercenary under Derga Bratz. But if he got kicked out and became free, it would be much easier to deal with him. Since he blindly chases strength, he’d definitely come looking for Ian after experiencing that strange sensation just now.
‘With that temper, he’ll probably crawl back the very day he gets whipped.’
Ian shook his head, looking toward the back gate of the training grounds where Beric had disappeared.
A fiery spirit. If only “Contract Magic” were an option, he’d control him that way, but that was beyond Ian’s reach for now. He’d have to coax him like taming a wild beast.
“Huff, huff…”
“Brother, are you alright?”
“…I just can’t do this. I really can’t!”
Chel nearly shouted in frustration. He’d never raised his voice like that after seeing Ian’s golden eyes. He truly seemed overwhelmed.
“Understood. You’ll have to manage on your own from now on.”
Ian smiled, but it was a warning: if the count cut off his training opportunities because of you, he wouldn’t let it slide.
Whether Chel understood or not was unclear. Wiping sweat from his brow, he slowly got up. The pool of blood on the floor was gruesome, and the distant sound of whips cracking and agonized screams was terrifying.
The training grounds were definitely not a place for him, Chel realized once again.
The next day.
The official third luncheon with Lord Molin began. The garden was in full bloom, bright and cheerful. Molin, Mac, and D’Gor led the meal with much more ease than before.
“So, I asked the young lady for a favor back then.”
“Ah, I’ve heard that story.”
“I’m sure the lady knew as well.”
There were no more cryptic remarks or power struggles with Derga. The topics that once seemed like tests for Ian had vanished. Instead, the conversation centered on trivial social gossip around Lady Mary, the count’s wife. It was clear Ian and she had some understanding behind the scenes.
After a long silence, Derga spoke up.
“Lord Molin.”
“Yes, Count Bratz.”
“Has Ian been showing you around the estate properly?”
There was a hint of suspicion, but no evidence. Chel and Deo knew nothing, and Broch had checked three times despite his busy schedule. There was nothing to hold onto.
“It was our first outing, so after lunch we went to the park. The weather was perfect, and the walk was enjoyable. The academic discussions were excellent, making it a memorable day.”
“…That’s good to hear.”
“Oh, Ian, would you show us the room you mentioned earlier today?”
The room? Ian briefly recalled. When Molin first suggested going out, Ian had jokingly asked if he wanted to see his room.
Ian glanced at Derga and smiled. The steak on his plate was gone. If given permission, he’d like to finish the meal and get up.
“Is that alright, Father?”
“I’d like to join, but…”
Derga intended to accompany them, but the presence of an aide lingering at the garden entrance was too strong. The aide fidgeted restlessly like a whining puppy. Clearly, urgent business remained.
“Lady Mary will finish hosting the guests.”
Derga clicked his tongue inwardly and looked at Lady Mary. His tone was commanding, almost oppressive.
“Yes, of course.”
Since their last quarrel, the atmosphere had grown even colder. At least in front of guests, they maintained appearances.
Lady Mary wiped her hands with a napkin and smiled brightly, like an actor changing expressions on stage.
“Shall we take our leave then?”
“Very well. Thank you for the meal. It was excellent.”
As everyone set down their utensils, the waiting servants busied themselves. One approached Lady Mary eagerly and whispered something.
“Oh.”
“What is it, my lady?”
“Apologies. Lady Merellof’s attendants are waiting at the front gate.”
“Lady Merellof of the neighboring estate?”
Mac asked, a bit surprised. The Merellof count wasn’t well-known in the social circles, being from a border region. But judging by Lady Mary’s demeanor, she seemed quite familiar.
Lady Mary smiled, a laugh laced with scorn.
“Yes. I have something to receive. Ian, please escort the guests to the room. Bring the tea first.”
The lady asked gracefully. Derga gave his final farewell and went up to his office, while Ian led the guests to the annex.
Creak.
“As they say, a room reflects its owner. This one’s very bright.”
Mac looked around appreciatively. The three sat around the sofa. Ian brought out parchment and a pen, pointing to the brooch on his chest. Everyone knew what the red emblem meant.
“Thank you, Lord Mac.”
“I heard you’re practicing your handwriting. May I take a look?”
“Of course.”
Mac and D’Gor filled the silence with endless chatter. With little time before Lady Mary’s arrival, Ian took the pen and wrote a few simple sentences.
What should I do?
Is it possible to access Count Derga’s study?
I often go up there to recharge the mana stones.
Ian was preparing to visit the office. It was likely a tax-related issue. Molin hesitated briefly, choosing his words carefully.
So they did have mines. But since it was just coal, it probably wasn’t a major asset.
Even without detailed lists, a sealed document could be treated as a whistleblower’s report, allowing forced inspection.
That was why nobles treasured their seals so much, and why entrusting a seal was a common measure of loyalty.
“I only have circumstantial evidence so far.”
Ian feigned hesitation as he spoke.
“Embezzlement is a grave crime that can destroy a family.”
He needed a vow—a promise that the Bratz lineage would not be wiped out.
If the Bratz estate vanished, so would Ian’s position. And that wasn’t all. Since he had Derga’s blood, the chances of ending up as a palace slave were high. He’d likely have to sacrifice his life just to cover the embezzled taxes.
“If I oppose your enrollment, Ian, then you’re no longer part of the Bratz family. You’ll avoid the death penalty, and you won’t have to flee the borders. Isn’t that a relief?”
‘Look at these guys,’ Ian thought bitterly.
As expected, Mollin didn’t give the answer he wanted. Mollin assumed Ian wouldn’t know what would happen next—and frankly, didn’t seem to care much.
Maybe for a magic user, but for a kid from an ordinary brothel, this was considered a fair trade.
‘It’s the obvious choice, but it’s still troublesome.’
Given his position, Ian couldn’t openly demand the survival of his family. To bring Derga down, he absolutely needed the palace’s power. But if they caught on to how deeply he was thinking, things would get complicated.
“Ah.”
Ian muttered an involuntary sigh, lost in thought. The sudden sound made Mac and Degor turn toward him.
“Ian?”
“Sorry, I bit my tongue.”
“Be careful. Even small wounds can hurt.”
Mollin’s kindly concern didn’t sound kind at all. If he was dragged away like this, there’d be no way out.
Ian steadied the plan that had just come to him and began writing.
“In that case, I have a proposal.”
“Please, speak freely.”
It was a way to protect himself from the palace’s punishment and to keep ownership of his estate. There’s a saying: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. There was still a common enemy shared by Derga and the palace.
“I won’t enroll, but I will meet with the Cheonryeo tribe.”