Chapter 940

Ian held the Black Order’s business card he’d found at Crony’s mansion in one hand and blew on it softly.

The card spun like a pinwheel in the breeze. Aside from being made of paper, there was nothing remarkable about it. Just as other mages had said, it gave off no trace of magical energy.

“So, it must be related to sorcery,” Ian thought.

Could it mean the Black Order’s leader was a sorcerer?

He furrowed his brow slightly. If they were mages, it would be easier to gauge them—they were mages too, after all. Whether he liked it or not, he could use his sixth sense to pull information from them one way or another.

“But if they’re sorcerers, that changes things.”

The world of sorcery was as deep and complex as magic.

Sorcerers themselves were mysterious beings. Ian had felt this when he met the northern shamans before—they were like wildflowers blooming in a field. Each one bloomed in its own color, and with hundreds or thousands of varieties, once their petals mixed, it was hard to tell them apart.

“In contrast, mages are more like a single tree.”

Magic and sorcery were similar yet fundamentally opposite.

Just then, someone placed a hand on Ian’s shoulder. It was Naum, who smiled warmly and nodded toward the clock.

“Not leaving yet?”

It was just past six in the evening. Ian hurriedly slipped the business card into his drawer and stood up. No matter what, staying past quitting time would set Arena off like a firestorm.

“My friend’s been waiting outside.”

“Friend?”

Who? Beric?

Ian’s face twisted in a clear scowl, prompting the other mages to burst out laughing. They seemed in no hurry to leave, burying their noses in paperwork and chatting away.

“That guy’s hilarious. Eats whatever you give him.”

“When I went out earlier, he was lying on his back on the floor.”

“He kept nagging about when Ian would come out.”

“Reminds me of when we first brought Poppy home. Exactly like that—eats whatever you give, lies around with belly up, grumbles and barks at everything… but somehow, he listens well.”

Ian had told them Beric was a magic swordsman, but the mages didn’t seem impressed.

No surprise there. Was the Imperial Guard short on hands? The Magic Department had always been understaffed—past, present, and future! That’s why they were working overtime. Hearing “magic swordsman” from someone who wasn’t even a mage was just met with a shrug.

“Well then, I’ll head out first.”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“See you tomorrow, Ian.”

“Thanks for your hard work.”

Ian bowed and stepped outside, immediately running into Beric sprawled on the bare floor. The lobby was bare since Beric had smashed every piece of furniture.

“Done? Finally done?!”

“Starting tomorrow, for a long time.”

“You’re so laid-back. I’m buzzing with energy—how can you just sit still?”

Beric trailed after Ian, chattering noisily. Ian had wanted to introduce him to Count Jacques during the day, but with Beric’s stubbornness, something felt off from the start.

When Ian climbed into the carriage, Beric naturally sat opposite him and began tapping the driver’s seat.

“Hey, driver! Let’s go!”

The driver glanced at them in disbelief, but when Ian shook his head as if giving up, he reluctantly cracked the whip. Beric stretched, thrilled to finally be moving.

“What kind of work do you do to take so long? I thought I’d die waiting.”

“Then you should’ve.”

“No way! I’m destined for greatness! Ha ha!”

“…Did you contact home?”

“It’s fine. Once I’m out, I don’t go back for days.”

Ian leaned his forehead against the window, exhausted. Beric, on the other hand, seemed fascinated by the bustling scene outside Rugerspell, as if it had been a while since he’d been out.

When the entrance to the Count’s mansion came into view, Beric’s eyes went wide.

“Is that the main gate?”

“Behave yourself in front of Count Jacques. Otherwise, you’ll get a serious scolding.”

“From you?”

“From anyone.”

Screech.

The carriage passed through the gate and stopped in front of the mansion, where servants came out to open the doors. They were briefly startled by the unfamiliar red-haired man but quickly greeted them politely.

“Welcome, Ian. Are you a guest?”

“Yes. Where are Count Jacques and Lady Barsabe?”

“They’re both at the training grounds.”

“Good.”

“Dinner…?”

“Later.”

Ian gestured for Beric to follow him. As dusk fell and the garden lights flickered on, the mansion’s stately grandeur deepened.

The closer they got to the training grounds, the more they could hear Barsabe’s spirited shouts.

“Hup! Haah!”

“Again!”

“Haah!”

Barsabe swung her sword with fierce determination, her sleeves rolled up, while Count Jacques watched attentively. Both sensed their approach and turned toward Ian.

“Ian?”

“Back, Count.”

“Good work. You have a guest.”

Beric peeked out from behind Ian and gave a sly grin. He didn’t know much about the Count but figured smiling was a good idea.

“This is someone I met recently while on Magic Department business outside. He has the potential to be a magic swordsman, so I brought him for your advice.”

“Magic swordsman?”

Barsabe and the Count’s eyes sparkled simultaneously. Barsabe seemed pleased at the prospect of new talent joining the Imperial Guard, while Count Jacques likely saw an opportunity to strengthen his faction within the Guard.

Though loyal to the Emperor, factions definitely existed among the magic swordsmen. If a newcomer besides Barsabe aligned with Count Jacques, that alone would be a significant advantage.

“Is that so?”

“I confirmed it myself.”

“Remarkable! Young man, your name?”

“Beric.”

“Beric, hmm…”

From his appearance and attitude, it was clear he came from the rough side of town. Raw, but not unpleasant.

Ian stepped forward and spoke earnestly.

“The Empire’s joint recruitment period is coming soon. I want to enlist Beric, but he has many shortcomings. I hope Lady Barsabe and the instructors can teach him well.”

“Ah, very good.”

Barsabe extended her hand for a greeting. Beric instinctively grabbed it but eyed Ian suspiciously.

“Is this for real?”

“Learn from a girl my age? No way,” Beric muttered. Barsabe caught the remark and froze, her smile stiffening.

Count Jacques noticed his granddaughter’s sudden change in mood and discreetly picked up his jacket.

“Well then, exchange greetings and come inside. Let’s all have dinner together. Oh, Ian, you mentioned sending a letter to the Great Desert?”

“Yes, regarding Romandro’s wedding.”

Philia had crossed the Great Desert with Nersarn. They had a small wedding and recently had a beautiful child, but since they were so far away, news didn’t come quickly.

If Romandro was getting married, he’d likely return to the capital for the first time in a while. Ian’s letter was to ask whether he’d open a portal or come by carriage.

“Send it tomorrow. And Beric?”

“Yes?”

Count Jacques smiled as he watched Barsabe silently selecting her sword, clearly pondering how to teach Beric a lesson.

“Even with talent as a magic swordsman, you must give it your all. The selection exam is coming soon. If you want to pass, you’ll have to study hard.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Barsabe, be gentle. He’s just starting to bloom.”

Beric burst out laughing openly. He might have some training, but she was still a girl, right? He’d been a professional fighter since childhood, battling in every brawl…

Bam!

“Laughing?”

Barsabe’s fist landed squarely on Beric’s jaw, lifting him lightly off the ground.

Ian stepped back, expecting this, while Beric blinked in stunned confusion. As he scrambled upright, Ian and Count Jacques turned to head inside.

“You don’t need a weapon. I’ll beat you with my fists.”

“What was that just now?”

“Don’t you get it? I’ll have to show you again.”

Bam! Whack!

Barsabe’s solid fists pounded relentlessly on Beric.

Beric, dazed at first, suddenly snapped to attention. This wasn’t just a girl! Where did she get such strength and speed?!

Bam!

“From the start, your glare rubbed me the wrong way. I’ll take everything except your molars.”

“Whoa, damn. You’re a magic swordsman too?”

“Hey? Yaaah—?”

“This is the end. Damn, that scared me.”

“Just scared? You should be crying your eyes out!”

Thwack!

Beric barely dodged Barsabe’s attack and countered with a strike to her side.

“Oh? Is that all? Huh?”

Barsabe easily blocked with her other hand but frowned at the sudden sting of magical energy. What? I thought you just started to bloom? Then why this?

“Hey! Ian! You gave him magic power, didn’t you?!”

“Yes. Since the infusion was done earlier this afternoon, it’s been about four hours since the barrier was pierced.”

“Of course. There’s no way he’d be able to use magic already—”

Ian’s voice trailed off as he moved further inside.

Then, suddenly—

‘Wait, what? Four hours?’

Could he really be handling magic already?

But there was no time to be surprised. Barsabe and Beric were already locked in a fierce brawl, trading blows and headbutts.

“Damn it!”

“Who do you think you are barging in here?”

“You’re dead meat today!”

“That’s my line!”

Bam! Thud! Crash!

Before entering the mansion, Ian and Count Jacques paused to watch the two fight. The swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat instructor was scheduled to arrive tomorrow morning, so until then, this was their chance to get to know each other. Count Jacques smiled warmly as he watched the two exchange punches.

“That’s raw combat for you. Yeah.”

Not many grandfathers could smile while their granddaughter’s nose was bleeding like that. Ian politely motioned that they should head inside, and the count chuckled as he gave instructions to his servants.

“We have important guests tonight. Make sure dinner is prepared well.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Ian, wash up and come down. I have a good feeling about this Beric fellow.”

Count Jacques’s satisfied smile was contagious, and Ian smiled along, feeling glad to be of some help to his benefactor.

As the count walked down the hallway, Ian returned to his room on the second floor, changed clothes, and quickly washed up. Sitting at his desk, he began reviewing the day’s tasks when—

Knock knock.

“Ian, dinner is ready.”

“…?”

‘Dinner is ready,’ but what next? Was he supposed to come down or not? The message was unclear.

“Well, the guests have already started eating,” the servant added.

“Oh, if that’s the case, then I’ll come down.”

Ian thought it best to teach proper dining etiquette, at least, and left his room to head to the dining hall. But the scene that greeted him was unexpected.

“You, Ian, we’re having another round later.”

“That’s my line. Once I’ve eaten, you’re really dead meat.”

Beric and Barsabe sat there, faces swollen and smeared with blood from their earlier fight, tearing into the meat like ravenous wolves.

Count Jacques sipped his wine, watching them with a pleased expression.

“Hey, Ian. Come, sit down.”

“Ian, this meat is amazing. It just melts in your mouth.”

“Seriously, why is this guy eating so much?”

“They told us to eat as much as we want, right, Count?”

“Ah, yes, yes. Eat all you like.”

“Another plate here!”

Next to Beric, there were already a dozen empty plates stacked up. Beric stuffed another chunk of meat into his mouth and handed Ian a piece of paper.

“Ian, the count made me sign some kind of pledge or something. Can you check if I got ripped off?”

“…Usually, you check before you sign. And don’t be rude in front of the count.”

Ian took the paper and glanced discreetly at the count, who was still amused.

The pledge was straightforward: in exchange for covering training and meal expenses, Beric would participate diligently and focus on his growth. When he joined the Imperial Guard, he would bear the seal of the Jacques family. That was it.

“Ripped off?”

“…Not really.”

“Not really?”

“He stamped it upside down.”

The black ink was supposed to be the characters, and the white was the paper. The seal was just slapped on haphazardly, wherever.

Whether Ian sighed or not, Beric was just relieved it wasn’t a scam and shoved a huge chunk of meat into his mouth.