OBT 24

Chapter 24

The Benevolent Lord (2)

While Ian went to eat breakfast, the maid tidying up his bedchamber glanced around nervously.

The other maid, who had been helping her, left first with the laundry, leaving her alone.

From inside her clothes, she carefully pulled out a glass vial filled with infected fleas. Her heart pounded so fast she could hardly breathe.

If she opened the stopper and scattered the infected fleas, the lord’s life would be in grave danger.

But even to the very last moment, she hesitated.

The person she was about to harm was none other than the lord himself.

‘If I don’t do it, my family will be in danger.’

Resolving herself, she reached out with trembling hands to uncork the vial.

At that instant, someone grabbed her shoulder.

It was the lord.

Startled out of her wits, she shook violently, still clutching the glass vial.

“Why are you so startled?”

“N–nothing, my lord. I was just lost in thought… I’ll take my leave now.”

As she hurried to go, Ian stopped her.

“From now on, if the treasurer orders you to do something, come to me first. Burn that vial in fire. Do you understand?”

The maid’s legs gave out beneath the weight of his commanding gaze.

It was as though the lord already knew everything.

“Yes, my lord. I understand.”

She fled the room in a panic, and Ian calmly sat down on a chair as if nothing had happened.

Moments later, Linda entered the room.

“My lord, did you study much?”

“Here and there.”

“Then shall we test you?”

Smiling, Linda handed him a paper and had him write down the letters she taught him yesterday.

Ian wrote every single one neatly and without a mistake, then tilted his chin upward with a smug look, as if asking for praise.

“Excellent. Today I’ll teach you the remaining letters of the Kebania script.”

Ian, who had not slept well at dawn, felt a bit drowsy but fought to keep his eyes wide open so as not to nod off during Linda’s lesson.

“Did you not sleep properly again, my lord? You look tired.”

“Strange things keep happening at night.”

“What kind of things?”

“Things. Best left unsaid.”

Ian tried to brush it off, continuing to write the letters carefully.

Linda, gazing quietly at his face, spoke up softly.

“My lord, about yesterday at Camiu…”

“You want to ask if lowering the taxes was your idea, don’t you?”

Ian stopped his pen and looked directly at her—sitting opposite in a white robe, graceful and elegant.

Right now she was a little taller than him, but he was certain he’d soon grow past her height.

“Of course it was because of you. You told me the people hated me because of taxes, didn’t you?”

Linda stammered—something very unlike her.

“B–but I never told you to actually do it…”

“Why deny it now? Wasn’t that your intention all along?”

“……”

Linda dropped her head low.

“I’m sorry, my lord.”

“No need to apologize. The people of Camiu are delighted.”

Ian smirked, picked his pen back up, and resumed writing letters.

“I worry for you, my lord. I’m glad the taxes in Camiu are lowered, but it’s too sudden. The treasurer and the administrator won’t take it lightly.”

“Don’t worry. Nothing will happen. Soon, good news will spread to every village.”

“Good news?”

“I’ll lower the taxes across the entire domain—back to what they were in my father’s time.”

Linda’s eyes widened.

“Not just Camiu? Everywhere?”

“And the villagers forced into labor will return home. Then no one will curse me as a monster who deserves death.”

“Is… is that even allowed?”

She was glad, but at the same time confused.

“I’m the lord. Why wouldn’t it be?”

A carriage stopped before the town hall under the midday sun. Soon after, the administrator came out and climbed aboard.

“To summon me into your carriage—how insulting.”

But his face stiffened the moment he saw the treasurer.

The treasurer’s entire body, even his face, was swathed in cloth, leaving only his eyes visible. He gestured frantically for the administrator to get inside.

“What on earth happened to you?”

Inside the carriage, the administrator was shocked at the treasurer’s condition—his body wrapped in bandages, face distorted with pain.

The treasurer spoke hoarsely.

“The lord did this.”

“The lord? You mean he did this to you?”

The administrator’s face twisted in disbelief, but the treasurer raised his voice angrily.

“It’s the truth! Ugh!”

Clutching his neck, he wheezed, explaining that the lord had infiltrated his house, beaten down his guards, and kidnapped him.

But the administrator’s eyes were filled with doubt.

“Utter nonsense. That frail boy who only just recovered from illness, defeating armed guards with his bare hands and abducting you?”

“Try facing him yourself. You’ll see I speak the truth.”

The wrinkles on the administrator’s forehead deepened. The treasurer’s words did seem genuine.

“I don’t understand. Since when did the lord have such power?”

“We were fooled from the start. He pretended to be sick, hiding in his room, all the while training in secret.”

“Impossible. He’s been weak since birth—his father worried himself sick over it. No, something must have happened to trigger this change.”

“He’s a cruel wretch. You should’ve seen the look in his eyes as he tried to kill me.”

“He tried to kill you?”

“Just look at me!”

The treasurer nearly convulsed with rage, only calming after taking his medicine.

“Pathetic as it is, I had to beg for my life. The humiliation will kill me.”

“Calm yourself. Even kings sometimes bow their heads to survive. And you’re no king.”

“Don’t try to comfort me with useless words.”

Snapping, the treasurer pulled out a document from a box.

“Here. Take this.”

“What is it?”

“A record of the money you took from me. Repay it quickly.”

“What?”

The administrator’s white brows shot upward as he glared at him.

“What trick is this?!”

“Don’t be angry. I have no choice. I told that brat I’d return all the wealth I stole from him. Since you shared in it, you’re responsible too.”

“You, acting so naïve all of a sudden? Just fabricate the numbers a little, he’d never know.”

“I already fabricated them—and that’s how much it still came out to. We embezzled too much. I can’t carry it all myself. You will repay it. Understood?”

The administrator let out a hollow laugh as he looked at the paper.

“I could kill you where you sit. …Fine. I’ll prepare it.”

“Thank you. And about the tax issue—he’ll have his way.”

“I expected as much.”

The administrator climbed down and slammed the carriage door shut.

“Don’t blame me too much. I could lose even my home over this.”

“Splendid for you.”

The administrator walked into the town hall without looking back.

Torches held by soldiers lit lamps fixed along the underground passage. Oil-fed flames flickered in sequence, illuminating the way to the lord’s underground training hall.

“I thought it’d feel suffocating down here, but it’s not so bad,” Ian remarked as they walked.

The ceilings were high and the air wasn’t too stale.

“Rondo, how much farther?”

“Just around this bend, my lord.”

“I see.”

Ian whistled softly, the sound echoing down the stone corridor. To the soldiers, including Rondo, it felt oddly comforting.

Is he in a good mood?

Rondo glanced at him. Compared to yesterday, the lord looked visibly healthier—walking on his own rather than needing a palanquin.

Every day he surprises me. Since waking from his coma, his personality changed, and now his body too. When he stood in that carriage in Camiu and stirred the crowd… even my heart raced.

“Rondo.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Are there no artists in the castle?”

“Artists, my lord?”

“Yes, people who play instruments, sing songs, that sort.”

“If you need them, you can ask the steward. He used to manage them.”

“It feels so barren without music…”

Ian’s mind, shaped by his past life, longed for cigarettes and music. He could forgo the cigarettes, but music—especially the idol songs he once relied on to survive the loneliness of war—was harder to let go of.

“We’re here, my lord.”

At the end of the corridor, a door blocked the way.

“Go in first and light the place.”

“Yes, sir.”

The soldiers entered, lighting lamps around the spacious underground training hall.

“My lord, it’s ready. Watch your step, there are stairs down.”

Ian nodded and stepped inside.

Dozens of lamps illuminated the circular cavern, clearly carved from a natural underground chamber.

He descended the stairs slowly, scanning the silent hall.

Past racks of weapons, he reached a statue—life-sized, depicting Dagien Albern, the founder of the house.

A fierce warrior, twin swords raised, face roaring with defiance.

Looks like he had quite the temper.

Ian studied the statue for a while before turning to Rondo.

“It’s even better than I expected. Quiet, no distractions. Take the soldiers and leave me here.”

“You won’t be leaving, my lord?”

“Why would I?”

He walked to the weapon rack, eyes on the bare blades gleaming dangerously.

“My ancestor is staring down at me with those sharp eyes. I’ll train with the sword.”

Rondo spoke cautiously.

“Forgive me, my lord, but you’ve never trained with a sword. You could be injured.”

“Believe it or not, I’ve learned a lot in my dreams—including the sword.”

Ian drew one of the training blades, its polished steel reflecting the lamplight.

“So don’t worry. Leave me alone.”

Though his claim about dreams sounded absurd, Ian’s demeanor was too serious.

Could he be practicing the family’s secret sword techniques?

Rondo bowed.

“Understood, my lord. We’ll withdraw.”

Once the door closed, Ian turned—and there was Blanzor, perched atop the statue’s head.

“So, at last, the time has come to learn the Beast Sword?”

—Be honored. Few are taught by me.

“Yes, master! I’m deeply grateful!” Ian answered playfully.

Blanzor appeared in a flash of light before him.

—How did I end up with a disciple like you?

“What’s wrong with me?” Ian grinned, pointing the blade forward.

“I’ll work hard, so teach me well.”

Blanzor studied him quietly, then drew his own sword.

—Have you trained with swords before on Earth?

“No. But I’ve fought with them plenty.”

Ian swung the blade experimentally. The size and weight differed from the alien blades he once seized in battle, but the heavy grip felt familiar.

“I fought close enough to feel my enemies’ breath. I cut arms, slashed throats. At first, I was injured a lot—but in time, my wounds lessened while my enemies fell more and more.”

That experience was why he hadn’t feared the treasurer’s guards and their swords.

Though, he admitted, the treasurer’s bodyguard in the end had been a tough opponent. Against a trained swordsman in a fair fight, he might have lost.

—Confident, are you?

“Not confidence. Stubbornness. I just wanted to survive and take down one more enemy before I died.”

—That grit, I like.

“Thanks. That’s the first compliment you’ve given me.”

—Still, even with combat experience, you cannot skip the basics for the Beast Sword.

Blanzor demonstrated—thrusting, then slashing diagonally in a simple sequence.

Ian copied. It looked easy, but quickly became dull.

“Can’t you just teach me the real thing?”

—A thousand repetitions.

Soon Ian’s arms and wrists burned, his body slick with sweat.

“Can’t I rest?”

—You haven’t reached a thousand yet.

“Overdoing it is stupid. You’ll just injure yourself.”

—Such a chatterbox. When I was six, I practiced five thousand times a day.

“I give up.”

Ian collapsed on the floor, panting.

—Is that all you amount to?

“Yep. That’s me. If someone forces me, I dig in my heels.”

—So much for your promise to train hard.

Turning his back, Blanzor looked disappointed. Ian, wincing, forced himself upright—his palms red and swollen.

“Fine, I’ll do it. Six hundred left, right?”

—Seven hundred.

“Of course you were counting…”