Chapter 30
Music (2)
“Thank you for your concern.”
“Rondo, I’d like to speak with the treasurer alone.”
When Rondo and the guards withdrew to a distance, Ian plucked a blade of grass while still lying down.
“Treasurer, yesterday I went down to check my vault and was shocked. It was completely empty. You told me you’d replenish my stolen wealth, didn’t you?”
“My lord, I beg your pardon, but the assets are scattered in many places, and gathering them together takes some time. Please grant me a little more.”
“Hurry as much as you can. An empty vault leaves my heart feeling hollow. Ah, but I forgot to ask something important. How much are we talking about?”
“Roughly the equivalent of fifty thousand gold coins.”
“Fifty thousand gold, huh…”
Ian set the grass aside and sat up after a long pause.
“Sit in front of me.”
“Pardon?”
“I said, sit.”
When Ian frowned slightly, the treasurer reluctantly knelt before him.
“Treasurer, do I still look like a child to you? Do I look like someone who would swallow everything you say without doubt?”
“Of course not! Since that day, I’ve lived in constant reflection and regret.”
“And yet, all you come up with is fifty thousand gold? You’ve managed my wealth for years.”
“My lord, fifty thousand is no small sum. I have acted in good conscience…”
“Shut up.”
Ian drew the dagger at his side and stabbed it into the grass. The treasurer flinched and recoiled in alarm.
“W-Why are you doing this, my lord?”
“I risked my life fighting skeletons in the dungeon to earn even a single coin more, but you? You sat at home, feigning illness, never lifting a finger—only to show up now with this pitiful talk of fifty thousand?”
The treasurer, stunned by Ian’s torrent of words, finally regained his senses.
“On second thought, it may be closer to seventy thousand gold…”
“You seem confused. That money is mine. Not yours. Understood?”
Ian’s voice was cold as he lay back down and gazed at the clear sky.
“The magistrate said the people are overjoyed that taxes have been reduced. Do you know how much resentment I suffered because of you? Learn from him—at least half of what he does.”
“My lord, this is unfair. Do you think only I am corrupt, while the magistrate is spotless? How could I have diverted taxes without his consent? The village chiefs are closer to him than to me.”
“I know. Last night the magistrate confessed everything to me—that he has committed many wrongs.”
“Wh-What?”
The treasurer, intending to slander the magistrate further, faltered in shock.
“You’d better behave from now on. You never know when I might lose patience again.”
“…Yes, I will take it to heart, my lord.”
“You may go.”
As he turned away, the treasurer’s bloodshot eyes burned with humiliation.
For years he had treated the young lord like a puppet, pulling the strings at will—now he had to bow and beg for his life.
The sight of the magistrate clinging to the young lord disgusted him even more.
Pathetic old man, changing sides in an instant.
The authority that once ruled the fief was crumbling to dust.
Hmph! Let’s see how long you all last.
Inside, he spat curses.
Merchants traveling from the capital whispered that things were unstable at the royal court.
When the old king died, succession struggles would plunge the kingdom into chaos.
Could this boy-lord truly hold his position through that storm?
Perhaps that’s why the Captain of the Guard hasn’t returned yet.
It had been days since Captain Jallang Depor and 150 elite soldiers annihilated over 400 bandits, yet they had not come back to the castle.
Ostensibly, they remained to stabilize the ravaged villages—but that excuse was unnecessary, excessive.
He’s endured long enough.
That a captain who had risen to high rank in the Royal Knights spent years serving in this minor fief was itself a miracle.
Perhaps Captain Jallang was preparing to part ways with House Albern.
I certainly hope so.
Ian remained lying in the grass for a while after the treasurer left. Then he brushed off the blades stuck to his hair and stood.
“Rondo.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Why hasn’t the Captain of the Guard come back yet? I want to see him.”
Caught off guard by the question, Rondo hesitated, then cautiously replied.
“To stabilize the villages badly harmed by the bandits…”
“He should have returned himself.”
Ian’s gaze turned toward the Albern banner fluttering on the castle wall: a giant bearing a crown, rippling as if alive in the wind.
“Clouds are gathering. Will it rain?”
Noticing Rondo’s stiffened expression, Ian gave a small laugh.
“Why so tense? I only wish to commend him quickly for his achievements.”
“The Captain will return to the castle soon, my lord.”
“He must. Who else but him can protect me?”
Back in the underground training hall, Ian sat cross-legged and closed his eyes.
Meditation was as important as sword practice, for it honed the spirit. Strength of will grew with inner discipline.
“Blanzor, why hasn’t the Captain returned? Surely there’s nothing left to do there. Or did he fall for some beautiful woman?”
That’s exactly the kind of thought you’d have.
“He’s said to be the one who killed the former lord. Honestly, that makes me uneasy. The treasurer and magistrate had clear motives—money and power. But him? I can’t see his purpose. Why has he stayed by my side all this time?”
Nothing unsettled Ian more than not knowing someone’s intent.
Sometimes the truth is simple.
“What do you mean?”
The reason he killed the former lord—or why he hasn’t left you—could be trivial.
“Hm.”
Ian rubbed his chin and opened his eyes halfway.
“What if I’m actually his hidden son?”
His mother had died shortly after giving birth to him, from complications. Her origins were never revealed. People whispered she was the daughter of a ruined noble family—or perhaps even a commoner.
Pathetic fool. Get up and train. You never know when the Captain may decide to cut your throat.
“I need to see his face myself to get a feel for him.”
Grumbling, Ian drew a practice sword. With care not to strain his still-healing left shoulder, he practiced one-handed.
Every swing made the lean muscles ripple across his once-scrawny frame. He was no longer the frail, pitiful boy he used to be.
Day by day, his body filled out, his height increased, his form balanced.
Dripping with sweat, Ian finally stopped.
“A thousand swings. Done. Time for dinner—I’m starving.”
Now, form a Force Sword and swing it a hundred more times.
As if expecting that, Ian infused his blade with force.
Radiant energy shone from the sword, lighting the dark chamber with every strike.
The Beast Sword, the Emperor’s Sword—they only reach true power with Force. Along with basic drills, you must master the Force Sword. Once you adapt, fatigue will lessen, and you’ll unleash your techniques freely.
Ian swung with deliberate care, the luminous blade scattering glowing particles that lingered without dissipating.
“If I master the Beast Sword, I could defeat the Captain, right?”
That depends on your own ability.
Every village of Albern’s domain had a militia led by its chief.
Their numbers varied from a handful to dozens, depending on the size of the village. Though untrained peasants with weak fighting power, they maintained order, funded by the village itself.
When faced with problems beyond them, soldiers from the lord’s central garrison intervened.
“The flesh of a young pig, tender and plump, tastes divine.”
The elderly village chief, who owned a ranch, hosted Captain Jallang Depor for dinner.
A suckling pig, roasted slowly until crisp outside and juicy within, was carved and served before the captain at the head of the table.
“Please, enjoy.”
Dressed casually without armor, the captain ignored the meat, instead eyeing the silverware, gold-trimmed candlesticks, and chandelier above. The chief was clearly wealthy, befitting his noble roots.
“Why not eat? Don’t you like pork?”
When the chief asked, the captain finally picked up a piece by hand and ate.
Seeing this, the chief and his family put down their forks and followed suit, eating with their hands.
“Chief.”
“Yes, Sir Jallang?”
“When the bandits attacked, why did you not evacuate the villagers?”
The question, sharp and sudden, made the chief dab his oily mouth nervously.
“I received your messenger and meant to, but the stubborn folk insisted bandits would never dare come here…”
“Many lives were lost. You should have emptied the village by force if need be.”
“In the middle of the night, it was…”
Slam!
The captain’s palm struck the table, making everyone flinch.
“Was my order so trivial that day or night should matter?”
“That’s not what I meant… only that circumstances—”
The captain had foreseen the bandits’ retreat path, sending warnings to many villages. But this chief had failed to act.
Dinner dragged on in tense silence, the chief unable to even present his daughter to the captain as he had hoped.
“Sir Jallang, I am grateful the young lord reduced taxes. It will aid greatly in rebuilding.”
At the mention of the lord, the captain’s eyes glinted.
“How long will you remain here? We would be honored if you stayed. As for my daughter…”
“Chief.”
The captain smiled faintly, setting down his cup.
“Shall I tell you a story?”
“Oh? A good tale? Everyone, listen closely!”
The chief motioned to his children and grandchildren to pay attention.
“What kind of story, Sir Jallang?”
“It happened in the Red Canyon while chasing the bandits.”
The captain’s voice lowered as he continued.
“They killed the women and children they had abducted from this village. Some they flayed alive, peeling flesh to harvest bones while they yet breathed—using them to write their cursed messages. Imagine the cruelty, cutting flesh and pulling out bones while the victim screamed. That is what mankind is: savage, beastlike. Your daughter or grandchildren could have suffered the same, had the bandits not found their hostages easily elsewhere.”
The chief’s face stiffened.
“Are you accusing me of letting villagers die to protect my own family?”
“Listen to the rest. Do you know what I did? I seized their leader and repaid him in kind. I opened his flesh, carefully cutting piece by piece, drawing out each bone without letting him die too quickly. I made sure he suffered. And before his last breath, I showed him the words I had written with his bones.”
“Urgh!”
The chief’s daughter and grandchildren retched violently onto the floor.
“They have weak stomachs, Chief.”
“Sir Jallang, I’ve served the lords faithfully for decades. I collected taxes more diligently than any, bred fine horses for them—since my father’s father’s time. Surely you can consider this.”
The captain stared at him coldly, then slowly rose.
“Thank you for dinner. Though it was hardly pleasant.”
Without another glance, he strode outside.
The sunset painted the sky crimson. In the distance, the chief’s many livestock grazed within fences.
The world remained steeped in malice and selfishness. And he himself was no exception.
After a while, he mounted his horse and returned to his encampment on the plains outside the village.
Inside his tent, he pulled out a sealed letter from Grand Lord Bonnen, left by the sorcerer Sharel.
He studied it deeply, then held it to the flame.
The letter burned swiftly to ash.
“Hessem!”
At his call, his officer Hessem rushed in, his round eyes gleaming.
“Yes, Captain!”
“Tomorrow, we return to the castle.”
