NOVEL WEB Ch. 97
I left Lancelot to his recovery and sought out Father.
He was deep in the aftermath of war.
Not the kind involving mops and cleaning supplies, but the grimmer business of paperwork. Funeral arrangements for the fallen. Compensation calculations.
“Ah, there you are.” Father looked up as I approached.
His armor was rendered in blood and gore—droplets and fragments from the battlefield decorating the steel. From his haggard appearance, he hadn’t seen home in days.
“Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“Rest?” Father barked a laugh. “If I rest, this fool Dreck will work himself to death. Would you prefer to watch your brother collapse from exhaustion?”
What Aura Master dies from overwork? I suppressed a snort at the absurdity.
“What about Ron? You could delegate to him.”
“Oof—! Why burden the boys with such grim work? I’d rather handle it myself.”
Father continued stacking corpses, his breathing labored.
Meanwhile, my eldest brother calculated supply consumption.
History teaches that famine follows war as surely as night follows day. Better to prepare now than watch the common folk starve come winter.
The North will be even more brutal.
I made a mental note to address northern agriculture soon, then turned my attention back to Father.
He straightened, vertebrae popping, and asked casually, “You seem to have grown considerably. Have you broken through the wall?”
The wall…
I realized I had no true understanding of Father’s capabilities. High-level Master, certainly, but what did that actually mean?
Curiosity stirred. I let my Aura probe outward, testing his energy.
The response was instantaneous.
Whoosh!
My body moved before my mind could process the threat. I leaped backward, hand flying to my quiver for an arrow.
Crack.
“Damn,” I breathed.
The slightest provocation had triggered an overwhelming response. It felt like facing a starved predator—one that viewed everything as potential prey.
My throat constricted.
Father watched me with keen interest. “Did you see it?”
“Yes.”
“Ha. You’ve already broken through. I honestly wasn’t expecting that… Impressive.”
Impressive? The beast I’d just glimpsed was far more impressive than anything I’d accomplished.
I’d been dismissive of Father, thinking him incapable of defeating Count Dragunov alone, believing I constantly needed to rescue him.
But facing him directly revealed the truth.
A wolf. A massive, ferocious wolf that drooled while selecting its prey.
Understanding dawned.
I’d been able to defeat Count Dragunov because Father had already worn him down. Even without my intervention, Father would have claimed that victory himself.
Hollow laughter escaped me as I forced my trembling hands to steady. “I still have a long way to go.”
“Already trying to catch up? You’re ten years too early, boy.”
Father chuckled and moved the final corpse aside. “There. Finally finished.”
He straightened with visible satisfaction. “Now then, tell me what happened in the North. We met in such haste—I never heard the full story.”
I recounted the northern events, omitting certain details like Lea’s mana contamination. Even abbreviated, the tale took considerable time.
“Hah, Demonkin, you say? Looks like something really is afoot.”
“It’s already happening.”
“Hmm. Is that why?” Father muttered something under his breath.
“Why what?”
“Nothing. I’ll tell you when I’m certain.” His smile was evasive. “But receiving a dagger from His Majesty? What an honor for our House.”
“Well, I am a baron now.”
Father’s eyes widened before he burst into thunderous laughter. “Indeed! Of course! A baron deserves such treatment! Isn’t that right, Baron Louis Vinn Berg?”
Is he that happy about it?
I smiled despite myself. Moments before, I’d sensed him forcing joy while honoring the dead. Now his delight felt pure, genuine.
A man who simply cannot help doting on his sons.
To think I’d caused such trouble for someone like this… Shame for my pre-regression self washed over me.
“Ahem. I’ll be going now.” I cleared my throat, attempting escape.
Father’s arm clamped around my shoulders from behind. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Agh, let me go!”
“Never, you rascal!”
“Brother! Come get Father!”
“Oh? I can join too?” Dreck approached with a grin.
“No! Why are you coming over here?”
I shrieked like Lancelot, shuddering as they closed in.
It felt like returning to childhood after a long absence.
* * *
The Trading Kingdom of Diva sprawled across three seas, where goods from every corner of the world converged.
Two individuals ruled absolutely here: Grand Master Enoxia Brahms and Educator Martel. Even royalty dared not interfere with them.
Effectively, Diva had three kings.
In a certain tavern, a woman sat cross-legged, newspaper in hand. Snow-white hair crowned her head, and smoke curled from her pipe as she exhaled through her nose.
“Nothing but boring news. Isn’t there anything interesting happening?”
Grand Master Enoxia Brahms. Eighty years old, yet she maintained the appearance of a woman in her thirties—a sight that made countless hearts flutter.
The reason such a woman frequented this particular tavern was simple: the man she loved worked here.
“…Didn’t I tell you to stop coming?” the tavern keeper asked wearily.
“Oh, why can’t I come?”
“Because when you show up, the whole place ends up like this.” He gestured around the room.
Enoxia surveyed the scene.
Ordinary people, collapsed. Arms dislocated, backs broken, writhing on the floor. Perfectly normal tavern patrons sprawled unconscious.
“What’s wrong with that?” She sounded genuinely puzzled.
The tavern keeper sighed deeply. “Who treats challengers like that?”
“Well, who told them to fight me?”
“…You told them to fight you.”
“Ah, did I?” Enoxia blinked innocently.
Another sigh.
Who would believe this woman was a Grand Master?
Visitors from other countries failed to recognize her and sometimes picked fights. On those days, the king himself would arrive to bow and beg her not to cause trouble.
A free-spirited lioness—that was the most fitting description for her.
Her interest in him was decidedly unwelcome.
After all…
“I told you—I’m a widower.” He’d lost his wife decades ago.
Seventy years old this year, an age when most men saw their great-grandchildren. He might look younger than his years, but certainly not thirty like Enoxia. Late fifties at best.
“My heart cannot accept this.”
“Hmm… It’s fine. I’m not asking you to date me by force. But I’m at least allowed to watch you, right?”
“Hah… Do as you please.” The tavern keeper continued polishing his glass. “But you’ll compensate for all of that.”
“Ah, don’t worry. I’ll handle everything.”
“And stop extorting money from the king.”
“Can’t I?”
“…Please grow up.”
Why she extorted money from the innocent king was beyond comprehension.
But Enoxia tilted her head as if the tavern keeper’s behavior mystified her. “He gives it when I ask. Why can’t I use it?”
“That’s called extortion.”
Has her hippocampus deteriorated with age?
The tavern keeper narrowed his eyes.
Enoxia chuckled and tapped out her pipe. “Just kidding.” Tap, tap.
Ugh, I told her to not dump that anywhere…
He frowned at her casual disposal of something supposedly acquired from the Eastern Continent. She had a talent for finding peculiar things.
As they continued their usual banter—
Creak.
The tavern door opened.
A courier entered—Aura Expert level, by his bearing, with various signaling devices adorning his person.
“A special courier?” Enoxia muttered, puzzled.
Special couriers commanded prices that made wealthy merchants hesitate.
Nothing wrong with the service, but burning a commoner’s yearly salary for a single delivery was excessive. They carried only letters or documents—valuable goods required separate trading companies.
So who would bother with such expense?
“Apparently there’s a sucker who would.” Enoxia laughed derisively and gestured to the courier. “Mine, isn’t it? Bring it here.”
She genuinely believed so. But the courier walked past her toward the tavern keeper.
“Hm?” Enoxia’s confusion was palpable.
The courier ignored her, drawing a letter from his coat. “Master Martel, letter delivery. Please sign here.”
“…Very well.”
The tavern keeper—Educator Martel—scrawled his signature and accepted the letter.
The courier departed immediately.
Martel studied the letter with puzzled eyes. Elaborate embroidery decorated expensive stationery. Special courier, costly materials—only nobility could afford such extravagance.
Has it started again?
He’d clearly stated he wouldn’t teach anyone else. Martel sighed and opened the letter.
He needed to identify the sender to properly refuse. Ignoring it might prove troublesome later.
Rustle.
Martel unfolded the letter and began reading.
A moment later—
Crack!
His grip crushed the paper.
“How dare they.” His breath came hot, rage flooding his mind.
Martel reread the letter:
[I know about your grandchild’s death.]
Sender: Baron Louis Vinn Berg
Seeing Martel’s fury, Enoxia approached curiously and read over his shoulder.
“Oh my. What a cute little son of a bitch we have here.” Her eyes gleamed with murderous intent.
Apparently, someone had a death wish.