Reincarnated as the Descendant of a Fallen Noble

Chapter 48: The Great Brother’s Record (1)

Midday, in a corner room of Daphne Castle.

“Huuuu… Haah.”

Sitting on the bed, Hardin shut his eyes tightly and took a slow, deep breath.

‘Gather… gather…’

Mana Hole.

The mana cultivation method of Wave Swordsmanship.

He sensitively opened his skin to absorb the mana floating in the air, then slowly pushed it into the weakened mana core inside him.

The moment the mana entered the core—

“Cough! Cough! Cough—!”

Hardin’s eyes snapped open as he began coughing madly.

And eventually…

“Damn it.”

Dark red blood stained his palm.

His brow furrowed involuntarily.

‘Should’ve drunk less…’

His body trembled uncontrollably, cold sweat gathering on his pale, drained face.

Suddenly, Hardin straightened his upper body and rubbed his lower abdomen with his palm.

‘Hurts like hell.’

His body was wrecked by the aftereffects of Maelstrom.

He had drawn upon a power that others had to risk their lives to wield, so the backlash was only natural.

Because of that, he had locked himself away in this room for days, devoting all his focus to recovery.

He thought that once he recovered to a certain extent, he could get back to drilling the knights while continuing his own healing in parallel.

But the world never unfolded the way one expected.

‘Damn squid bastard.’

Unlike when he had been Varlach, the mana core inside Hardin’s body now was an imitation modeled after Shagrath’s.

It held overwhelming superiority in the amount and speed at which it absorbed mana.

The problem was, under normal circumstances, this had been an enormous benefit… but now, it was causing him utter misery.

Every time he absorbed mana, he could feel it.

Every time the core activated, it placed a filthy strain on his body.

If he kept this up, it wouldn’t stop at just coughing blood—someday he’d simply collapse and die, and no one would be surprised.

“Huuuuu…”

Hardin let out a long sigh.

‘Mana cultivation… I’ll have to put it on hold.’

But even so, he couldn’t just sit around doing nothing.

If he stopped cultivating and relied solely on natural recovery… that would bring other problems of its own.

‘If I just wait it out, it’ll probably take three or four years to fully recover.’

…Unacceptable. Absolutely impossible.

He shook his head.

Was he supposed to throw away three or four years like garbage? How was he going to rebuild the house at that rate?

And what if, while he was lying around feeble, some other family declared a territorial war?

That, too, would bring nothing but ruin.

In the end, there was only one answer left.

‘…I’ll have to drink an elixir.’

Elixir. The supreme restorative made by alchemists or high-ranking mages, who would pour in all manner of rare ingredients to concoct it—a potion said to even revive the dead.

Even back when I had been Varlach, only the Tower Masters of the Five Great Mage Towers or my eldest brother could make such a rare thing.

If I had that, I could restore this wreck of a body without placing too much burden on it. But the problem was that it was filthy expensive.

Even in the days when I was Varlach, it cost at least several million gold. Realistically speaking, getting one right now through the house’s means was as good as impossible.

So then, how was I going to manage it?

‘There’s always a way.’

A sly grin curled up on Hardin’s lips.

Because…

[The Great Sage’s Record! I was searching for the record made by your ancestor, Valter Daphne! I’ll tell you where it is, so please! Please, just spare my life!]

It was because he recalled the last words Viscount Ruder had spat out.

‘Well, if it’s eldest brother, he’d definitely do something like that.’

It wasn’t all that surprising.

Brother Valter had been so thorough in everything he did that it felt nearly obsessive, like he was constantly worried about every possibility.

Even when he was alive, I’d heard him say many times that he was creating records in case of emergencies. So even if one of them was left behind here, it wouldn’t be the least bit strange.

[Brother, why do you keep making these hidden storerooms?]

[What, do you have complaints?]

[Not complaints exactly, but I just wonder why you keep pouring so much money into things you’ll probably never use.]

[Who knows what will happen to our house in the future? We could fall to ruin in war, or all sorts of natural disasters might bring calamity. I make them to prepare for such times. If they aren’t used in my generation, then our descendants will make use of them.]

[Come on… You really think our house could ever be destroyed? That’s ridiculous.]

[Varlach. You never know what the world has in store.]

Back then, I had thought there was no way in hell our house could ever fall…

‘You were right, brother.’

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

A bitter taste rose in my mouth for no reason.

At any rate, those Calpion bastards had somehow learned that such a record existed here, made long ago on this land, and had taken that risk to try and claim it.

Well, since they were once our vassals, they probably picked up rumors from somewhere.

With all that commotion they raised, there was a very high chance…

‘There must be some truly worthwhile treasure buried there.’

I couldn’t predict exactly what my brother had left behind, but I did recall hearing that in some of the records he’d made in the past, he would store elixirs or rare potions and medicines.

Which meant, if I could just find that record… there would at least be valuable treasures to go along with it.

In other words, if I wanted to fix this body, searching for that would be the fastest and most reliable way.

But then, how was I supposed to locate the record?

“Hmmm.”

Hardin was scratching his chin when it happened.

Creak!

The door opened, and Gadolph poked his head into the room, speaking up.

“Young Master, uh… Syllot-nim has arrived.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, he just passed through the front gate.”

“All right, I heard you.”

How was I going to find it, you ask?

‘You find someone who knows and beat it out of them.’

Hahaha, ahahaha!

A dark smile spread across Hardin’s face.

---

Daphne’s office.

Viscount Cobalt sat comfortably in front of the desk, reading the parchment in his hand with a leisurely expression.

And across from him…

“Next week, we’ll send three wagons of stone and timber gathered from the surroundings.”

Syllot, who was in charge of overseeing all affairs of Calpion, rubbed his hands together nervously, pouring out his words with an awkward smile.

At that, Viscount Cobalt stroked his chin, glancing over as he asked.

“The tribute amount written here… seems a bit less than I expected. Doesn’t Calpion’s grain stores still have some surplus?”

“Haha, Viscount, after distributing relief supplies last time, we’ve been rather strapped ourselves. We haven’t even been able to pay the retainers their wages yet.”

“I recall that matter was already settled. If you want your money, you can try collecting it from the late Viscount Ruder.”

“B-but… even so, there are still things we should be able to collect—”

Thud!

Viscount Cobalt slammed his palm down hard on the desk, his eyes gleaming with a cold blue light.

“Syllot, I suggest you remember very clearly what position you people are in.”

His voice was like being stabbed with a blade.

The pressure pouring from him made Syllot’s whole body feel as if it were being pierced by needles.

Sweat dripped down Syllot’s forehead as he bowed his head repeatedly.

“…I-I apologize. I won’t bring this up again.”

“See that you don’t.”

Then, as if nothing had happened, Viscount Cobalt retracted the glare from his eyes and showed a faint smile.

“If you’ve finished your business, you may go. I’m sure you have plenty to do.”

“…Thank you for your consideration.”

Viscount Cobalt waved his hand dismissively, and Syllot gave a stiff nod before exiting the office.

As he walked down the corridor, his face was filled with frustration and anger, his teeth grinding on their own.

“Damn it…”

‘Why… why do I have to bow and scrape to some Daphne viscount?’

For the past several weeks, Syllot had been forced to handle Calpion’s affairs like a madman.

He had to sort through all the work that had piled up during the territorial war, reorganize the administration to match Daphne’s demands, and endlessly haul any surplus resources to Daphne’s main castle.

They called him chief administrator, but he felt more like Daphne’s servant.

And that wasn’t all.

[Chief Administrator Syllot, doesn’t this part of the ledger contradict the records?]

[Ah, th-that… that’s…]

[Increase the amount you’re sending to the main castle! That’s the more urgent priority right now!]

[But…]

Daphne had dispatched a whole contingent of retainers to oversee everything.

With those bastards glaring with their eyes wide open, nitpicking every little thing, it was impossible to skim anything off for himself or exert any influence like before.

Influence? What a joke. He was lucky if those snot-nosed young retainers didn’t spit curses at him.

Clench!

Syllot’s brow twisted deeply.

“This is all because of that bastard.”

If it hadn’t been for him, Viscount Ruder wouldn’t have died.

If he hadn’t cowardly(?) seized Syllot’s weakness and beat him down!

If only… if only that bastard hadn’t existed!

Syllot clenched his fist tight, his whole body trembling—when suddenly a voice came from ahead.

“Who’s that bastard you’re talking about?”

“Huh?”

When Syllot lifted his head, a blond boy was standing there with his arms folded, staring right at him.

Hardin Daphne—the very “bastard” Syllot had been ranting about all along—had appeared before his eyes.

“Ah, g-greetings, Young Master Hardin!”

Syllot hastily bent at the waist.

He had no idea what this lunatic might do to him if he got on his bad side.

“Forget the greetings. Who was the bastard you were just talking about?”

“T-that… I have a subordinate, you see, and because of him there was a mistake in the work this time. Heh…”

Who else could it be? You. You bastard.

Syllot forced a stiff smile as he replied, but then Hardin let out a loud sigh from his nose.

“Tch. You little shit.”

Thwack!

“Guh!”

He punched Syllot square on the crown of the head.

Letting out a short scream, Syllot rubbed his now-numb scalp and asked.

“W-why are you hitting me?”

“Anyone can make mistakes on the job, but a chief administrator throwing curses and tantrums about it?”

“H-hahaha, I-I’m terribly sorry.”

Why are you hitting me then, huh? …Those words climbed all the way up Syllot’s throat, but he didn’t dare say them aloud.

“Anyway, never mind that. I’ve just got one question for you.”

“A question? What is it?”

“You know where the Great Sage’s Record… is, don’t you?”

“…”

How does that bastard… know about that?

Syllot’s pupils shook wildly, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

“I-I don’t know.”

“Don’t know, my ass. It’s written all over your face.”

“What face?”

Grab!

Hardin seized Syllot by the collar and yanked him close.

“Before Viscount Ruder croaked, he confessed everything. And you expect me to believe the chief administrator doesn’t know?”

Gulp.

Syllot swallowed hard before answering.

“…I-I was only aware it existed.”

“But you just said you didn’t know.”

“I-I don’t know where it is. I only ever heard about it in passing…”

“Then tell me where it is. Now.”

Rattle!

Syllot’s body swayed back and forth as Hardin shook him.

“W-why are you asking me about this!”

“Then who the hell should I ask?”

“I don’t know! I swear, I only knew it existed—I don’t know where it is!”

“I said talk.”

Hardin’s shaking grew more and more violent.

Syllot’s face turned whiter by the second as he shouted, nearly in tears.

“Why are you doing this to me when you’re the one who sent Viscount Ruder to his grave!”

“You expect me to believe the chief administrator doesn’t know? Huh?”

How long had he kept him by the collar like that?

“Cough! Cough! Damn it…”

Hardin finally crouched down, drenched in sweat, hacking up coughs.

“Urgh…”

Syllot, his face utterly pale, collapsed to the floor retching.

Hardin turned his head and rasped out,

“Say something… anything—anything at all, you bastard.”

His eyes were unfocused, glinting with the crazed look of a lunatic.

If he was left like this any longer, it felt like he really might do something disastrous.

Syllot swallowed hard, averting his gaze as he spoke.

“Wait! Just—just give me a moment to think!”

“If you don’t answer, we’re going again.”

When Hardin clenched his fist, Syllot’s eyes rolled wildly.

Think, think!

“Three… twoooo…”

At that moment, Syllot suddenly jerked his head up and blurted out,

“I-I once heard the lord say something!”

Hardin’s fist paused in midair as he asked again,

“What did he say?”

“He said… that the treasure of Daphne would be in the most exalted place of the domain.”

“The most exalted place? Where the hell is that?”

“H-how would I know? That’s all I heard!”

“Is that the truth?”

“Yes, that’s everything! I swear!”

Doesn’t look like this bastard is lying.

Hardin rubbed his chin, sinking into deep thought.

‘The most exalted place. The most exalted… What could that be?’

Did such a place even exist…?

Hardin’s frown deepened as Syllot watched him nervously.

How long did that silence stretch on?

Suddenly, Hardin’s eyes shot wide open, and he snapped his fingers.

“That’s it—the most exalted… That’s exactly it.”

Nodding decisively, Hardin spun around and sprinted off in the opposite direction.

At that,

“Huuuu… I’m alive…”

Syllot felt all the strength drain from his body as he let out a long, shuddering sigh.