Discord
Morning in Count Consiler’s territory always began with the military song of the morning jog.
“Heave-ho! Heave-ho!”
“One-two! One-two! Start the song!”
“Behold, here we come!”
“Your voices are too quiet!”
“Advance! Advance! The final line of defense! Nowhere left to retreat! Raise your wife as a shield and advance today! Advance! Once you’re a hero, go find yourself a new wife!”
The morning jog song rolled around the castle walls in a full circuit.
They ran the ramparts every single morning, yet the difficulty changed wildly depending on who led the formation. And among all the possible leaders, Arwen was FM among FMs—the absolute worst.
Damn it, just take us half a lap at a decent pace and call it done.
Every time this knight draws duty, it’s pure suffering.
Not only did they have to bellow the marching song without pause while running, but the winding course itself, plus every extra corner and nook they were forced to cover under the pretext of “patrol,” meant the actual distance easily exceeded two full circuits.
“Well done, men! Get some breakfast and prepare for morning duties!”
“Y-yes…”
“Voices already dying on you? Want another lap?”
“No, sir!”
“Then dismiss like lightning! Anyone I catch does another circuit!”
Terrified of being caught, the soldiers scattered in a frantic hurry.
While Arwen was wiping sweat with a towel, the gatekeeper approached and saluted.
“Loyalty. Duty officer. You’ve worked hard.”
“Something the matter?”
“There’s a knight who claims to be from Baldrova Castle. He says he wishes to see the duty officer.”
Baldrova Castle.
Only two knights were stationed there. Of those two, only one would come looking for him.
Arwen’s brow furrowed on reflex.
“Where is he now?”
“Hey, Arwen!”
“Never mind.”
There was no need to ask. The man was already striding over, waving a hand.
Arwen wiped his face with the towel and looked the fellow over—brown hair, a clean, almost pretty face.
“It’s been a while, Sir Jed.”
“Yeah, long time. You doing all right?”
“I didn’t expect to see you here. What’s going on?”
“Nothing special. Just came to ask if you’d put me through some proper knight training.”
“Knight training…?”
Arwen’s eyes went round at the request.
“What, parachute knights aren’t allowed?”
“There’s no rule against it. If anything, a parachute knight needs the training more. I simply never expected you of all people to ask for it…”
“Tell me about it. I never expected it of myself either.”
Jed scratched his head and admitted it with surprising calm.
Watching him, Arwen felt a sudden prick of worry. Wasn’t there a saying that when a man starts doing things he never used to, he’s about to die?
“Did something happen?”
“You know about the wolf monsters that showed up in Halim, right?”
“Yes. I heard the Regent distinguished himself there. The whole Empire was in an uproar.”
There were two main reasons for the uproar: seven wolf monsters had been summoned inside the city walls, and despite that catastrophe not a single person had died.
“I heard you performed well yourself. Moved like a sylph, toying with the enemy and buying time, didn’t you?”
“Toying with them, my ass. One wrong step and you were dead. My guts were in knots the whole time.”
“So what’s the problem? Baldrova’s name has only grown more famous, and you got a fine story for charming ladies, didn’t you?”
That was the picture Arwen had of Jed: knighthood was the best profession for lying, and one exaggerated tale of valor was enough to make seducing a young lady as easy as lying down and eating rice cakes.
“When that wolf bastard charged the Regent, I stepped in front of him.”
“It charged the Regent, you blocked it. And then?”
“I couldn’t stop the bastard. One hit and my body went flying like a plank of wood.”
Arwen shrugged.
“That’s hardly something you can help. Almost no knights can take a monster’s attack head-on.”
“What about you?”
“I can stop it.”
“That’s exactly the problem. Other people can do it and I can’t.”
“I went through proper training and was carefully selected as a knight. Comparing me to ordinary people is unfair.”
Arwen had meant it as comfort, but Jed only scowled as if he’d asked something foolish.
“So what you’re saying is you need the strength to stop an opponent in a direct clash?”
“Even if it’s not a straight fight, I want something I can do in a situation like that.”
“Swordsmanship or self-defense, then?”
“Yeah.”
“I can teach you that much… but how old are you, Jed?”
“Twenty-seven. Turning twenty-eight soon.”
“Isn’t that a bit late to start training?”
“I’ve been keeping my body in shape for years. Plenty of combat experience as a mercenary too.”
Arwen already knew Jed’s skill was excellent; he had watched it carefully during the Escoleia academy-head rescue operation.
“Simply training the body isn’t the issue. Enduring attacks from something on the level of a monster is the domain of aura. That training alone takes years of steady work, and at your age it’s already late to understand and apply it.”
“Aura—this stuff, right?”
Jed clenched his fist and focused. A blue light flickered and surged across the surface of his body.
Arwen stared in surprise. It flared unstably like solar flares, yet it was unmistakably aura.
“How can you use that?”
“I told you I lived as a mercenary. You meet all kinds of people in that life. So? Can I do it or not?”
“If we correct your aura and then train, it should work. The fact that you can already release it means you’re halfway there.”
Arwen’s warning was firm.
“Even so, it will be hard. Habits exist, and the more set the mind becomes the harder they are to break—several times harder. In the worst case…”
He paused, letting the gravity sink in.
“You could end up a cripple who can’t even lift a sword.”
Becoming a cripple was a truly miserable end. For someone like Jed who lived fully in the present, the terror of becoming a living corpse was nothing to take lightly.
“I’ve already accepted that.”
Jed answered without hesitation, as if it meant nothing.
“Is it worth that much?”
“I don’t want to be like that again the next time I have to protect something.”
Only then did Arwen see what lived in Jed’s eyes: regret born of helplessness. It was more than simply failing to protect Ferda.
Arwen smiled. Jed’s face twisted at the sight.
“What are you grinning about?”
“Nothing. Then let’s start lightly with physical conditioning.”
“What physical conditioning—”
“Just five easy laps around the castle, then we’ll talk!”
“Five whole laps!?”
“If you want to become a knight under Count Consiler, you need at least that much stamina. And we can’t afford to take years, can we?”
“Well, that’s true, but—”
“Then let’s run.”
Arwen took off. Jed fell in behind him. Perhaps, Arwen thought, he might even become friends with this man.
“Ah, Jed. Once training’s over, could you help me with something?”
“With what?”
“I have to write a letter, but the words simply won’t come to me. With your skill I thought it might actually turn out decent…”
“What use is my writing—”
Jed stopped mid-sentence as realization hit.
“Don’t tell me… that young lady who kept sending you smoldering looks during the Grand Council?”
Arwen glanced back, face saying How did you know?
“Yes, well…”
“All that talk about chivalry and look at you—still just a man after all! When did you start corresponding?”
“A letter arrived three days ago. She said she liked the way I serve in the Far East, and so on.”
“She likes you, then. I’ll help as much as you want. Just say the word. I’ll even teach you properly how I used the wolf-monster story to charm women.”
“Yes, all ri— wait a moment. Wolf monsters?”
“Yeah, wolf monsters.”
“That happened only recently, didn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
Arwen blinked.
“You had the energy to chase women even while drowning in that kind of anguish?”
“Well…”
Jed hadn’t particularly wanted to either. But there had been a reason he couldn’t refuse.
Why! Why won’t you do it! You promised! I used magic for you so you said I could suck your essence! Harem buffet! You promised!!! Liar! Liar!
He had been unable to withstand Penelope’s righteous demands as she thumped his head with a pillow and threw a full tantrum. Not wanting to explain any of that sequence, Jed kept his answer short.
“A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”
“……”
“You’ve got to eat, right?”
“……Make it ten laps.”
“What? Why?”
Stefan had returned.
The brief joy that things had gone well faded the moment he sat in the carriage; his mood turned restless again. Ferda’s words still circled in his ears.
Then you would have no value.
If he failed to obtain the Pascal Trading Company, he had no value? Had he been recruited solely because they coveted the company’s worth?
If he went independent he could grow more than enough—not ordinary growth, but explosive growth. Ferda had been regent for less than a year, and his economic knowledge was only surface-deep. Someone like that could never understand just how aggressive and revolutionary this strategy was, how the Pascal Guild would look no more impressive than a turnip in a field.
What’s the use of saying it?
Stefan simply wanted to catch his breath. He wanted to sit at his desk and sprawl for even a little while.
“You’ve returned, sir?”
“Yeah, I’m back. Why does the place feel so tense?”
“Well… because he is here…”
“Me? You’re this worked up just because I came back—”
“No, not you, Director…”
Only then did he understand who could make the atmosphere this murderous.
“B-Big Brother?”
The secretary gave a tiny nod. The moment Stefan realized, he tensed right along with them. Everything that had happened in Halim had already been reported; his brother would know the full situation.
“……Could you tell him I had to go somewhere else?”
“I cannot.”
“Then at least let me change clothes before I meet him or something…”
“Director.”
The secretary gripped the shoulders of the babbling Stefan.
“You must go.”
Stefan’s heart wanted anything but. Still, he forced his feet up the stairs. He peered carefully inside, as if opening the door to an execution ground.
In front of his own desk sat a familiar muscular man.
“Stefan. Long time no see.”
The man tossing him a thuggish greeting was his elder brother, Merchit Pascal.
Stefan’s eyes locked on the biceps that looked ready to burst through silk. He swallowed hard.
“Long… time no see, Big Brother.”
“What’s with the ‘Big Brother’? Call me hyung, dammit. Over a hundred guys already call me Big Brother—blood relatives ought to be a little closer, don’t you think?”
“……I couldn’t possibly, Big Brother…”
“Kid’s so stiff.”
Merchit grinned as he spoke.
“You went to Halim, I hear?”
“Yes.”
“For what reason?”
“An exhibition was scheduled in the Far East, so I went to support it.”
“Isn’t that the place Father told you to drop? You’re still hanging on?”
“Yes. I judged it had more than enough business value, so I supported it.”
“So your eye is better than Father’s, is that it?”
“How could I ever insult Father…”
“Still no spine, you little shit. Just spit it out clean. Don’t make it so frustrating!”
Merchit slammed the desk. Even piled high with documents that never toppled, the desk cracked under the blow. Merchit looked down at the fracture and scratched his head.
“Ah, shit, hit it too hard. I’ll pay for it later. Anyway, I heard everything. You opened trade with Lord Ahmad too, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You know that’s the place I’ve been carefully cultivating all this time?”
“Yes, I know.”
“You knew your hyung was clearly working the South, and you still tried to swallow it whole and walk off? That golden goose?”
Stefan hurried to explain.
“It wasn’t intentional.”
“You knew and you still took the bite.”
“I had no reason to refuse. More than that, Regent Ferda himself led the deal and made it succeed.”
“Right, so I was just standing around with my hands behind my back—no connection to me at all?”
“It’s not that there’s no connection, but…”
He trailed off. Merchit stared at him with open displeasure, then sighed.
“What am I supposed to do? Family shouldn’t try to devour each other this hard.”
Was that the end of it? Sadly, the wish was not granted.
“Hyung doesn’t want much. Just share the trade of goods that move through Halim. That’s fine, right?”
“You mean… under joint names?”
“Yeah. We’re family running the same business anyway. You can do that much, can’t you?”
The road to Halim was a road to a gold mine. Even shared two ways it would still leave them both rolling in money. A small retreat as the price of a small concession.
And yet, for some reason, Stefan did not want to do it.
“That is…”
Stefan opened his mouth. What came out was the first shot of a war.
“It’s my business.”
Merchit’s face went ice-cold.
“Hey, Stefan.”
“Yes.”
“What you’re saying right now is you won’t even lend your hyung the road, won’t give him a carriage—something like that?”
It felt as if a tiger were staring him down. Stefan’s legs began to tremble. Merchit never hesitated to use violence, and once violence began it only ended when something was broken. Stefan had always been that something; the pain made the fear enormous.
Yet something even larger than that fear filled him.
Losing trust…
The trust of Ferda, who had believed in him as a merchant without question or condition. By stepping back from the succession struggle he had already disappointed the man once. At that time Ferda had said: giving up even what you already hold and compromising is not the kind of merchant the Grand Duchy needs. That is what ordinary merchants do.
Compromise.
Compromise was a fine tool for mediating conflict. But only now did Stefan understand what kind of compromise Ferda meant.
Exactly this. The camel that first sticks only its head into the tent and ends up occupying the entire tent. Things that never stop until they have taken everything.
Stefan could no longer disappoint the one who believed in him.
And I can’t disappoint myself either…
So he took one step forward.
“The Halim matter… I will monopolize it.”
“……”
Merchit rose from the chair. Even seated he was terrifying; standing, his bulk became a threat. The fear that his fist might drive into Stefan’s gut at any second wrapped around him.
“Fine. If that’s your will, I’ll take it as such.”
“……”
“But since you won’t look out for my circumstances, I won’t look out for yours anymore either.”
Merchit passed Stefan and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Let’s see how well you eat and live without me.”
With that, Merchit walked out.
The moment Stefan realized the storm had passed, the strength drained from his legs. It was the first time he had ever stood up to that terrifying, seemingly unbeatable brother.
“Huu…”
Ferda had promised to make Stefan the master of the Pascal Guild. What did one need in order to become a master?
Herman Pascal’s seal of approval? Money and connections that surpassed theirs?
What was needed most of all was—
To possess the heart of a master.
The ability to protect what is yours. The ability to refuse external pressure and claim your rights.
That was why Stefan forced the words out.
“I did the right thing.”
Even if that choice had opened a path of painful thorns…
That was what he believed.