Chapter 15: Berick

Seventeen-year-old Berick was an oddity. His fiery temper, mirroring his blazing red hair, made him unpopular amongst his fellow trainees. It had been that way since the day he arrived.

When the drill sergeant, intending to put him in his place, picked a fight, Berick refused to yield, fighting until his arms and legs were broken. He finally succumbed, but only through unconsciousness.

"The bastard who won't win, but won't lose."

That's what the other trainees called him behind his back.

"Break!"

"Haaah…"

"Move to the shade!"

The training grounds baked under the scorching sun. As the instructor's command for a break echoed, the trainees stumbled towards the shade. No one offered to help Berick up.

Berick didn't seem to expect it either. He simply closed his eyes, catching his breath. He'd get up on his own, eventually.

"Berick?"

An unfamiliar voice calling his name made Berick open his eyes. A head of golden hair shimmered brightly, but that was all he could see. His vision was blurred.

"Can you stand?"

"…Who are you?"

"Ian."

"Get lost."

Berick knew Baron Bratz had a bastard son. He just didn't know the boy standing before him was him.

Berick didn't care. He'd been living in the barracks for half a year and didn't even know the names of his bunkmates. He had no reason to know the boy who'd arrived a month ago and lived like a walking corpse.

"What a nasty temper."

Ian, on the other hand, observed Berick with a thoughtful expression. The boy fit the profile of a Magic Swordsman to a tee.

It might be a prejudice, but every Magic Swordsman Ian had ever met possessed a similar temperament. A restless, almost desperate need to cut something down, always leading to trouble.

"Such insolence."

"Ugh…"

Ian scolded Berick as he poured water over his face. Berick, seemingly relieved by the coolness, simply opened his mouth, eyes still closed.

Ian glanced back. Chel, Deo, and the other trainees watched him with puzzled expressions from the shade. They couldn't fathom what the bastard son was up to.

"Let's test him."

Turning his back to the others, Ian crouched down. Pretending to offer Berick more water, he grasped his chin. Through the contact, a trickle of Ian's mana flowed into Berick.

"…"

Berick's grimacing face gradually relaxed. It was as if the burning fire that had consumed him was slowly being quenched.

A little more, just a little more…

Berick lapped up the remaining water as if it were the sweetest nectar, mistaking the sensation for simple relief from the heat. Ian let the last drops spill and stood up.

"Got it."

Ordinary people couldn't absorb pure mana. Their mana vessels were too porous, unable to contain the power. Mana users, however, possessed dense vessels that prevented leakage.

That was why healing and illusion magic were so highly regarded. Offensive magic simply shattered the target's vessel, regardless of its density. But healing and illusion required carefully modulating mana to be absorbed, making them highly advanced techniques.

So, what about Berick?

Not only did he absorb the mana without any adverse effects, but his reaction was immediate and desperate, like a newborn seeking its mother's milk.

"He has potential."

This was an unexpected harvest. Ian hadn't imagined finding a budding Magic Swordsman in such a place.

Releasing his mana, Ian turned towards Chel and Deo. Chel, drenched in sweat, already looked exhausted, despite having done nothing but stand there.

"Brother, let's end training here for today."

Chel's face lit up, relief washing over him.

"S-should we?"

"And from tomorrow, you'll train with me."

Chel's expression instantly darkened, as if he'd been thrown back into the mud. Was it his youth? His emotions were so transparent.

"As the next Baron, it's only fitting," Ian added with a smile. Berick remained sprawled on the training ground, still basking in the lingering sensation of mana.

"You're going to the training grounds with Chel?" Derga asked. He had just finished meticulously cataloging every word contained within the mana stone brooch. He'd summoned Ian at sunrise, yet the sky outside was now dotted with stars.

Ian cleared his throat, raw from speaking all day.

"Yes. It's right outside the manor's back gate, but since it requires leaving the grounds, I'm seeking your permission, Father."

Derga removed a mana stone from a glass container and wiped it with a dry cloth. His expression was unreadable, a mixture of indifference and suspicion.

"I have no ulterior motives. As I've explained, even a short trip outside drains my energy considerably. If both of the family's heirs are in such a state, we'll be mocked by the Cheonryeok Clan. More importantly, we won't survive the journey across the border and the Dead Sea."

It was a reasonable argument. Derga pushed aside a stack of documents and spoke, his tone condescending and testing.

"Frequent trips outside will make you restless."

How do I know you won't have other ideas? was the unspoken question. Derga was already uneasy about Ian's regular meetings with Moline. Granting him further freedom was unsettling.

Ian pulled a letter from his pocket.

"The reply to the letter you gave me earlier."

The letter to Ian's mother. He offered it as his answer. You know better than anyone that I won't do anything foolish with my mother out there.

Derga unfolded the neatly folded paper.

"Please tell Mother that my writing is still immature."

That much was true. Derga had already heard from the butler that the tutor had helped Ian compose the reply during their lesson.

Rustle.

He unfolded the letter. The handwriting was messy, but the affection within was palpable.

-Mother, don't worry. I'm doing well here. The Baron, the Baroness, and the Young Master are all taking good care of me. I'll be sure to get what you asked for. Please stay safe until the day I return. I send you my longing with these short lyrics: When the moon falls from the sky, the sun will not rise. There is no eternal darkness.-

The last line seemed to be a code between mother and son.

Derga stroked his beard as he read the part where Ian promised to procure the guru leaves. He did so to hide the faint smile that crept onto his face.

"What did your mother ask for?"

"Father…didn't you read the letter?"

Ian's question was a test, but the answer was unexpected.

Derga looked up, scrutinizing Ian's face. The sharpness in his eyes, a rare sight, clearly indicated his concern for his mother's request for secrecy. A smile Derga could no longer suppress played on his lips.

"Do I look that idle?"

"…No, sir. I don't know for sure, but it's a hair ornament commonly worn by Cheonryeok women."

But this, too, was part of Ian's plan.

Feigning suspicion about whether Derga had actually read the letter, given the need for secrecy surrounding his mother's request. He even lowered his gaze and made his voice tremble slightly…

Ugh, I can't do this. Acting was neither his forte nor his preference.

And how foolish Derga was to fall for such a clumsy performance.

"If you grant me permission, I'll start training at the grounds tomorrow."

Ian steered the conversation back on track. He had already secured Derga's permission through Chel, but he wanted to make it official.

Derga nodded, stroking his beard.

"Don't even think about harming Chel under the guise of training. Deo will slit your throat on the spot."

What a horrible thing to say to a child so casually. Ian bowed his head, murmuring his thanks.

"By the way, when did you say you were meeting Lady Moline again?"

"The day after tomorrow."

He would meet them again the day after tomorrow.

At Ian's words, Derga frowned, lost in thought. Due to the Baroness's opposition, Chel wouldn't be able to accompany Ian this time.

"Very well."

Derga waved his hand, dismissing Ian. As he turned to leave, Ian glanced at the papers on Derga's desk.

There must be something related to taxes among those…

Click.

Standing in the darkened hallway, Ian thought about Moline. What exactly did they see in him?

He wasn't entirely sure, but it was clear they wanted to undermine Derga. Replacing Chel with Ian was likely part of their plan.

"Then the tax issue is the key. They suspect Derga of tax evasion."

But it was a dangerous game. Tax evasion against the Imperial Palace was a grave offense. If things went wrong, everyone bearing the Bratz name could be executed for treason.

If Ian wasn't officially recognized as a Bratz… he would be enslaved.

"Whatever it is, it's dangerous."

If the Bratz name disappeared, the family would crumble, and Ian's value would vanish along with it. His survival was at stake.

A deadly tightrope walk.

Derga wanted to sell him to the desert, and Moline wanted to devour the Bratz family. He had to tread carefully between them.

"But it seems they have eyes and ears planted within the manor. They definitely knew about the letter."

"Master Ian?"

A servant called out, holding a lantern. He was asking if Ian wanted to return to his bedroom. Ian followed him down the hallway. Being on the highest floor of the manor, he could still see the flickering lights of the training ground through the window.

"They're all working hard, even this late."

At Ian's warm murmur, the servant smiled faintly. Ian himself had been toiling all day in Derga's office. The servant, who regularly served Ian clean meals in the dining hall, felt a sense of camaraderie with the boy.

"I've prepared training clothes in your bedroom."

"Thank you."

"Have a good night, Master Ian."

Meanwhile, back at the training grounds, figures still burning with energy swung swords and spears. Among them, the most striking was the red-haired Berick.

"Did that bastard eat something wrong today?"

"I know, right? He's overflowing with energy."

"He was practically dying earlier."

Berick usually lost all his strength after sunset, like a candle flickering out. But for some reason, he continued to swing his sword even after everyone else had returned to the barracks.

Swish!

Thwack!

Berick sliced through the scarecrow's neck with all his might. For the first time, his sword moved exactly as he intended. His ragged breaths were laced with exhilaration and pleasure.

"Haha… This is it, damn it."

What was it? Was his training finally paying off? Or was it because he had collapsed repeatedly during the day? He didn't know why the golden-haired boy kept flashing through his mind under the sunlight, but Berick gripped his sword once more.