Chapter 17: The Enemy

It was instantaneous. Unable to withstand the sudden impact, the man's body flew backward. Beric climbed on top of him, raining down merciless punches.

Thud! Thud!

"Uh…"

The onlookers stood stunned, momentarily paralyzed. The man was a hulking brute; he shouldn't have gone down with a single blow. Just moments ago, he'd seemed capable of tossing Beric around like a rag doll.

Now, he was being utterly dominated.

"Hey, hey! Stop him! Stop him!"

"Crazy! What are you doing, Beric?!"

"This bastard's lost it!"

But the downed man's reaction was strange. He lay still, not even twitching a finger, crumbling pathetically. His companions finally snapped out of their stupor and rushed towards Beric.

"Get off!"

"Snap out of it!"

Beric's breathing was ragged and erratic. He fought with a ferocious intensity, like a man possessed. It took at least five trainees to pull him away.

"What are you doing?!"

"What's going on here?"

Deo and the instructors rushed over, drawn by the commotion.

The scene was unbelievable: the massive man sprawled on the ground, and Beric, his face a mask of bloodlust. It was hard to believe this had all happened with bare fists. If Beric had been the one lying on the ground, it would have made more sense.

"Ha… ha… hahaha!"

"Instructor! He's completely lost it!"

"Beric just attacked him out of nowhere!"

Beric, pinned to the ground, burst into laughter, a look of pure exhilaration on his face. The trainees holding him down grimaced in disgust. An instructor lifted Beric's chin with his boot.

"Beric."

"Ah… Shit, that's the stuff."

"Beric!"

"That idiot deserved it for turning his back after the spar!"

Beric's furious roar was chillingly intense. The instructor, deeming him unworthy of a response, ground his boot into Beric's face, eliciting a pained groan.

"Take him to the infirmary. Restrain Beric and take him to the punishment cell."

The instructors' words spurred everyone into action. As Beric was dragged away, his eyes met Ian's. In contrast to Ian's calm expression, Beric's eyes gleamed with the excitement of an adventurer who had stumbled upon a hidden treasure. He seemed consumed by a satisfying thrill.

'He's definitely insane.'

Ian agreed with the trainees' assessment. Beric was one of the most volatile magic swordsmen he had ever encountered.

Conversely, it meant he was fearless in combat. A warrior who doesn't fear death has no equal.

"Ian."

"Ah."

Deo approached Ian, his brow furrowed.

"What did that lunatic do?"

Despite the words, his tone lacked any real concern. It was a perfunctory question. Ian brushed off his sleeve and replied.

"Nothing. Just got an earful of curses."

"…Unfortunately, we'll have to end training here today. Given young master Chel's condition and the disruption in the training grounds."

Chel lay sprawled in the shade, catching his breath. His plump belly rose and fell with labored effort. His participation had been purely symbolic.

Coupled with the pool of blood where the man had fallen, it was clear that today's training was over. That is, if training was Ian's sole objective.

"Indeed. But about that Beric fellow…"

Deo, who had been turning to leave, paused at Ian's words.

"What will his punishment be?"

"He's a constant troublemaker. We'll have to discuss it, but he'll likely be flogged and expelled."

And any wages he was owed would be confiscated as compensation for the damages. Ian walked away, his face impassive, but a satisfied smile played on his lips.

'It wasn't intentional, but this works out perfectly.'

Currently, Beric was a soldier under Derga Bratz. But once expelled and free, it would be much easier to establish a connection. A man blindly chasing strength would surely seek Ian out, driven by the strange phenomenon he had just experienced.

'With his temperament, he'll probably crawl here the same day he's flogged.'

Ian glanced at the back gate of the training grounds where Beric had disappeared, shaking his head.

He was a fiery individual. If Ian could use Contract Magic, he would control him with it, but that was currently beyond his capabilities. He would have to coax and manipulate him like a wild beast.

"Huff… huff…"

"Brother, are you alright?"

"…I, I can't do this. I really can't!"

Chel whined, almost on the verge of tears. He hadn't raised his voice since seeing Ian's golden eyes. He seemed genuinely exhausted.

"I understand. From now on, you're on your own, brother."

Ian added a smile, implying that if Chel's weakness cost him his training opportunities, there would be consequences.

Whether Chel understood or not, he wiped his sweat and struggled to his feet. The pool of blood was horrifying, and the sounds of whipping and screams echoing from somewhere were terrifying.

Chel realized once again that the training grounds were truly not for him.

The next day.

The third official luncheon with Lord Mollin began. The garden, now in full bloom, was vibrant with color. Mollin, Mac, and Degor led the conversation with much more ease than before.

"So, I asked the young lady at the time."

"Aha, I've heard that story before."

"I thought you might know, Madam."

They refrained from making cryptic remarks or engaging in power struggles with Derga. The probing questions directed at Ian were also absent. The conversation revolved around trivial social gossip, centered around Countess Mary. This change was undoubtedly due to the prior agreement between Ian and Mollin.

Derga, who had been silent for a while, finally spoke.

"Lord Mollin."

"Yes, Count Bratz."

"Has Ian been giving you a good tour of the territory?"

There was something suspicious about Ian, but Derga couldn't find any concrete evidence. Chel and Deo were oblivious, and Brooch had checked three times despite his busy schedule. There was nothing to fault.

"Since it was his first outing, we went to the park after lunch. The weather was lovely, and we enjoyed the walk. The scholarly discussion was also excellent; the memories of that day are vivid."

"…I'm glad to hear it."

"Oh, Ian. Would you show us the room you mentioned the other day?"

Room? What room? Ian briefly searched his memory.

When Mollin first suggested the outing, he had jokingly asked if they could see Ian's room.

Ian glanced at Derga and smiled. His steak was gone. If Derga gave permission, he would gladly excuse himself and end the meal.

"Would that be alright, Father?"

"I'd like to join you, but…"

Derga wanted to accompany them, but his aide's presence at the garden entrance was too insistent. He paced back and forth like a restless puppy. There must have been urgent business to attend to.

"My wife will see to our guests."

Derga clicked his tongue inwardly and looked at Mary, his tone bordering on a command.

"Yes, I will."

The atmosphere between them had grown even colder since their argument. They were only maintaining a semblance of civility for the sake of their guests.

Countess Mary wiped her hands with a napkin and smiled brightly, her expression changing like an actor on stage.

"Shall we excuse ourselves then?"

"Certainly. Thank you for the delicious meal."

As everyone set down their cutlery, the waiting servants sprang into action. One of them approached Mary and whispered something in her ear.

"Ah."

"What is it, my dear?"

"I apologize. Lady Mereloff's attendant is waiting at the main gate."

"You mean Countess Mereloff from the neighboring territory?"

Mac sounded slightly surprised. Count Mereloff… Being from the border region, they weren't particularly well-known in social circles. But judging by Mary's reaction, they seemed quite acquainted.

Mary smiled, a hint of mockery in her expression.

"Yes. There's something I need to receive from her. Ian, would you mind escorting our guests to your room? I'll have tea sent over shortly."

Mary excused herself gracefully. Derga, after a final farewell, headed to his study, and Ian led the guests to his quarters in the annex.

Creak.

"As they say, a room reflects its owner. It's quite charming."

Mac complimented the room as he looked around. The three of them settled on the sofa. Ian fetched parchment and a quill, then gestured to the red brooch pinned to his chest. Everyone knew what it signified.

"Thank you, Lord Mac."

"You mentioned practicing your penmanship. May we have a look?"

"Of course."

Mac and Degor chattered incessantly, filling the silence. Time was short before Mary's arrival. Ian picked up the quill and wrote a simple sentence.

*-What do I need to do? *

*-Can you access Count Derga's study? *

-I frequently visit the upper floors for mana stone regeneration.

The mention of the study suggested it likely concerned the tax issue Ian had anticipated. Mollin hesitated for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully.

-I need to confirm the total harvest yield from the territory, the production output of the Monne Mountain mines, and the farmers' tax records from last summer to the present. A handwritten copy would be ideal, but if that's difficult, just the figures with your seal will suffice.

So, they did own mines. Though, being coal mines, they wouldn't be particularly valuable.

Even without a detailed list, a document bearing the seal would be enough to initiate a forced investigation under the guise of an internal whistleblower's report.

That was why nobles treasured their seals so much, and why entrusting someone with the seal was a common measure of loyalty.

-Are you suggesting the Bratz family has been embezzling taxes?

-I only have suspicions at this point.

Ian feigned hesitation as he wrote his next question.

-Embezzlement is a grave crime that could ruin the family.

He needed assurance that the family wouldn't be destroyed.

If the Bratz family fell, Ian's position would disappear as well. Moreover, as someone with Derga's blood, he would likely become a royal slave. He would have to spend his life repaying the embezzled taxes.

-If I oppose your adoption, you won't be considered a member of the Bratz family. You'll avoid the harshest punishments and won't be exiled. Wouldn't that be preferable?

'Look at them…'

As expected, Mollin didn't offer the desired answer. He assumed Ian wouldn't understand the subsequent proceedings and didn't seem to care much either way.

He likely believed that avoiding exile was a sufficient reward for a commoner from a brothel.

'It's a reasonable assumption, but this is problematic.'

Given his precarious position, he couldn't openly demand the family's survival. To bring down Derga, he absolutely needed the support of the royal faction. However, revealing his deeper thoughts could be dangerous.

"Ah."

Lost in thought, Ian let out an involuntary exclamation. Mac and Degor turned to him, startled by the sudden sound.

"Ian?"

"My apologies. I bit my tongue."

"Be careful. Small wounds can be quite painful."

Mollin's gentle concern didn't sound gentle at all. If he continued down this path, there would be no escape. Ian organized his thoughts and continued writing.

-Then I have a proposition.

-Please, proceed.

A way to protect himself from the royal court's judgment and secure the territory. As the saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Derga and the royal court still shared a common enemy.

-I won't be adopted, but I will meet with the Thousand-Year Tribe.