Childish Provocations (1)

Aedric was no fool.

He knew exactly what Renard was doing—swinging a long sword as a form of training.

But this... this was the first time he had ever seen such a barbaric and ridiculous method.

Wearing a chainmail vest several sizes too big…

Tying sandbags to both arms…

Swinging a sword weighted with even more sandbags…

Could that really be called training?

At least in Aedric's view, this was nothing but mindless self-destruction.

Renard's movements were uncontrolled. He staggered every few steps. His swings had no finesse, no proper technique—just raw force and wild flailing.

To Aedric, it looked less like training and more like a desperate attempt to gain attention.

'This country bumpkin… He's really working his ass off just to be noticed, huh?'

Aedric sneered inwardly.

The chainmail vest might look heavy, but seeing the poor condition it was in, it had to be made from the cheapest scrap iron available. Nowhere near as heavy as it appeared.

As for the sandbags—while they seemed bulky, the way they bounced with every movement told Aedric all he needed to know.

'They're mostly empty. Just thick leather casings with a little weight inside. A pathetic trick.'

Aedric couldn't help but scoff.

It was obvious.

Renard was from Taira Castle—that gloomy, wretched place on the border, always guarding against the Terrible Forest.

His mother, who was supposed to rule over Taira, was sick and ignored by Lord Grim himself.

A nobody from a dying household.

And now, here he was, pulling a pathetic stunt, trying to catch Lord Grim's attention and seek help.

'How ridiculous.'

Without a flashy trick like this, there was no way he would get anyone important to notice him.

But the fact that his attempt was so transparently fake made it even funnier.

However—

Calling Aedric an idiot?

That wasn't funny.

That was enraging.

He was the future Lord of Ironshade. The heir of Grim.

To be mocked by some no-name bastard from a failing house—

That was unforgivable.

Aedric stepped forward, his golden eyes burning with fury.

"Apologize."

His voice was cold, commanding.

Renard blinked.

"For what?"

His tone was light, almost casual, as if genuinely confused.

Aedric's fists clenched. "You dare pretend ignorance? Apologize for insulting me."

Renard studied him for a moment. Then, as if coming to some decision, he spoke.

"Sorry about that."

The words came easily. Too easily.

For a moment, there was silence.

Aedric's jaw tightened.

"…Lower your head and apologize more respectfully."

He demanded.

For the first time, Renard squinted his eyes and looked directly at Aedric. 

"Aren't we all children of the Grim house? I already apologized, so don't drag this," he said, not moving his head an inch. 

But Aedric was not satisfied. 

"You dare compare the likes of you with us? Kneel down and apologize now. I will forgive you since you don't know better." 

This time, Renard didn't say anything. 

He was barely holding himself back. 

He had always known that noble brats had terrible personalities, but to think he would get this pissed off by a mere child… It was almost laughable. 

And adding to his frustration was the embarrassment. 

'Just what am I doing?' 

He clicked his tongue in irritation. 

Adding the years from his past life, he was well over fifty years old. Wasn't it ridiculous that he was getting into a petty fight with a fourteen-year-old? Worse yet, that brat was his own cousin. 

But then again, did that really matter now? 

'Well, so what? My past life is my past life. Right now, I'm also a brat.' 

Renard took a deep breath and stepped toward Aedric. 

"I tried to resolve this with words, but you just won't listen. It seems you not only know nothing about swords, but you also have no manners." 

"What…? You dare…!" 

The best thing about being a child was that he could act on his emotions without restraint whenever he wanted. Since he wasn't used to these kinds of quarrels, Renard didn't bother backing down. 

"You really don't know your place…! Just because the family allowed you here, you think you are the same as us?" 

Aedric took large strides forward until he was standing nose-to-nose with Renard. 

Renard didn't step back either. 

"No, I have a pretty good idea of the difference. And I have enough knowledge to know how to make that difference meaningless." 

"You...! You really are impudent," Aedric spat as he pinched his nose. "Also, there's a stench coming from your body. It's the smell of the cow dung from the countryside mixed in with your sweat! It really, really stinks."

"I've never gotten close to cow dung in my entire life, so who are you saying smells of cow dung?" Renard asked curiously.

"If so, that just means it's the smell of your own shit…! In any case, you just plain stink."

"I'll wash up in a bit."

"No, go wash up now. Once you're done, go and tend to the horses that brought you here!"

"The horses?"

"Because the smell of shit from your body definitely must have rubbed off onto them! So I'm telling you to go clean them!"

"And why should I do that?"

"Because you're the one who got your smell all over them!" Aedric raised his voice and shouted shrilly.

Because of the close distance between the two, Aedric would send spit flying at Renard with each shout.

Renard frowned and took a step back. Although Renard had only withdrawn because he didn't want to get spit on, Aedric still looked down on him with a smile of superiority for forcing Renard to back off.

"Furthermore, you need to bow your head and apologize to me. I still haven't accepted your apologies for calling me an idiot, saying that I didn't know any etiquette, and for daring to place yourself at my level despite just being a collateral descendant. These all need—"

Without waiting for Aedric to finish, Renard turned to Lyla and said, "Lyla."

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