My Slain Dragon Bride

Chapter 58: Chapter 58

Chapter 58 - Because It Hurts

Ferda asked Headmaster Bernard a question.

Ferda brought him an entire bottle of liquor.

"What is this?"

"I thought you might need it."

"The whole bottle...?"

"Isn’t today a difficult day?"

Today truly had been a difficult day.

Except for the times he had drunk dozens of cups of coffee, his heart—normally never racing violently—was pounding against his ribs.

He couldn’t calm himself down.

Bernard grabbed the neck of the bottle with trembling hands and drank straight from it.

Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.

It was whiskey with an alcohol content exceeding sixty percent.

His throat felt as though it were burning, but only after emptying half the bottle of the strong liquor did he finally lower it from his lips.

"Thank you for saving me."

"You don’t need to thank me."

"May I ask you one thing? I simply... simply cannot get it out of my head, so I have to ask."

"Go ahead."

"How... how did you know I was going to be in danger?"

How did he know?

It was a technique that the now-dead Teshalos Wolcher had praised so passionately.

Yet when that same technique was suddenly declared to be flawed, no one had been angrier than he was.

That righteous anger made everything crystal clear, and Teshalos Wolcher came to a realization.

"Bernard wasn’t the Bernard from back then."

But by then, it was already too late.

There was no way to prove it, the technique had vanished, and Bernard eventually met his end as the worst headmaster in history.

In any case, Ferda remembered that incident and thought about the moment when the headmaster had been in the greatest danger.

That moment was, naturally, when he returned to the city.

I was lucky.

The surveillance, which might have dragged on much longer, had ended quickly.

Ferda answered the question.

"I have my own sources."

The familiar phrase drew a hollow laugh from Bernard.

"Damn it... everyone seems to have somewhere they hear things from, so why am I the only one left in the dark...?"

"That wasn’t the only reason. A city headmaster of your standing came here without even bringing soldiers. It was inevitable that you’d be exposed to danger."

"Because it wasn’t efficient."

"Efficiency is foolishness in the eyes of nobles."

"You’re absolutely right. I feel that painfully today. Anyone who thought attacking the Headmaster of Escolleia would bring them joy is going to experience hell from today onward."

Bernard’s face turned bright red.

Consumed by anger and alcohol, he was gradually losing his grip on reason.

"To think... to think the Demon Race would actually be targeting me. The Demon Race everyone mocks as nothing more than the delusions of paranoid fools actually appeared before me..."

His eyes quickly became moist, as though he were about to cry.

"Don’t cry."

"Sniff... Hic... I’m sorry."

Ferda watched Bernard wipe away his tears with an annoyed expression.

"In any case, you’ve learned something from this. The Demon Race is constantly seeking an opportunity to lead this continent toward destruction."

"Yes..."

"This continent must belong entirely to us. Even if it does not, it must never fall into the hands of the Demon Race."

"You’re absolutely right."

"So, let me make you a proposal."

He extended his hand toward Bernard, who was intoxicated by both alcohol and emotion.

"Lend me the technology behind that Monster Appearance Prediction Device."

In an instant, Bernard’s fuzzy, alcohol-soaked mind became perfectly clear.

"Lend it to you...?"

"Exactly as I said. The blueprints and mechanisms required to create the Monster Appearance Prediction Device."

Though phrased politely, it was essentially a demand to hand over everything.

The moment he heard it, Bernard instinctively understood.

"So... that’s what this was?"

His voice trembled.

"What do you mean?"

"The surveillance you placed on me... waiting until I was in danger... and..."

His finger tapped against the half-empty bottle.

"Even giving me this entire bottle of strong liquor... wasn’t it all just a scheme to obtain my technology?"

A cheap trick to manipulate his emotions.

Ferda must have hoped he would finally let go of that last thread of reason hanging by a pinky finger.

Surely he would deny it.

Like every noble, he would conceal his true intentions, make excuses, and argue his way out.

Bernard had already begun gathering arguments to refute him.

But there was no need.

"That’s correct."

Ferda admitted it without hesitation.

His emotions surging, Bernard sprang to his feet.

Outraged, he shouted.

"Trying to manipulate a suffering man emotionally just to get what you want...! You should be ashamed of yourself, Regent Valdrova!"

Unlike the furious Bernard, Ferda calmly asked,

"Why should I be ashamed?"

"What do you mean, why?! Do you really have to ask?! Did you think you could exploit someone’s life to earn their gratitude?!"

"If I wanted your gratitude, I would have fed you sweet words. I would have bewitched you with empty promises. But I have no interest whatsoever in your goodwill."

Ferda gestured toward Bernard’s head.

"The only reason I wanted you to survive is because that technology exists inside your mind."

"So you’re saying I survived only because I was useful?"

"You nearly died because of that technology. Then you survived because of that same technology. Is that really so surprising?"

Bernard couldn’t refute him.

He had nearly died because he was valuable.

He had survived because he was valuable.

But beyond that, he was apparently nothing.

Bernard could not bear being treated as nothing more than a useful tool.

"You...! You’re not even human!"

Pointing drunkenly with an unsteady finger, he staggered toward the door.

"If you leave this place, you’ll die."

Bernard stopped in his tracks.

Those ominous words wrapped around his feet like a noose.

"Are you threatening me now?"

"No. I’m simply stating a fact. If you wander outside this late at night, you won’t be killed by the Demon Race—a Monster will eat you instead."

"I’d rather be eaten than stay in a place like this!"

Ferda set down his teacup and stood.

"If that happens, everything you’ve built will collapse into nothing."

Bernard’s body flinched.

Those indifferent-sounding words were not an expression of Ferda’s selfishness.

They echoed Bernard’s own heart.

"I heard the one who attacked you impersonated you. What do you suppose someone wearing your face could accomplish?"

"..."

"They would quietly destroy everything only the headmaster knows. The blueprints and records would have become a handful of ashes scattered by the wind... as though nothing had ever existed."

"..."

"And after that? What would someone wearing the face of an incompetent headmaster do? He would sit at your desk without permission, sleep in your bed, scribble away with your pen, stamp approvals on documents, squander the city’s budget, and slowly bring both you and the city to ruin."

"Ugh..."

Bernard collapsed onto the floor.

To Bernard, Escolleia and his research were his wife and son.

The thought that they could be destroyed without him ever knowing was unbearable.

"Sob... Sobbing..."

At last, Bernard broke down in tears.

He curled into himself, trembling violently.

He was isolated.

And he was lonely.

"I am the man who declared that I would conquer the Land of Demons. The Demon Race are my enemies—vermin that deserve to disappear."

Ferda extended his hand.

"To achieve that dream, I need the technology you possess."

Bernard looked down at the offered hand.

The Ferda Valdrova he knew was merely a Three-Circle mage.

Yet those hands were not the soft hands typical of the sons of prestigious mage families.

They were covered in calluses.

He had come from a Knight Family.

And once, he had dreamed of becoming a knight.

That dream had been crushed, and he had become the fiancé of the Grand Duchess.

Ironically, Bernard felt honor and trust emanating from that calloused palm.

"I’ll share the blueprints and mechanisms of the device I’m developing. However..."

Swaying drunkenly, Bernard pointed a finger at his own chest.

"This knowledge belongs entirely to me. Make that absolutely clear."

What Bernard was insisting upon was his copyright.

It was a warning not to take even a fraction of the credit.

To a scholar, authorship was pride itself.

It was everything.

Which meant it was nothing to Ferda.

"Your name will certainly be remembered throughout history."

***

Ferda headed toward the Consilus territory together with Headmaster Bernard.

When Bernard eventually returned to Escolleia, Arwen intended to treat him generously before escorting him home safely.

"What do you think of the headmaster?"

Ferda asked Count Consilus, who sat across from him.

"According to the priests, the shock was so severe that he’ll need at least another day of rest. It’s the first time someone who usually dies from high blood pressure or a heart attack nearly died at someone else’s hands."

"Is that so?"

"More than that, though, he suddenly drank far too much alcohol and ruined his body. It looked as though he’d gone on a drinking binge somewhere..."

"I gave it to him. The liquor you gave me as a gift."

"You gave him the whole bottle?"

"He emptied half of it on the spot."

"Why would you do something so barbaric...?"

"Because it hurts."

Ferda quietly sipped his tea.

"It must hurt enough to make him wish he were dead, so I gave it to him."

"It’s a miracle he didn’t actually die."

"Rest is fine, but send him back to Escolleia as quickly as possible. There’s something I need to receive from him."

"I’ll inform Arwen."

Count Consilus looked bewildered.

He recalled the astonishing sight he had witnessed only a few hours earlier when Ferda’s carriage had entered his castle.

"By the way, I’ve probably seen thousands of Monsters in my life, but a member of the Demon Race... I think today was my first."

"There’s no need to be surprised. I’d never seen one before either."

"More importantly, this is the first time I’ve ever heard of a member of the Demon Race capable of perfectly imitating a human."

The Demon Race had three distinctive characteristics.

Sharp teeth.

Red eyes.

And black skin.

"I think he may have mistaken it for a doppelgänger."

"A doppelgänger..."

"If something has no true appearance of its own and merely imitates another’s appearance and voice, then it can only be a doppelgänger. Headmaster Bernard was confused and panicking."

"So you’re saying he may have been mistaken."

"Yes."

It was a reasonable conclusion.

After hearing those words, Ferda fell into thought.

"Do you know the difference between a doppelgänger and the original person?"

"Since they only imitate the outward appearance, they can’t imitate what’s beneath the clothes. That’s why people strip them to verify."

"Correct. But this one perfectly replicated even what was underneath. Even the genitals."

"They even checked... that?"

"If you’re careless, that’s exactly how you get yourself killed."

"That’s true. In any case, if even the genitals were identical, then it wasn’t imitation—it was practically duplication."

"Not just that. That creature even possessed the exact same mana as Headmaster Bernard. It wasn’t merely imitating Bernard. It had become Bernard himself."

"If it truly became him... then distinguishing the two must have been extremely difficult. Sir Zed certainly has remarkable perception."

"We were lucky."

He silently thanked fate that Bernard had been bald.

And he was even more grateful that Bernard polished that bald head until it shone.

"So, are you keeping that doppelgänger Demon Race captive?"

"Yes. We’ve fastened heavy restraints on it and ordered the executioner to torture it."

"Is the interrogation still ongoing?"

"Yes."

"How many hours has it been?"

"They started as soon as we arrived, so it should have been about four hours."

Ferda rested his index finger against his chin.

"How long do you think it will take to extract the information?"

"He’s a skilled professional. If you give us two days..."

"Even one day is far too long for my temperament."

"I’ll tell them to do their utmost."

"No."

Ferda rose from his seat.

"I may be impatient, but causing a scene when there’s already a solution isn’t efficient."

"Do you mean... you’ll interrogate him personally?"

"I happen to have a bit of expertise in that field as well."

A noble claiming to be an expert at torture.

Yet somehow, it wasn’t surprising.

After all, Ferda had killed Teshalos Wolcher without even blinking an eye.

"May I borrow your alchemy workshop?"

"Of course. Though we don’t have enough ingredients for poison. Will that be alright?"

"That’s fine. I’m not making poison anyway."

"Ah... in that case, you’re welcome to use it..."

Ferda headed toward the workshop, and Count Consilus watched him leave.

If it’s not poison, then what kind of medicine is he planning to make...? Hm?

His thoughts were interrupted by confusion.

All he could see was Ferda’s back growing more distant.

Something seemed to be wriggling across the back of his black clothing.

"I must be getting old. I’m starting to see strange things."

Rubbing his eyes, Consilus dismissed it as nothing and stood up.

***

Deep within the underground prison beneath Count Consilus’s castle.

The executioner, wearing a black hood, was diligently carrying out his duty.

The man wearing Headmaster Bernard’s appearance hung there in a pitiful state.

His tendons had even been severed while he was bound to a steel torture frame, making escape impossible even for someone with a knight’s physical strength.

Normally, no one ever entered this place except the executioner and the prisoner.

Yet today, an unexpected distinguished guest stepped inside.

"My respects to Regent Valdrova."

"May I see your handiwork?"

"Certainly."

The executioner stepped back, and Ferda approached.

The prisoner’s appearance was utterly miserable.

His face was swollen, and his body was covered in bruises.

"Impressive."

Ferda muttered.

"Your skill at inflicting just enough pain without killing your subject is remarkable."

"...You flatter me."

It was the first compliment the executioner had ever received in his life, leaving him at a loss.

This place was as close to hell as one could imagine.

Yet the first thing Ferda said after walking in without hesitation was that it was impressive.

"Your role ends here."

"We still haven’t obtained any information..."

"I’ll handle the rest myself. Consider this your bonus."

Ferda handed the executioner three gold coins.

The unexpected fortune left the man speechless, but he knew exactly what he needed to do.

After the executioner left, Ferda pulled over a chair and sat down, looking up at the bound man.

The man’s head hung low, his eyes gently closed.

"I know you’re still conscious. Now that you’ve become one of the Demon Race, isn’t it time you stopped pretending to be a frail human?"

At those words, the man slowly raised his head.

Despite his swollen, battered face, the fire in his eyes had not faded.

A glimmer of interest began to appear in Ferda’s eyes.