My Slain Dragon Bride

Chapter 59: Chapter 59

Chapter 59 - A Beggar’s Life

"First."

Ferda began to speak.

A damp echo, fitting for the underground chamber, reverberated through the air.

"First of all, I truly owe you my thanks."

"...."

"If you hadn’t attacked that day, I would’ve had to keep watching Headmaster Bernard for days on end. That would’ve been a complete waste of time."

"If you’re that grateful... would you mind untying me?"

"I’d rather not. I’m grateful to you, but that doesn’t mean I’m an idiot."

Ferda dragged over a chair and placed it in front of him.

"That transformation ability of yours is truly fascinating. It’s not an illusion created with magic, nor does it distort perception. And unlike those Doppelgängers, it isn’t some crude imitation."

"If you’re that impressed, I can even become the Regent for you."

The man chuckled as he made the joke.

"I can become one as well?"

Ferda took the joke seriously.

"As long as I have your blood."

Ferda pulled a pristine dagger from inside his coat and sliced his own arm.

Bright crimson blood ran down his forearm.

"Then do it."

"...."

The man caught the dripping blood and drank it.

As a considerable amount flowed into his body, the appearance of Headmaster Bernard began to change.

He became Ferda himself.

Gray hair.

Blue eyes.

A frail body that had dreamed of becoming a Knight but never could.

Bruised and with broken teeth, yet unmistakably bearing Ferda’s appearance.

"So you can’t restore injuries. What happened to that monstrous regenerative ability of yours?"

"My role is to become that person. Humans aren’t supposed to have regenerative abilities like that, are they?"

"Thorough."

He had deliberately discarded the enhancements of the Demon Race and focused solely on imitating a human.

Ferda stared at him silently.

The man, locking eyes with him, suddenly burst into laughter.

"Ferda Valdrova. I knew you were insane, but you’ve surpassed even my imagination..."

"What do you mean?"

Ferda tilted his head.

"You’re looking at yourself. A broken, shattered version of yourself. And yet you stand there as if you’re enjoying it."

"I’m not enjoying it."

"And yet your eyes haven’t wavered even once."

He was right.

Ferda showed not the slightest hint of fear or hesitation.

He simply observed his own battered form.

"You... were cast out of House Rosnova, weren’t you?"

"....."

"I can feel through this body just how hard you worked. You have no muscles, but you trained until your bones cracked and your hands were covered in blisters."

"...."

"But your father never acknowledged any of it."

"That’s right. And because of that, I ended up becoming a fiancé."

"No. That was just an excuse to drive you away. You know that yourself, don’t you?"

Wearing Ferda’s face, the man smiled bitterly.

"You were abandoned because you had no talent. Just like me, you were thrown away like a worn-out rag."

What filled his eyes was a plea for kinship.

The kinship born from sharing the same emotion called revenge.

The man wearing Ferda’s face longed for vengeance.

A man seeking revenge against the king who had betrayed his trust.

A man seeking revenge against the father who had cast aside his own child.

Ferda could understand that burning anger all too well.

"Yes, I was abandoned."

Ferda looked at him with utter disgust.

"But you and I are different. Completely different."

"How are we different?"

"Our souls."

Ferda pressed a finger against his own chest.

"My soul has always belonged to me."

Looking down on him with contempt, Ferda spoke.

The man flared up at those words and shouted.

"I never sold my soul to anyone! This is the path I chose!"

"No. You sold your soul. You let those pieces of trash judge your worth, and you didn’t hesitate to cheapen yourself for them. That’s why your revenge has become something cheaper than a stray dog’s."

The man shouted in disbelief.

"Does that even matter? As long as I get my revenge, that’s enough! Even if I end up broken, what matters is making that bastard suffer more than anyone in hell!"

"No. Revenge cannot exist without a soul."

Ferda reached into the pouch he had brought with him.

"Even if that soul becomes stained and battered, revenge is only fulfilled when you cling to it as something that is wholly your own."

What he pulled out was a medicine vial.

A plain vial with neither color nor label to reveal its contents.

There were seven in total.

"So stop pretending that becoming me means you’ve understood me."

He uncorked one of the vials and approached.

"Now... enjoy life."

***

The upper level of the castle, the alchemy workshop.

The alchemist was busy cleaning up.

"May I come in?"

At the familiar voice of an elderly man, the alchemist stopped and bowed respectfully.

"Count Consilus, it’s an honor to see you. Of course, you’re always welcome."

"Thank you for allowing Regent Valdrova to use your workshop."

"Not at all. How could someone like me possibly refuse a request from Your Excellency?"

Count Consilus pretended to casually look around before speaking.

"By the way, do you know what kind of medicine Regent Valdrova was making?"

"Here is the list of ingredients the Regent requested."

Quick-witted as ever, the alchemist presented the written list.

Consilus slowly examined it.

Though he was a Knight and a soldier, he had picked up quite a bit of knowledge over the years.

That included the basics of alchemy.

Which was why his expression immediately turned bewildered.

"These... are the ingredients for a healing potion, aren’t they?"

The alchemist nodded.

"Yes, that’s correct."

"He came all the way here just to make a simple healing potion? If that was all, couldn’t he have simply asked you to do it?"

"I was wondering the same thing."

"You were wondering the same thing?"

The sigh Count Consilus had been about to let out disappeared.

The alchemist stammered.

"W-Well..."

"Go on. Even if you’re speaking ill of him a little, I’ll overlook it."

"If I may speak at the risk of my life... Regent Valdrova’s skill in alchemy was... well... actually, it was simply the worst."

His voice was filled with sheer horror.

Count Consilus blinked.

"That bad?"

"Yes. He wasn’t just a complete beginner—he did things that were even worse than what a beginner would do. If one of my apprentices had acted like that, I would’ve slapped them on the spot."

"Hmm..."

"Gah! My apologies. I spoke out of turn..."

Count Consilus stroked his beard in silence before speaking.

"I don’t think it was because he lacked skill."

"But every step completely violated proper brewing methods. Unless someone was a complete novice..."

"Tell me. What happens when the brewing process is done incorrectly?"

"Well..."

The alchemist began reading from his notes.

"To begin with, one of the Regent’s mistakes was stirring far too quickly."

"And what happens if it’s stirred too quickly?"

"It reduces the healing effect."

"What else?"

"He shook the cauldron during the cooling process. Shaking it while the medicinal properties are dispersing also reduces the healing effect. And then..."

He continued listing one terrible mistake after another.

In such a short brewing process, Ferda had committed well over twenty different errors.

"Every single one of those steps..."

The alchemist couldn’t hide his astonishment.

He hadn’t realized it while watching Ferda work.

But now that he examined each mistake one by one, a pattern became obvious.

Alchemy was delicate.

A single mistake could completely erase a potion’s healing effect or reduce it to something worse than fruit juice.

And yet every one of Ferda’s seemingly amateurish mistakes produced the exact same result.

"They all reduce both the healing speed... and the healing power..."

It was far too deliberate to be dismissed as the work of a novice.

***

"Ughhhhh!"

Every muscle in the man’s body tensed violently.

The veins in his neck bulged as he clenched his broken teeth so hard that they shattered even further.

"Can you feel it?"

Ferda gently shook the now-empty vial as he asked.

Everything that had been inside it was now flowing through the man’s body.

"Doesn’t it feel as though your entire body is a field engulfed in flames? As if you’re being burned slowly... and unbearably hot."

"Ughhhh... W-What the hell... did you... do to me...?!"

He couldn’t even finish his sentence.

But Ferda answered anyway.

"A beggar’s life."

"W-What... is that...?!"

"That’s the name I gave it. The most painful life I can offer to someone who’s already prepared to die. What you’re feeling now is the growing pain of nerves that were destroyed through brutal torture coming back to life."

"Ughhhh...?!"

"That’s right. This isn’t killing you."

"I’m saving you."

"B-Bullshit...!"

There was no way this could be healing.

Shaking the empty vial, Ferda continued.

"Isn’t it fascinating? The better a healing potion is, the faster and more powerfully it restores injuries. That’s why high-grade healing potions are always in such high demand. They’re so well refined that you can drink one even in the middle of battle without suffering any aftereffects."

The man had once been a Knight.

He had fought on battlefields.

He knew better than anyone how effective high-quality healing potions were.

"But cheap healing potions are agonizing. They heal slowly, and their restorative power is weak. What I made is the cheapest of the cheap. Which is why... if I press here..."

Ferda gently pressed a bruised spot with his index finger.

"AAAAAAAGH!"

A bloodcurdling scream echoed through the chamber.

The man who had endured the tortures of the executioner without a sound finally screamed for the first time.

"Freshly regenerated nerves are incredibly sensitive. If a single finger hurts this much..."

Ferda picked up one of the executioner’s abandoned tools.

It was long and ended in a sharp point.

A needle.

"What do you think this will feel like?"

Clank! Clank!

"S-Stop! Stoooop!!"

The man completely lost his composure and began struggling frantically.

"I’ll tell you everything! I’ll tell you everything!"

"Tell me what?"

"There’s got to be a reason you’re torturing me, damn it! I’ll tell you everything! I’ll even tell you where our headquarters is! Just stop! Please! Pleeease!"

Five minutes.

The man who had endured the executioner’s torture surrendered in just that amount of time.

It had ended remarkably quickly.

Of course. He had learned how to resist while dying, but he had never learned how to resist living.

"No."

Instead of questioning him, Ferda stuffed a gag into his mouth.

"Your surrender is inevitable, but not yet."

He set down the empty vial and picked up another one beside it.

It sloshed softly.

To the man’s overly sensitive ears, it sounded like crashing waves in the midst of a storm.

"Sing a little longer. Experience that beggar’s life you cast aside just a little more."

Down the spiral staircase leading underground...

The screams of a sinner cast into hell echoed without end.

***

Three hours later, Ferda met Count Consilus again in the reception room.

"I’ve learned several interesting things."

"And what might those be?"

"They call themselves ’Dopplers’."

"Dopplers? It sounds like a name derived from Doppelgängers."

"Indeed. They call themselves Dopplers because they consider themselves beings superior to Doppelgängers."

"How narcissistic. Quite fitting for the Demon Race."

Count Consilus let out a hearty laugh.

"I never imagined we’d obtain information about the Demon Race."

"The important part is that they’re closer to humans than demons. Had they not been, the methods of torture I know wouldn’t have worked."

"Truly remarkable. To think you would create something we could never have imagined..."

Even the alchemist who had served in the castle for thirty years had been left speechless by Ferda’s idea.

Ferda had sabotaged a normal healing potion with dozens of times more precision and care than it would take to brew one correctly.

It had reached the level of artistry.

"So this Doppler wasn’t the first, I presume... Did he say when all of this began?"

"He said it started about ten years ago. He had only just advanced from the Servant rank to the Knight rank back then, so he didn’t know the finer details."

The Demon Race possessed a hierarchical ranking system.

The Servant rank consisted of ordinary human followers, expendable pawns.

Only upon reaching the Knight rank did they begin to wield the true power and authority of the Demon Race.

"If it began ten years ago, then there must already be quite a few of them hidden among us."

"Not only in Escolleia, but likely within the Grand Ducal Council as well."

"That’s... impossible. How could followers of chaos exist within the domain of Lord Blancaros, the Aspect of Order?"

"I already know what Headmaster Bernard said at the Grand Ducal Council. Whether they’re humans or Dopplers, it’s already a certainty that followers of the Demon Race have infiltrated it."

Count Consilus understood the reasoning.

Even so, accepting it completely was another matter.

"The Grand Ducal Council, established to unite the entire Cerdes Continent... will lose the trust it has built."

The Grand Ducal Council had been created to preserve unity across the Cerdes Continent.

If it became known that subordinates of the Evil Dragon Godwin had infiltrated the absolute domain of Blancaros, the revelation would shake the entire continent.

Its political repercussions would be immeasurable.

"What do you intend to do?"

Count Consilus turned to Ferda.

Perhaps this man would make the wisest decision in this crisis.

"The best option is still a preemptive strike."

"A surprise attack is certainly an excellent tactic. But we’d need to know where their base is before we can launch one, wouldn’t we?"

"Naturally."

Only then did Count Consilus realize what Ferda meant.

His eyes lit up.

"Surely... you’ve discovered the enemy’s headquarters?"

"Not their headquarters, but one of their key facilities. He served as the captain of the guards at the research facility where they create those creatures. He claims he knows its weak points better than anyone."

"In that case, we should strike immediately."

Knowing the enemy’s location made the conditions nearly perfect.

"There is one problem."

"What is it?"

"That research facility lies within Silverwind’s territory."

"Ah..."

Count Consilus was well aware of the current relationship with Silverwind.

"That complicates matters. If we requested Silverwind’s cooperation, this could probably be resolved rather easily..."

"They won’t help us. And requesting their cooperation would waste precious time."

"True. Then perhaps we should simply provide them with the information... though even that isn’t an ideal solution."

"If all we wanted was to destroy it, I could simply collapse the entire mountain."

Their target for the preemptive strike was not a gathering place for the Demon Race, but a research facility.

That meant intelligence—not military force—was the true objective.

It would almost certainly contain information not only about the Dopplers, but also about the plans the Demon Race had been preparing.

Ferda made his decision.

"We’ll have to infiltrate quietly, destroy the facility, and withdraw."

A delicate special operation that could easily escalate into war.

Just as Ferda was about to outline the plan, Count Consilus unexpectedly spoke first.

"I know this is an impertinent request, but... would you grant this old man an opportunity?"

"An opportunity?"

"Yes."

Count Consilus knelt on one knee and placed a hand over his chest.

"As the Empire’s Shield and as a Knight who has sworn loyalty to the great Aspect of Strength, I wish to lend my full strength to you, Regent."

He was an elderly man with graying hair.

Yet in his prime, he had been one of the Empire’s most respected Knights.

A Knight who had lost everything... and willingly accepted his own demotion.

Ferda gladly accepted his request.

"We leave tomorrow."

"Make your preparations immediately."