My Slain Dragon Bride

Chapter 84: Chapter 84

Chapter 84 - Discord

Morning in Count Consilus’s territory always began with the soldiers’ marching song during the morning run.

"Hey! Hey!"

"One, two! One, two! Start the marching song!"

"Behold, we have arrived!"

"That’s too quiet!"

"Forward! Forward! The final line of defense! There is nowhere left to retreat! Raise your wife as your shield and march forward again today! Forward! Forward! Become a hero, then go find yourself a new wife!"

The morning marching song echoed throughout the castle as the soldiers ran a full lap around its walls.

They ran along the ramparts every morning, but the difficulty varied tremendously depending on who led the run.

Among them, Arwen was the strictest of the strict—an absolute textbook officer.

Damn it... Can’t we just do half a lap and call it a day?

Every time this knight gets assigned to duty, it’s pure torture.

Not only did they have to sing continuously while running, but the winding route itself was exhausting. Under the excuse of conducting patrols, they were forced to inspect every corner of the castle, adding extra sections until the course easily exceeded two full laps.

"Well done, everyone! Go have breakfast so you can begin your morning duties!"

"...Yes..."

"Your voices are lacking. Want to run another lap?"

"No, sir!"

"Then disperse at the speed of light! If I catch you, it’s another lap!"

Afraid he might actually make good on his threat, the soldiers hurriedly scattered.

As Arwen wiped the sweat from his face with a towel, the gatekeeper approached and saluted him.

"Sir! Duty Officer, thank you for your hard work."

"What is it?"

"A knight from Castle Valdrova says he wishes to meet with you, Duty Officer."

Castle Valdrova.

There were only two knights stationed there.

And only one of them would ever come looking for him.

Arwen frowned instinctively.

"Where is he now?"

"Hey, Arwen!"

"...Never mind."

There was no need to ask.

The man was already walking toward him, waving his hand.

Arwen wiped his face with the towel and looked at him.

Brown hair.

A refined-looking face.

"It’s been a long time, Sir Zed."

"Yeah, it’s been a while. You’ve been doing well?"

"I never expected you’d come here. What brings you?"

"Nothing special. I came because I wanted to ask if I could undergo knight training."

"Knight training...?"

Arwen’s eyes widened in surprise.

"What? Are parachute knights not allowed?"

"It’s not that they aren’t. If anything, those who receive special appointments need training even more. I just never imagined you’d be the one asking for it..."

"Yeah... I never thought I’d be saying something like this either."

Zed scratched his head and admitted it calmly.

Watching him, Arwen suddenly became worried.

They always said that when someone started doing things they never used to do, it meant they were about to die.

"Did something happen?"

"You heard about the Wolf Monster that appeared in Halim, right?"

"Yes. I heard the Regent distinguished himself there. The entire Empire has been talking about it."

There were two main reasons everyone was talking about it.

First, seven Wolf Monsters had been summoned inside the city.

Second, despite that disaster, not a single person had died.

"I also heard that you distinguished yourself there. They say you toyed with the enemies like a sylph, buying everyone time."

"Toyed with them? Hardly. One wrong step and I’d have been dead. I was scared out of my mind."

"So what’s the problem? Lady Valdrova’s reputation has risen, and you even got yourself a story to impress women with."

That was exactly the kind of man Arwen believed Zed to be.

A knight’s profession was the perfect one for telling lies, and with just one exaggerated heroic tale, seducing noble ladies was as easy as eating cake.

"When that wolf bastard charged at the Regent, I stepped in front of it."

"It charged at the Regent, and you blocked it. Then?"

"I couldn’t stop the damn thing. It hit me once, and my whole body went flying like a wooden plank."

Arwen merely shrugged.

"That couldn’t be helped. Very few knights can withstand a monster’s attack head-on."

"What about you?"

"I can."

"That’s exactly the problem. Other people can, but I can’t."

"I’ve undergone proper training and was carefully selected as a knight. You can’t compare me to ordinary people."

Arwen had intended it as consolation, but Zed merely frowned as though he regretted asking.

"So you’re saying I need enough strength to stop an opponent head-on?"

"Even if it’s not head-on, I’d like to have something I can actually do in situations like that."

"You mean swordsmanship or self-defense techniques?"

"Yeah."

"I can certainly teach you those... but how old are you, Mr. Zed?"

"Twenty-seven. I’ll be twenty-eight soon."

"Isn’t that rather late to begin training?"

"I’ve always kept my body in shape. I’ve seen plenty of combat while working as a mercenary."

Arwen knew well enough how skilled Zed was.

He had witnessed his abilities firsthand during the mission to rescue Headmaster Escolleia.

"The issue isn’t simply physical conditioning. Enduring an attack from something like a monster requires entering the realm of Aura. Mastering that takes years of dedicated training. At your age, it’s already too late to truly understand and apply it."

"Aura... You mean this?"

Zed clenched his fist tightly and focused with all his might.

A blue light flickered violently across the surface of his body.

Arwen’s eyes widened in shock.

It flared unstably like a solar flare, but it was undeniably Aura.

"How are you able to use it?"

"I told you—I was a mercenary. You meet all kinds of people out there. So? Can you train me or not?"

"If we first correct your Aura usage and then begin proper training, it should be possible. The fact that you can already release Aura means you’re halfway there."

Arwen’s expression became serious.

"Even so, it won’t be easy. People develop habits, and the older they get, the harder those habits are to change. In the worst-case scenario..."

He deliberately paused, emphasizing the gravity of his warning.

"...You could end up crippled, unable to even hold a sword."

Becoming crippled was a truly miserable fate.

For someone like Zed, who lived entirely by his own strength, the fear of becoming a living corpse was not something to take lightly.

"I’ve already prepared myself for that."

Zed answered without the slightest hesitation.

"Is it really worth risking that much?"

"I don’t want to stand there helpless again when the time comes to protect something."

Only then did Arwen see what lay within Zed’s eyes.

Regret born from helplessness.

It wasn’t merely regret over failing to protect Ferda.

There was something even deeper.

Arwen smiled.

Zed frowned at the sight.

"What are you grinning about?"

"Nothing at all. Then let’s begin with some light physical training."

"What do you mean, physical—"

"Let’s start with an easy five laps around the castle!"

"Five laps!?"

"If you want to become a knight under Count Consilus, you should at least have that much stamina. Besides, we don’t have years to spare, do we?"

"Well... that’s true, but—"

"Then let’s run."

Arwen started running.

Zed followed right behind him.

Perhaps, he thought, he might actually become friends with this man.

"Oh, Mr. Zed. Would you help me with something after training?"

"What is it?"

"I need to write a letter, but I can’t think of the right words. I figured someone with your talent might be able to help..."

"My writing? What good would that—"

Zed stopped mid-sentence as realization dawned on him.

"Don’t tell me... Is it the young lady who kept giving you those passionate looks during the Grand Ducal Council?"

Arwen turned around.

His expression clearly asked, How did you know?

"Well... yes."

"So much for knightly honor. You’re a man after all! Since when have you two been exchanging letters?"

"I received one three days ago. She said she admired how I was serving in the Far East and wrote me about it."

"So she likes you. Of course I’ll help. Just say the word. I’ll even tell you exactly how I used my Wolf Monster story to charm women."

"Yes, thank... Wait a second. Wolf Monster?"

"Yeah. Wolf Monster."

"Didn’t that only happen recently?"

"That’s right."

Arwen blinked.

"You were drowning in all that anguish, and you still had the energy to flirt with women?"

"Well..."

To be honest, Zed hadn’t wanted to.

But he had no choice.

"Why!? Why won’t you do it!? You promised! I used magic for you, so you promised I’d get to feed on your life force! A harem buffet! You promised! You liar! You liar!"

Unable to withstand Penelope’s completely justified demands as she repeatedly smacked him over the head with a pillow while throwing a tantrum, he had eventually given in.

Not wanting to explain that entire chain of events, Zed answered briefly.

"You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do."

"..."

"You still have to eat, don’t you?"

"...Ten laps."

"What? Why?"

***

Stephan returned.

He was happy that everything had gone well, but inside the carriage, his mood gradually turned complicated again.

Ferda’s words echoed repeatedly in his ears.

"Then you would have no value."

If he failed to acquire the Pascal Trading Company, he would have no value.

Had Ferda only recruited him because he coveted the company’s worth?

If he became independent, he could grow.

Not just grow—but grow explosively.

Ferda had only been Regent for less than a year.

And his understanding of economics was merely superficial.

There was no way he could possibly know...just how aggressive and revolutionary this strategy truly was.

One that would make even the Pascal Trading Company look no more significant than an ordinary turnip growing in a field.

There’s no point explaining it.

Stephan simply wanted a chance to breathe.

He wanted to sit at his desk and relax, even if only for a little while.

"Welcome back, sir."

"Yeah, I’m back. But why does the atmosphere feel so tense?"

"Well... because that person is here..."

"Me? You’re all acting like this just because I came back—"

"No... not you, Director..."

Only then did he understand.

There was only one person capable of making everyone this nervous.

"M-My brother?"

The secretary gave a small nod.

The moment he realized who it was, Stephan found himself growing just as tense.

His brother had already received reports about everything that had happened in Halim.

He undoubtedly knew the entire situation.

"...Could you tell him I had to go somewhere else?"

"No."

"Come on, then at least let me change my clothes before I see him or something..."

"Director..."

The secretary grabbed Stephan by the shoulders as he continued rambling incoherently.

"You have to go."

The last thing Stephan wanted was to go.

Nevertheless, he forced his feet toward the staircase.

As cautiously as if opening the doors to an execution chamber, he peeked inside.

Sitting in front of his desk was a familiar, muscular man.

"Stephan, it’s been a while."

The man greeting him so casually, like a street thug, was Merchit Pascal, Stephan’s older brother.

Stephan’s eyes were immediately drawn to the bulging muscles that looked as though they might burst through his silk clothing.

He involuntarily swallowed.

"I-It’s been... a long time, Brother."

" ’Brother,’ huh? Just call me ’bro.’ More than a hundred guys already call me ’Boss,’ so shouldn’t someone who shares my blood be a little friendlier?"

"...No, Brother. How could I possibly—"

"You’re hopeless."

Merchit grinned as he spoke.

"I heard you went to Halim."

"Yes."

"What for?"

"There was an exhibition in the Far East, so I went to provide support."

"Wasn’t that the place Father told everyone to abandon? You’re still clinging to it?"

"Yes. I supported it because I believed it had considerable business value."

"So you’re saying your judgment is better than Father’s?"

"I would never insult Father like that..."

"You’re still spineless as ever. Just say what’s really on your mind for once instead of acting so damn suffocating!"

Merchit slammed his fist onto the desk.

The sturdy desk that hadn’t budged despite being buried under mountains of paperwork cracked from that single blow.

Looking down at the crack, Merchit scratched his head.

"Damn, I hit it too hard. I’ll pay for it later. Anyway, I already heard everything. I heard you even secured trade with Lord Ahmad."

"Yes."

"You know I’ve been cultivating that territory for years, don’t you?"

"Yes, I know."

"So you knew your older brother was working on conquering the south, and you still swallowed that prize whole?"

"I didn’t intend for that to happen."

"But you knew, and you took it anyway."

"I had no reason to refuse. More importantly, that deal was planned and successfully concluded by Regent Ferda."

"So because I was standing by with my hands behind my back, I have nothing to do with it?"

"It’s not that you have nothing to do with it, but..."

His voice trailed off.

Merchit stared at him with clear dissatisfaction before letting out a sigh.

"Well, what can you do? Family shouldn’t be trying to devour one another."

Is... that really the end of it?

Unfortunately, his hope was short-lived.

"I don’t want much. Just let me share in trading the goods that sell in Halim. That’s reasonable enough, isn’t it?"

"You mean... under joint ownership?"

"Exactly. It’s one family running one business anyway. You can at least do that much, can’t you?"

The road to Halim was a road leading to a gold mine.

Even if they shared it, both of them would still become immensely wealthy.

All it required was taking one small step back.

Making one small concession.

But...

For some reason, Stephan no longer wanted to do that.

"That..."

He finally opened his mouth.

The words that came out were the opening shot of a war.

"It’s my business."

Merchit’s face immediately turned cold.

"Hey, Stephan."

"Yes."

"So what you’re saying is... you won’t even lend your own brother the road or the wagons?"

It felt as though a tiger were glaring directly at him.

Stephan’s legs began to tremble.

Merchit had never hesitated to use violence.

And once violence began, it never ended until something was broken.

Stephan had always been the one on the receiving end.

That pain had left him deeply afraid.

Yet there was something that frightened him even more.

Losing someone’s trust...

Ferda had trusted him completely as a merchant without questioning him once.

Stephan had already disappointed him once by withdrawing from the succession struggle.

At that time, Ferda had said:

A merchant who abandoned even what he already possessed and compromised wasn’t the kind of merchant the Grand Duchess’s domain needed.

That was simply what ordinary merchants did.

Compromise.

Compromise was an excellent tool for resolving conflicts.

But only now did Stephan finally understand what kind of compromise Ferda had been talking about.

It was exactly this.

Like a camel that first sticks only its head into a tent, then eventually takes over the entire tent.

The kind that never stops until it has taken everything.

Stephan could no longer afford to disappoint someone who believed in him.

And... not myself, either.

So he took a step forward.

"As for Halim..."

"..."

"I’m going to keep it exclusively."

"..."

Merchit slowly rose from his chair.

He had been intimidating enough while seated.

Standing, his massive build became overwhelmingly imposing.

Stephan couldn’t shake the fear that his brother’s fist might bury itself in his stomach at any moment.

"Fine. If that’s what you’ve decided, then so be it."

"..."

"But since you won’t consider our situation anymore, don’t expect us to consider yours either."

As Merchit walked past Stephan, he patted him on the shoulder.

"Let’s see how well you manage without me."

With that, Merchit left the room.

Only after the storm had passed did Stephan realize his legs had completely given out beneath him.

It was the first time.

The first time he had ever stood up to the older brother he had always feared—someone who had seemed utterly impossible to oppose.

"...Phew..."

Ferda had promised to make Stephan the master of the Pascal Trading Company.

What did it truly take to become its master?

Herman Pascal’s seal of approval?

Or even greater wealth and connections than the rest of the family?

No.

What mattered most was...

Having the heart of an owner.

The ability to protect what belonged to him.

The resolve to stand firm against outside pressure and assert his rightful claim.

That was why Stephan finally spoke the words with conviction.

"I did the right thing."

Even if it meant stepping onto a painful path strewn with thorns...

That was what he believed.