Chapter 29
Throughout the supervision of unloading supplies, Schiller’s mind was a tangled mess.
Normally, he would have meticulously checked even a single arrow or handful of flour, but this time, he settled with a rough estimate.
Though he usually valued propriety, his stride toward Isaac’s tent was practically a sprint.
“Carlson, Hans. Clear out for a moment.”
After confirming no one was around the tent, Schiller raised his voice.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”
“Whoa, easy.”
Isaac, who had been sharpening his sword on a whetstone, turned to look at him.
“I almost used magic on the soldiers out there. If I had, it would’ve triggered a civil war.”
The Steward looked genuinely furious.
“But you didn’t use it, right?”
“It was a close call. You could’ve at least warned me.”
“I had to keep it quiet.”
“Why?”
“Because if you and Hans made a fuss, Bessemer would believe it. And I figured you’d notice on your own.”
Schiller pressed his lips shut for a moment.
His expression was clearly displeased, but after several deep breaths, he calmed his anger.
As a Steward, now was the time to analyze, not emote.
“When did it start?”
“What did?”
“Don’t play dumb with me now.”
“After the last mana explosion.”
There was neither subject nor object, but Isaac understood what Schiller meant.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You already know. My unique constitution is eerily similar to someone from a century ago. It’s just the bloodline manifesting.”
A crack appeared in Schiller’s expression.
“The ancestral records… I assume you didn’t have permission to access those.”
“Given the state I was in, you think I cared? I snuck a look.”
“……”
“What’s with the shock? You already knew.”
Isaac resumed sharpening his blade.
“If word got out that I can use magic, nobody in the kingdom would be happy about it. It’d be like planting the seed of disaster.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“Keep it quiet.”
Schiller was briefly speechless at Isaac’s calm response.
It was a fact that could determine the fate of their house.
And yet Isaac was unshakably composed.
Schiller had watched both Isaac and Jonas grow up since the day these little Goethes were born.
He knew these two even better than their nanny or personal attendants.
For the past few months, Schiller had dismissed Isaac’s eccentricities and unexpected accomplishments as side effects of the mana explosion.
But after witnessing the duel with Bessemer, it became undeniable.
Isaac had changed.
And in a way that defied Schiller’s understanding.
Isaac’s transformation wasn’t the natural progression of youth, growth, or maturity.
Who could say what consequences this change might bring to the Goethe house?
“My lord… what are you thinking? Aside from being able to use magic—did anything else happen that I should know about?”
“Why?”
“You’ve become someone else while I wasn’t looking.”
Isaac’s hand stopped midway across the sword blade.
“Maybe so. Schiller, I have a favor to ask.”
The next dawn.
“Form ranks! Anyone who falls behind runs an extra lap!”
About eighty soldiers, those not on night guard, patrol, or among the wounded, ran the perimeter of the military camp with grim faces.
“Shit, what the hell is this bullshit.”
“That damn brat—huff—really thinks he’s the commander now? Huff—should’ve smashed his face in ages ago. Huff.”
“Then quit whining—huff—and go do something about it. Huff. All you do is run your damn mouth. Huff.”
“Fuck, if it weren’t for that demon bastard—huff—I would’ve done it already.”
Though curses filled the air, no one dared stop running or resist.
One reason was the merciless violence that began even before the sun peeked over the ridge.
Carlson’s fists and boots came down on anyone slow to obey or sluggish in execution.
Some soldiers had tried to fight back, but now they were laid up in their tents, unable to move.
Teeth were knocked out, hair was ripped from the scalp, and in severe cases, arms or legs were broken.
In this camp, where most disputes were resolved by force, it was a brutally effective method of communication.
Carlson didn’t just beat up guys twice his size—he pummeled them until they sobbed for mercy, and then kept hitting them until they passed out.
Another major reason no one protested was because Bessemer, the strongest soldier in camp and de facto leader, followed orders and ran without a word.
Since Bessemer obeyed, the others kept their heads down for now.
One more reason?
Carlson had mercilessly kicked Hans for falling behind.
“You insisted on staying here with that level of skill? You’re hopeless! Just give up and go back to the manor! You’re flawed to your very core! Quit already!”
Hans, screaming through ragged breaths, only unsettled the other soldiers more.
“I… huff… huff… can’t… give up!”
“If you don’t, you’ll die! Either from exhaustion or at my hands!”
“Even so… I won’t quit!”
Though he had already fallen behind by three laps, Hans continued, red-faced and vomiting, dripping with spit and snot, still tussling with Carlson.
He wasn’t walking anymore—he was crawling.
Even seasoned soldiers who’d seen every horror in the Binfelt camp shook their heads.
And so, dawn broke over Binfelt.
With no monster attacks, the chaotic morning felt bizarrely unfamiliar to the troops.
“Is he really staying?”
Schiller, who had prepared to return to the manor, asked.
“Yes. Where I belong is at the young master’s side. Ughhh—”
Hans, just finished with the jog, dry-heaved.
“Tsk tsk. If the young master’s right, we’ll be here for a while.”
“Still—urp—I don’t mind.”
“Your family will worry, you know.”
“Yes. But they’ll be proud. I’ll make sure of it—whew.”
Hans wiped the drool from his chin with his sleeve.
“Sigh. That stubbornness is just like your master.”
“A servant can’t help but resemble his lord.”
“Are you badmouthing me right in front of me?”
While Schiller and Hans exchanged lame jokes, Isaac stepped in.
“Take care, my lord. Carlson, I’ve left a few manor soldiers here, but ultimately, the most important role is yours. Protect him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Carlson nodded at Schiller’s words.
“Schiller, I’m counting on you.”
“It’ll take some time, but I’ll do my best.”
“Use Bill well. I already briefed him.”
“Understood. Then…”
Schiller gave Isaac a respectful bow.
He was about to board the carriage but looked back at Isaac.
“It was just bad luck, that’s all.”
“What was?”
“It wasn’t your fault, my lord.”
Before Isaac could respond, Schiller bowed again and got on the carriage.
“……”
Isaac gave a faint, but slightly bitter, smile.
Because he understood what Schiller meant.
It referred to Zeke von Goethe’s inherited trait: Mana Rampage.
To the eyes of the old Steward, Isaac must have seemed like a pitiable young master.
‘He probably meant well in his own way.’
That’s why Isaac didn’t refuse Schiller’s farewell and showed him the duel with Bessemer.
He displayed magic only Schiller could recognize and shared part of his future plans.
It was to gain Schiller’s trust.
Fortunately, things went exactly as Isaac intended.
Of course, the fleeting pity that the usually stern Steward let slip was not particularly comfortable.
“What did you and Lord Schiller talk about so long last night?”
Carlson asked as he watched the line of supply wagons leaving camp.
“You were eavesdropping the whole time.”
“I dozed off in the middle. It got boring.”
“You’ll find out soon enough anyway. Bring me a soldier who knows the area well.”
“What for?”
“I need to conduct an inspection. It is my first day as Lord of Binfelt, after all.”
Isaac stretched his arms.
“Oh, and Hans.”
“Yes?”
“Pick up the axe Bessemer dropped.”
“What for?”
“I’ll need it.”
“Y-You called for me, sir?”
The soldier was dressed in a supply-grade gambeson, but it was obvious he was from a local tribe.
His head was shaved except for the crown, and the remaining hair was braided down to his shoulders.
Like most soldiers, he looked at Isaac with unease.
“I heard you were born and raised here. That must mean you know the terrain.”
“I’m not clueless.”
“I’ve heard there are villages nearby where minor tribes gather. How many?”
“I don’t know about hidden tribes, but there are about three villages still hanging on.”
“I’d like you to guide us.”
“Why me…?”
Isaac was the Lord of Binfelt and the commander of the military camp.
Following military orders should’ve been a given.
But in this place, nothing was truly ‘given.’
Though Carlson had dragged the soldier over by force, his reluctance was clear on his face.
Carlson had brute force, but Isaac had his own means of persuasion.
Clink—
Isaac flicked a silver coin with his thumb.
The soldier reflexively caught it.
“I’m asking nicely.”
“…Very well.”
The soldier nodded reluctantly.
Three horses galloped out of the camp and across the wasteland.
Since Isaac hadn’t learned how to ride yet, Hans held the reins for him, while Carlson and the soldier each rode their own horse.
“Let’s stop here for a bit.”
“Here?”
Hans pulled on the reins and asked again.
It was, quite literally, a place with nothing.
Barren, dark red land stretched out in rolling hills.
There were neither animals nor plants.
Dry scrub was scattered across the ground, and the occasional sun-bleached corpse lay about.
“What are you trying to do?”
Carlson asked as Isaac suddenly dismounted.
“I just want to check something.”
Isaac dug into the dark red soil with his hand.
At first glance, the ground seemed frozen and parched.
But with just a bit of pressure, the dry surface crumbled, and damp earth could be felt beneath.
Isaac picked up some of the moist soil and tasted it.
“Why are you eating dirt?!”
Hans gasped and ran over.
Carlson and the soldier, however, didn’t seem especially surprised—they simply watched with curiosity.
“Gotta check the soil first. Ptuh.”
Isaac spat out the dirt and savored the remaining taste on his tongue.
There was a slight sourness and an ammonia-like smell.
‘Just like in the books.’
Isaac smiled in satisfaction.
From the nearby hills and plains to the distant edges where the black forest began, all the soil shared the same hue.
“Planning to bake cookies out of dirt or something?”
“It’s not impossible. Hans, do you see it?”
“See what?”
“The scenery, from this edge to that one—covered in golden light.”
“Huh?”
Hans looked puzzled, then reached out to touch Isaac’s forehead.
“Are you feeling all right?”
Before his mana surges, Isaac had often said strange things.
It had been a few months since the last explosion, so Hans figured maybe it was about time again.
Maybe he’d suffered an unseen internal injury during yesterday’s duel.
“I’m not crazy, don’t worry.”
Isaac chuckled as he saw Hans’s concerned expression.
It was only natural for Hans to worry.
After all, no one—not even the Goethes or anyone in the kingdom—could see what Isaac was seeing.
But it wouldn’t be long before they all could.
The kingdom’s largest grain belt, filled with wheat, barley, and sunflowers.
It hadn’t existed in his previous life—but in this one, it would.
The foundation of Goethe’s independence.
‘But first, I need to secure the safety of this land.’
Isaac brushed the dirt from his hand.
“Let’s head back.”
