PLMYP 27

Chapter 27 —

Thanks to perfectly erasing his past, no one knew that he used to be a fighter in the back-alley arena. Maybe Viscount Callio knew, but that was uncertain.

“But you know… I’m not going around bragging just because I’m a quasi-baron. I’ve heard the ‘be polite’ lecture so many times I’m sick of it. So now, I’ve decided to be polite to only one person—my master. If you think I’m rude, just assume that’s how I am.”

“…Were you from the arena?”

The one who asked wasn’t Michel, who was sitting next to Hawk, but Heath, who was sitting far off on a large flat rock, sharpening a big axe.

Even though it was a wood-cutting axe, not a weapon, he still looked more like a bandit than a lumberjack.

Hawk ignored Michel’s surprised glance and nodded calmly.

“How did you know?”

The answer didn’t come from Heath, but from Michel.

“Your old student said the exact same thing as you.”

His voice sounded dark.

Hawk’s mood also sank as old memories came back. He gave a bitter smile.

“Well, he did brag about it. Said the arena only hired cruel instructors with nasty tempers.”

No one who trained at the arena escaped without broken bones. Training usually started by dragging someone into a room and breaking a limb or two.

Since the trainees were used as combat slaves, they tried not to leave lasting damage, but sometimes instructors lost control and left students half-crippled.

“Never thought I’d hear about a fellow trainee in a place like this. What was the student’s name?”

“You wouldn’t know him. That was over ten years ago… and he’s already dead.”

“…I see.”

Hawk scratched the back of his neck.

“May he rest in peace.”

With those words, the mood around them turned heavy.

‘This feels… heavier than someone just dying.’

Hawk was sharp enough to know when to hold his tongue.

He wasn’t the type to get awkward over tension, but the people here had raised his master’s fiancée. It wouldn’t do to make things worse.

So instead of saying anything, he faked a loud yawn.

“I’m tired, so I’ll just—”

“Forget that. Talk about the job. Why are we in such a rush to get to Count Elpheus’s estate? Especially with such a big carriage?”

“Well…”

“It’s obvious. A knight driving the carriage himself? There’s only one reason for that.”

That blunt voice came from Bean, who was lying on a blanket with his hands folded neatly on his stomach.

‘Wait, wasn’t he sleeping?’

As if reading Hawk’s thoughts, Bean sat up and stared at him sharply, almost like he was glaring at an enemy.

“You’re going to pick up Lady Janice, aren’t you?”

It wasn’t something to hide, so Hawk nodded.

“That’s right.”

“But what I don’t get is—why so urgently? Why send a knight instead of a servant?”

Bean looked him up and down suspiciously.

“Sure, nobles sometimes send knights to invite guests. But they usually dress them properly. I’ve never heard of sending just one knight… and hiring mercenaries to guide him.”

“Oh… Sounds like you know a lot about noble customs?”

“Try being a mercenary for 20 years. You’ll learn a lot whether you want to or not. Anyway—”

Clearly wanting to change the subject, Bean asked another question.

“The quasi-baron hired us to guide him to Count Elpheus’s territory, right? So when we get there, the contract ends.”

Hawk knew that was a warning aimed at him. The worried look on Michel’s face confirmed it.

“Hey, Bean.”

“I don’t care if you’re a baron or not—if you try anything weird with Lady Janice, I won’t forgive you. Got it?”

“You must be close with the Count’s daughter, huh?”

“Not just close, we’re—”

“Hey, look! I think there’s a wild boar in that forest! Bean, let’s go catch it! We need breakfast!”

Michel suddenly stood, grabbed Bean, slung him over his shoulder, and ran into the woods.

“Let go, you idiot! You better remember what I said! If you mess with our lady—!”

First Heath dragged him off, now Michel. Watching Bean disappear again, Hawk scratched his head.

“……”

Now only Hawk and Heath were left in the small clearing, and a heavy silence fell.

‘This isn’t what I wanted…’

Hawk had planned to get information about Count Elpheus. But before he knew it, he was alone with the quietest man here.

It was hopeless trying to gather info from someone like Heath.

Hawk glanced at Heath sharpening his axe and then gave up. He lay down flat on the ground.

‘So these mercs are close to the Count’s daughter, huh? That’s unexpected.’

It made sense for Count Elpheus to be familiar with mercenaries.

But Lady Janice Elpheus was born a noble. She wasn’t someone who should be friendly with mercenaries.

‘Did the Count act as a bridge between them? If that’s true, then the Count and his daughter must be on good terms too…’

One thing was certain.

If Hawk told them why they were in such a rush, they wouldn’t rest—they’d race straight to Elpheus territory.

---

Flashback thoughts:

“Count Miles was after Lady Janice from the start. He’s been pressuring them with debt.”

“That family’s second son is a real scoundrel… No one wants to marry their daughters to him.”

“They don’t expect Ray to pay the debt. They probably already sent someone to kidnap the lady.”

“There’s still time, I think… but if we’re too late, go straight to Count Miles’s estate. If you explain the situation, the mercs will help you.”

“And use this if you have to. I don’t care if you overdo it.”

---

“…Will I really have to use it?”

Hawk sighed and touched the pouch on his belt.

He pretended not to notice the sharp gaze glancing down at his cheek.

---

Meanwhile…

30 million Larc.

Count Miles stared at the check, his eyes trembling like water.

“This… is this check real?”

“If you don’t believe me, go to the bank and check it yourself.”

Leonard gave a confident nod. His face said it all—the check was real.

But the Count still couldn’t believe it.

Not 300,000. Not 3 million. 30 million Larc.

Knowing Elpheus’s financial situation, it was hard for the Count to believe the golden seal of Jacqueline Bank on the check was real.

Eventually, he called for his aide.

“You called, my lord?”

“Take this to the Jacqueline Bank and verify it.”

The aide also widened his eyes at the amount but quickly nodded.

“Yes, my lord. I’ll return shortly.”

After the aide left, Count Miles kept eyeing Leonard suspiciously.

“Sorry to doubt you. But it’s a lot of money.”

“I understand. I would’ve done the same.”

While waiting, Leonard sipped the wine the Count had offered.

Thankfully, there was a Jacqueline Bank branch in this castle town, Ryltin, so verifying the check wouldn’t take long.

“Want another drink?”

“No thanks. I plan to return to the estate right after this.”

“I see.”

A brief silence fell between them.

But for the first time, that silence didn’t feel uncomfortable. Leonard stared into his glass, lost in thought.

He’d been here a few times before, trying to negotiate his family’s debt. The Count had served him wine then too—but Leonard hadn’t been able to enjoy it.

Since magic had disappeared, mages were rare. That made things like ice in summer or flowers in winter into expensive luxuries.

Jewels could be resold, but flowers wilted and ice melted.

Back then, when Leonard brought pocket change as interest, the Count offering ice-cold wine had been a classy insult.

Leonard hadn’t even realized it was an insult at the time.

It wasn’t just here. During the past year as a young Count, Leonard had received similar treatment at many social events.

What hurt most wasn’t the insult itself—but the moment he finally realized he’d been insulted.

“Did you finally find the late Countess’s inheritance?”

“…What?”

“Otherwise, where would you get 30 million Larc?”

The Count casually waved for his servant to bring a new glass.

The half-melted ice was cleared away, and a new glass was filled with amber-colored liquor and fresh ice.

The Count swirled his drink, letting the clink of ice fill the room.

“You may not know, but when the late Countess married, her dowry was the talk of the empire—50 million Larc.”

50 million, twenty years ago. Adjusted for inflation, that’d be about 100 million Larc today.

Only the daughter of a Duke or a Princess of the Empire could have such a dowry.

 

…Or maybe someone like the Marchioness of Blair.