COTBC 18

Chapter 18

The story was set.

All blame was pinned on Pyke.

Only the part about replenishing the company’s supplies was conveyed truthfully.

But everything else was directed at Pyke.

It was Pyke who manipulated the Nias organization.

It was Pyke who engaged in the slave trade.

And then, greedy for money, he even targeted the mansion’s maids.

When that failed, he tried to sell Isaac to a foreign country.

The one who stopped him was the honorable and loyal knight, Randolph.

The Count alternated his gaze between Pyke’s severed head on the desk and Isaac and Randolph standing before him.

“It’s true. I was kidnapped by Pyke, and Randolph saved my life.”

Isaac answered, meeting the Count’s eyes.

“Carlson realized what was happening and tried to stop Pyke. That’s why a fistfight broke out in the barracks, and eventually, they drew their swords. I had to stop them both. Pyke relented, but Carlson insisted on freeing the captives and wouldn’t lower his sword.”

In truth, it wasn’t Pyke or Carlson who refused to lower their sword—it was Randolph.

Unlike Carlson and Pyke, Randolph had a family, and if it was revealed he had been involved in the slave trade, it was obvious the Count’s wrath would lead to their annihilation.

Randolph intended to injure Carlson enough to silence him.

All he had ever learned was to communicate through the sword.

But Carlson’s swordsmanship was far superior to Randolph’s.

Carlson could have killed both Randolph and Pyke and escaped.

Instead, to symbolize opening his ears, he only cut off Randolph’s ear and was arrested on the spot.

Randolph had skillfully reworked this story.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

The Count, after hearing everything, made no judgment.

He simply focused on understanding the situation.

“I didn’t expect Pyke to go this far.”

“You make it sound as if, had Sir Pyke not tried to kill my son, you would have let it pass.”

“…I couldn’t tell what was the right decision. It was true that Pyke did all this for the infantrymen of the company. It’s also true that the casualty rate among the soldiers decreased because of it, and that their dissatisfaction lessened.”

Randolph spoke while meeting the Count’s gaze.

These were words he had long harbored but never spoken aloud.

Everyone knew that the Count was doing his best for Winterband and the territory.

Unlike other nobles, he was upright and refrained from indulgence or luxury.

Most of Winterband Fortress knew this.

But reality demanded more than just integrity.

“So, is this an excuse for neglecting your duty?”

The Count’s voice was as calm as ever.

Even though Randolph, who wouldn’t have reached even a junior noble’s position without him, was pointing out his faults, the Count showed no emotional disturbance.

Right now, he stood purely as the commander-in-chief of Winterband.

“I will accept any punishment. I only ask that you understand the situation we were in.”

“Understood. We’ll discuss punishments tomorrow. You may leave now. …Thank you for saving Isaac.”

“I am merely ashamed.”

Randolph retrieved Pyke’s severed head from the desk and bowed.

“Have someone hang Pyke’s head in the square of Bernshi.”

“Understood.”

“Isaac. You stay.”

The Count stopped Isaac, who had been about to follow Randolph.

***

Clank—

Death row inmate Carlson.

The man whose real name was Kyle looked confused.

The guard unlocked his handcuffs and shackles.

“Come with me.”

Kyle staggered after the guard.

“Ugh.”

Outside the underground prison, it was daytime.

The sunlight was unusually strong.

Kyle squinted.

“Nice weather, isn’t it? Looks like spring’s coming.”

Isaac was drinking tea in the yard next to the mansion’s garden.

Kyle blankly stared at Isaac.

“What are you looking at? Sit down.”

“…….”

“Hans, get him some tea.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hans, moving as if on instinct, placed a teacup before Kyle and poured him some tea.

The still-warm tea gave off a gentle steam, and a subtle fragrance tickled Kyle’s nose.

“Thanks, Hans. Now give us some space. Let me know if anyone comes near.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hans bowed and retreated a good distance away.

Kyle twitched his eyebrow at the familiar scent.

“Recognize the smell? It’s from your homeland.”

“I have no nationality.”

Kyle answered bluntly.

Schneeflocke.

A tea beloved in the Republic, where the word for “snowflake” was the common language.

It was also the tea his sister loved.

Kyle looked at Isaac.

The boy had the face of a twelve-year-old, but acted nothing like one.

He knew Kyle’s secret and had even leveraged it in what could only be called blackmail.

Kyle had no idea what Isaac was thinking, nor what he wanted.

Were all young nobles this deviously minded?

No.

At least not all the nobles Kyle had met were like that.

It was just this peculiar boy called Isaac.

“Sir Randolph confessed everything.”

“…….”

Kyle couldn’t hide his shocked expression, but quickly closed his open mouth.

He had countless questions but didn’t ask rashly.

It was a habit honed through a lifetime of hardship.

“Half truth, half lies.”

“……What do you mean?”

But he couldn’t help asking when he heard Isaac’s next words.

“Pyke died by Sir Randolph’s hand.”

Isaac recounted the events and the falsehoods they had told the Count.

Kyle tried to maintain a neutral expression, but before he knew it, he had completely forgotten to.

As the story continued, his mouth slowly fell open.

Randolph was allowed to keep his estate and his junior baron title for stopping Pyke and saving Isaac’s life.

However, he was dismissed from his post as Winterband’s company commander.

Kyle, too, avoided execution since he had tried to stop his superior’s wrongdoing.

But since he had committed the grave crime of insubordination, he was stripped of his squad leader title in Winterband.

“I didn’t even know you were a squad leader.”

Isaac’s tone, explaining the aftermath, was as casual as if he were discussing how the stew had tasted at lunch.

“……Why didn’t you report it?”

“Report what?”

“That my real name isn’t Carlson.”

“I had to save that card. If I revealed it, I couldn’t use you.”

“……”

“You told Sir Randolph something, didn’t you? That any sword, no matter how fine, turns into a cursed blade when it gains a will of its own. What about you?”

Kyle’s face was clouded with turmoil.

It was still hard to guess the intentions of this boy who knew too much.

Everyone Kyle had encountered until now had clear interests and goals.

They tried to use Kyle under those goals.

Whether they were mercenaries, knights, or high-ranking nobles.

Through all of this, Kyle had learned one thing for sure.

Those whose true intentions are unknown are dangerous.

What was unsettling this time was that such a person wasn’t an old, crafty fox, but a boy raised like a delicate flower in a greenhouse.

Was he possessed by a demon or something?

“Rather than trying to guess my intentions, I’d prefer it if you just stayed true to your own purpose. After staying cooped up and reading books all the time, I realized just how complicated people are. So I actually like people who have clear desires. Like you.”

Isaac smiled brightly.

Just looking at his face, there wasn’t a trace of any hidden schemes — an innocent expression.

“Do you know what my purpose is?”

“Isn’t it to kill? Should I even tell you the name of the greedy old man who slaughtered the family you barely managed to get?”

Kyle stared intently at Isaac instead of answering.

As if daring him to try answering.

“Viscount Klaus von Botmer. From one of the wealthiest families in the north.”

“……”

Kyle’s eyes shook.

He hadn’t expected Isaac to know even that.

“He is… a noble of the kingdom.”

“So?”

“And I’m a foreigner. Even so, you intend to help me kill him? Just to ally with a foreigner?”

“I need a magic sword. A true sword that bears its own will. That’s all.”

Isaac took a sip of his now-cold tea while gazing into the faraway snow-covered mountains.

“I heard from Randolph that you dedicated yourself to training day and night. As if you planned to sleep only after death. Did it pay off? Enough to slay three hundred elite soldiers and eleven knights by yourself to reach a viscount’s neck?”

“… …”

“Botmer doesn’t have much time left. He’s got syphilis. At his age, no less. He’ll desperately cling to life, but he won’t last much longer. Your sword likely won’t reach him in time unless you get help. If you help me, I’ll help you too.”

Kyle couldn’t tell if Isaac’s words were all true.

But one thing was clear.

Isaac had kept silent about the company soldiers involved in the slave trade and had spared Randolph.

That meant he had also saved Kyle’s comrades.

He recalled the words of Cayenne, his father.

— A merchant places goods on the scale. A mercenary places his own and his comrades’ lives on it. It’s a trade. A trade that must never be broken. A mercenary who breaks the trade no longer has a life worth weighing.

The sun, hidden behind clouds, shone through again.

During that time, neither of them spoke.

Kyle finally opened his mouth.

“May I ask just one thing?”

“Go ahead.”

“What is all this for?”

“If I had to answer, it’s for myself. Because I have debts I need to repay.”

Isaac answered absentmindedly.

It was an instinctive, honest answer.

Practically, it was for protecting his family, but even deeper than that.

There was an old, worn ledger buried inside his heart.

In it, the debts he owed were densely recorded.

They were debts of the heart.

***

“What do you think?”

“…I can only be amazed.”

“Could all of this really have come from Isaac’s head?”

“Given the mana explosion, it’s not like he could have taken another teacher either.”

Schiller answered the Count’s question.

The reason the Count had dismissed Randolph first and kept Isaac behind was simple — concern for his child.

Humans are too fragile.

When threatened with death, their bodies or minds fall apart so easily.

The Count himself had killed a tribesman outside the border when he was just eleven.

But he did not want Isaac and Jonas to experience death and violence so closely, so early.

He knew better than anyone how horrifying it was.

Yet Isaac, who had nearly been killed by Pyke, was unexpectedly calm.

So calm that he had identified the root of the situation.

It was an idea that even the Count himself hadn’t come up with — an audacious and bold thought.

“To sever ties with the Old Church…”

Year after year, the royal family’s shield taxes had been decreasing.

The shield tax was compensation for protecting the frontier in place of the royal army.

With the reduction of shield taxes, it was becoming harder to feed and clothe the soldiers.

But Goethe couldn’t complain or attempt to amass wealth.

Because of the sins of his ancestor, Zeke von Goethe, a 10th-class mage who had burned the royal capital a century ago.

The stain of rebellion was branded onto the Goethe family.

If he made any attempt to accumulate wealth, the royal family would assume the Goethe family harbored treasonous ambitions.

Far from gaining more shield tax, it might invite stronger surveillance.

Thus, maintaining the current system with a meager budget was safer than putting the family at risk.

That was the Count’s belief, and it had been the consistent attitude of the previous heads of the house.

Isaac called this assumption.

— The royal family’s finances are worsening year after year. Shield taxes will continue to decline. In such a situation, if Goethe declares independence and refuses shield taxes, would the royal family truly be suspicious, or might they actually be relieved?

And he struck right at the heart.

— In truth, isn’t it because Goethe has no profitable alternative that it has clung to shield taxes? The land is barren, and the surroundings are full of enemies. So Goethe has been dependent on the shield taxes, constantly wary of the royal family’s watchful eyes.

Isaac’s argument was sharp.

It pointed out a problem that had been overlooked — or deliberately ignored — over generations.

At first, the Count had thought it mere youthful arrogance.

But the more he listened, the more rational Isaac’s proposal sounded.

Still, for it to have real meaning, he would need to propose concrete solutions.

And when the Count demanded one, Isaac answered.

The beginning, is to sever ties with the Old Church.

The Count moved to the window of his study.

From the personal library on the third floor of the main building, he could see the courtyard below.

Isaac and Carlson were conversing there.

He was very curious about what they were talking about.

The Count found his son suddenly a little unfamiliar.