**The Dual Life of a Count’s Prodigal Son –
**Gulp— gulp— gulp—!**
This was a serious problem.
No matter how much strong liquor he poured down his throat, he couldn’t get as drunk as usual. Instead, his mind only grew clearer, and an unpleasant, creeping sense of unease kept growing.
**”Liquor! Bring me more liquor!!”**
The waiter, who had been sitting near the kitchen like a dead mouse, scrambled inside and quickly returned with bottles in hand. Normally, even calling him three times wouldn’t get him to move, so his sudden efficiency had the regulars at other tables clicking their tongues in disbelief.
Yet, no one dared to criticize the waiter’s sudden change in attitude.
Because the man demanding service was no ordinary customer.
*‘Tsk, tsk, tsk! How did a noble family end up with such a disgrace?’*
*‘Disgrace? That’s putting it mildly—he’s a complete lunatic!’*
*‘It started when he was ten, didn’t it? Tarnishing the family name at every turn.’*
*‘If he was like that by ten, he was born rotten!’*
*‘But before that, they called him a genius among geniuses, didn’t they? Everyone had such high hopes.’*
*‘What’s the use of childhood talent? Kids always seem special when they’re young!’*
*‘Well, that’s true…’*
*‘Exactly! Otherwise, how could he have fallen so far so fast?’*
The regulars whispered among themselves, shooting sideways glances at the man drowning himself in liquor.
Despite their scornful stares and muttered insults, he kept drinking, emptying bottle after bottle at an alarming rate.
At the same time, like a bandit who had taken over the tavern, he barked orders and slapped the waiter without hesitation if he moved too slowly.
**SLAP—!!**
**”I said bring me more liquor!”**
**”M-My apologies!”**
The waiter could only kneel and bow his head, enduring the abuse.
The more the man acted like a mad dog, the deeper the frowns on the regulars’ faces grew.
*‘That wretch should’ve died from that fever!’*
*‘Would’ve been a blessing! But no—trash like him always clings to life.’*
*‘They said even doctors and priests gave up on him, didn’t they?’*
*‘Ugh, don’t remind me! For ten days, his fever raged so badly everyone thought he’d die!’*
*‘And the moment he wakes up, he’s back to drinking like this…’*
*‘That bastard’s beyond saving.’*
*‘Look at Lord Charon and Lord Aaron—proof that bloodline isn’t everything! How did this failure even come from them?’*
*‘Shh! Watch your mouth! Remember what happened to Bolter when he ran his drunk mouth?’*
*‘Y-Yeah… They beat him half to death, right?’*
*‘You didn’t see it—if you had, you’d have pissed yourself three times over!’*
*‘That bad?’*
*‘Worse!’*
*‘W-Well, I’ll be careful. If I ever start talking nonsense, slap me right away.’*
*‘You mean it?’*
*‘Hey! Why are you gripping that glass so hard?!’*
*‘Better to knock myself out with this than get beaten near death by that madman! Sure, I won’t be biting into meat with my front teeth anymore, but heh, worth it.’*
While the regulars joked among themselves, the man kept pouring liquor down his throat.
**”Ugh…”**
Each burning gulp seared his throat and stomach, but he paid the pain no mind.
No—he *couldn’t.*
—
**”Slater… You were our greatest enemy!!”**
The massive two-handed sword descending like an inescapable darkness.
**”Grr…”**
No matter how hard he tried to forget, the memory wouldn’t fade. Instead, it grew sharper, tormenting him relentlessly.
Ever since he woke up from that ten-day fever, it haunted him.
They said he had been deathly ill, but he remembered no pain—only a dream.
A horrifying nightmare.
He tried to dismiss it as nonsense, a meaningless delusion, but the more he resisted, the clearer it became.
A bleak, hopeless, despairing dream.
Too vivid to be just a dream. Too brutal, too real—a tragedy burned into his mind.
**”Damn it!”**
**GULP— GULP— GULP—!!**
He drank to forget, to erase the accursed dream, but no matter how much he consumed, he wouldn’t get drunk.
Instead, his mind grew sharper, and the dream’s details swirled even more vividly.
**BANG—!!**
Finally snapping, he kicked the table and stood.
The tavern owner, Ben, watched with a satisfied smile as the prodigal son wrecked the place, screaming like a madman.
*‘Yes, break it all! I’ve been wanting to replace these old tables anyway!’*
The Slater family would cover the damages, so Ben secretly hoped the lunatic would wreck even more.
*‘Tsk, tsk. How did the great Slater family end up with such a failure?’*
True to Ben’s wishes, the man left the tavern in ruins before staggering out.
—
### **”Where is Russo?”**
**”…Still the same hopeless waste of a man.”**
A handsome blond man in his late twenties frowned slightly.
**”Aaron, at least try to guide him. We can’t let him live like this forever.”**
**”If he were the type to listen, he wouldn’t be like this in the first place.”**
Aaron, equally handsome but with sharper features, replied coldly.
**”Still, as his brothers, we can’t just stand by. Father expects us to steer him right.”**
**”Even death couldn’t change him. What’s the point of expecting anything from—”**
**”Aaron.”**
**”…I’ll talk to him.”**
**”Good. He’s still our brother.”**
Though reluctant, Aaron sighed.
**”More importantly, how’s the expedition going? Is House Collacter really withdrawing?”**
**”Likely. Father’s worried.”**
**”If they back out, the burden falls entirely on us.”**
**”It does.”**
Aaron’s brow furrowed as his elder brother sighed.
**”How could House Collacter do this? After everything our family has done for them! Selling out to Marquis Viley—”**
**”Enough. It’s their choice. We’ve helped each other over the years—no point in resentment.”**
Though betrayal burned in his chest, Aaron knew his brother was right. Deepening the rift would only hurt them more.
**”Even without Collacter, the expedition is our duty. We’ll support Father as best we can.”**
**”Understood.”**
**”If only Russo would step up and ease Father’s burden…”**
Aaron’s eyes flashed sharply at his brother’s muttered complaint.
—
### **”Where is Russo?”**
Breakfast at the peaceful Slater mansion was unusually tense.
Especially with Count Javis Slater’s stiff expression casting a shadow over the table.
**”My apologies.”**
The one who answered was the elegant middle-aged woman seated to his left—the Countess.
**”You have nothing to apologize for.”**
The Count’s expression hardened further.
This was always how it went.
The one at fault was never the one apologizing, and it grated on him.
**”Charon.”**
**”Yes, Father.”**
**”He’s your brother. How long will you stand by and watch? Must I handle Russo’s messes myself?”**
Though the Count’s voice was low, the reprimand was clear. Charon bowed his head.
**”No, Father. I’ll speak to him. My apologies.”**
**”Sigh—”**
The Count knew it wasn’t Charon’s fault, so he exhaled deeply and began eating.
The atmosphere remained heavy, soured by the prodigal son’s absence.
But no matter how dark the mood, there was always one who could lighten it.
**”Papa! Isn’t Chancellor Jaskier visiting today?”**
Lily, the youngest daughter, was radiant—her porcelain skin glowing, her delicate features perfectly crafted.
Her golden hair and emerald eyes were mesmerizing, and her very presence brightened the room.
At her cheerful voice, the Count’s expression softened instantly.
**”He’ll arrive by noon.”**
Though his tone remained gruff, the warmth in his voice was unmistakable.
With Lily lightening the mood, Charon smoothly shifted the conversation.
**”Ah, right. The Chancellor mentioned bringing you a gift, didn’t he?”**
**”Yes! Big Brother! He kept teasing me about it! Heehee! I’ve been waiting all week!”**
Lily’s excitement lifted the spirits of everyone at the table.
**”The Chancellor doesn’t make empty promises. It’ll surely be something you’ll love.”**
The Count’s lips curled slightly as Lily winked at Charon, who chuckled in response. Even Aaron, usually stoic, cracked a smile.
*‘Such a lovable little thing.’*
Thanks to her, what could have been a miserable breakfast passed without incident.
—
### **”Ugh…”**
His head throbbed. His stomach churned. His entire body felt dehydrated.
Battling a vicious hangover, Russo barely managed to speak.
**”Here, my lord.”**
Jason, ever dutiful, handed him honeyed water. Russo forced himself up and drank.
It wasn’t refreshing, but the sweetness soothed his raw throat.
*‘Just how much did I drink?’*
He had never consumed so much alcohol in his life.
The nightmare still wouldn’t leave him.
**”Damn it.”**
Despite the time that had passed, the dream remained vivid.
How was this possible?
He had never experienced anything like it. Was something wrong with him?
*‘A curse?’*
His first thought was that someone had cursed him.
But why him?
*‘What’s the point of cursing a lost cause like me?’*
It made no sense.
Curses were meant to ruin people or exploit their suffering for gain.
Cursing the Slater family’s disgrace wouldn’t achieve either.
*‘Then what is this?’*
A cruel joke from the gods?
Equally pointless.
Why would the gods bother tormenting someone already destined for ruin?
**”I’m going insane.”**
Russo clawed at his hair, unable to make sense of it.
**”Lord Russo, Chancellor Jaskier is arriving today. Please… try to behave.”**
Russo reflexively shook his head.
**”The Chancellor? He’s not coming. House Collacter intercepted him—his visit’s canceled.”**
**”…What?”**
Jason’s eyes widened.
**”…”**
Russo stared back blankly.
**”You’re saying… the Chancellor was intercepted by House Collacter? How… how do you know that?”**
**”Well…”**
Because it happened in the dream.
But saying that would only cement his reputation—not just as the family’s disgrace, but as a madman.
Not that it mattered.
He was already beyond saving.
