**The Dual Life of a Count’s Prodigal Son
The prodigal son of House Slater, Russo, sat blankly on the terrace.
The tea that had once steamed warmly had long gone cold, and the sandwiches Jason had prepared as a simple meal remained untouched.
Chancellor Jaskier’s visit had been a scheduled event.
For the Inkeran Mountain Expedition, the Chancellor had always been a steadfast ally to House Slater—a reliable comrade and a grateful friend.
But this time, the Chancellor wouldn’t even show his face.
Because of House Collacter’s interference and the pressure from Marquis Viley.
And these details would only come to light much later, through the Chancellor’s own confession.
**”…I’d deserve to be called a madman. Heh.”**
Even Russo himself knew how insane it sounded, so all he could do was let out a hollow laugh.
The problem was that he had experienced all of this through the dream he had during those ten days.
**”Am I supposed to believe this?”**
Honestly, even Russo found it hard to believe.
He wasn’t some devout believer who had received divine revelation—just a disgraceful wastrel whose dreams shouldn’t mean anything.
Even if he tried to convince himself that it might have been a prophetic dream from a god who favored House Slater…
**”…That’s terrifying.”**
Russo’s expression hardened as he recalled the dream’s vivid details.
The thought of those brutal, tragic outcomes becoming reality sent chills down his spine.
**”There’s no way that damn dream could be real!”**
He refused to believe it, forcing himself to stand.
All he wanted was to wash away this filthy feeling with alcohol, but today, he had to endure it.
The way people looked at him these days was already bad enough.
**”Not like it’d make much difference anyway.”**
Still, with the Inkeran Mountain Expedition in jeopardy, even the family’s black sheep had to be careful not to cross certain lines—for his own sake as much as anyone else’s.
With nothing else to do, Russo threw himself onto his vast bed.
**”Might as well sleep.”**
While the rest of House Slater was busy and on edge over the expedition, to Russo, it was someone else’s problem.
—
### **”You will become the third Sword Saint of House Slater, inheriting the legacy of our great-grandfather, Kael Slater!”**
He had once declared that proudly.
Back when his tiny hands gripped a heavy training sword, swinging it from dawn till dusk, drenched in sweat.
Those were days when he could endure anything—because he had a clear goal.
At least, until others started judging his worth.
—
### **”…Wake up.”**
A sharp voice jolted Russo from his sleep.
**”Useless bastard.”**
The harsh words pierced his eardrums as Russo slowly opened his eyes.
Lost in memories of the past, he stared blankly into space before roughly rubbing his face with his palms.
He clenched his jaw at the dampness in his eyes, then sat up as if nothing had happened.
Aaron stood over him, looking down at him like he was vermin, but Russo just stretched lazily, unfazed.
**”Mmm~ Haa! To what do I owe the honor of your presence in this humble abode?”**
Even at Russo’s mocking tone, Aaron didn’t react—this wasn’t the first time.
**”You’ve heard about the expedition, right? Don’t cause trouble.”**
**”Haaam~! You came all the way here just to say that?”**
**”I don’t expect any help from you. But I won’t forgive you if Father has to worry because of you, or if my brother and I get scolded for your actions.”**
**”And if you don’t forgive me?”**
At Russo’s provocation, Aaron’s expression grew sharper.
Russo sneered.
**”Gonna beat me up like three years ago? Broke my left arm back then—planning to break the right one this time?”**
**”……”**
Aaron just glared as Russo thrust out his right arm, grinning.
With a scoff, Russo rolled lazily on the bed like a sluggish pig, then pulled a liquor bottle from the nightstand drawer.
He took a defiant swig, staring Aaron down.
**Gulp— gulp—**
**”Ahhh~ What? Got more to say?”**
Aaron’s fist clenched at Russo’s shameless expression, but before he could react, Russo casually tossed the bottle aside.
**”Gonna hit me now?”**
**Drip— drip—**
Liquor spilled onto the bedsheets, and Aaron, deciding it wasn’t worth his anger, turned to leave.
**”Consider this a warning. Until the expedition is over… just stay here. Eat, sleep, act like the pig you are.”**
**”Oink oink~”**
Russo’s mocking pig noises followed Aaron as he exhaled sharply and headed for the door.
But just as he reached for the handle—
**Click!**
The door swung open, and a panicked voice rushed in like a gust of wind.
**”I-It’s true! The Chancellor’s visit has been canceled! Just as you said, Lord Russo, they suddenly called to— Huh?!”**
Jason froze mid-sentence, eyes widening at the sight of Aaron.
**”L-Lord Aaron!”**
He hastily bowed, straightening his disheveled clothes.
**”What did you just say?”**
**”Huh?”**
**”Repeat yourself!”**
Under Aaron’s piercing glare, Jason broke into a cold sweat.
**”T-This morning, Lord Russo said the Chancellor would cancel… and just now, House Jaskier sent word that they’re withdrawing!”**
Aaron’s brow furrowed as he turned back to Russo—who looked just as stunned.
**”You… you’re serious? The Chancellor really canceled?”**
Jason nodded vigorously, and Russo grabbed his own hair in disbelief.
**”No way… This can’t be happening… What the hell is going on?! I’m losing my mind!”**
His frantic muttering left both Aaron and Jason speechless.
—
### **Knock knock knock.**
**”Lord Russo—”**
**”I said don’t disturb me!!”**
Jason flinched at the sharp yell piercing through the door.
*‘What’s gotten into him?’*
After five years of serving Russo, Jason prided himself on understanding the young lord better than anyone—but this time, he was at a complete loss.
*‘This is bad…’*
Whenever Russo acted unpredictably, disaster always followed.
The signs were too strong this time, and as his attendant, Jason already felt a headache coming on.
**”I’ve left your meal outside. Please eat—you mustn’t skip it.”**
Though Russo hadn’t touched food in four days, Jason dutifully set the freshly prepared meal by the door and retreated.
Meanwhile, Russo…
**”…Where do I even start?”**
Bloodshot eyes, tangled hair, dark circles reaching his jaw.
Four days without proper food had left his face gaunt, his lower lip bitten raw, his cheeks hollowed.
He looked like the living embodiment of exhaustion.
In this state, he sat at his desk, chewing his lips and tearing at his nails as he stared at an open notebook.
The Chancellor’s cancellation had become reality.
Russo could no longer dismiss his dream as just a nightmare.
He couldn’t fully trust it—but the growing unease, his pounding heart, and the dream’s vivid details screamed at him:
*This is a premonition, you idiot!*
After three days locked in his room, torn between belief and denial, he finally decided—
He had to act as if it were real.
Even if he was the family’s disgrace.
**”I have to stop that damn tragedy.”**
Hadn’t he regretted it even in the dream?
At the very least—
**”I can’t let him stand there unharmed!”**
The memory of that emotionless face looking down at him made Russo’s fists clench.
The problem?
Killing that bastard and preventing the family’s ruin wouldn’t be easy.
The Chancellor’s cancellation might have been a coincidence—and if reality diverged from the dream, all the better.
But if not, he had to prepare for the future.
Where to start?
Russo hadn’t figured that out yet.
In his ten-day dream, he had lived through ten years.
Remembering and preparing for everything in that span wasn’t as simple as he thought.
He assumed focusing on major events would be enough—
**”Why is everything so tangled?!”**
The causes, processes, variables—even with foreknowledge, intervening to change things was overwhelming.
He tried noting down key events in case his memories faded, but the web of interconnected details left him stuck for hours without writing a single word.
He couldn’t waste time, so he took a deep breath and forced himself to organize his thoughts.
**”Start simple. One thing at a time. What must be stopped, what I can do, what must be avoided…”**
Pen in hand, Russo began filling the notebook.
**Scratch— scratch—**
More focused than ever, he filled page after page.
—
### **”This should cover the basics…”**
Russo stretched his stiff shoulders and examined the densely packed notebook.
It wasn’t perfect, but it held enough crucial information to alter his and his family’s future.
Not that anyone would snoop—but even if they did, it didn’t matter.
The notes were magically encrypted. Only he could decipher them.
**”Now… what next? There’s so much to do…”**
Right now, Russo was seen as House Slater’s uncontrollable disgrace.
But if he suddenly changed?
How many would believe he’d finally come to his senses?
Even if they did—
**”They’ll interfere. Explaining and getting approval for everything… too annoying.”**
His brothers, Charon and Aaron, already had to seek consensus for every move.
With so much to do—and some things that needed to stay hidden—Russo wanted no oversight.
Most importantly, he had to remain a hidden blade.
He needed to stay the family’s excluded disgrace—the prodigal son no enemy would see as a threat.
**”I’ll keep living like this. The worthless wastrel everyone points fingers at.”**
If it meant changing his family’s fate—and his own—
Russo didn’t care how much scorn he endured.
