**The Dual Life of a Count’s Prodigal Son
**Year 977 of the Krasler Calendar**
Throughout history, countless dynasties had ruled the continent, forging empires—but none had ever endured a millennium.
Except one.
The Krasler Empire now stood on the precipice of achieving what no other kingdom had: a thousand-year reign.
And people said—
If the Krasler Empire accomplished this feat, the credit would belong to one family alone.
The sword of the continent, the shield of the emperor.
The most revered of noble houses—the Slaters.
The Slater family’s duty to the empire was singular:
To steadfastly guard the northern Inkeran Mountain Range.
The greatest enemy of mankind, the orc tribes, had toppled countless kingdoms and empires over the ages.
No one knew their exact numbers, nor the vastness of the lands beyond Inkeran.
But one thing was certain—
If the orcs breached those mountains, the entire continent would drown in blood.
Thus, the survival of kingdoms and empires hinged on one question:
Could the orcs be stopped?
For **800 years**, the Slaters had answered that question.
They had brought peace to the north, allowing the Krasler Empire to flourish into humanity’s mightiest nation.
The emperor’s most trusted.
The nobility most revered.
That was the Slater family.
**Swish—!**
A blade split the moonlight, cutting through the air—but the tremors in its edge and the unnatural arc betrayed its wielder’s lack of skill.
This wasn’t the technique of a knight worthy of the 3rd rank.
**”Hah… Hah…”**
Russo let his trembling arms drop, collapsing onto the hard ground.
**”…Pathetic.”**
Assessing his own abilities, even a bitter laugh wouldn’t suffice.
This was as bad as it got.
Not surprising, given he’d spent the last **seven years** as the family’s drunken disgrace, never once training seriously.
Alcohol and debauchery since the age of ten had ravaged his growing body.
—
### **”Truly a Slater’s blood!”**
**”Hahaha! In raw talent, he surpasses even Aaron!”**
**”With such gifts and diligence, your future is boundless!”**
**”A third Sword Saint will rise in House Slater! Hahaha!”**
At seven years old, Russo had been showered with praise for his swordsmanship.
His talent dwarfed his peers, and his relentless effort made his childhood unrivaled.
Basking in admiration, Russo grew by leaps and bounds.
By nine, he’d fought a **3rd-rank knight** to a standstill in an official duel.
The continent hailed him as a prodigy, his only comparisons being the legendary Sword Saints of past generations.
Russo himself dreamed of becoming the continent’s youngest **4th-rank**, then **5th-rank knight**.
But no one could have predicted—
That his **tenth birthday party** would upend his entire life.
—
**”…They should be camping at the foot of Inkeran by now.”**
Calming his breath, Russo lay still, turning his head to gaze in one direction.
If his foresight held, the expedition would be resting before the mountains, preparing to advance at dawn.
Normally, the mission lasted **20 days to a month**.
But this time would be different.
On the **56th day**, the party would return—
Having lost many soldiers, with even more wounded, marking their **first failure in twenty years**.
No one could foresee this future.
But Russo knew.
He even knew the **cause** of the failure.
Yet, frustratingly, there was **nothing he could do**.
The only solution would have been—
**”What if they’d just abandoned the expedition?”**
A futile thought.
The Inkeran expedition was the Slater family’s most critical annual duty—and a **direct order from the emperor**.
Even without imperial decree, it was necessary to prevent the orcs and their monstrous hordes from breaching the mountains.
But this failure would collapse the defensive line, leaving the northern territories vulnerable to orc raids.
For **4-5 years**, the damage would seem manageable—
Until it **spiraled out of control**, with all blame and resentment directed at House Slater.
**”Three years…”**
Russo clenched his sword hilt.
It wasn’t much time.
Within three years, he had to prepare for what was coming.
And for that—
**”I need to rebuild my body first.”**
His growth years had been wasted.
Now, he had to find a way to **remake himself**.
**”The Kwellan Mines. That’s where I start.”**
Fortunately, he knew exactly how.
The **ten years of future events** in his mind held the answer.
The **horrific, despairing dream** from his ten-day fever was now his only hope.
—
### The Slater territory lay at the empire’s northern edge.
Even now, it remained one of the empire’s **five largest domains**—yet no noble coveted it.
Centuries ago, the first Slater Count (then a Baron) had been granted this **problematic land**.
Perpetually cold, with temperatures rarely above 10°C.
Stretched thin east to west, making travel inefficient.
Barren soil, yielding meager crops.
Located at the empire’s fringe, it received **no commercial benefits**.
And to the north—
The **Inkeran Mountains**, where orcs and monsters **constantly raided**.
No wonder nobles avoided it, relieved the Slaters shouldered the burden.
For the first **200 years**, without the emperor’s support and noble aid, the Slaters would have **fallen**.
**”Things changed when Inkeran stabilized and rich veins were discovered.”**
Chewing on dried jerky, Russo eyed the distant mountain range.
The Slaters’ fortunes reversed when they began mining Inkeran’s untouched deposits.
Few gold or gem mines—but **high-purity iron veins** transformed the territory into the empire’s **iron hub**.
For a family perpetually at war, iron was **more precious than gold**.
And the occasional **”Mana Iron”** veins—**twice as valuable as regular iron**—brought staggering wealth.
With riches came the empire’s finest arms for Slater soldiers, allowing them to **secure vast stretches of Inkeran**.
The untouched mountains became a **treasure trove**, fueling commerce.
House Slater rocketed into the empire’s **top ten wealthiest**—
**”But cutting off support was downright petty.”**
The emperor and nobles **withdrew all aid**.
The only mercy? The emperor silenced nobles demanding **heavy taxation** to curb Slater influence.
**”If they’d taken taxes too, it’d be outright robbery.”**
Had he not dreamed the future, Russo might have accepted it.
But now, his resentment toward the emperor and nobles burned fiercely.
If he’d been in the capital, he might have **done something reckless** at the sight of their faces.
**”Just wait.”**
Gritting his teeth, Russo recalled their smug expressions as he checked his map.
**”Half a day’s journey left.”**
His destination: the **Kwellan Mines**.
Discovered **200 years ago**, it had yielded small quantities of **Mana Iron**—resistant to breakage, deformation, and excellent at mana conduction.
Now abandoned, its **true value** wouldn’t be realized for **seven more years**.
—
### **”Hahaha! Fools! The Slaters had treasure under their noses and never noticed! No wonder they’ve fallen so low!”**
**”Count Ranslan…”**
Russo **gnashed his teeth**, recalling the gloating face of Count Ranslan, who’d mocked them in his dream.
A family that **30 years ago** hadn’t been worth **dirt beneath his nails**.
And the **audacity** to claim the Slaters’ discovery as his own—
It made Russo’s blood **boil with rage**.
**”Just you wait. I’ll smash your smug face in.”**
But that wouldn’t be enough.
Like Ranslan in the dream, Russo would **take everything** from him in reality.
But first—
**The Kwellan Mines**.
Stuffing the map away, Russo quickened his pace.
—
### **”You don’t know where he went?”**
Though her tone was calm, Jason felt **cold sweat** drench his back.
**”Lord Russo… gave me a sleeping draught…”**
Even as he spoke, Jason knew how **pathetic** he sounded, falling silent.
Beside him, the equally pale-faced knight William stood like a condemned man.
**”Sigh…”**
The Countess exhaled deeply, watching the two bow their heads.
*What fault is theirs?*
This was **Russo’s doing**.
*Russo… please, not this time.*
She worried he’d cause trouble **amid the expedition’s turmoil**.
Her husband had left in a **foul mood**, the mission already plagued by issues.
She’d hoped Russo would **stay quiet** for once.
**”Search every corner of the territory. Send men to neighboring lands too.”**
If he caused trouble **within their domain**, they might contain it.
But **outside**? A disaster.
Whether sensing her worry or acknowledging their own failure—
**”Understood!”**
**”We’ll find Lord Russo, no matter what!”**
Their loud replies didn’t reassure her.
She knew better than anyone—
When Russo **vanished on purpose**, he **wasn’t easily found**.
All she could do was pray—
*Russo… don’t disappoint us again.*
Not as a mother, but as the **Countess of Slater**.
