ITDG 50

Chapter 50 Trapped in a Damn Game

The sound of hooves echoed along the well-paved road.

It had been five days since they left Ordan.

As the shadows of the forest receded, a city appeared, framed by gray rocky cliffs like a natural screen.

The city walls were built of granite, overlaid with steel, blending seamlessly into the surrounding mountains.

Countless flags fluttered on the walls surrounded by a moat. Each bore the emblem of the Aslan family—a lion.

“Finally, we’ve arrived.”

The capital of the Aslan County, Bravion. This would be the base where they would establish their foothold and a key stronghold.

“Wow… maybe because it’s a count’s estate, it’s on a whole different scale from a baron’s house.”

Tom, who had previously visited the Heratz baronial mansion, realized again how authoritative the person they were about to meet must be, judging by the estate’s size.

He had thought the baron’s mansion was large, but the count’s garden was even bigger.

“If we lived here, we’d probably get lost several times a day,” Walter muttered.

“Maybe that’s just because you’re a dense oaf who only knows brute strength,” Silphia said, peeking her head out from the carriage compartment.

Walter leaned close to her from atop his horse, lowering himself as if to lie on it. He got close enough to Silphia’s face.

“You dense little noble brat who doesn’t even know how to ride a horse.”

“Ugh.”

Silphia pinched her nose and withdrew her head back into the carriage compartment.

“You ate poop because you had nothing else to eat or what? Why does your mouth smell like poop?”

The mercenaries snickered.

Walter covered his mouth with his hand and sniffed.

“Maybe it’s because you haven’t washed properly for days… normally it smells like flowers.”

Walter tilted his head in curiosity.

As the group chatted, they crossed the wide garden. Nerven dismounted and handed the reins to a servant waiting in front of the mansion.

“You are guests of the count. I am here to see the count, so please guide the guests.”
“Understood.”

Another servant approached Dermot, who also handed his reins to the servant.

Once everyone had dismounted, the servant motioned for them to follow and led them to a waiting room for guests. Tea and light snacks were brought, with a request to wait a moment.

“Oh! Isn’t this what they call jelly?”

Levin’s eyes sparkled as he looked at the jelly among the snacks.

“Jelly?! Let me try some too!”
“Wow, the count’s estate is really something else! Even mercenaries like us get treated to something this fancy.”
“Hey, you little brat! You should give the captain first if there aren’t many!”

A mercenary scolded Levin, who was about to stuff a few pieces into his mouth. Levin rolled his eyes, then carefully offered the jelly to Dermot.

“I’m good. You guys eat as much as you want.”

As a modern person, Dermot had already sampled plenty of jelly, but it was a rare treat in this world. He let the others have it.

“Really not eating any? For real? Truly?”
“Yes. You eat mine too.”
“Oh…!”

Levin, still clearly a child at heart, beamed like a little kid when offered more jelly.

He even offered some to Walter, but Walter refused, saying eating sweets would rot his teeth faster. Levin happily ate the pieces that would have been Walter’s.

Dermot chuckled at Levin’s gleeful face and turned toward the window to enjoy the view.

Under the bright, clear sky, a young woman in her early twenties was strolling through the garden, followed by numerous maidservants.

“Evelia Aslan.”

The daughter of Count Kyros.

Resembling her mother with doe-like eyes, and her father’s deep reddish-brown hair making her even more striking, Evelia was regarded as the most beautiful woman on the continent among Demon World users. She was comparable to a top celebrity.

“Ah, so it was a woman you were staring at,” Walter said, walking up to the window and gaping in admiration at Evelia.

Tom, Silphia, and Levin all crowded to the window, admiring her beauty.

Time passed until Evelia disappeared from the garden view.

Knock, knock.

A servant entered the waiting room.

“The count is ready to see you.”

As the group moved, the servant added:

“The count asked for only one of you to come in.”

Only one person could meet the count—naturally, that would be Dermot. Walter shrugged at Dermot.

“I’ll be back.”

Dermot followed the servant to the count’s study. The room wasn’t extravagant, but it contained valuable items.

Count Kyros looked up from scribbling on a stack of papers with a quill. His sharp features framed by reddish-brown hair, with age lines marking his middle-aged face, gave him an imposing air. An aide stood beside him.

“Please sit for a moment. I have a lot of pending work.”
“Understood.”

Dermot sat on the sofa.

“Nerven, you may go rest now.”
“Yes.”

Nerven bowed lightly and left the room. The only sound in the wide study was the scratching of the quill.

After a moment, Kyros spoke in his deep, commanding voice.

“Your name is Dermot?”
“Yes, Count.”
“You have something to show me?”
“I thought it best to deliver it to you personally.”

Dermot glanced at the aide beside Kyros. Kyros noticed and said:

“Aide, you may leave as well.”
“Eh? Me too?”
“Who else would there be but you?”
“Well, I…”
“Hurry.”
“…Understood.”

The aide, displeased that an unheard-of mercenary was meeting his superior alone, left, glaring at Dermot.

“Now there’s no one to worry about.”

Dermot stood and handed over a letter.

“Hmm… the musculature suggests he’s probably a fighter,” Kyros said, noting the form beneath Dermot’s clothes and leather armor.

“I can also use a little magic.”
“Oh… a magic swordsman mercenary.”

Kyros was intrigued, but more curious about the audacity of demanding payment and visiting personally.

Reading the letter, his expression darkened. The sunlight streaming through the window couldn’t dispel the shadow on his face.

Kyros crumpled the letter in frustration, letting out a hollow laugh.

“I see why you wanted to deliver this personally.”

The letter contained details about guards controlling the harbor and information that Kyros had embezzled taxes. It suggested using the Platinum Guild to launder the stolen taxes and divide the money.

Kyros suppressed his rising anger.

“So you didn’t even trust Nerven, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Hm… a reasonable suspicion, but unnecessary. Nerven didn’t know about the embezzlement. Only my aide knew.”

Only the aide could have leaked the embezzlement information. Kyros let out a resigned laugh.

“I’m about to lose a competent person.”

The aide had been with him for ten years, helping even when Kyros killed his older brother to take the family headship. Yet he betrayed him.

If Nerven knew nothing about taxes, the aide knew nothing about the Platinum Guild. If he’d known about the Doomsday Cult alliance, he could have shaken Kyros badly with that leverage. Kyros felt relieved he hadn’t told the aide.

“Do you want something? I can grant anything within reason.”

Dermot thought the time had come. Kyros was completely unaware he had been deceived.

“I wish to become your sword, Count. Not just me, but with my mercenary group as well.”
“Become my sword?”
“Yes. I wish to rise higher under your command.”

Kyros tapped his desk with a finger. Dermot was ambitious, and Kyros judged he could manage him. He liked the confidence Dermot displayed, and the fact he was a magic swordsman added appeal.

“An unexpected answer,” Kyros said, standing and drawing his sword from a stand.

“Today’s youth lack ambition like yours. Especially Nerven—he’s talented but satisfied with his current skill. I don’t ask for loyalty from him; loyalty isn’t his strong suit.”

Kyros signaled, and Dermot knelt on one knee.

“As long as your blade points to my will…”

The sword touched Dermot’s left shoulder.

“I recognize you as my sword.”

It then touched his right shoulder.

“But remember, I am the hand that wields the sword.”

Kyros put the sword away. The warning was clear: have ambition, but do not oppose me.

“I will remember.”

Dermot bowed, fully aware that, despite the outward trust, he would be monitored and tested. Was he truly to become Kyros’ sword?

“Then your first command…” Kyros began.

At that moment, voices shouting outside interrupted. The door burst open without permission.

“Count!”