Chapter 52
Trapped in a Damn Game
The basement of the Aslan Count’s mansion.
In a space where it was impossible to tell whether it was day or night, agonizing screams echoed relentlessly.
“Ughhh…”
A man was suspended in the air, arms and legs spread, bound by thick chains.
His fingernails and toenails had been ripped off completely.
His body was covered in burns, marked by whipping and branding.
The man’s eyes rolled back as his head drooped limply.
“Potion.”
Nerven reached out to the servant behind him.
In the blood-scented room, the knight casually cracked open a peanut. He picked up one of the scattered potions from the table and handed it over.
Grabbing the potion, Nerven seized the man’s hair and tilted his head back. Then he shoved a palm-sized bottle into the man’s mouth.
Although the small bottle was worth dozens of gold, Nerven poured it in without hesitation. Empty bottles already stacked beside him showed he had no concern for cost.
“Ugh! Ugh…”
The man’s eyes, which had been rolled back, returned to normal.
Seeing the man’s wounds rapidly heal, Nerven roughly pulled the bottle from his mouth.
“I told you. This won’t end until you tell me whose orders you were following.”
Nerven handed the remaining potion bottles to the knight. In his other hand, once holding a bottle, now glowed a red-hot branding iron.
“Even the potions I brought here are just a fraction. Don’t fool yourself into thinking this will end today.”
“P-please… don’t…”
The man’s eyes darted at the branding iron, now approaching his face. Fear from repeated pain made him thrash violently.
Thinking he would soon hear the answer he wanted, Nerven moved the branding iron without hesitation.
Crackle—
“AAAHH!”
The basement resounded with the man’s agonized screams and the clanging of chains.
Watching the scene, another man trembled violently. His usually neat hair was disheveled, his pale face tense as he hung from chains—the count’s aide.
“B-Count… why are you doing this all of a sudden?”
Kailos, seated and waiting for the tortured man to speak, muttered softly:
“Aren’t you smart? Think carefully.”
“….”
“You’ve been close for a long time, so you know me well. Just as I know everything about you.”
The aide bit his lower lip, deep in thought.
Could it be… I’ve been caught?
He had been helping Kailos siphon taxes to his own account. He now feared he had been discovered.
Damn. How did he find out…? No, I need to figure out how to get out of this situation first.
In his mind, the money he had set aside for himself was only 50 gold—just the price of one or two of the potions Nerven had poured. To Kailos, it was mere pocket change. He wouldn’t kill him over this.
Maybe… he’s giving me a chance.
Seeing that he was simply hung up with no further tortures, the aide believed Kailos was offering him an opportunity: a chance to confess and seek forgiveness.
Having observed Kailos all this time, he seemed like the kind of person who would allow such a chance. If he missed it, he would end up like the bloodied man before him.
Resolving his thoughts, the aide bowed his head and spoke:
“I’m sorry! I was blinded by money! Living under your grace, I shouldn’t have done this… sniff!”
He slammed his forehead repeatedly against the stone floor.
“I dared to stab the Count in the back! I deserve to die!”
Thunk! Thunk! Thwack!
The stone floor was stained red with blood. The pain in his forehead was excruciating.
That should be enough to show remorse, he thought.
Why doesn’t he stop me…?
Finally unable to bang his head further, he cautiously lifted it. And met…
Kailos’ cold gaze, sword drawn.
“Count…”
Without hesitation, Kailos swung the sword. The aide’s head, briefly lifted, fell back to the floor. He would never lift it again.
“Yes. You deserve to die.”
Swallowing the surge of anger, Kailos wiped the blood from his sword.
“…I hoped this wasn’t true.”
Kailos hadn’t interrogated the aide earlier, hoping the betrayal wasn’t real. But now the aide had confessed. He could no longer ignore it. Every word in the letter Dermot brought was true.
Kailos muttered bitterly:
“This one, that one… I can’t trust anyone.”
At his side, there had always been only two types: the loyal but incompetent, or the capable but disloyal. His once-trusted aide was now gone. Kailos needed someone both trustworthy and capable. Desperately.
Moonlight softly filtered into the Count’s study.
Tap, tap.
Kailos drummed his fingers on the armrest, deep in thought.
“Count.”
“Enter.”
Nerven opened the door and stepped into the study. Dried blood stained his hands and armor.
“As you ordered, I moved the young lady to the annex. I instructed the maids and doctor not to disclose her condition.”
Evelia’s condition had visibly improved, yet the shadow on Kailos’ face remained.
“Count Hermant… he wants to settle this with me himself.”
The name revealed after interrogation pointed to another eastern count, Hermant.
“To do this just because I refused a marriage proposal…”
The three great eastern families—Aslan, Hermant, and Volkiren—were pillars of the region. Hermant and Volkiren vied for dominance, while Aslan maintained neutrality.
But after a recent bloodshed weakened the Aslan house, Hermant had shown his teeth, hoping to expand his power through a political marriage. Kailos refused such a transparent ploy.
“Prevent the poison from spreading, but leak word to the household staff that Evelia’s condition is critical. Make sure it reaches Count Hermant’s ears.”
“Yes, but what will you do about Hermant?”
Hermant had crossed a line. Kailos had resolved to do the same. The balance of the east collapsed today.
“Show him that he’s crossed a line he shouldn’t have. Isn’t that what you want too?”
Nerven nodded silently.
“Gather the knights out on missions quietly.”
“Understood.”
Kailos took a sip of the whiskey before him. Normally enjoyable, today it tasted unusually bitter.
“Tch… now that Harman is dead, the church will likely send people. This is going to be troublesome.”
He stood and walked to the window.
“A mercenary named Dermot wants to work for me.”
“From brief observation, he seems capable.”
“If you say so. But better to be sure, so gather information on him.”
Looking out the window, Kailos swirled his whiskey glass.
“Huh… mercenaries are better than the family knights.”
On the moonlit training ground, mercenaries, not family knights, were training. Kailos muttered curiously:
“Why are they just running continuously?”
The training ground was filled with labored breathing. Exhausted mercenaries lay on the ground.
“One minute’s up. Everyone, get up.”
Dermot’s expressionless face commanded them.
“What? Already…?”
“Damn. If I run one more time I’m going to puke…”
“My legs won’t move…”
The mercenaries reluctantly rose, sluggishly.
“We haven’t even done half a lap yet.”
After over twenty laps, not even half? The mercenaries froze in shock. They were training to increase agility and stamina, at full speed.
“The last-place runner does one extra lap. Start.”
Without any signal, the mercenaries bolted. The first to react was Kyle. The slowest…
“Agh… why am I doing this?!”
Silphia, completely exhausted, could barely run.
“You need some stamina to survive, even as a mage.”
“…Wouldn’t it be easier just to burn them all?”
Silphia muttered, but Dermot ignored her. Already moving like a sluggish creature, she was clearly in last place.
“Captain… how long do we have to do this?”
From behind, Dermot glanced at the one asking. Levin swung his sword at a falling leaf, Walter handled a longsword, Kyle specialized in daggers. Next best for the “Flash Sword Technique” was Levin.
“Until I say stop.”
He focused on the leaf before him.
[Teaching Levin the ‘Flash Sword Technique’]
[To gain mastery, complete the following condition:]
[Cut falling leaves (8/1000)]
Levin had seen this in the skill book. In an hour, he had cut only eight. It would take days to meet the requirement.
“No… what does this have to do with swordsmanship?”
“Just cut a thousand leaves. You’ll understand naturally.”
“I think my shoulder’s going to break before that.”
“Then finish before it does.”
“….”
Levin exhaled and scattered leaves into the air.
Low-ranking knight Jeron, returning urgently from a mission under the Count’s summons, found the training ground.
Having successfully completed his first mission, he was excited to boast to his fellow trainees. Among his peers, he had been the last to become a squire but the fastest to become a knight.
“Hey! I’m back!”
“Ah! Jeron… no, Sir Jeron!”
“We missed you!”
“Hmm…?”
Jeron raised his eyebrows in confusion.
“Why do your faces look like that? Did the instructor do this?”
The squires’ faces were swollen like pufferfish, angry and exhausted. Occasionally, instructors pushed trainees hard, but this was extreme.
“Well…”
One squire glanced at a part of the training ground. Jeron followed his gaze.
A group he had never seen before. Neither knights, soldiers, nor squires.
“Those are mercenaries brought by Sir Nerven.”
A squire he had known from training days explained. His face was nearly unrecognizable.
“Could those mercenaries have done this?”
“They used the training ground without permission, so we tried to stop them…”
Who would ask permission from mere squires?
“So they were just causing trouble.”
“….”
Being part of the prestigious Aslan house, the squires were all from noble families. Likely overconfident, they underestimated the battle-hardened mercenaries.
“Huh… annoying.”
Jeron scratched the back of his head. Unlike the others, he was from a commoner background, with no influential backing. He had learned to look out for himself. In a few years, most around him would become the next generation of knights. Creating some debts for these mercenaries wouldn’t be bad.
He walked toward the mercenaries resting in the shaded corner.
“Who’s in charge here?”
All looked menacing. The red-haired mercenary scanned Jeron head to toe. Jeron instinctively recognized him as the leader.
“Did you make my friends like this?”
The red-haired mercenary shook his head, then shouted:
“Dermot! The knight who’s friends with the squires wants you!”
“Why does everyone want to see me today?”
A blond man approached across the training ground, frowning. His fierce presence made Jeron realize something was seriously wrong.
