Chapter 11
Training combined with healing magic was brutal, but the results were undeniable.
Within just a few days, I could feel my shoulders broadening and my limbs thickening.
And with three hearty meals of gukbap every day, it wasn’t just fat or swelling.
Thanks to the constant flood of healing magic, the mana inside my body had increased, though my rank hadn’t noticeably risen yet.
Someone who had spent his life avoiding training couldn’t expect a sudden leap in rank overnight.
Still, I should have no trouble with the lower ranks.
Lower ranks.
The first real wall stood between Rank 3 and Rank 4.
Before that, the difference between ranks wasn’t that big.
Swordsmen couldn’t draw out aura yet, and mages took so long to cast spells that they weren’t much of a threat.
With decent strength and a good eye, you could manage.
Crack.
I clenched my fist and the veins bulged across my hardened knuckles. The difference in power was obvious.
“You seem… busy these days,” Aemon said quietly.
“Ah. Yes, I am,” I replied.
Because the timing was awkward today, I had breakfast with Aemon instead of heading to the training hall.
As usual, the pot was filled with steaming gukbap.
It suits my taste perfectly. Maybe it’s not to everyone’s liking?
Aemon had tried it once out of curiosity, and his reaction wasn’t much different from Ilene’s.
Still, even his porridge contained plenty of meat.
“…You’re working hard,” he said.
For a moment I doubted my ears.
Since being stuck in Ian’s body, I hadn’t heard such gentle words.
But behind that tone was a hint of regret.
He thought his son had only just now decided to turn over a new leaf.
Why now of all times?
With the family’s future as fragile as a candle in the wind—when the Impera household might face ruin—why choose this moment to change?
Still, no parent could scold a son who finally seemed reformed.
Better late than never, even if late.
I could feel the swirl of Aemon’s complicated feelings in that single, short phrase.
“Is there anything you need? I’ll help however I can.”
He smiled warmly at me, a middle-aged father whose hair was already half gray.
Maybe because of the plain porridge in front of him, he looked even more pitiful.
Meat or not, porridge was still porridge.
Even if we’re poor, can’t we at least eat a little better? Anything besides porridge and bread?
That was the real bitterness of poverty—not just shabby clothes or a small house, but the meager food that left you begging for more.
And this was a count’s household.
A count living on porridge and bread just to save a few coins was far from pleasant.
“Not at the moment,” I said. “If something comes up, I’ll tell you.”
It’d be nice if he could get me some elixirs, but that’s a stretch for our territory.
“Hmm… very well. Let me know anytime.”
“Yes, Father.”
Aemon’s eyebrows twitched at that last word.
Ian might have been a wastrel, but to Aemon he was still a child.
He clearly wanted to do something—anything—for his suddenly responsible son.
He quietly spooned up his porridge with a faintly wistful look.
I also finished my bowl of gukbap in silence.
It tasted the same as always, yet today the aftertaste felt strangely empty.
Maybe because I ate with Aemon? …Something sweet and tart sounds good right now.
No matter how delicious a dish is, eating it every day gets dull.
It was time to look for something new.
“Sweet and sour… dessert, maybe.”
I remembered my childhood.
When I visited my grandmother in the countryside, she would always cut up fruit after meals, even when I was stuffed.
Back then I wondered why, but as I got older I understood.
A meal should end with something sweet.
We’d had enough meat lately.
Time to hunt down dessert.
Prrrhh!
“Good work,” I said as we arrived just after noon, thanks to the horse.
The poor creature snorted heavily after hours of running.
The Impera family owned only one horse—so poor for a count’s domain.
Half-starved and bony, it barely had the strength to carry me this far.
With people barely eating, how could the animals fare better?
It was a miracle it managed.
“Gasp!”
“Isn’t that the Impera Count’s son?”
“What’s someone like him doing here…?”
Dressed in Ian’s usual fine clothes instead of rags, I was recognized immediately.
“Y-Young master!”
The village chief of Errebel hurried toward me, a man well past seventy with snow-white hair and dirt still on his hands from work.
Despite looking frail enough to be bedridden, he bowed low before my horse.
Apparently Ian had once used that bent-over old man as a footstool.
Unbelievable.
Tap.
I jumped down alone, and the chief tilted his head but said nothing.
“This is Errebel, correct?”
“Yes! That’s right!”
“Good. I found the place.”
The trip had been rough with no proper roads.
“But, young master… what brings you to such a humble place?”
“I’m looking for something.”
“Ah, of course. Whatever you command, we’ll obey.”
The villagers sneaked glances at me but kept their distance.
Ian’s reputation as a tyrant preceded him, and no one wanted trouble.
Among them, one person stood out.
“Ah!”
A young man hauling a cart of fruit went pale the instant he saw me, sucking in a sharp breath.
The drunkard who had once shouted insults about me at the tavern.
This time he was sober, and instead of a flushed face, he looked bloodless.
“Been a while, huh?”
“Ugh…!”
“Your name was… Ram, right?”
The chief’s startled voice came from behind.
“You… you know my grandson?”
“Ah! He’s your grandson? Small world.”
Ram froze on the spot, unable to move.
If he ran, I’d catch him; if he approached, who knew what I’d do.
Not that I planned anything.
Talking behind someone’s back is common—especially when the target is a wastrel like Ian.
Not badmouthing him would be stranger.
“I’ve committed a grave sin, my lord!” Ram stammered, collapsing to his knees.
“A grave sin?!”
The chief’s face twisted in shock.
“What mistake has my grandson made? I’ll punish him myself. I won’t let your noble hands be sullied!”
The chief pretended to defend me, but his true meaning was clear:
He’s offended you, but please forgive him—I’ll handle the punishment.
“It’s nothing. I went for a drink, and someone there was happily bad-mouthing me. Because of that, I couldn’t even have a proper glass of water.”
“T-that’s…”
The chief’s face darkened. Insulting a noble was a serious crime, and with Ian as the victim, forgiveness was unlikely.
He rushed to plead.
“It’s my fault for raising him poorly! Take me instead—”
“Enough.”
“If my old life can satisfy you, then—what?”
“Honestly. Why is everyone so extreme? It’s fine. I just want a quick word with him, that’s all.”
“R-really…?”
“Yeah. Go on.”
The chief closed his eyes tightly, thinking I meant harm.
“I’ll send him back soon. Don’t worry.”
“Are… are you sure?”
“You. Come here,” I said to Ram.
“Y-yes, sir!”
I dismissed the anxious chief and called Ram over.
Better to talk with a young man than keep hearing “young master” from an elderly one.
“Ram.”
“Yes, my lord!”
“Tell me about Errebel. I’m not well informed about the territory.”
“Uh…”
“Quickly.”
“Y-yes, of course…”
Ram, desperate to live, explained everything in detail: the main sources of income, how taxes were collected.
Being the chief’s grandson, he knew it all.
“Hmm. And where do you usually gather fruit?”
“Mostly from this mountain. There’s a grove of fruit trees we prune regularly.”
Harvesting itself wasn’t a problem.
Wild animals or monsters appeared now and then, but hunters kept them in check.
The real problems were twofold.
First, it was hard to sell the fruit.
They could only sell within the poor Impera domain, where prices stayed low.
Traveling to neighboring territories was difficult.
This wasn’t the 21st century with internet and paved roads.
Here, swords and magic ruled.
No internet, and certainly no proper roads to a remote village like this.
No wonder the tax revenue is pathetic.
On top of that, there were bandits.
Naturally, money rarely circulated in Errebel.
A complete mess.
Collecting taxes in coin was convenient, but maybe it was time for a change.
As we walked, I spotted a fruit tree.
Red fruit gleamed, clearly well tended.
“This it?”
“Yes! The pride of Errebel—Redfin.”
“Redfin.”
Strange name. The skin was red, but the soft flesh wasn’t like an apple…
“Can I try one?”
“Of course, my lord. This is your land after all. Ha…ha.”
He seemed to misunderstand something, but I let it slide.
Crunch!
Juice burst out as I bit through the skin.
Sweet and tangy enough to tingle my tongue—almost like an orange.
Wow… this is good.
Gukbap was tasty, but I’d grown tired of it.
This refreshing fruit brightened not just my palate but my mood.
This would do nicely—perfect to accept as tax in kind.
If Aemon agrees, anyway…
He probably would. The current tax brought in so little money anyway.
“Do more Redfins grow deeper inside?”
“Actually…” Ram hesitated.
“What is it?”
“Further in, Bluefin trees grow. They’re sweeter and more fragrant than Redfin.
But… creatures appear there often…”
“Creatures?” I asked.
Ram nodded grimly.
For powerless villagers, it was unavoidable.
But for me? Different story.
If Bluefin tasted even better than Redfin…
“Let’s go.”
“Eh?”
“I said let’s go. I want to taste this Bluefin.”
