"What in the—!?"
"My gods!"
At the sight of a full-grown man being launched into the air, the Valdeck knights who had been chasing the fugitives cried out in shock and came to a halt.
The black-hooded man, left floating helplessly in midair, spun twice before finally slamming into the ground.
Thud—crash
"Ughhh!"
By ill luck—or perhaps good—he landed on his back rather than his head, sparing his life, but the impact knocked him unconscious on the spot.
Lucian glanced back and forth between the fallen man and his own sword, now cracked, and clicked his tongue.
"Tsk. It was a good sword, too."
Sending him flying with brute force was one thing, but he hadn't expected the blade itself to break.
He had deliberately chosen a fairly high-quality weapon, thinking it would hold up just fine—but it seemed the enemy's weapon had been of comparable quality.
Without hesitation, Lucian discarded the broken sword and looked toward the frozen Valdeck knights.
"What are you standing around for? He's still alive—bind him!"
"…And who might you be?"
"Lucian Valdeck. Do you truly serve my father and still not recognize my face?"
"Th-Third Young Master!? M–my apologies!"
The knight captain, who had been frowning at the sudden order, hurriedly bowed his head upon hearing Lucian's identity.
He immediately ordered the knights beside him to bind the man.
Looking around, it seemed the Black Lions had also finished subduing all the fugitives.
"Young master!"
Hugo, who had followed after Lucian a beat too late, looked utterly horrified.
"What were you thinking!? That could have gone terribly wrong!"
"Don't worry. I didn't act without thinking—I calculated it."
"Calculated it? You didn't even know the enemy's level of skill!"
"In mounted combat, unless the opponent is exceptionally skilled, their options are pretty obvious."
When two sides collide head-on in mounted combat, there aren't many viable attack methods.
Since neither can brace themselves against the ground, a misstep can result in being thrown from the saddle by the rebound alone.
On top of that, the sheer speed makes it difficult to use any refined techniques.
At best, they can try to stab or slash with precise timing—but trying to thrust with a short sword from a charging horse, rather than a long spear, usually just gets you countered.
That left only one option: slashing at the exact moment and riding past.
All Lucian had done was swing his sword at precisely that instant.
When blades clash, the one who can unleash explosive strength in that moment has the advantage.
Considering the purity of his mana and Felicia's techniques, there was no chance Lucian would be overpowered.
Seriously, this body is incredible. If I'd tried the same thing with my old body, I'd have been sore with muscle pain for a full day. Now I don't even feel a twinge.
Lucian was once again marveling at the performance of his blessed body when—
"Long time no see."
With a heavy voice, a man with dark crimson hair appeared on horseback.
Seeing that the man looked exactly as he remembered, Lucian immediately bowed his head.
"Yes. It truly has been a long time, Elder Brother."
Tristan Valdeck.
The First Young Master of House Valdeck, known for his hair color inherited through the maternal line.
He didn't resemble the grand duke the most in appearance, but no one stood closer to the position of next head of the family than he did.
Tristan looked at Lucian with his characteristically cold expression and spoke.
"There's much I need to say, but for now, let's head inside the castle. We'll talk in detail on the way."
Lucian's party followed Tristan and the knights under his command toward Bornholm Castle.
The area around the castle was well maintained, but the expressions of the residents watching them were tinged with an unidentifiable anxiety.
"The atmosphere doesn't seem very good."
"Recently, the soldiers have clashed with the mercenaries a few times. It was nothing serious, but even that much seems to have unsettled them."
"They can't tell whether it's truly nothing or a sign that things might escalate. They're probably thinking it could spiral into large-scale bloodshed if things go wrong."
"Ridiculous."
When Lucian voiced the residents' concerns, Tristan frowned in irritation.
"There will be no bloodshed. If anything happens, I and the knights will simply wipe out those ignorant mercenaries like vermin. Conflicts only arise between opponents of equal standing. It's frustrating that those fools alone don't understand that."
Judging from the restrained fury in his voice, it seemed Tristan had built up quite a bit of resentment toward the mercenaries.
Lucian moved closer to him and spoke in a low voice.
"Are the mercenaries really that uncooperative?"
"It's more than just disobedience. They're flat-out ignoring orders. Do you know who the ones you and the Black Lions captured were?"
"Who?"
"Members of the Imperial Liberation Front. We caught them roaming around this area."
At that, Lucian's expression hardened slightly.
Even though their existence was already known, they had been openly wandering near the castle?
That meant the security net was riddled with holes.
It was unthinkable that those belonging to House Valdeck would be lax in their watch—so the cause had to be the mercenaries slacking off.
"It sounds absurd, but my elite forces are deployed to high-risk zones, leaving me no room to even watch over the grounds right in front of Bornholm. That's why I assigned the mercenaries to guard the safer, better-fortified areas, but…"
"They're staging a protest, refusing to move until they're paid more."
"Exactly. Honestly, I feel like hanging every last one of them by the neck on the castle walls. They're demanding more money when the area isn't even dangerous? Vile mercenary scum!"
Grind.
The sound of Tristan grinding his teeth rang clearly.
Anyone would be furious if mercenaries refused to work despite being assigned to relatively safe areas.
But from Lucian's perspective, a large part of the responsibility for this situation lay with Tristan himself.
You made it far too obvious that you're short on manpower. Mercenaries would never miss such a perfect chance to raise their price.
And avoiding dangerous zones entirely when assigning them was a bad move, too.
Mercenaries were, by definition, hired to take on dangerous work in exchange for pay.
So deliberately keeping them away from risky areas?
That was practically an announcement that there were dangers severe enough that even mercenaries shouldn't be exposed to them.
Under such circumstances, why would they feel grateful for being placed somewhere "safe"?
It would only look like they were being kept in reserve to be thrown out en masse when a real crisis erupted.
And Tristan himself was probably considering that possibility as well. The real problem was that he underestimated the mercenaries, thinking they wouldn't be able to read the situation.
A seasoned mercenary surpassed even wily nobles when it came to survival instincts.
If they sensed danger in an employer's schemes, they would either pull out immediately or demand compensation commensurate with the risk.
From an employer's perspective, it might seem like shameless behavior, but for mercenaries, it was only natural.
"The situation may be difficult, but I don't expect much from you. You were probably pushed down here halfway by Jordi and Joshua anyway."
Having finished his explanation, Tristan spoke quietly.
It wasn't an attempt to ease the burden, nor was it a sneer tinged with contempt—it was spoken with genuine sincerity.
"Go and keep an eye on the mercenaries, and stop them if they try to run. If you're nominally in command, they won't act too rashly. In the end, once their lives are truly in danger, they'll fight regardless of the pay."
In other words, he was telling Lucian to serve as little more than a human shield to prevent desertion.
At the statement—delivered not even as an order but as a notice—Lucian let out a hollow laugh.
Just how lightly did Tristan think of him to say something like this?
"I believe you're mistaken about a few things, Elder Brother."
"Mistaken?"
"First, I wasn't pushed down here—I volunteered. Second, unlike you, I have a way to resolve this situation. Third, I've already secured financial support from Father specifically for negotiations."
At those words, Tristan's impassive expression finally cracked.
The first and second points could be brushed aside, but the third was impossible to ignore.
"Father entrusted you with the negotiations?"
"Yes. This is the letter Father sent to you."
Tristan swiftly snatched the letter from Lucian's coat.
After checking the seal impressed on it, he immediately began reading—and as his eyes moved down the page, his expression shifted moment by moment.
"…It really is Father's handwriting."
"After checking the seal on the letter, you're even verifying the handwriting?"
"What happened while I was gone?"
"Well, various things."
Lucian shrugged and gave a vague answer.
Unless it was the grand duke himself, he felt no obligation to explain every detail to Tristan.
After staring at Lucian for a moment, Tristan eventually nodded with a subtle expression.
"Very well. If Father has approved it, I have no grounds to object. Do as you please. However—"
As Tristan raised his voice sharply, a chilling light flashed in his eyes.
Unlike the other two brothers, this was the killing intent of someone who had personally stained his hands with blood.
"If you harm the family out of some petty desire for recognition, I will not forgive you. Even if Father does, you will pay the price. Do you understand?"
At Tristan's words—spoken as though he were already the head of the family—Lucian let out a faint chuckle.
Without blinking, he met Tristan's gaze and replied calmly.
"I'm not foolish enough to diminish what I'm meant to receive."
Caught off guard by the answer, Tristan was left blinking, momentarily at a loss for words.
Though phrased indirectly, it was nothing short of a declaration that the position of head of the family belonged to him.
After a brief silence, Tristan quietly pointed in a direction.
"…The mercenaries are staying at the Kingfisher Inn near the central fountain. If you intend to negotiate with them, go there."
"Thank you for the information. I'll return shortly with good news."
Lucian immediately turned his horse toward the central fountain.
Hugo and the five Black Lions assigned as his escort followed after him.
Watching Lucian's retreating figure, Tristan's expression grew exceedingly complex.
How can a person change that much?
That had been killing intent enough to make an untested greenhorn wet himself.
Yet Lucian had faced it head-on and responded with such composure.
The image of the boy who used to tremble like a deer back when Tristan still lived at the estate now seemed like a lie.
No—it's still too early to draw conclusions.
No matter how bold he appeared, this could simply be a matter of confidence rather than true ability.
It might be a temporary phenomenon born of self-intoxication, a bravado detached from reality.
Only if he produced tangible results in this negotiation would his true colors be revealed.
But if he returned with outcomes worthy of that confidence—
…Then a new rival, one capable of threatening my claim to the next headship, may have emerged.
The moment they put some distance between themselves and Tristan, Raymond—who had been hanging back—stepped forward.
The look on his face suggested he had plenty to say.
"Third Young Master, may I have a word with you?"
"We don't have time. Let's do it later—I'm busy right now."
"No. This needs to be now. What on earth was that back there, stepping onto the front line?"
"It was an extremely efficient move, wasn't it? Thanks to that, we caught them all. A perfect outcome."
"Results aren't everything! If you'd suffered a serious injury just then—!"
"Fortunately, my body is perfectly fine. Let's not ruin a good mood by assuming the worst and just move on."
"Third Young Master!"
Raymond barked sharply, but Lucian ignored him and casually scratched his ear.
If something similar happened again, he would step in just like this anyway.
Rather than promising he wouldn't do it again and then breaking that promise, it was better not to make one at all.
"All right, quiet down. You can see the fountain up ahead. If the mercenaries see us bickering like this, what do you think they'll think? They'll laugh at us for not even being able to keep our own people in line."
"…!"
"So let's talk later, when things are calmer. For now, isn't it best to show a united front?"
At Lucian's easygoing tone, Raymond ground his teeth, but since it wasn't wrong, he took a deep breath and stepped back.
Even so, he didn't forget to leave one last remark.
"I'll let it slide this time, but if you pull something like that again, I'll follow you all the way to the latrine. I'll watch to make sure you don't do anything dangerous even while wiping your backside—so be prepared."
"…That's kind of terrifying."
Faced with such a disturbingly realistic threat, Lucian shuddered.
Coming from Raymond and the Black Lions, it sounded like something they would actually do.
Thinking that he'd need to placate them later, Lucian pushed open the inn's door.
And as the scene inside came into view, he frowned and muttered,
"What a mess."
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