"...Are you always this insolent?" The Duke leaned forward, eyes narrowing. He was truly astonished—was this brat not afraid of him at all?
"I'm only telling the truth, Your Grace." Robin's voice was calm, but steady enough to strike deeper than arrogance.
"Well, you have fully captured my attention." Galan's tone was sharp, his patience thinning. "You say I cannot move against you, yet you also claim to need me to balance the stakes against your family. How exactly do you plan to achieve this?
Do you imagine I'll seat you on my lap, give you two hundred gold coins a month, and even risk the Duchy of Alton's ire for nothing? I could just as easily kill you here or deliver you to the Altons in exchange for far greater benefits."
"That's what I wanted to hear." Robin's lips curled, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous kind of hope. "Now we can truly talk. I have something you want."
"Hah!" The Duke threw his head back, his laughter booming. "What could you, a thirteen-year-old boy, possibly have that I, a Duke, do not?"
"Don't forget, Your Grace—you came here to demand my White Candle Technique. Do not underestimate me. Underestimating me has its consequences." Robin's voice grew heavier, serious enough that even Mila's brow furrowed.
"You're not amusing in the slightest," Galan snapped, irritation rising. "Enough with games. Show me what else you claim to have."
"I have this." Robin slipped a palm-sized piece of beast hide from his pocket. To the naked eye, it was plain and unremarkable save for a simple flame drawn at its center with the number 6 etched within.
The Duke reached for it immediately, his instincts warning him. His eyes widened as he turned it in his hand. The scrap of hide pulsed faintly, exuding a fiery pressure. "This… This isn't normal. What beast did this come from?"
"Oh, that?" Robin shrugged casually. "Just the hide of a Red Horned Rabbit. You'll find them in any beast zone, crawling around in the hundreds."
Galan's eyes snapped up, fury flashing. "Impossible! How can the skin of such a trivial creature release this kind of power? Boy, if you dare try to fool me—"
Robin chuckled. "Hehe, patience. This isn't the moment to be shocked. Lady Mila, do you happen to have a training ground nearby? A large, open space will do."
Mila blinked at the odd request, then slowly nodded. "Yes, I do."
"Perfect. Then let's go." Robin rose from his seat, gesturing lightly at the Duke as if inviting him to a game.
"Heh~ Very well. Let's see what kind of trick you're hiding." Galan stood and led the way.
The training ground stretched a hundred square meters behind Mila's estate. It was built for her personal guard—five hundred soldiers drilled to elite precision, all of them between levels six and ten. For a noble family, such a private force was formidable. Ordinary armies could only dream of producing soldiers above the third or fourth level.
"Clear the ground at once," Mila commanded.
Not a single man disobeyed. In an instant, the troops fell back and lined themselves in two silent rows along the edges of the field. The air grew taut with discipline.
Robin whistled. "Impressive order."
"Hmph," Galan grunted. "Enough flattery. Do what you came to do."
"Haha, very well. But keep your eyes on the hide, Your Grace."
Robin pushed a trickle of energy into the rabbit skin. Immediately, the flimsy scrap hardened into something rigid enough to cut like steel. Without ceremony, he tossed it into the center of the field.
Every eye followed its arc—Mila, Galan, Brown, the soldiers. Even Caesar leaned forward, curiosity written across his usually stoic face.
Then Robin raised his hand and made a simple gesture.
BOOOOOOM!
The field erupted. A deafening explosion shook the ground, flames bursting outward. The shockwave pushed several soldiers back despite their level, and a blackened crater now smoldered where the hide had landed.
Gasps spread like wildfire. Mila's hands flew to her mouth. Brown's eyes widened. Even Galan froze for a heartbeat.
"What was that?!" one commander barked, stunned. "How could so much energy be packed into a scrap of rabbit hide?!"
"The blast is at least equal to a full-force strike from a sixth-level cultivator…" another muttered.
"But those at the sixth level cannot even wield laws in combat!"
"You're right. And yet the destruction is broader, sharper… this is something entirely new."
"Gods, a single hide could cripple or kill twenty soldiers in one blast!" one of the elite captains roared, unable to hide his awe.
The Duke himself could not mask his intrigue. His heart thundered in his chest. "…So. It's true, then. You really are the creator of that White Candle.
But tell me—why would a single piece of hide compare to the value of your law technique? Yes, it is strange, even revolutionary. But the explosion's strength was only that of a sixth-level. Hardly worth—"
His voice cut off, realization striking like lightning. "Unless…"
Robin smirked, satisfied. "Unless I can produce more. In bulk. I can manufacture these hides endlessly. Imagine it, Your Grace: sell them to the spoiled sons of nobles desperate for safety, or arm your soldiers with them and watch your armies swell in power. Use them for ambushes, sieges, assassinations… The possibilities are limitless.
And no matter what you choose, they will yield far more than anything you could wring from my White Candle."
The Duke's breath quickened. His eyes gleamed like stars. He saw it—the armies of Bradley armed with living explosives, the coffers of nobles drained dry to purchase such marvels, the power to challenge duchies themselves. His skin prickled with exhilaration.
"…How many can you give me per month? And what's the price?"
"I'll supply you with a hundred a month," Robin said smoothly. "Each at twenty gold coins."
"That's outrageous!" Galan barked. "I could buy good slaves for that price!"
Robin's laugh was sharp. "Can you buy a twenty-coin slave who could wipe out twenty enemies at once? Tell me where, and I'll buy a hundred myself! Think, Duke. With these talismans, you can conquer lands and then resell a portion to cover your costs. No matter how you calculate it, you'll never lose."
The Duke hesitated, chewing the words. "…And when the royal family demands answers? What happens when they ask how such items suddenly appeared?"
"Simple." Robin shrugged. "Sell them a share. Tell them you discovered an eccentric researcher who wants to stay anonymous, and that you are merely the middleman bringing them to market. Everyone profits. No one complains."
Galan studied him, suspicion mingling with respect. "What are you, really?"
Robin laughed lightly. "Didn't I already tell you? Just a crazy researcher."
"…You could have lied," Galan pressed. "You could have said you had a mysterious master who granted you these treasures. I would have believed you. I might have even tried to use you to build ties with him. Why admit it's your own work?"
Every eye turned to Robin. Even Mila's gaze sharpened with genuine curiosity. Only Caesar smirked faintly—he already knew the answer.
"Why," Robin said, voice ringing clear, "would I give credit for my sweat and blood to a ghost I invented? If you're stupid enough to kill me after seeing all this, then I die. That's your loss. Not mine. Not just yours—the world's loss." He leaned back and laughed, a wild sound that filled the field.
For a moment, silence reigned. Then even Galan chuckled despite himself. Mila's lips twitched upward. The soldiers murmured, awe creeping into their voices. This boy's arrogance was boundless—but it was the arrogance of someone who could back it up.
"Very well," Mila finally said, smirking. "What do you call them? We can't just keep saying those strange hides, can we?"
Robin tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm… let's call them Talismans."