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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: I Wasn't Grateful At All
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"Good work."
"G-Good work to you too, sir!"
A resounding shout.
I nodded my head.
The battered street urchins stood at rigid attention, staring up at the sky.
Watching them like that...
'Fulfilling.'
It felt fulfilling.
Honestly, I hadn't been confident.
Over a dozen of them.
Each one had taken more than a hundred hits.
That added up to over two thousand strikes. How on earth was I supposed to dish all that out?
'And that's not all.'
These guys kept forgetting the count, like they were trying to screw me over.
By the time I'd recounted from the start each time, it probably exceeded two thousand easily.
But I did it.
'Handled it perfectly.'
I filled the exact numbers we'd planned, without a single shortfall.
Including the fifty-seven lashes the leader had taken the day before from his underlings—I generously multiplied that by ten for payback.
Even for me, a veteran Troubleshooter who'd seen every kind of battle except naval and aerial, this was a new challenge.
"Um, excuse me..."
A voice calling me snapped me out of my thoughts.
"What."
It was the leader.
"We, uh... can we go now? I think we've taken enough hits..."
"Yeah, go on."
But the leader was dawdling awkwardly.
"What's the holdup? Go."
"Um, well..."
"...?"
That's when the leader glanced toward one corner of the lot, looking troubled.
I immediately realized what he meant to say. In other words:
"This is our home..."
"You're telling us to leave?"
"..."
He clamped his mouth shut.
I looked at the street urchins.
They probably had nowhere else to go, even after sunset. Urchins or not, nobody likes sleeping on the streets.
But.
"That won't work."
It'd be tough.
"Um, yeah... I figured as much. Then we'll take our leave."
I didn't respond.
This wasn't about grudges.
'It's really tricky.'
Even I wasn't rotten enough to steal the home they were crashing in.
Instead...
I turned away from the dejected leader slinking off and gazed beyond the lot.
"..."
The lot was darkening.
Perhaps thanks to my purer mana from my past life. My realm was much lower now, but my senses were sharp.
And those senses told me.
Over there.
'Someone's there.'
An extremely refined presence.
Drawing closer by the second. Blistering speed. Yet it evaded notice, meaning utmost stealth.
In other words, the signature aura of those who operated in the shadows, like Troubleshooters.
'Probably...'
I glanced at Damian.
He was innocently waving at the departing urchins. One hand still in his mouth, utterly oblivious.
But it was clear.
'Pursuers.'
People chasing Damian.
'Tch.'
It left a bitter taste.
I'd been careful, but how did they find us? I hadn't expected the Blandoga Family to show up before the Decullans.
'Not good.'
Still, whatever. Things don't always go as planned.
I gauged my internal mana and considered my options.
'With this much mana...'
I couldn't manifest a single spell.
Hand-to-hand wouldn't work either.
But who am I? A former Troubleshooter. Mana scarcity was never an issue I'd bragged about, but I'd faced situations like this plenty.
'One shot, maybe.'
A faint blue haze bloomed at my fingertips.
So weak it was barely visible, but I condensed the mana haze.
The result: a mana bullet the size of a pinky nail. But that wasn't the end. Compress, compress, compress. Exactly eight compressions later.
The mana bullet shrank to the size of a millet grain.
'This'll do... plenty.'
One chance anyway.
Size doesn't matter if it pierces a vital spot.
Twang!
The pursuer burst from the bushes right then.
But for some reason.
"...?"
The pursuer dropped to his knees.
He was an elderly man with a bald head. He hit the ground knees-first at full speed, skidding forward.
Screeech—!
He slid across the dirt right up to Damian.
Then, abruptly bowing his head low.
"Oh, young master—!"
Damian jumped in surprise.
"Ah, Alfredo!"
"You have no idea how long I've been searching! Where on earth have you been hiding? This poor butler hasn't slept a wink worrying about you... Sob!"
I blinked in confusion at the incomprehensible scene.
'So...'
The bald man wasn't a pursuer. His aura had that shadowy quality, but from the conversation, he was clearly from the Blandoga Family.
'...Even the butler?'
I quietly took in the tearful reunion between the butler Alfredo and Damian.
And I understood.
"Get away!"
"No, sir! What if you run off again? I can't let go until you return to the family! Kill me if you must!"
"No way, I'm not going! I'm never going back home!"
Damian had run from no one else.
'...It was a runaway.'
Right. A runaway.
* * *
Come to think of it, Damian had said this:
- Why are you alone?
- I ran away. My family will come get me.
He never specified where he'd run from or who was chasing him.
I'd just assumed from his darkened expression.
'Who would've thought it meant running from his own family.'
Anyway, Damian headed back to his family.
Riding a carriage Alfredo had urgently procured, they sped away from the Black-White Slums.
But one lingering question...
"Oh, young master. What is that outfit? It doesn't suit your station!"
"No, it's uncomfortable."
Who was this, and where was I?
I sat in the rattling carriage, watching Damian bicker with the butler Alfredo.
Damian was in errand boy garb, which Alfredo clearly disapproved of.
But Damian's resolve was firm.
"No."
He squeezed his eyes shut and whipped his head away.
Alfredo stamped his feet helplessly, at a loss.
Whatever.
"..."
My mind was a fog.
'Why am I even here?'
That was the question.
Originally, I'd meant to protect Damian and forge ties with the Blandoga Family.
But since his "escape" was just a tantrum, they had no reason to summon me.
I'd planned to slip away discreetly...
I stared at the butler Alfredo.
- If it's alright, why not come along?
- ....
- Young Master Damian seems quite fond of the boy. He'd be sad if you left like this. Heh heh.
'Can't read his intentions.'
This wasn't the way of great houses.
Noble families typically shunned the filthy and disdained the lowly.
'Whatever.'
Grab a meal, then be on my way.
'The Blandoga estate is near the road to Hazen anyway.'
Hazen hosted Jenion Academy, hailed as the finest in the eastern continent. Its library, Rapiter, was the east's best too.
'I planned to visit someday. Might as well now.'
Good was good. I vaguely adjusted my mental route.
Since I'd decided to build a tower with the ultimate library, checking out the east's top one wasn't bad.
* * *
In the heart of the Blandoga estate, an old man made his way to the main residence where the patriarch and his wife resided.
Knock knock.
He'd come to the study of the Blandoga matriarch, the witch Bianca.
"Come in."
The old man cautiously opened the door and entered at the voice from within.
Creak, click.
As the door shut, Bianca's eyes at the desk turned to the old man—Alfredo.
Blood-red eyes.
"And Damian?"
"He was in the 7th Black-White Slums. Fetching him now."
"..."
Bianca's eyebrow twitched.
One second, two.
About three seconds later?
As Alfredo subtly retreated,
A deafening crash echoed.
Boom!
The desk shattered to splinters.
The antique furniture fragmented like sleet, scattering everywhere.
"The 7th Black-White Slums?!"
"Yes."
"Is Damian alright? Nothing happened to him, right? Speak! If even a hair on his head is harmed..."
"No, madam."
Black-White Slums.
Most think of destitute paupers huddled together.
But peel back that shabby veneer, and unimaginable worlds lurked within—among its countless facets.
That's why Bianca was furious.
"Please calm down and hear me out."
"...Out with it."
Alfredo relayed Damian's runaway tale as told in the carriage.
Full of "It was cold" and "I was hungry"—Damian's style—but Alfredo was fluent in it.
He unpacked it skillfully, even mixing in his own observations and guesses.
When the story ended.
"...Hm. So that's how it was."
Bianca regained her composure and sat.
No chair left, but wood sprouted from the earth to form one.
"Good."
"Quite fortunate, yes."
Fortunate for Bianca, and for whoever might've hurt Damian.
Bianca.
The once-blood witch, Blandoga matriarch, lost all measure when it came to her son.
No one knew how far her unpredictable rage might reach.
As Alfredo inwardly sighed in relief, Bianca smiled faintly.
"You've worked hard regardless."
"Not at all. Just doing my duty."
The young heir's runaway was a crisis warranting the family's entire magical task force.
But that risked drawing flies.
So the head butler Alfredo had searched discreetly for that reason.
As the crisis neared resolution, Alfredo spoke.
"One odd thing, though."
"Odd?"
"The friend he made this time."
"Aster, was it? What's with him?"
Bianca recalled Damian's runaway tale Alfredo had unpacked. The Black-White Slums urchin he'd met near the end.
The one brought back with him.
"That friend is a bit unusual."
"Unusual?"
"Yes. He sensed my presence."
"Hmm, your presence?"
Bianca raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"You're sure it wasn't a mistake?"
"No."
Alfredo recalled their first encounter.
'Definitely...'
Rushing joyfully upon spotting Young Master Damian. In the heat of the moment, he hadn't noticed, but looking back, something was off.
From the instant he'd burst from the bushes until reaching Damian.
Eyes never once leaving him.
And in that hand...
'A mana bullet.'
Dust-mote sized, easy to miss if not looking, but Alfredo's senses were sharp.
Meaning the boy had spotted him early and prepared a counterattack.
He hadn't been hiding his presence on purpose, but it was still impressive.
'Intriguing.'
Alfredo shared these thoughts with Bianca unreservedly.
"Impressive talent, certainly."
"So, madam. Might I ask a favor? I'd like to investigate the boy's past. If the patriarch's intelligence unit could assist..."
"Hm, and then?"
"If it's clean, I'd like him as my successor."
Bianca nodded.
"Do as you wish."
Alfredo had devoted decades to the family. Mobilizing the patriarch's intel unit for his chosen heir was fine.
Grateful, Alfredo bowed deeply.
"Yes, thank you."
In days, he'd know every detail of the boy who'd come with Young Master Damian.
And days later.
Alfredo visited the annex where Aster stayed.
"Boy, become my successor."
The intel report showed Aster's past was spotless.
Black-White Slums urchin—birth unknown—but he'd never left the slums young.
Confident in his offer, Alfredo never dreamed of refusal. After all, he was a great house's head butler.
Unimaginable income for commoners, plus prestige. Serving the patriarch up close meant real power.
Who'd turn that down!
...Or so he thought.
"Fuck off."
"...?"
Alfredo doubted his ears.
But no mistake.
"Fuck off? Fuck off? What's fuck off? Friend, what's fuck off?"
Young Master Damian, listening nearby, parroted it.
Yet the boy was brazen.
"Fuck off? Never heard of it. Did you hear that, butler? Of course not. Because I never said it. Ahem."
...He blabbered, then looked up with unprecedented politeness and said:
"Thank you truly. Your successor? But no thank you. I'm grateful—really—but I prefer things as they are. Oh, and thanks again."
He didn't look grateful at all.