Chapter 12
I began to doubt whether my attack had failed.
But in the next instant, the goblin’s dagger split clean in two.
A line of blood appeared across the creature’s face, running all the way down to its chest.
The goblin froze in place for a moment.
Just as its mouth began to part slightly, its body toppled to the side.
Thud!
The goblin fell like a stone, stiff as a corpse.
‘This energy..…?’
I heard Sir Brown’s voice calling from afar.
“Master Louis!”
“Brown, over here! Guard me!”
Leaving those words behind, I fell on the ground.
When I killed the goblin with the mark on its forehead, I felt a surge of unprecedented energy.
I couldn’t immediately identify its nature, but I instinctively knew—it would grant me immense strength.
I began circulating aura.
‘Hah!’
Sure enough, a tremendous force rushed into me.
I had slain a group of goblins before this one, but there was no way that alone could have produced such a surge of energy.
I closed my mouth and focused on refining the aura.
I had to make this power mine—whatever it took.
‘Are these the goblin’s memories? Or its emotions?’
As the energy stormed into me, fragments of memory surfaced.
A weird forest scene—one I’d never experienced at House Breio or the House Hebron.
–I’ve been waiting for you, Louis.
Darkness approached.
Beyond it, a flickering light shimmered.
The light reached out and touched my forehead.
Ssssss!
“Gaaaah!”
A scream tore from my throat. I wanted to move, but I couldn’t even twitch a finger.
It wasn’t reality. It was the goblin’s memory.
Someone had carved that mark into the goblin’s forehead.
And in the center of that mark—there was a single fingerprint.
* * *
“Are you all right, my lord?”
When I opened my eyes, it wasn’t just Sir Brown—Hebron soldiers had gathered around me.
The sun was already high in the sky.
I must’ve been sitting for at least five or six hours. My body ached all over.
‘What is this aura…?’
The aura in my dantian had expanded far beyond anything I’d had before. With this level of power, Inferno could’ve wiped out all the goblins on its own, without me lifting a finger.
‘...Trickster. Was this your doing?’
Trickster—the god from the fairy tale I’d read right before dying in my previous life.
Neither good nor evil, a neutral figure entangled with <The Book That Grants Wishes>.
I’d thought it was just fiction.
‘But the mark on the goblin’s forehead… it clearly represents the Trickster.’
For the first time, I began to wonder—what if those old myths and stories were real?
And I was the proof.
I crossed the river of death and became Louis de Hebron.
Only a god could do such a thing.
The one who resurrected me… and the one who sent these monstrous creatures to this world… they were both divine.
The Trickster—god of chaos, cast out by both good and evil deities.
If he’s the one who’s set the board… then no other god can predict what happens next.
Just as in the ancient legends, it may take both gods of light and darkness combined to seal him away.
“Is something troubling you, my lord?”
“Sir Brown. Have you ever seen a mark like this?”
Brown peered at the mark etched into the goblin’s forehead.
“I have not. Do you recognize it, my lord?”
“It just feels… familiar. Bring this creature’s corpse back to the estate. I want it dissected.”
“You—you perform dissections too, my lord?”
Dissection was not something knights or lords typically engaged in. That was the domain of healers… or mad mages.
“No. This’ll be my first. Next time I run into something like this, I can’t afford to be caught off guard again. Even if it’s excessive, I want to be fully prepared.”
* * *
“The world’s grown dangerous. You must take care. And always stand tall… You are the future lord of Hebron.”
My father spoke as he adjusted a dress tailored for my pregnant mother, and, as always, I gave him a lifeless reply.
“Yes, Father.”
“Have you finished preparing? Packed your things?”
“Don’t worry, Father. The carriage is loaded. If we sell everything the goblins left behind, Hebron won’t have to worry about taxes for a while.”
I knew full well that Father tended to add unnecessary words before getting to the point. But I pretended not to notice.
“…What about the clothes I made?”
“I packed them, Father.”
Only then did he seem satisfied.
“I wonder if they’re out of style. Living in this countryside, I have no idea what kind of clothes people are into these days.”
Father was speaking indirectly, but I had no trouble interpreting his meaning.
“I’ll pick up a few fashionable outfits while I’m away.”
“And stock up on fabric, too.”
Father had little interest in running the domain, but the moment clothes were mentioned, his energy returned.
‘I’ll support your dream, Father. Once I lift this land out of poverty.’
The clothes he made were timeless and simple in design.
Back in House Breio, I had worn only the finest garments crafted by the best tailors and designers. Thanks to that, I’d developed a keen eye for clothing.
Father handed me a small basket. Inside were four wooden needles and a thick bundle of yarn.
“This is a gift. When you're bored in the carriage, knitting socks will make the time fly. You can knit pretty well now, can’t you?”
Knitting wasn’t my interest—it was my father’s.
Still, I did know how. Louis de Hebron had inherited his father’s skillful hands.
–Tailoring is not something that goes well with noble blood.
That belief had been ingrained in me through my time at House Breio, even if the environment had changed. Though Louis’ influence had chipped away at that mindset somewhat, I still didn’t have the courage to make my own clothes.
“It’s far more efficient to refine my aura in the carriage.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Not if I don’t overdo it.”
Father tilted his head in concern. He had little interest in aura or swordsmanship, so he accepted my explanation without pressing further.
Normally, refining aura in a moving carriage was something to be avoided.
But I knew methods to overcome those conditions.
I only understood the theory for now, but I plan to test it soon.
“You’ve got an eye for clothes. Just like me. That’s a rare gift—not everyone is born with it. It’s a privilege reserved for the chosen.”
There was pride in his voice.
He seemed genuinely happy to have passed down his talent to me.
‘The two fathers… they really are so different.’
I didn’t know how to respond.
No… I’d already made my choice.
The ancestors of House Hebron and House Breio had both been founding nobles of the kingdom.
But two hundred years later, their situations couldn’t be more different.
Hebron had fallen so far it now stood at the edge of a cliff. From a marquis, we had sold off our lands and title, reduced now to a barony.
Meanwhile, House Breio held absolute power.
Even King of Xenon couldn’t ignore their influence.
History had shown me what kind of life one should lead.
“I prefer swords over clothes, Father.”
“Such stubbornness…!”
It was a strange thing.
The Duke of Breio had driven me to master the sword and magic, while the Baron of Hebron handed me a thread and a needle.
The values of the two houses were as different as night and day.
‘But I prefer you, Father.’
The way he gently suggested, instead of demanding, suited me better.
At least I didn’t feel suffocated.
There was room for conversation.
‘Clothes, huh…’
It was something I’d never given thought to in my previous life.
‘Maybe, once the barony is stable and I reach a level I’m satisfied with… maybe then I’ll try sewing as a pastime. But not now.’
“We’re moving out!”
We set off with our forces. Twenty soldiers, three horsemen, and three carriages. Sir Brown remained behind to guard the estate.
Of the twenty soldiers, ten would return to the estate as soon as we passed through the eastern forest.
In recent decades, no one had crossed the eastern forest with so few troops.
We pressed onward.
The road through the forest was overgrown, left unattended for years.
The soldiers took the lead, cutting through brush and clearing trees and rocks from the path.
The carriages lined up in a single line, barely squeezing through the narrow road.
“Clear it properly. We’ll be using this road every month from now on.”
“Yes, sir!”
The soldiers chopped down trees with the axes they’d brought.
They didn’t go so far as to widen the path, but they cleared it enough for a single carriage to pass through safely.
At the entrance of the eastern forest, ten soldiers, Sir Brown, and laborers drafted from the domain were stationed. They were tasked with expanding the road. The goal was to create a main path wide enough for at least three carriages to travel side by side.
‘The eastern forest is secure now. I wonder how Baron Nurha will respond, now that Hebron didn’t collapse as he expected.’
There were no remaining threats in the forest.
The goblins had been completely wiped out by the hunting party, and the wild beasts were too busy fleeing from human scent to cause any trouble.
Heeeeeeeing!
Three horses each pulled a carriage.
Originally, Hebron had only one aging stallion left.
Even draft horses sold for twenty gold per horse, so the soldiers treated them with utmost care.
It took an entire day to reach the edge of the eastern forest.
Beyond it, the horizon opened wide.
“Let’s rest here for the night. We’ll leave at dawn.”
We pulled out portable tents and set them up. They were designed to keep out the early morning dew—and they were my father’s skill.
Each tent, made of three poles and a large sheet of fabric, was spacious enough to fit up to seven people, yet easy to transport.
‘A curious and warm man.’
I evaluated my father out of habit.
I caught myself weighing his usefulness to me—then, like a horse shaking off a fly, I tossed the thought aside.
‘Family, huh….’
* * *
The next morning, we divided our forces as planned.
Half of the soldiers turned back the way we came, while the other half escorted the carriages along a narrow path through the plains.
At the end of that road lay our destination: the territory of Baron Nurha.
Baron Nurha’s domain was surrounded by a triple-layered fence at its outer boundary.
The outermost wooden fence had been built recently, a defense against goblin incursions.
Beyond the costly wooden fence stood Baron Nurha’s soldiers.
They merely repelled goblins that strayed out of the forest—they didn’t actively hunt them.
‘Baron Nurha’s decision wasn’t wrong. He chose the most efficient way to protect his land—and, like all nobles, he set his eyes on his neighbor’s territory. So don’t blame me if I do the same. It’s simply in a noble’s nature.’
Beyond the fence was a low stone wall, built centuries ago to halt the charge of enemy knights.
Behind that stood a tall stone wall.
Two centuries ago, Baron Nurha’s land had been a fiercely contested battleground.
Now, it had become a quiet rural town.
As we reached the wooden fence, two soldiers stepped forward with spears in hand to block our way. I spoke to them.
“We’re from the Barony of Hebron.”
The defenses weren’t especially tight. The soldiers were more surprised than cautious—after all, it wasn’t tax season, and here was a military unit from Hebron at their gates.
They began to whisper among themselves. Their voices were very quiet, but I used my aura to spy on their words. It was a habit I’d developed while struggling to survive in House Breio.
