Chapter 15
‘What in the world is going on?’
Just before I left Baron Nurha’s territory, a rumor had set the market abuzz.
—The Zylson Knights were defeated by a group of orcs!
The knights of House Zylson were said to be unmatched in the region. Orcs may have been born warriors, but their ferocity was the stuff of history books now. After the founding of the Xenon Kingdom, the Orc Kingdom had collapsed. The surviving orcs had fled to remote regions, forming small tribes of no more than fifty.
‘Sir Ambrod should be with House Zylson. Didn’t he participate in the battle?’
Sir Ambrod was a knight I knew well. He was the younger brother of House Zylson, and a warrior whose skills exceeded the expectations of even a noble house. The Duke of Breio had once considered recruiting him.
‘A mark on the Orc’s forehead...?’
Something was definitely off.
I decided to investigate further.
So I asked the Serpens Guildmater to look into it.
* * *
Exactly ten days later, the Serpens guildmaster came to visit me.
He brought two carriages and a line of 100 slaves, guarded by 50 escorts.
“I was surprised. The goblins have been completely wiped out.”
It seemed he had been half-doubtful of my claim.
That was a good sign. Anyone too naive would only drag me down.
The guildmaster brought the slaves forward. All one hundred of them lined up in the training grounds, half out of their minds.
“Did you drug them?”
“Yes, we gave them a small dose of baemin, for control purposes.”
It was a type of narcotic.
Non-addictive, but in high doses it could permanently destroy the mind. Though banned by law, its use on slaves was still permitted.
“Is the Baron busy?”
“My father entrusted all affairs of the territory to me.”
As proof, I wore the signet of our house on my index finger.
The guildmaster showed no visible reaction. As if he’d expected this.
After I returned from Baron Nurha’s lands, my father had been very busy.
He shut himself away, working on new outfits inspired by the latest trends I’d told him about from the capital.
My mother served as his model, and the two had been inseparable ever since.
I asked the guildmaster.
“You must have something to report.”
“I couldn’t gather every detail in time, but I did confirm this much: the mark you showed us matches exactly with the mark found on the Orc’s forehead. How did you come by that design, my lord?”
Just as I’d thought.
That mark must be what drove the monsters berserk.
“One of the goblins I captured in the eastern forest had that marking on its forehead.”
“A goblin, you say?”
“It was harder to kill than the rest. I barely managed it.”
“Wh-What happened to it afterward?”
The guildmaster’s voice trembled. He leaned in so close I could see his Adam’s apple bob.
A pungent herbal smell clung to the man in his late forties.
“Your question is strange. Like I said, the goblin died quite a while ago.”
“What did you do with the body?”
“I gathered the corpses in one place and burned them. Buried the remains to prevent disease.”
“Ah...”
Disappointment was written all over his face.
“But I dissected the marked one and preserved each part separately, using herbs to prevent decay. Why? Interested?”
“I am! Very much so! Where is it now?”
“Calm down. Why is a merchant so worked up over a worthless monster corpse? Explain.”
“To confirm your information, I sent one of our merchants to House Zylson. He took the mark you gave us and met a mage of the Viscount’s house.”
The merchant showed the mark to the mage, who immediately demanded to know how he came by such knowledge. The merchant claimed he was only running an errand, and the mage asked him to tell whoever knew about it that a reward awaited.
‘Of course. Mages must always be aware of even seemingly insignificant details.’
Even I hadn’t identified the true nature of the mark.
It wasn’t a magic circle, nor was it a curse.
At most, I could only suspect it was somehow connected to the Trickster.
“There’s no need for me to examine it any further anyway. Handing over the goblin’s remains is more profitable.”
“Ooh! May I take a look at them?”
“Follow me.”
I led the Serpens guildmaster to my laboratory.
It was hardly more than a space for recalling old knowledge and conducting minor experiments in spirit summoning and aura cultivation. The only furnishings were a desk, a chair, and a bookshelf.
In one corner sat a barrel. When I opened the lid, the goblin corpse stared upward, its eyes wide open.
The sight made the guildmaster recoil in fright.
“How much do you think Zylson’s mage would pay for this corpse?”
“A-At the very least, 200 gold.”
“Even in this excellent condition? What if I include the results of my dissection and the research notes I wrote?”
I handed him my notes. I had recorded the battle, the condition of the corpse, and various observations in detail.
“In that case, I could get at least 400 gold for it.”
“Do your best. You’ll get 20 percent.”
I kept quiet about the mark being the symbol of the Trickster.
That still needed further investigation.
‘There are barely any records left anyway. The Trickster is a forgotten god.’
I had read through the entire library of the Breio family, but only two books mentioned the Trickster—both ancient tomes. One was <The Book That Grants Wishes>, which had given me a second life. The other was <The Glorious Constellations>, a book cataloging ancient deities.
Even in <The Glorious Constellations>, the Trickster was a mere side character, mentioned in passing.
He had been sealed away by the gods of good and evil alike, for he brought chaos to the world. The gods, who desired a world divided neatly into good and evil, would have seen a neutral being like the Trickster as a disruptive anomaly.
“Shall we move on to the ancient magic circle?”
The guildmaster stepped closer to me—so close I could feel his breath.
Despite his wealth, the guildmaster was lean. He didn’t seem trained in swordsmanship, but it was clear he maintained his physical health.
I took a funnel from the drawer.
It was shaped like a cone with the tip cut off—carved from wood and durable enough to be considered semi-permanent.
A breeze flowed from the wide end.
On a chilly day like this, it was cold enough to make you shiver.
“Here. Hold this.”
The guildmaster stiffened as he took the funnel.
Swoooosh.
The wind remained cool and steady. He peered inside the funnel, examining it carefully. Eventually, he spotted the ancient magic circle engraved on the inner surface.
Historical records said this was how people stayed cool during hot days in ancient times. Unfortunately, of all the circles mentioned in the ancient books I had read, this was the only one that actually worked.
Other circles were found alongside it, but for some reason, they didn’t function. Even the archmage of the Mage Tower had confirmed it.
The archmage dismissed the wind circle, considering it useless. To them, there were more precise ways to test magical aptitude, and they had spells capable of producing strong winds—not weak breezes like this.
Still, despite its imprecision, this ancient wind circle proved surprisingly effective in gauging magical aptitude.
“Looks like you have no talent for magic.”
“You assessed that… with this?”
The guildmaster gave me a skeptical look.
“We’ll see soon enough. You’ve probably looked into this too, haven’t you? No, wait—checking each slave for magical talent would be a waste of time. You probably just threw in one or two with potential, right? Anyway, watch closely.”
One hundred slaves stood in the training yard. At some point, the people of the territory had gathered in crowds, whispering among themselves. In dull, unchanging Hebron, a merchant carriage bringing a hundred slaves was a major spectacle.
Even the Baron of Hebron and his wife were in the crowd.
The baron looked deeply troubled. Likely, the murmurs of the townsfolk had affected him.
Hebron was a territory where discipline and etiquette were lax.
The commoners here were not as well-educated as those in Breio, where the people regularly gathered in the plaza to learn the domain’s rules. In Hebron, even basic education was lacking.
“My son, do not keep slaves.”
The baroness chimed in.
“Yes, dear. Listen to your father. Please send those poor souls back.”
They referred to the slaves as ‘poor souls’.
That wasn’t the correct term. They were legal commodities traded under royal tax laws of the Xenon kingdom. Emotional judgment like pity had no place here.
There was only one thing worth worrying about—whether House Hebron could afford the cost.
“There’s no need to worry about the money.”
“My son, this isn’t about money. Hebron has never kept slaves—not even in its wealthiest days.”
“Then it’s time we change that custom. Hebron needs them to grow.”
“Louis…!”
My father seemed shocked. It was inevitable.
Hebron was in decline.
Someone had to break the cycle.
“Please trust me. I will transform Hebron.”
“Will that truly make you happy?”
My father’s question caught me completely off guard.
It wasn’t a logical question—it struck not my mind, but my heart.
“Yes, Father.”
He closed his eyes.
Then exhaled slowly, like one focusing his aura.
When he opened them again, he looked as if he had aged a hundred years in that single moment—like he had lived through an eternity.
“I believe in you. You’ve never once disappointed me, not even as a child.”
I still carried all of Louis de Hebron’s memories. His behavior had been nothing short of disgraceful. Had he been born into House Breio, he would have been cast out before the age of five.
And yet, Father claimed he had never once been disappointed.
‘Forgive me. I may begin to disappoint you and Mother from this point on.’
The values of Breio and Hebron were worlds apart. Now that I was part of House Hebron, I understood clearly why the Duke of Breio had mocked the Baron’s household.
They were weak—not just the territory, but the mindset of its ruler. In a world ruled by the strong, Hebron was destined to be devoured.
Father said no more.
As he stepped back, every gaze turned to me.
“Merchants.”
The guildmaster gave an order to his guards, who brought over the funnel. He handed it to one of the slaves.
The slave held it until I gave the signal, then passed it to the next.
I marked three of the slaves with red ink.
“These three have it. Not bad. To think three of them have magical talent. Even if their potential is minor, I assume they’d still sell for 20 gold each?”
Serpens guildmaster turned to the merchant beside him—likely his assistant. The man nodded, and the guildmaster's face brightened.
“Amazing. A magic tool that not only stirs the wind but also detects magical talent!”
“In the old days, people used it to beat the heat… though it only produces a light breeze.
Still, when someone with magical talent touches it, the wind strengthens like before.”
“Incredible.”
