Chapter 56

The Old Boy

From the leather sack Bill brought, tools kept pouring out—pliers, knives, a studded hammer, even a saw.
With each item revealed, the color drained further from the swordsman’s face.

Bill had once been a gang leader who suffered under Weissman.
Half of his Nears gang had been slaughtered by this very swordsman.
The swordsman couldn’t even begin to imagine how that hatred would manifest through torture.

“Hmm-hmm~”

Bill hummed softly.
To the swordsman, it sounded like a devil’s tune.

“I—I’ll talk!”

The swordsman began spilling everything he knew.
There was no longer any reason to endure torture.

The assassin had already revealed the crucial parts.

Even the strongest man in Weissman hadn’t endured it.
The swordsman had no confidence he could either.

And he knew Violet well—the leader of Weissman.
She could be decisive when needed, but she was soft-hearted.
She wasn’t the kind of person to punish his daughter for his mistakes.

“So, the Revolutionary forces of the Republic split into several factions, and Weissman is a remnant of the moderates?”

“That’s right.”

“And that woman, Violet—what she wants is to create an environment where moderate comrades can live in Bern City.”

Isaac summarized calmly.

“What a saint.”

Carlson muttered, incredulous.

“It’s not just about providing shelter. They’re gathering funds and manpower in Bern City to build strength against the radicals.”

“I see.”

Isaac nodded.

At last, the questions he had been holding began to make sense.

Weissman’s core forces were soldiers who once belonged to the moderate faction of the Republic.
They were few in number—countable on ten fingers.

But having survived countless battles, the sewer gangs were nothing more than child’s play to them.
On top of that, Mayor Varis had used the city guards to support them, and the marquis had funded them.

At least within Bern City, they were practically invincible.

“I’ve told you everything I know. Now… you’ll kill me painlessly, right?”

The swordsman’s face was pale.

All ten fingernails gone, trapped in the freezing dungeon all day, drenched in cold water—
he looked like a drowned rat.

The tattered dress he wore made him appear even more miserable.
With its torn chest and back, it barely resembled clothing anymore.

“Well…”

“Fuck, you promised!”

“The only promise I made was to torture you until you talked. Didn’t expect you’d break this easily.”

Isaac shrugged.

For him, the purpose was already fulfilled.

But Carlson didn’t seem done.

“What happened to the prostitute?”

“…What prostitute?”

“The clothes you’re wearing. You said they belonged to the woman you killed.”

“This…!”

The swordsman avoided Carlson’s gaze.

“This is… my mother’s clothes.”

Thunk—!

Carlson suddenly stabbed a dagger into the swordsman’s thigh.

“Didn’t I tell you to answer honestly?”

“It’s true, damn it, it’s true! In that filthy, stinking sewer, I had to act insane like that so those vagrant bastards would follow me! That’s why I said it!”

“So you were acting?”

“Yeah, damn it! My mother died giving birth to me, so technically I did kill her, didn’t I, you bastard!? Yeah, it’s the kind of clothes prostitutes wear. My mother was a prostitute. So what? Did you ever do anything for me, you piece of shit!?”

The sudden outburst filled the room with a heavy silence.

Carlson glanced at Isaac.

“Sometimes… when I miss her, I take them out and wear them…”

Isaac looked back at Carlson.

“Doesn’t sound like a lie.”

Carlson looked momentarily flustered.

“Ahem.”

Bill cleared his throat and began stuffing the tools back into the sack.

“If you’ve got a mouth, you should’ve said that first, you bastard!”

***

A carriage was waiting at the entrance of the Goethe estate.

“You’re really… letting us go like this?”

Pallich asked Isaac repeatedly.

“What, you planning to live here forever?”

“No, but…”

He had attacked the estate’s underground prison for an assassination.

He had used an aura blade against the count’s eldest son.

And yet, Isaac was sending him back unharmed—
even returning Gerald, the captured swordsman.

Pallich couldn’t understand it.

“Ugh… fuck… damn it…”

Gerald didn’t look in good condition, but at least he was alive.

“You’re not my enemies yet. No need to kill you.”

“‘Yet’… so we could become enemies?”

Pallich narrowed his eyes.

“That depends on her choice.”

“…I see.”

“The woman” clearly meant Violet.

Pallich let out a dry laugh.

The marquis had underestimated Goethe.

The rumors that the count’s eldest son was a useless fool—those were just the words of idiots.

Weissman had been completely defeated in their information war against Isaac.

That cunning young heir had used Pallich’s own words against him to break Gerald.

Thanks to Pallich—who was as good as dead, having “confessed everything and been executed”—
Gerald had spilled everything he knew.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck…”

Gerald muttered curses nonstop.

With all ten fingernails gone and a deep wound in his thigh, his body and mind were shattered.

Normally, Violet would have had to kill him to silence him—
a loss of valuable manpower for Weissman.

Pallich already felt uneasy about how she would react.

“This won’t be bad for you either.”

“No way.”

Pallich frowned at Isaac’s words.

If this wasn’t bad, then what was?

“This is an opportunity. Think carefully about which side you want to support.”

“Are you saying you’re a worthy side to back?”

“If you’ve got a brain, figure it out yourself.”

Isaac tapped his temple lightly with his finger.

Pallich gave a bitter smile.

“Let me tell you something more interesting.”

Isaac beckoned him closer.

Pallich leaned in to listen.

“You’re looking for the one who killed Varis, right?”

“The marquis certainly wants to find them. It was a method of assassination no one’s seen before.”

“That was me.”

“…What kind of joke is that?”

Wrinkles formed on Pallich’s forehead.

“Does it sound like a joke?”

Isaac looked straight at him.

A brief silence passed between them.

“If that’s true… then you may meet our Committee Member sooner than expected.”

“Committee Member?”

“Violet. That’s what we call her. She was actually a member of the moderate faction.”

“I look forward to meeting her.”

Isaac smiled as he watched Pallich’s expression crack.

***

The swordsman and the assassin—
Gerald and Pallich—climbed into the carriage one after the other.

“You said your name was Gerald, right?”

Carlson leaned into the carriage window and asked.

Gerald, utterly exhausted, didn’t respond.

Both his hands were wrapped in cloth, and his thigh was bound with blood-soaked linen.

It had been Isaac’s orders—but Carlson had carried them out.

So for Gerald, it was only natural—

that he hated Carlson far more than Isaac.

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“…Bullshit.”

“And… I’m the son of a prostitute too.”

Gerald, who had been sneering, suddenly looked at Carlson.
Then he frowned.

“You bastard… I let my guard down back then. Next time, I won’t go easy on you.”

“Do as you like.”

Carlson stepped back from the carriage, and the driver flicked the reins.

***

“Is this really okay?”

Watching the carriage disappear down the road, Carlson asked Isaac.

“If we let them go like this, won’t our identity reach the marquis?”

“If Weissman’s leader sides with the marquis, then yes.”

“And you think they’ll side with us?”

“At the very least, she’ll want to meet me before choosing.”

“And if she still chooses the marquis?”

“Then we’ll think about it when the time comes. No need to make an enemy of someone who could still be persuaded.”

“You’re awfully relaxed about this.”

Carlson’s expression hardened.

“Why? Nervous? If so, you’re welcome to wipe out Weissman yourself.”

“I’m not fond of taking unnecessary risks. By the way… how did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Mayor Varis. Even the marquis’s side didn’t suspect you at all.”

To Carlson, Isaac was a noble blessed with talent.
Still immature, perhaps—but in terms of thinking, dealing with people, and even the magic he had yet to fully reveal, he was already exceptional.

But the assassination of Mayor Varis was beyond Carlson’s understanding.

“What do you think I did?”

“…Magic?”

“What else?”

“What kind of magic leaves no trace?”

“That’s a secret.”

Carlson narrowed his eyes.

“I’m a bit tired. I’ll have a drink and get some sleep. Want one?”

“I’ll pass.”

As if expecting the refusal, Isaac nodded and headed toward the main building.

Carlson watched him go.

For a fleeting moment, his gait resembled that of an old man nearing the end of his life.
But when he blinked—

it was nothing more than the back of a boy.

***

Isaac retrieved a bottle of wine from the estate’s underground storage.

Even in his previous life, he hadn’t been much of a drinker.
And after absorbing the Wolf King’s rune stone, alcohol no longer affected him.

Even so—
he needed to drink now.

At least within the estate.

Whether a delinquent or a madman,
it took time to grow into a role that didn’t fit.

There was no need to force cruelty or excess.
It was enough to make others imagine it.

What kind of person Isaac von Goethe—the eldest son—was becoming.

Wine was a good starting point.

He broke the wax seal and took a sip.

A blend of berry aromas spread across his palate.

Goethe was too cold to produce high-quality grapes,
so they brewed wine from fruits like cranberries, lingonberries, and yuca berries.

The aftertaste was more astringent than typical wine,
but it had its own charm.

With the bottle in hand, Isaac wandered openly through the estate.

***

“Young master, will you not be coming to the training grounds today?”

“Am I obligated to go there?”

Isaac asked, staring at the guard captain.

“N-No, but…”

“Then don’t waste my time.”

Isaac cast him a cold glance.

“…My apologies.”

The captain stepped back.

***

Snippets of conversation reached Isaac’s ears.

Normally, he wouldn’t notice them—but his sharpened hearing picked up the servants’ whispers.

“I’m telling you, I heard screams all night. Gave me nightmares.”

“Someone saw the young master go down to the dungeon yesterday.”

“They say he tortured someone—turned him into a complete wreck.”

“No, I heard he killed him. They carried the body out at dawn.”

Isaac let out a quiet chuckle.

It seemed he wouldn’t have to worry about building a reputation.
With just a little effort, the notoriety he wanted would come naturally.

Still, not all servants shared that view.

“Did you actually see it?”

“What?”

“Don’t make assumptions based on hearsay.”

“That’s right. Then why don’t you talk about the rumors that young Master Isaac fought in Vinfelt? About how he defeated giant wolves and protected the camp?”

“That’s obviously nonsense!”

The three maids Isaac had once saved—
Enette, Clara, and Hilde—

while Hans was away visiting family and the nurse Gisela was busy with potato planting in the village,
were the only ones defending him.

Isaac appreciated it—

but knew it was a futile argument.

***

Whenever servants were in sight, Isaac deliberately drank straight from the bottle.

Eventually, his wandering brought him to the front of the reception room.

He stopped.

A familiar piano melody drifted out.

Tratis Draco—
“Crying Dragon.”

It had been his mother’s favorite piece,
and one Jonas often played.

As expected, Jonas sat at the piano.

Struggling to reach the pedals with his short legs,
his small fingers still moved gracefully across the keys.

Seems he’s in a good mood today.

A faint smile formed on Isaac’s lips.

Back at the military camp in Vinfelt—
this was the sound he had longed for, carried by the lonely wind through the tent flaps.

The gentle flow of the melody filled the air.

Isaac didn’t want to interrupt.
He didn’t want the song to end.

So he quietly sat outside the reception room door, listening.

For some reason, Jonas’s final day came to mind.

That voice—
old and weary, yet strangely alive—

as he sat outside the underground vault door, a blade buried in his abdomen, recounting the past decades of his life.

Isaac closed his eyes and stayed in the moment.

Assassination.
Interrogation.
Ambition.
Longing.
Fatigue.

None of it came to mind.

For once—

he simply felt alive.

The old boy slowly began to doze off.