Chapter 87

“This guy, he moves fast.”

‘No wonder he rose so quickly despite his youth.’

There was something shrewd about him. Despite his obsequiousness, he knew when to stand firm and when to bend. Normally, Ihan might have respected him for that. Many would dismiss it as cowardice, but Ihan saw it as a smart survival strategy.

But right now, any trace of respect was far from his mind.

Usually, a poor first impression was enough to last indefinitely, and that was precisely the case here.

‘If he were truly as sharp as he seems, he wouldn’t have sent those thugs after my disciple.’

Huuuk.

A murderous aura surged forth along with his irritation.

Ihan was still struggling to fully control his intensity after taking the [Unmeasurable Grade] elixir, and with this bunch, he didn’t bother trying to suppress it.

Shatter! The sound of nearby glass breaking, from both drinking glasses and windows, filled the room. The raw aura emanating from Ihan was powerful enough to shake even sturdy objects.

Objects made of glass, with their relatively fragile durability, "screamed" from the intensity. And in silence, Simon and his assistant let out internal screams of their own.

Simon had every desire to flee, but he knew better than to try.

If he attempted to run from this hatchet-wielding monster, he’d likely find himself with an unwelcome new "air hole."

At twenty-nine years old, Simon wasn’t ready to leave this world just yet.

“Do you… know anything about the Marquess of Tristan?” he asked, beginning to spill everything he knew.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

“Hm, not really,” Ihan replied.

“But… it’s a very well-known house…”

A knight unaware of House Tristan? Wasn’t that problematic?

“So, does that matter here?”

“Er, I suppose not. You don’t need to know, after all, sir.”

Yes, there was no need for him to know!

Even if House Tristan was one of the founding noble families, with only three marquessates left in the kingdom, what difference did that make?

If he didn’t know, that was on Tristan!

Simon continued, his words as sycophantic as could be.

“Uh, a-anyway, the Tristan family is indeed a powerful one. While they may not be on the scale of House Lionel or House Galahad, they are significant, with over a hundred knights. Other than the White Lion Order, few houses can boast such a large number of knights.”

“A hundred knights…”

Though skill levels among knights varied, each was like a raw gem, refined and filtered through a demanding process. Many trained in the art of combat, but for every thirty who began, maybe only one ever became a true knight.

While rural nobility might have subpar knights, the great noble houses rooted in the capital were of a different caliber.

The elite of the elite.

One knight could hold off dozens of seasoned soldiers, after all.

And this house had a hundred such knights under its banner?

The financial strength needed to maintain a hundred knights, not to mention the royal permission to do so, underscored the high authority they commanded.

“And the current head of the house, Marquess Genemia, still has no children. As such, House Tristan is working tirelessly to arrange a marriage for the marquess, as they risk losing their line.”

The Tristan house’s inability to secure an heir held significant implications.

As one of the elder pillars of the royalist faction, their influence over the royal family was substantial.

Should such a factional leader fail to produce an heir, it would sap nearly thirty percent of the royalists’ power.

For the royalist faction, this was a development they could not afford.

“So why hasn’t this marquess gotten married or had kids yet?” Ihan asked.

“M-Marriage and children, sir…”

After all, this was the Marquess.

“Slow answer?”

“Oh, y-yes, my apologies!”

Ahem.

The question was understandable. Why hadn’t the head of a prestigious family—wealthy and powerful—produced an heir? The answer…

“Out of loyalty and a desire to preserve his noble dignity—”

“If you start spewing nonsense, I’ll cut out your tongue.”

“It’s no loyalty, sir! The men of House Tristan lose their… abilities as soon as they father a child. In other words, they’re castrated after having a kid. And Marquess Genemia, renowned for his taste in pleasures, has simply chosen not to… sacrifice himself in that way. He has mistresses but refrains from fathering any children.”

“What a spectacle. How old is this guy?”

“He’s fifty-three, sir.”

“…”

“Ahem.”

Simon averted his eyes, feeling embarrassed by his own explanation, while Ihan…

“That’s… pretty impressive.”

It was more admiration than disdain.

He had to admit, maintaining that level of vitality at that age was no small feat.

However.

“So what does this Marquess Tristan or whoever have to do with my disciple?”

The critical point had yet to be addressed, and Ihan demanded an answer. Simon hesitated briefly but then—

“T-The Marquess of Genemia sent a matchmaker to Lady Folt. He seems ready to settle down…”

“And specifically to whom?”

“…”

“It’s not, is it?”

“Ahem.”

“…Hell.”

Ihan cursed under his breath.

Even without a direct answer, he knew who they were proposing to.

He was stunned.

“Once again, I must stress that we are simply matchmakers here, sir. The marquess wished for a meeting, and the Guild merely facilitated it.”

“Why did he want your Guild to handle it?”

“It’s actually quite common for us to handle noble matchmaking. Some engagements are arranged between houses, but… as you may be aware, nobles aren’t immune to certain issues. Often, engagements fall through, either due to incompatibility or… issues of infidelity or violence.”

Nobles couldn’t risk exposing their flaws.

Thus, if any unpleasant matters arose, they preferred to resolve them discreetly, no matter the cost.

In short, as long as the outcome was favorable, the means were secondary.

“The marquess, realizing it was time to produce an heir, selected Lady Revi Folt as a suitable match. Of course, his reputation required that this arrangement with such a young lady be kept confidential. The Guild is doing its utmost to ensure the success of this marriage.”

“…”

“Though it may be uncomfortable for you, sir, Lady Revi Folt is highly sought after among nobles. Not only is she beautiful, but she’s also shown great promise as a swordswoman at a young age. For knightly families, the possibility of producing a strong heir with such a partner is highly desirable.”

“…”

“Haa…”

Simon sighed heavily, looking several years older.

Not only had he revealed the Guild’s dirty secrets, but he’d also disclosed the faults of the great noble houses.

One might think this was insignificant, but that would be missing the point.

If it were publicly known that certain noble houses were coercing someone into marriage, their honor would be in shambles. Nobles would go to any lengths to keep this information hidden, as it would forever stain their reputation.

‘Not that they’d try to take him on by force; they’d just try to bribe him in other ways.’

For the powerless, their treasures only brought misfortune; for the powerful, their wealth was fortune.

Simon had divulged the secrets of the nobility to Ihan, hoping this would somewhat atone for the Guild’s transgressions.

‘That bastard! I’ll kill him with my own hands!’

Simon gritted his teeth.

He’d ordered that Lady Revi Folt be protected from a distance, but some imbecile had ignored his orders, sending someone to closely monitor her—and an especially vile person, at that.

And unfortunately, the Guild had more than its fair share of fools who disregarded his commands.

Clearly, some noble eager to lower Lady Revi’s "value" had bribed a Guild member to harass her.

…Idiots.

‘I’ll make sure they die for this!’

Simon resolved that, should he survive this encounter, he’d find and punish the one responsible.

And the knight holding his life in his hands said,

“You have the makings of a storyteller. You’ve presented things rather… well.”

“?”

“Well, I suppose that’ll do.”

With a few vague words, Ihan suddenly rose and turned to leave, leaving Simon blinking in confusion.

“A-Are you just leaving?”

“Why? Should I destroy the rest of this place?”

“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant—!”

Like a tickling cough, unspoken words nearly spilled from Simon’s lips.

After providing an explanation, shouldn’t they at least negotiate? Or was there nothing he wanted in return?

…Didn’t he want to hear more about Lady Revi Folt’s circumstances?

Such questions crowded the tip of his tongue.

The knight had all the reasons and authority he needed to press further.

If it were him, Simon wouldn’t leave until he’d wrung out every last ounce of benefit from the situation, forcing the other to beg for mercy.

As he mulled over his thoughts, Ihan turned back and said,

“The rest of the information involves her family. I don’t need to hear that from anyone else. Some things, even with a disciple, require privacy.”

“Though you’ve already trespassed into that privacy quite a bit…”

“This was different. If any harm had actually come to her, I’d have killed you and everyone else breathing here. I’m not the type to forgive anyone who dares harm my people.”

“…”

"But consider yourselves lucky. I managed to prevent things from going that far, and I’m here to settle it personally. Though a few people did try to block my path—well, they’ll be hospitalized for a while. So I’ll let this slide for now."

"Ahem…!"

"Finally, as for you… You kept some things hidden while talking, but you didn’t lie. That’s why I’m letting you live."

"Do… Do you really believe that I told no lies?"

"That’s my impression. If I’m wrong, I’ll come back to take your head. I don’t usually give second chances."

"…Haha, the Guild isn’t so easily trifled with, sir."

"I beg to differ."

With a meaningful smile, Ihan walked out through the wall he’d destroyed, leaving without a trace of regret.

Watching him leave, Simon muttered,

"Ha… Just what kind of man is that?"

His mind swirled with confusion.

He’d stormed in with an aura so fierce it seemed he’d burn everything to ashes, yet now he left calmly, like a serene lake.

Simon, never having met someone like this before, found himself unconsciously following the direction Ihan had gone, feeling oddly unsettled.

However—

Crunch.

Whooosh!

“━━.”

As Simon surveyed the scene outside, he was rendered speechless, and his assistant gasped, falling back in shock.

"Did a whole horde of large-class monsters invade us?"

Simon’s assistant murmured, sharing the same sentiment.

Everything was destroyed.

Only the steel beams and pillars supporting the 150-square-meter building remained intact. Everything else was on the verge of collapse.

And the scariest part?

‘Wait, he… did all this alone, in less than ten minutes?’

From the moment the alarm rang to when Ihan reached Simon’s room, it hadn’t even been ten minutes. Yet the place looked like this.

It was akin to being attacked by seven large-class monsters simultaneously. The sheer scale was terrifying.

And even more terrifying…

‘N-No one’s dead?’

Though many were gravely injured, no one had died.

As someone once said, subduing people without killing them was more challenging.

And this knight had managed to do just that in an incredibly short amount of time.

…Without a scratch.

Simon felt he might faint.

‘Exaggerated strength, they said? They must be out of their minds!’

Some of the Guild’s senior members had questioned the rumors about Ihan’s skills after he thwarted the terrorist attack the day before, dismissing the reports as mere exaggerations.

Simon wondered if they’d still be so dismissive after witnessing this disaster.

He slumped to the ground, letting out a hollow laugh.

"Of course he left so confidently."

He realized now that, even if those wronged decided to retaliate, Ihan had the confidence to return at any time and wipe them out again.

Simon chuckled bitterly.

What could he do against someone like that?

As Guildmaster, he found himself wondering…

"…I wonder who’ll come out on top?"

"Pardon?"

"…Nothing."

An internal struggle between a mere knight and the Tristan marquessate.

As he entertained this far-fetched thought, Simon shook his head at his own foolish musings.

…Yet he left room for the possibility.