Chapter 7

The dissolute young master had been hiding in his room for two days. The restless servants in the mansion thought to themselves that Selly, who had sided with him, must have told him everything about the festival. Thus, unless Hersel had gone mad, he would not come out. For those who had been preparing for the festival, this was truly a troublesome matter. However, just when the talk of changing their plans to a locked-room murder was circulating, something unexpected happened.

He walked out of his fortress on his own two feet.

“Is everyone ready?”

In the three-story high main hall, mainly used for entertaining guests, a maid asked. The butlers mopping the floor and the maids sweeping it nodded simultaneously.

“He’ll be here soon.”

By now, the bait must have been thrown to Hersel, and he would have taken it in no time. The bait, of course, was the rare liquor brought into the main hall. Hersel was infamous throughout the territory, known even to three-year-olds, for being a drunkard.

“But will he really come? If he’s been holed up in his room all this time, he might have figured something out…”

“A sparrow can’t pass by a mill without stopping.”

No more dissenting voices were heard. They shook their heads, recalling the madness the alcoholic often showed when it came to liquor, but the servants had smiles blooming on their lips. They all looked up at the ceiling as if on cue. The chandelier sparkled with crystals.

“We agreed to split the prize, right?”

“Yes, equally.”

Their laughter didn’t last long because the door opened at that moment.

“Shh, here he comes. Act normal, everyone.”

Screeeech— Clack, clack, echoed the sound of neat shoe steps. A maid approached the elegant man, exuding noble grace, with a bright smile.

“Young master, what brings you to the main hall?”

As expected, despite his noble appearance, his words were far from refined.

“I heard that Balram’s liquor has arrived?”

“Yes, it arrived just last evening.”

“Then bring it to me, will you?”

“I’ll bring it right away. Please wait a moment, young master.”

The maid turned around and winked with one eye. The butler, having received the signal, approached Hersel with a chair for distinguished guests.

“Young master, please have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

The butler was slightly dazed by the unfamiliar gratitude that came from his mouth.

“Yes? Oh, yes… You’re welcome.”

Hersel sat in the chair without any suspicion. The butler quickly regained his composure and, fearing he might notice something, diverted his attention with his usual eloquence. �

“How do you find it? Even without a theater, there’s plenty to see, isn’t there?”

The butler guided his gaze to the sculptures by famous stonemasons and paintings by great artists displayed in the main hall. Hersel followed his hand gestures with his eyes.

“Indeed.”

Then, he suddenly looked up.

“Especially that chandelier is truly beautiful.”

At his words, the servants swallowed their saliva in unison. They were nervous, thinking he might have figured it out, but he soon lowered his gaze and only looked at the paintings. The butler, who had been entertaining him, started to back away with a superficial smile.

“Haha. There are many new artworks, so I’d love to explain more, but it’s unfortunate that I have an errand from the mistress to attend to.”

This was a signal. The maid, who had been repeatedly cleaning the already spotless railing on the third floor, glanced down. As the butler moved to a safe distance, she pulled a thin wire tightly.

Click—

The metallic sound of a latch on the ceiling disappeared, and the chandelier began to fall to the floor. Because of the densely attached crystals, it looked as if a shower of glass was pouring down only where Hersel stood.

With a diameter of five meters, weighing as much as two sacks of flour, and hanging from a ceiling higher than three stories, being crushed under this siege weapon-like menace would turn even a bull into mush. A mere human would be unrecognizable.

Boom!

A heavy crash resounded. Dust rose, obscuring any sight of blood, but one thing was certain. Hersel, who had been staring at the paintings, hadn’t noticed the falling chandelier. He couldn’t have reacted or evaded it and would have died instantly.

Yet, an unexpected anomaly reached their ears.

Clack, clack—

The sound of shoe steps and a restrained cough that shouldn’t be heard echoed.

“Ahem!”

The servants doubted their ears and rubbed their eyes as if seeing an illusion. Emerging through the dust was the man, walking nonchalantly, brushing off the debris on him. He reached the maid, who was trembling as if she might collapse, holding the liquor meant to be poured over his corpse at the festival finale.

“But you know.”

As Hersel snatched the liquor, the servants snapped back to their senses with a chill. The unbelievable events were not over.

“I recently quit drinking.”

The liquor, which they expected him to gulp down, only trickled out drop by drop until it wet the floor.

“Why would you mention alcohol to someone like me, who’s trying to quit, instead of helping?”

The empty bottle rolled on the floor. Hersel began to examine the faces of the servants in the hall.

“Why the long faces?”

Hersel smiled wryly. It might have been a light-hearted laugh to him, but to others, it was a visage reminiscent of a demon king.

“Is there any law that says I can’t quit drinking?”

After this whimsical remark, Hersel left. The servants, gripped by an unknown fear and the impossible anomaly, couldn’t utter a sound for a while. Only the small muttering of the maid who handed him the liquor echoed in the silent hall.

“What on earth just happened…”

* * *

A middle-aged man escorted Hersel to the riding arena. His position was that of a horse trainer. The bait to lure Hersel this time was a warhorse that no man could refuse. It was a famous and precious horse from the North, so rare that even young masters of wealthy families couldn’t easily ride it. However, Hersel’s reaction was somehow unsatisfactory, making the trainer scratch his head.

‘This guy used to jump for joy at the mention of a warhorse, so why the expression?’

Anyway, the trainer, who had briefly wondered, fixed his gaze ahead and smirked.

‘Well, it doesn’t matter since he’s going to die soon.’

He had trained the warhorse to go wild the moment anyone put their foot in the stirrup. Additionally, he had taught it to kick at the chest with its muscular hind legs repeatedly. As a high-quality warhorse, one kick could dent even armor.

Soon, the two men arrived at the riding arena, and the trainer brought out the muscular horse, stopping it in front of Hersel.

“Please, give it a try. Its endurance might be low, but its speed is truly phenomenal.”

“Hmm, could you give me a demonstration?”

“Sorry?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve ridden, so I might be a bit rusty.”

A challenge arose. Did he notice something?

In the trainer’s memory, Hersel was good at riding to the extent that he could ride a horse even after getting drunk.

“Haha, what a funny joke. Please, go ahead. If you have any difficulties, I’ll gladly assist with some advice.”

The trainer averted the crisis with his skilled speech. Hersel, watching him with a meaningful look, opened his lips.

“Well, since you’re prepared, it’s only polite to give you a chance.”

“Sorry? What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

The trainer broke into a cold sweat at Hersel’s ominous remark but ignored it as Hersel placed his foot in the stirrup. At that moment, the horse, breathing heavily, reared up on its hind legs. Hersel, who hadn’t even mounted yet, fell to the ground. The horse’s forelegs stomped down, followed by a powerful kick from its muscular hind legs.

With a loud crack, the trainer smiled satisfactorily, convinced that the broken rib must have pierced his lung. At least, that’s what he thought.

“Puheheheh!”

“What, what is this?!”

The one presumed dead, Hersel, was unscathed. Rather, it was the horse, with its hind leg bent at an awkward angle, screaming in pain. While the trainer shuddered at the bizarre phenomenon, Hersel dusted himself off and stood up.

“Why? Did you think I would die from just this?”

The trainer, realizing the situation, quickly bowed his head to the ground. Even if he couldn’t be tied to an assassination attempt, the rogue Hersel would show no mercy. He would use the excuse of improper training to have his head cut off.

“I-I apologize! It was my mistake to train the horse poorly! Please, spare my life!”

Knowing it wouldn’t work, the trainer pleaded for a miracle, crying out. He already predicted his fate, imagining himself in a coffin. As expected, an eerie remark came from Hersel.

“Since its leg is broken, should I put it down humanely?”

The trainer knew nobles loved to speak in roundabout ways. Hersel, who enjoyed tormenting people, was no exception. So, “putting down” surely meant his own life.

“N-no, if we treat it, it can live. So please, don’t put it down…”

Praying for mercy, he pleaded, rubbing his trembling hands together. Hersel, glancing at the horse, said something that made the trainer doubt his ears.

“It’s a pity. If it can be saved, treat it well.”

There was a god. That day, the trainer experienced a miracle.

* * *

I opened the notebook in my pocket. It contained information I had written down based on rumors about those who had been preparing for my assassination for a long time. The chandelier falling and the horse trainer plotting to kill me had all been detailed.

“This is indeed helpful.”

The informant Selly was in the same predicament as me, so with communication cut off, there would be no recent information for a while, but it would suffice for now.

Suddenly, my body began to feel heavy. This business was quite tiring. As I stepped into the mansion to take a short rest, my foot slipped as if butter had been spread on the floor.

“Huh?”

I started seeing the ceiling, and a sensation transmitted from the back of my head as my hair touched the ground. Normally, I would hear the sound of my skull shattering, but I was different. What I heard was the crushing sound of a stone floor.

Thud—

[Impact detected.]

[1-second invincibility cooldown: 59 seconds]

“These bastards?”

More than that, how should I interpret this? It was dangerous, but it seemed too ambiguous to be an assassination attempt. Well, many people have died slipping in the bathtub.

I steadied myself and stood up. A maid, carrying a feather duster, was about to clean a nearby window.

“Hold on.”

“Y-yes?”

“Could you tidy up my clothes?”

The maid approached me hesitantly. However, her movements were unnatural. She had wasted several steps to avoid the spot where I had slipped. Clearly, she was the culprit. Look at her, her hands are even trembling.

“The floor was slippery.”

“Y-yes? What do you mean by that?”

Seeing her feigning ignorance, I gave her a stern look. The maid, startled, flinched and slipped on the same slippery spot, ending up falling on her buttocks. She seemed to know it was slippery, as she managed only to fall lightly.

“Isn’t that right?”

“I-I’m sorry, young master! Please, spare me!”

…Look at her jumping to conclusions. Anyone would think I’m about to devour her. I had no such intention. Seeing them huddled together, expanding their imaginations, was exactly what I wanted. That’s why I hadn’t punished them for previous attempts either.

“Just make sure to clean it up so no one else gets hurt.”

With that, I turned away.

Clack, clack—

I walked down the corridor without any particular destination. I repeated to myself that this was how I should act, waiting for other assassination attempts. Even if I fell off a sheer cliff, even if a sharp blade cut my neck, even if a chandelier fell from a three-story height, even if a one-ton warhorse kicked me, even if I slipped… Ah, was that one too mundane?

Anyway, no matter what I went through, I didn’t die. They might chalk it up to luck once or twice. But if this kept happening?

Could they comprehend a situation where I don’t die despite countless attempts to kill me?

Humans fear the inexplicable. It’s well known that ancient people thought thunder, which is just a weather phenomenon, was the anger of gods.

By facing these assassination attempts head-on and becoming a legend, I aim to make them give up on trying to kill me. That was the survival strategy I chose.

Clack—

I had just reached the end of the stairs when a neat-looking butler greeted me.

“You don’t look well. I have some skill in medicine. Would you allow me the honor of serving you?”

I smiled at him.

Their attempts would be my nourishment. I would devour it and sever the chains that bound me.

“Sure.”

There was no reason to refuse.