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Chapter 15
The Pador County.
Among its bustling streets, the central boulevard was the most crowded.
There were always many people, but today, not only the residents of Pador County filled the place—countless travelers from other lands of every shape and color mingled together.
It was as if a man used to wearing a single dull-colored outfit was suddenly trying on layers of garments in every hue.
And the cause of it all? The monument standing in the central plaza.
You ask, what’s so fascinating about that bleak, pitch-black slab of stone?
Because that slab is no ordinary rock.
As I stepped before the monument, murmurs rippled through the crowd.
“Isn’t that young man… Deyan?”
“Is he really planning to participate?”
“No way. Anyone who foolishly heads to the Valley of Trials comes back crippled for life.”
“Maybe he’s just here to watch.”
Do you hear that?
Just by walking up to the monument, I drew such a reaction.
Crackle—!
In an instant, bronze-colored letters carved themselves into the stone, my name—Deyan—etched large for all to see.
And on the back of my hand appeared a glowing bronze sigil: the crest of House Pador.
The very people who had been whispering whether I’d dare to participate now erupted into applause, cheers, and whistles.
“Hahaha! We’ll be cheering for you, Deyan-nim!”
“I knew you’d join!”
“Just for that courage alone—you’re remarkable!”
…This is a little embarrassing.
Now you understand?
This monument is the registry for participation in the Valley of Trials.
It may be ostentatious, but there’s no better way to publicly display one’s courage.
I waited until the weight of people’s gazes lifted, then headed toward the shop where Marianne and Nerlin were waiting.
But… what on earth were they doing?
The two girls sat on a terrace with a perfect view of the monument.
“Left side!”
“All clear!”
“Right side!”
“All clear!”
Marianne and Nerlin peeked out from behind books and plates of food, scrutinizing every foreigner entering the plaza.
Did it never occur to them how suspicious this looked?
Especially…
“Look at that one. His clothes are really…”
-Bite, chew.
“…unusual, huh?”
Nerlin tore into the massive loaf of bread in her hands.
Was she trying to disguise herself, or did she just come here to eat?
At the very least, I wish she’d finish chewing before talking.
The problem was, Marianne seemed to be influenced by her—hiding her face with a book, peeking out with only her eyes showing.
If I didn’t intervene, the two would attract even more attention.
“Wouldn’t it be better if you just acted natural?” I suggested.
“No, young master! The competitors are watching us!” Marianne insisted.
…But doesn’t everyone already know I’m the sickly one?
“She’s right, young master. But—young master! We’re supposed to be in disguise, yet the bread keeps disappearing! Shouldn’t we order more?” Nerlin added.
The enormous loaf in her hands was already half gone, shaped like a crescent moon.
“Nerlin, maybe if you’d just stop eating…?”
“Young master, eating? Me?!”
And yet her mouth never stopped moving.
It was practically instinct—pure instinct.
If Nerlin ever poured that same obsession into martial arts instead of food, the world might have already witnessed the descent of an empress.
I left her be and continued scanning the street… when someone caught my eye.
…That guy?
He was no ordinary fellow.
A long spear, taller than his own body.
Half-lidded eyes that looked sleepy, a jaw cracking open with a yawn.
A silver-haired boy stretched as he made his way to the terrace and slumped into a seat.
“…Hungry.”
He sprawled lazily across the table like a sloth, limbs dangling.
But despite his languid appearance—he was dangerous.
Anyone could tell his skill wasn’t for show. The mana swirling within him was sharp and alert, in stark contrast to his drowsy face.
Could he be… Gu-pailbang?
Judging by the level of power, he was at least a late-stage rising expert.
Who was this boy?
“Excuse me.”
His voice was sluggish, dragging.
The silver-haired boy lifted a hand to call a server.
“Yes, what would you like?”
“Anything. The fastest thing you can bring.”
“That will be 1 silver coin.”
“Hold on.”
The boy dug through his pockets…
“…Huh?”
He scratched his head, stood up, and muttered, “No money. Sorry, I’ll pass.”
Fast judgment. Quick decision.
Maybe I should extend a little kindness.
“Why don’t you just eat anyway?”
“…Hmm?”
The boy looked at me. I tossed him a silver coin. He caught it smoothly and smirked.
“You giving this to me?”
At that, Marianne leaned in close, whispering urgently.
“Young master! He looks like a beggar! You can’t just hand out money like that—coins are precious!”
Fair point. To someone like Marianne, who cherished money, it must have seemed reckless.
“It’s fine. He looks like someone who can repay it.”
“How could you possibly know that, young master?!”
“Don’t worry. Trust me.”
Reassuring Marianne, I turned back to the silver-haired boy.
“Think of it as a debt. At least tell me your name in return.”
“Andrew. The name’s Andrew.”
Ah… I see now.
That rare silver hair. The long spear wrapped in cloth. The qi within him, enough to rival the late-stage disciples.
Unless I was mistaken, such qi could only belong to the spear masters of the Tral Family.
Marianne and Nerlin clearly realized it too—their eyes went wide.
“Andrew?! The genius of the Tral Family?!”
“…I’m dead,” Marianne muttered, clutching her head as if regretting her careless words.
Meanwhile, Nerlin—startled beyond belief—had already finished the last of her bread.
Marianne shot to her feet and bowed repeatedly in apology.
No wonder. The Tral Family was renowned as the greatest spear clan, counted among the Four Great Houses alongside the House Pador. Their reputation alone inspired fear.
But Andrew just waved his hand and chuckled.
“Don’t worry about it. Beggar’s about right, anyway.”
The playful remark brought a laugh out of me. He truly was as easygoing as he looked.
Then suddenly, Andrew sniffed the air, eyes shifting.
A server was approaching, tray in hand.
“…Oh?”
Moments later, a plate of food was placed in front of him.
He must have been starving—he devoured the bacon and toast the instant it hit the table, scarfing it down without pause.
Not a crumb remained; he practically licked the plate clean before leaning back, rubbing his stomach in satisfaction.
Only then did he look my way and ask,
“Wait—what’s your name? I can’t repay a favor without knowing.”
“…Deyan.”
“Deyan, huh? Got it. I’ll remember. When the Valley of Trials ends, I’ll pay you back for sure!”
“Do as you like.”
“Then I’ll be off. Take care.”
He rose, belly full, as if he had nothing else to do. Waving with one hand toward the monument and the other toward Marianne… he promptly tripped and toppled backward.
“Pfft—hahaha!”
“Hey, watch it!”
The crowd burst out laughing. Andrew scratched his head sheepishly.
“They say the Tral Family doesn’t give their children any support until adulthood. Guess it’s true.”
“Yeah, not even a single servant with him.”
Despite that comical clumsiness, no one doubted Andrew’s spear skill. At the gatherings of retainers, he was already considered a top contender for victory.
But with behavior like that, would anyone truly recognize him?
Thanks to Andrew, the central plaza had just been filled with laughter—yet it was soon drowned out by another commotion.
Heavy footsteps. Loud voices.
“Make way! Move aside! Lord Einstein of the Great Whale Merchant Guild is passing!”
Tracing the noise, I saw him: a boy astride a horse, chin lifted stiffly, flanked by dozens of servants and knights.
The difference from Andrew was staggering.
Einstein… unlike Andrew, I remembered him clearly.
Back then too, he wore dazzling clothes, flaunting his wealth at every turn. His image had burned itself into my memory.
“Ugh, what an eyesore.”
Nerlin frowned at the entourage that nearly blocked the entire street.
Even Marianne, usually gentle with her words, wrinkled her brow.
“You’re right. That’s him, isn’t it? The son of Tern, the merchant lord?”
“Exactly. No one else acts like that. He’ll probably try to buy his way through the Valley of Trials. No skill, just coin.”
“So annoying…”
Marianne was about to keep venting—but stopped.
Because money had begun fluttering down from the sky.
“The blessing of Lord Einstein! Blessings!”
“Waaaaah!”
Before I knew it, Marianne was scrambling with the crowd, scooping up coins.
“Welcome!”
“The most handsome!”
“You’ll be the champion!”
The people, along with Marianne, received Einstein’s procession like musicians heralding a king.
“Hahahaha! What a land, that knows how to honor its guests! Wonderful! Take more!”
Seated high upon his horse, Einstein basked in the adoration, flinging even more silver into the air.
Like a red carpet, the path opened for him. He stepped down, placed a single fingertip upon the monument—
“Waaaah!”
Marianne, as if possessed, raised her arms and cheered like a fanatic.
A cult leader, truly.
Well… maybe it was best if Einstein smiled as brightly as he did now.
Because in the future, he wouldn’t have a single chance to spend that wealth.
And not only him. Andrew too. I had never heard either of their names mentioned again after this day.
Because they both died.
And still more talents poured into the plaza, one after another.
All had come to take part in the Valley of Trials.
To pass through meant proving one’s strength—and seizing the glory that came with it.
People gamble their very lives for reputation.
I had seen the noteworthy ones, yet I remained unmoved.
“Young master, how long are we staying here?”
Nerlin asked, chewing on candy.
To fight boredom, Marianne had taken up her knitting—she had nearly finished an entire scarf.
But there was one person I had to see.
That was why I lingered.
If that individual truly entered the Valley of Trials, there was no way they’d avoid the monument.
So why hadn’t they appeared?
I tried to wait longer, but Marianne and Nerlin were nodding off, heads dipping like the pendulum of a clock.
“Alright. Let’s go.”
“Really?”
The girls jumped up, afraid I might change my mind.
So bored, were they?
Not you, Nerlin—after all that food I ordered you, how dare you act like that.
We were just about to return to the manor when—
“…?”
Someone brushed past us. A figure cloaked in a crimson robe.
A faint trace of lilac perfume lingered in the air.
And trailing behind them, a pack of men snickering as they followed.
Obvious lowlifes.
Despite the red robe, a glimpse of a necklace made the person look like some runaway scion of a rich family.
Anyone could see it.
Should I help…?
If I hadn’t witnessed it, perhaps I could ignore it. But having seen it, walking away left a sour taste.
I also hated the thought of such filth roaming free in our family’s territory.
“You two wait here.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just a moment.”
Leaving Marianne and Nerlin behind, I slipped into the alley they had entered.
No need to let the girls witness something ugly.
It wasn’t hard to catch up. Their racket carried far.
“Hand it over and it’ll be easy, eh?”
“Yeah, just hand it over and walk away. Kids like you always have coin, right?”
So noisy, their intimidation.
I was about to step in—yet curiosity held me back. I wanted to see what the red-robed one would do.
The figure in the crimson robe glanced at them, once.
“…Get lost.”
A firm refusal.
The thieves chuckled, waving daggers.
“Oi, oi. Don’t you get it, little lord?”
People flinch when they see blades. It’s instinct.
But those who don’t? Two kinds exist:
Those confident in their own strength.
Or those for whom weapons are nothing more than daily tools.
Unfortunately for the thieves, they had chosen the wrong kind of prey.
The red-robed one was the former.
Swish—!
“Aaaagh!”
One thief clutched his wrist, screaming. The dagger he’d been brandishing was now embedded in the back of his own hand.
He shrieked again and again, unable to believe it.
“…Next time, where should I aim? Tongue? Eyeball? Just say the word.”
The sweet, youthful voice did not match the cruel venom lacing it.
If it were me, I would never be fooled by such a tone.
But then—if they had that much sense, would they be common thieves?
“You bastard…!”
The thugs, eyes bloodshot with rage, charged at the red-robed figure.
“Die!”
But the crimson-robed figure slipped aside as lightly as water gliding over stone, then struck the chest of the man on the left with a sharp palm.
“Gaaahk…!”
That had to hurt.
If it were me, I’d have aimed for the back of the neck—send them peacefully to the afterlife.
This one was far more ruthless.
Without pause, the red-robed figure kicked out, catching the man on the right square in the face.
Crash—!
“Uuugh…!”
A clean finish.
Efficient. Precise. Maybe even a little too dynamic?
For an instant, the robe slipped, revealing part of the face beneath.
…Oh?
There it was.
The person I had wanted to confirm ever since the embroidery meeting—this crimson-robed one.
He quickly glanced around, as if worried someone might have seen, then pulled the hood back down.
Tsk. Sorry. Too late. I already saw.
The face was slightly different from my memory, but unmistakable.
And on the back of his hand—the crest of House Pador.
Impossible not to recognize.
“Be grateful I didn’t kill you, scum.”
The crimson robe left those trembling thieves with nothing but that warning.
And me? I’d seen enough.
Why not follow him?
Because there was no need.
I’d marked his appearance—there was no more to investigate.
What I needed was simply to confirm how that person managed to conceal himself in the Valley of Trials.
The rest? I already knew.
There isn’t a soul beneath this sky who wouldn’t know that face, hidden beneath the crimson hood.
It would be harder to find someone who didn’t recognize him.
After confirming, I turned back toward the manor without hesitation.
Now that the stage was set, it was time to organize my thoughts.
Just like during the embroidery gathering, I picked up my needle and thread.
Strange to say, but when I embroidered, everything fell into place.
These days, I’d found it… fun.
Each stitch I made, fragments of past knowledge stitched together within me.
The crimson robe.
The Valley of Trials.
The Evil Society.
Separate events, separate threads—now weaving into a single picture.
“…Good.”
Perfect clarity.
So that’s how they had been using the Valley of Trials.
Cunning bastards.
Just as my thoughts were aligning—
Bang!
“Young master!”
My steward Bator rushed in, pale, breathless.
Without even sending word ahead? That wasn’t like him.
Why now?
“You must… you must stop your embroidery at once, young master!”
“…Why?”
“T-that is…!”
At that moment, the maids inside bowed their heads low, unlike their usual manner.
“What do we do…”
“Quiet, hush…!”
Marianne and Nerlin also pressed their lips tight, bowing their heads. Everyone else followed suit.
And suddenly, I understood why Bator was so flustered.
Someone with the rank—and presence—to command this reaction had arrived.
I hadn’t expected to meet him here.
But in a way… it was a fitting entrance.
From the shadows, a man revealed his face.
Features like hewn stone. Deep, solemn eyes.
He bore an aura of someone who would walk one straight road for life, unwavering. He looked at me with a calm, unreadable expression.
The moment I saw him, a peculiar feeling stirred.
Because he was handsome?
Not at all.
Because his aura weighed down on me?
Even less so.
It was because this uninvited visitor…
…was Ras Pador.
The youngest-ever knight commander of House Pador.
And my eldest brother.
He approached, gaze cold, and spoke.
“Before leaving for my mission, I heard you were joining the Valley of Trials. And yet… I find you here, wasting time on embroidery.”
…Quite the greeting.
---The End Of The Chapter---
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