༺ 𓆩 Chapter 26 𓆪 ༻
「Translator — Creator」
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃
“Bwahahaha!” In the frozen atmosphere, Bessemer suddenly burst out laughing; like it was contagious, other soldiers started laughing too.
Even the soldiers from the supply convoy, who had lost their vanguard, laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Isaac asked.
“Ha, hahaha…”
But Bessemer looked like he was having a laughing fit, he clutched his belly and slapped his knees as he laughed. “Did you hear that? Apparently we’re going to be wiped out by hell wolves!”
The other soldiers repeated Isaac’s words and smiled broadly.
“Bessemer, Bessemer!”
Unable to bear it, Schiller called out in a scolding tone.
“Brother, haha, even you heard him. Looks like the little lordling is really scared of those big mutts, huh?”
“I won’t tolerate any more disrespect.”
“Disrespect? What kind of respect do you expect us to show a brat who knows nothing about this land?” Bessemer shot back with a harsh tone. “Hell wolves? They’re nothing more than wild dogs. What we’re truly afraid of is Big Brother’s indecisiveness! Cowering inside the royal castle, doing nothing while barely clinging to power, just watching the nobles’ reactions!”
“Silence! Have you forgotten that you owe your life to His Excellancy’s mercy? Have you forgotten your oath, the one you made on your warrior’s honor?”
“Go back home. Whether Big Brother wants to make that cursed fool the lord of Vinfeldt or not, that’s his decision. Whether I accept him as lord of this land is mine.”
“Insulting the young lord is the same as insulting His Excellency. He won’t turn a blind eye to this.”
“So what, are you going to kill me? Go ahead if you want. But do you have anyone who can replace me?”
When Schiller couldn’t answer, Bessemer sneered.
“Hmph, next time bring a bunch of whores instead of that cripple. There’s nowhere to let out steam in this godforsaken place, so the men are just brawling with each other. We’re losing troops left and right.”
Having said his piece, Bessemer turned his back and walked deeper into the camp.
“The King of Wolves is starting to move.”
Isaac’s voice wasn’t loud.
But Bessemer, who had kept a carefree attitude up to that point, stopped in his tracks and turned around.
He wasn’t the only one.
All the soldiers stared at Isaac; their reactions varied.
Some looked on with contempt, others with fear, suspicion, or disgust.
“Looks like the little lordling read too many fairytales.”
Bessemer’s face twisted menacingly as he approached Isaac.
“There’s no fairytale where the King of Wolves is the main character. If you don’t believe me, go ask your tribe’s prophet, yeah?”
His appearance, drenched in dried blood, would have terrified anyone, but Isaac calmly continued.
“What use is a prophet who couldn’t even foresee his tribe’s annihilation?”
“Then I guess it’s time for you to experience annihilation yourself.”
“Heh. That tongue of yours is sharp. Wonder who you got that from.”
Bessemer grinned coldly and picked up a battle axe stuck in the ground.
The axe, crusted with dried blood, slowly rose into the air in Bessemer’s hand.
“Gasp, my lord!”
Sensing danger, Hans let out a high-pitched cry.
With a slicing sound, the axe came down toward Isaac’s crown.
Silence fell.
But the sound of Isaac’s skull splitting never came.
The axe stopped precisely at the edge of Isaac’s hair.
“I smashed that so-called King of Wolves with this axe long ago. Watch your mouth, you snot-nosed brat.”
Bessemer’s eyes bulged.
Isaac stared back without flinching.
“Carlson. Sheathe your sword.”
“Yes, sir.”
The murderous Bessemer flinched and rubbed his neck.
“…When did that happen?”
Blood dripped from where Carlson had withdrawn his sword.
A sharp pain told Bessemer it was his own blood.
“Believe it or not, Bessemer. But the King of Wolves is alive, that much is certain. It’s one of two things—either a new king was born, or you failed to kill him.”
At Isaac’s words, the soldiers began murmuring.
“He’s definitely dead. I don’t know what Big Brother told you, but—”
“This has nothing to do with my father. I learned this on my own and I speak on my own will. I came to stop my land from falling into the hands of demons.”
“My land? I’d rather hear a ghost gnaw on a corpse.”
Bessemer’s brow twitched at Isaac’s words.
“If you try to stand in the way of my rightful duty to protect my land, I’ll have no choice but to eliminate the obstacle myself.”
“Hah, you’re bold for a little lordling. So you’re really the child of Big Brother and Lady Adele, huh?”
Bessemer laughed loudly.
But the laughter didn’t last long.
“As the son of the great chieftain Adele, I challenge you to a duel.”
“…What?”
“?”
“I’ll defeat you and take command of this camp.”
“Big Brother, is this brat’s curse affecting his brain now too?”
“You’re not planning to run away, are you? Despite all that size?”
“Hah.”
Bessemer was too dumbfounded to speak.
Did the little noble brat, who barely came up to his waist, even understand what he was saying?
“Looks like the little lordling has a death wish.”
Bessemer’s lips twisted.
“What were you thinking, saying something like that? It’s not too late — take it back and return to the mansion. His Excellency won’t punish you.”
“It’s already decided.”
“You’ve never even properly trained in swordsmanship, have you?”
“Carlson taught me.”
Despite Schiller’s pleas, Isaac calmly oiled his sword.
“Do you think a month of training is enough? If you’re going to throw your life away, do it for something more worthwhile. This is nonsense. Hans, Carlson—say something!”
“There’s no need. My decision won’t change.”
Hans opened his mouth to speak but closed it again.
He was still downcast from nearly being killed by a hell wolf.
Carlson leaned against a post, staring blankly ahead.
Isaac and Bessemer’s duel was set for tomorrow at noon.
When the sun was at its peak.
Bessemer offered a barracks tent, saying Isaac could run away anytime he wanted.
But Isaac showed no sign of fleeing.
Despite being only twelve years old, his face showed neither fear nor anxiety.
In terms of size, strength, and experience, it was obvious who would win.
And yet Isaac’s eyes remained calm and cold.
Schiller felt like he was about to explode.
Ever since that last mana burst, Isaac had changed significantly.
So much so that he seemed like a different child—this young master’s thinking had matured greatly.
In some ways, he even demonstrated wisdom beyond Schiller’s expectations.
Like how he uncovered the bishop’s secret and drove out the influence of the Old Faith.
Surely, this wasn’t just a childish whim or an emotional provocation.
Still, there’s something called common sense.
Bessemer was a berserker who enjoyed bloodshed.
Such war-hungry warriors often lost themselves in battle frenzy and leapt willingly into the jaws of death.
That’s why they usually didn’t live long.
But Bessemer had survived here for over a decade since childhood.
There were two reasons for that.
He was strong enough to survive reckless choices, and he had the patience and judgment to overcome dangerous situations.
Such a warrior only grew more powerful with age.
Bessemer now was in his prime—a perfect balance of body and experience.
And Isaac had challenged such an opponent to a duel.
If that wasn’t suicide, what was it?
“My lord…!”
“Don’t worry. Even if I lose, Bessemer won’t kill me.”
“He’s unpredictable.”
“Don’t even think of asking Bessemer for mercy. Not unless you want to disgrace House Goethe.”
With that, Isaac extinguished both the lantern and the candles.
“You’re really stubborn, you know that?”
“You should go. I need rest if I’m going to duel tomorrow.”
Isaac lay down on a mattress piled with animal pelts.
His attitude said clearly: no more discussion.
“Hans, you go back with Schiller tomorrow. You’ll only get in the way.”
Already lying down with his eyes closed, Isaac left no room for further words.
He was so stubborn, there wasn’t even room for a needle to slip through.
“If the young lord is in danger, I won’t just stand by. No matter what you say, I’ll bring you back to the mansion.”
“Do as you wish.”
Schiller left with a sour expression.
Hans hesitated, then followed him out.
A long time later.
Isaac opened his eyes halfway.
Carlson was still standing guard.
“Carlson.”
“Are you getting up?”
“Yeah.”
“There’s suspicious movement.”
“Leave it be. Only follow the orders I gave. Don’t act on anything else.”
“Understood.”
Carlson vanished without a sound.
Isaac closed his eyes again.
He didn’t think he would fall asleep, but the journey had exhausted him, and he drifted off quickly.
It wasn’t a deep sleep.
He had a nightmare.
It was a swamp of cold blood.
A bog made of blood and flesh, one that dragged him deeper the more he struggled.
The stench of rotting blood and meat filled his nose.
Floating on the surface were the heads of those he loved.
His father, mother, Jonas, Lucas, his nanny, Hans, the maids…
Isaac wasn’t panicked.
He knew it was a dream.0
He just wondered what the dream was trying to tell him.
Was it guilt from his previous life?
Or was it fear that this life might end in the same tragedy?
When his head sank beneath the bloody mire—
Isaac awoke, chilled to the bone.
Pale light was streaming through the flap at the entrance to the barracks.
Isaac was still lying in the bedding made of layered furs, just as he had fallen asleep the night before.
But something felt off.
Wet, squishy, and foul-smelling… something was all around him.
When the flap was pulled aside and the full light shone into the barracks—
He saw what it was.
Blood, filth, minced flesh, and bone shards soaked his underclothes.
The guts of the hell wolf they had killed the day before were scattered across his bedding.
‘What a childish prank.’
Maybe it was the disrupted sleep, but he had a headache and chills.
His body didn’t feel good.
“M-My lord!”
Hans was horrified.
“Keh keh, what a sight. Did the noble young master spend the night feasting on wolf meat alone?”
“Heh heh, cut it out. The kid’s gonna cry.”
Soldiers passed by, snickering at the sight of Isaac.
“Soldiers of House Goethe, my ass!”
“Whoa there, someone’s angry. I’m scared.”
“How dare you treat the young lord like—!”
Hans looked ready to leap at the soldiers.
“Let it go. Just get me a change of clothes.”
There were no rivers in this open plain where he could bathe.
Even if there were, they would be in forests teeming with monsters.
Isaac cleaned himself with water drawn from the well and changed clothes.
“T-Those bastards deserve to be ripped apart.”
Burning with rage, Schiller went to confront Bessemer, but Bessemer had already gone out hunting at dawn.
“Don’t waste your energy, Schiller. He’s just going to deny it anyway.”
“Where’s Carlson? What was Carlson doing!?”
“There’s no need to blame Carlson. He’s doing what I ordered.”
“…My lord. What are you planning?”
“You’ll find out soon.”
Schiller asked again and again, but Isaac only gave cryptic answers.
Schiller grew uneasy.
He knew he shouldn’t think this way, but he couldn’t stop having dark thoughts.
Isaac had volunteered as bait in the cultists’ catacombs.
The place was filled with horrifying cannibalism and nightmare rituals.
Schiller had visited to investigate the scene and still couldn’t understand Isaac’s composure.
Any normal child would have been traumatized, unable to eat or function for days, maybe weeks.
But Isaac seemed unaffected.
Sometimes, his eyes looked utterly hollow.
Schiller, who had seen many battlefields in his youth, recognized that look.
People with those eyes looked cold and trapped in silence.
As though locked in emptiness and futility.
They seemed to feel nothing—
But the truth was, their eyes weren’t empty because there was nothing inside.
It was because they were filled to the brim.
With revenge, ambition, love—so full they became numb to everything else.
They were burners.
People who would burn everything they had for the overflowing desire in their hearts.
To the point where even death was a trivial obstacle.
People who burned their own lives away.
Very few of them survived on the battlefield.
Their lives burned out too quickly.
Schiller hoped his eyes had been wrong.
Isaac was still too young to burn everything.
Noon approached, minute by minute.
Hans had prepared a meal as close as possible to what Isaac would eat back at the estate, but Isaac refused it.
He only chewed on a few pieces of jerky.
He said eating too much would just get in the way of battle.
Before noon arrived, Carlson returned.
“Are you ready?”
“More or less.”
“I heard there was some trouble.”
“Just a childish prank.”
The conversation between Isaac and Carlson was dry.
It wasn’t like a child talking to an adult—it felt more like soldiers who’d been through many campaigns together.
As noon drew closer, Isaac and Carlson remained calm, while Hans and Schiller were visibly tense and anxious.
“Where were you? While you were gone, the young master was covered in blood and filth.”
“Then we’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”
“What!?”
Schiller raised his voice.
“It could’ve been far worse. Vinfeldt isn’t a land gained through diplomacy or alliances. House Goethe took it by driving out the tribes with force. They may bow their heads now, but they don’t feel any loyalty to Goethe. Surely even you know that, Steward.”
“...........”
“It’s only because His Excellency is still alive that it ended at this. If he weren’t, you’d see what real savagery looks like.”
Carlson’s cold answer made Schiller’s eyes tremble.
He couldn’t deny it, but as someone who had served House Goethe all his life, it hurt.
“The task I gave you?”
“It was just as you expected, my lord. The hell wolves didn’t attack the camp for food.”
“Then why?”
“It was revenge.”
Carlson answered Isaac’s question.
Boom… boom…
The drum signaling noon began to sound.
The time of the duel had come.
From afar came the sound of hoofbeats, Bessemer was returning from his hunt.
END σϝ CHAPTER