Chapter 39: Honorary Count Deon Hart

“If you knew even a fraction about the Count, you wouldn’t dare utter such nonsense, you bastards.”

“What was that…”

“I’m not telling you. If you’re so curious, find out for yourselves.”

silence.

Not that you’ll ever figure it out.

The Emperor’s dogs? That’s a joke. If you had to pick the individuals least loyal to the Emperor among those who fought in the Eight Years’ War, it would undoubtedly be us and the Captain.

A peculiar emotion flickered across the faces of the members.

Driven by madness, waves of anger, hatred, and other negative emotions briefly surged and receded before one of the members, struggling to regain composure, spoke quietly.

“So, why don’t you stop bothering someone who’s already going through enough—”

The members stealthily gathered, attempting to shield the scene from prying eyes.

Since keeping one alive is enough anyway, it wouldn’t hurt to kill this impertinent one who dared to mouth off.

Silently drawing his weapon, a member flashed a clearly fake smile and said,

“Die.”

***

Having endured Sir Lien’s intense gaze, I finally reached my room. To avoid her lingering stare, I pretended not to notice and fixed my gaze out the window.

‘There they are again, huddled together. What are they doing, all bunched up like that?’

Surely they’re not causing trouble again.

But before that, why were those guys at my house? Shouldn’t they be at the Imperial Palace?

“Sir Lien.”

“Yes, Count.”

“Are you aware of the current situation?”

“Are you referring to the Revolutionary Army’s attack?”

“No, I mean why those guys are here.”

“Ah, I understand His Majesty has returned the Knights, whom he temporarily oversaw during your absence, Count.”

Temporarily oversaw my ass. He tried to swallow them whole but couldn’t handle it and spat them back out.

Of course, before I left as the Hero’s companion after the war, the Emperor did say he would temporarily take charge of the Lofty Knights during my absence.

But who in their right mind would believe that?

Cases of claiming to temporarily hold onto something and then subtly swallowing it whole are common knowledge, easily found in any history book.

There’s even some evidence that the Emperor intended to do just that.

Even though I haven’t stayed here long until now, there was ample opportunity to return them.

The fact that he’s only returning them now must be because he couldn’t handle the unruly personalities of the members.

Damn Emperor.

‘Did he really think I could handle these guys when even he couldn’t?’

If he was going to take them, he should have just kept quiet about it. Why return them to me?

If it was an act of consideration, it’s unwelcome. If he was trying to screw me over, it was a brilliant move.

While my expression soured dramatically, Rememver, having apparently finished his task, knocked and entered after receiving permission.

Spotless white gloves and wrinkle-free tailcoat. His attire is always impeccable.

—It’s hard to imagine he was just subduing Revolutionary Army soldiers.

He deflected my narrowed gaze with his usual dignified smile and reported,

“The fire in the courtyard is completely extinguished. I was considering hiring another skilled gardener to help restore the garden, but I wanted to get your opinion, Count.”

“…Rememver, please handle it.”

He’s a capable butler, so he’ll take care of it.

His unexpected competence is somewhat baffling, but thanks to him, the anger I felt toward the Emperor for dumping these ticking time bombs (the mad dogs) on me has subsided, so I’ll let it slide.

Besides, I wouldn’t get anything out of questioning him anyway.

More importantly, I need to figure out what to do with these guys I’ve been forced to take on.

“Rememver.”

“Yes, Count.”

“I’d like to provide separate accommodations for the Knights. Would that be possible?”

“Hart Count Estate is large and spacious. We can certainly dedicate a separate residence solely for the Knights.”

He truly is capable. Quick decision-making without a hint of hesitation or bewilderment!

If only he could do something about that enigmatic attitude of his, he’d be perfect.

Lost in thought, I watched as Rememver turned his gaze towards Sir Lien.

“Sir Lien, what are your plans? Considering the difference in gender, if you intend to stay here, we’ll need to prepare a separate room…”

“Ah, I’ll commute from my own residence. So, there’s no need to prepare accommodations for me.”

“Yes, understood.”

Come to think of it, Sir Lien is a noble.

After dealing with the Lofty Knights, who are unusually comprised entirely of common-born killers… no, knights, I don’t really associate knighthood with nobility.

‘Now that I think about it, this is a big problem. The word ‘knight’ naturally makes me think of ‘mad dogs.’ At this rate, I’ll be prejudiced against other knights…’

“By the way, it seems His Majesty is quite fond of you, Count.”

“…Pardon?”

Who’s fond of whom?

Taken aback, I snapped my head up.

While I was lost in thought, Sir Lien, apparently having finished organizing things, was already leaving with a bow, the other knights nowhere to be seen.

And the only one left in front of me was Rememver, spouting nonsense.

“Just now, what did you say…”

“I said it seems His Majesty is quite fond of you, Count.”

“…Rememver, I think you need a vacation.”

“I would gratefully accept if offered, but I’d be hurt if you started treating me like a senile old man already.”

But the Emperor is fond of me? He must be referring to the Knights, but that makes no sense.

Based on what?

“Normally, it’s not easy for the Emperor to station a knight order from another family within the Imperial Palace, nor to return them. I believe only a ruler with extraordinary trust and resolve would do such a thing.”

…

Isn’t it more like he tried to keep them but couldn’t manage it, so he’s just dumping them back on me?

But what’s the point of saying that? Our butler, who loves to tease, will only hear what he wants to hear. He might even use this as an opportunity to tease me more.

In the end, I sighed and said,

“I’m going to rest.”

“Yes, please get some rest. You’ll likely be quite busy starting tomorrow.”

…?

“A lot of work piled up while you were away, Count. I’ve handled as much as I could on my own, but there are quite a few documents requiring your approval.”

“Ugh.”

“And just so you know, avoiding it won’t make it go away. In fact, it’ll only pile up more.”

“…I wasn’t planning on avoiding it.”

I considered it for a moment… but I didn’t go through with it, so it doesn’t count.

Ah, how I miss the Demon Realm, where I could just laze around.

‘Who knew I’d miss being in the Demon Realm.’

Feeling the weight of the paperwork looming, I quickly headed to the bathroom, avoiding Rememver’s subtly amused gaze.

I’m exhausted. It feels like I’ve accumulated more fatigue here than at the banquet.

‘…Maybe I should build separate accommodations specifically for the Knights.’

As far away from my living space as possible.

It’s all their fault. They’re so loud and draining, if I wasn’t tired, I wouldn’t be human.

Come to think of it, the forest behind the mansion seems quite large for being within the estate grounds. If I built it in the middle of that, it might be quieter?

‘I should seriously discuss this with Rememver later.’

***

In the slums, there’s an unspoken rule.

A rule created out of the desperate need to cling to sanity and survive in a harsh existence.

[Be friendly, but don’t get attached.]

….

The slums, contrary to appearances, are a place highly sensitive to rumors.

The mood of the nobles directly impacts their livelihoods, so how could they not be sensitive?

When the nobles are in a bad mood, the children who beg for scraps go hungry.

When the nobles are preoccupied with war preparations, those who sell their bodies starve.

When the nobles’ outings decrease for some reason, those who throw themselves in front of carriages for money are forced to chew on tree roots.

Therefore, in the rumor-mill that is the slums, the ‘birth of a new hero’ and ‘the return of Deon Hart’ were already old news.

And those spots were quickly filled by other rumors.

Rumors that could potentially offer hope, even salvation, to the people of the slums.

Rumors that were actually related to ‘salvation’—those kinds of rumors.

Sia, her voice weakened by days of hunger, questioned.

“The Salvation Church?”

“Yeah, they’re supposedly giving out bread and water for free in the slums.”

“For free?”

“For free.”

“That’s impossible. Are they drugging it?”

Her voice was small, but the suspicion in it was clear. Doubt was etched on Sia’s face.

Her hair was tangled and disheveled, her face grimy.

Yes, Sia was a child of the slums.

Born and raised in the slums, so jaded that she couldn’t readily accept goodwill.

That’s why she couldn’t take the other person’s words at face value.

Giving out bread and water for free? With no benefit to themselves? And if it’s the Salvation Church, isn’t it a religion? Religions need donations, but the people of the slums have no money.

So, this is a lie. There’s no reason to believe it.

“No, the one-legged man next door ate it, and nothing happened. They didn’t even ask for anything in return and just let him go.”

“…A lie.”

Sia knew the one-legged man.

A man who fearlessly threw himself in front of carriages to get money from nobles because he had no attachment to life.

He probably wouldn’t care if the food was drugged or not. Life and death likely held little meaning for him.

He probably thought that if he lived, he lived, and if he died, he died.

And he lived. Sia still couldn’t believe it.

The old man wouldn’t lie, so was the boy in front of her lying?

If so, why? What reason? What benefit would he get?

“It’s true! I felt sorry for you since you haven’t eaten properly in a week, so I bothered to tell you… If you don’t want to believe it, fine! I’ll go by myself! If you don’t go, you’ll only be the one who loses out.”

Paul frowned and turned away abruptly.

Ah, I guess he’s upset. Walking with such force will quickly deplete his energy and make him even hungrier.

Sia blankly watched his retreating figure with lifeless eyes.

Anyway, he said he’d go alone?

The fact that Paul was going suggested the rumor wasn’t entirely baseless.

“The Salvation Church, was it…”

Her voice, cracked from dehydration, escaped like a whisper.

She hadn’t eaten properly for a week since her failed pickpocketing attempt where she got a severe beating.

Her wrist, which she used for pickpocketing, was broken, and now that it was somewhat healed, she was too weak to try again.

At this rate, she’d die.

Death, her constant companion, felt like it was reaching out.

People in the slums were always dying.

Someone you talked to yesterday becomes a corpse, someone you shared rumors with the day before commits suicide.

The corpses receive no comfort and are simply burned to prevent the spread of disease. Always, no one mourns.

‘If I die, will that be my fate too?’

Probably.

There was something the now-dead drunk always lamented.

[I didn’t cry when others died, so who will cry for me?]

And when he committed suicide, no one cried for him, just as he had said. Sia didn’t cry either.

This place is harsh on children’s tears. Tears only hasten the depletion of strength.

So, she didn’t cry.

So, if Sia died, no one would cry, just like always.

Thinking that made her strangely interested in the Salvation Church.

‘What does it matter if they put something strange in the bread and water?’

Whether she starves to death, dies from poison, or even disappears, the reactions of the people here will be the same.

And if she’s going to die anyway, wouldn’t it be better to die after eating than from hunger?

She pushed herself up from her listless position.

Her arms and legs trembled, but Sia began to walk with difficulty.

Chasing after Paul, who was now a distant speck, she called out to him with a parched voice.

‘Salvation or whatever, I don’t care.’

As long as they give out bread and water as the rumors say.

Letting Paul, who had turned back and was now supporting her with clumsy but careful hands, guide her, she closed her eyes wearily.