Category: A Veteran Player Becomes a Troublemaker

“Even if they turn a profit, the price should only be slightly higher than usual food costs—still affordable.”

Of course, not all merchants would sell Levior at a reasonable price.

Since it was the only food source during the famine, some would jack up the price several times over.

‘Well, most of those greedy bastards will probably get beaten to death by desperate people anyway.’

A famine was the kind of situation where cannibalism could break out.

People pushed to the brink wouldn’t stay passive.

But since he had sold it at a fair price, there was no reason for anyone to blame or attack him later.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Ian noticed Nea gazing at him with a soft, almost admiring smile.

“It’s nothing,” she replied simply.

‘He’s thinking not just of Schrantz’s people, but those in other territories too…’

She hadn’t considered that.

She’d only thought about the profits, not who would be buying Levior beyond that.

His warmth—extending even to the “lowborn” nobles so often scorned—left her in awe.

She’d seen countless people who were strong against the weak and weak against the strong.

But Ian was the opposite.

Gentle to the weak, unyielding to the powerful.

And on top of that, he was considerate of those beneath him.

Even though there wasn’t much of an age gap between them, his thoughtfulness made him deeply admirable.

‘I’m truly lucky to serve a young master like him.’

‘What’s with her?’

Of course, Ian had no idea what she was thinking.

He could only guess.

‘Ah, she must be grateful because she invested in Levior too and made a lot of money, right?’

Naturally, his guess was completely off the mark.

‘I’ve met with all the trading company heads and negotiated. Now that the busy work’s done, I can finally focus on my own training.’

Just as he was about to return to his routine and start seriously training for the fourth chapter—

“Young master… I have urgent news.”

Klins approached him.

Ian drained the last of his drink and turned to him.

Even after spending time together, Klins still hesitated, watching his reaction carefully.

“What is it?”

“Refugees have arrived in Schrantz County.”

“Oh?”

Ian wasn’t particularly concerned.

With the fierce battles still raging in the west and south, he’d expected refugees to eventually trickle in from those war-torn regions.

“Then we’ll have to take care of them.”

Of course, there might be spies mixed in among them, but that wasn’t his job to sort out—it was Nea’s and the Shadows’ responsibility.

‘Perfect timing. The Shadows have been bored with nothing major to do since the territorial war ended.’

They’d appreciate having something to occupy themselves with.

‘Though the chances of spies slipping in are pretty low anyway.’

Schrantz had declared neutrality in the civil war, siding with neither prince.

It was a territory that simply kept to itself, quietly waiting for the conflict to end as soon as possible.

From the Second Prince’s perspective, some backwater border county wouldn’t even register as a threat.

“W-Well… It might be a bit more complicated than that.”

“Why? Worried their lord will protest?”

Ian smirked, already guessing Klins’ concern.

If refugees were arriving, it meant their original territory was in no state to care about them anymore.

Hell, for all he knew, their lords might already be dead or captured by invaders.

If they couldn’t even protect their own people, they had no right to complain.

“No, it’s just… There are way, way more refugees than we expected.”

“How many are we talking? Why the dramatic pause?”

How many could there possibly be?

’10 or 20? No, if he’s making a big deal, maybe 50?’

That would be more than expected, but still manageable.

At most, Ian figured it wouldn’t exceed 100.

“Close to 500. Maybe even more.”

“……What?”

Ian blinked.

So Klins was saying that nearly *500* refugees—more than the entire population of Dariel Village—had flooded into Schrantz.

---

“Good grief…”

Ian couldn’t help but be stunned as he looked at the refugees flooding into Dariel Village.

Exhausted from their long journey, they looked no better than beggars—mothers clutching infants, heads of families leading their kin, children supporting elderly parents.

Just seeing them made Ian’s head throb.

‘I thought the report was exaggerated because such numbers didn’t make sense, but…’

It wasn’t an exaggeration at all.

He didn’t know the exact count, but it was definitely more than Dariel Village’s entire population.

The village, which usually housed around 80 households, was now packed to the brim.

‘Why the hell…?’

This was Ian’s first time dealing with such a massive influx of refugees—something even Meta Pangaea hadn’t prepared him for.

Lately, it felt like unexpected situations kept piling up, and he had no idea why.

“My lord! We’ve come all the way from the south! Please, don’t turn us away!”

“Noble sir, my family fled the west! We barely escaped bandits and soldiers to get here!”

“No other territory will take us! We have nowhere else to go! Please, don’t abandon us!”

“Stay back from the young lord!”

The refugees practically competed to plead their cases, swarming toward Ian, while the soldiers struggled to control the crowd.

But it was no easy task.

There were simply too many of them.

Dariel Village’s ten guards, five escorts, a spirit archer (Dwayne), and a mage (Sera) weren’t nearly enough to manage this many people.

Seeing their desperate, tearful pleas weighed on Ian’s conscience.

But that didn’t change the fact that this was a logistical nightmare.

He hadn’t prepared for refugees on this scale.

‘What the hell? Why so many?’

It felt like he kept encountering situations he’d never experienced before.

He couldn’t comprehend what had driven this many people to flee.

‘Did things take a turn for the worse in the west or south?’

Otherwise, this kind of departure wouldn’t make sense.

But as far as Ian knew, the war’s status hadn’t changed much—both sides were still locked in a standoff.

Even accounting for delays in information, the Shadows’ intelligence network was reliable.

If something major had happened, he would’ve heard before the refugees arrived.

“Young master, isn’t this a good thing?”

While Ian was still processing the situation, Klins spoke up.

Ian gave him a questioning look, and Klins continued.

“Why not report this to the lord and suggest sending them to Ansen?”

Luther quickly agreed.

“I think that’s a great idea. Settling this many people in Ansen would solve our labor shortage at once. Plus, the tax exemption for migrants is still in effect—it’d help them too.”

Ian shook his head firmly.

He’d considered that option, but hearing their reasoning made him reconsider.

“They just said they came from the west and south, right?”

“Yes.”

“Even if the westerners could tough it out, do you really think southerners can handle the northern cold? I’m certain they wouldn’t last long in Rosen, let alone Ansen.”

Especially those from the south, where snow was a rarity.

The south recorded above-freezing temperatures even in midwinter, while Schrantz—already the northernmost territory—was extremly cold even in summer.

Sending them further north to Ansen?

‘People would freeze to death left and right.’

Even now, in what was technically autumn, this weather would feel like an unprecedented cold snap to southerners.

“Is it that bad?”

“I’m worried they might freeze even in this weather—and it’s not even below zero yet.”

As proof, Ian could already spot some refugees shivering violently despite bundling up in whatever clothes they’d brought.

If they weren’t just suffering from severe colds, they were undoubtedly southerners.

‘Even if they could endure, they look too exhausted to go any further.’

Many seemed malnourished, their immune systems weakened from lack of proper meals.

Forcing them to march farther would literally be a death sentence.

‘Whatever happens later, sending them north now is out of the question.’

Ian didn’t want corpses littering the streets, left for beasts or monsters to scavenge.

That said, he didn’t have a perfect solution either.

‘If only they’d come in manageable numbers…’

This was beyond what he could handle alone.

“No matter how you look at it, this is way above my pay grade.”

So he decided:

“This exceeds my authority. I’ll consult Father on how to proceed.”

For now, he’d ask Hugo for instructions.

His gaze returned to the refugees.

They stared back at him with pleading eyes.

Under the weight of their collective desperation, Ian sighed.

A hundred refugees? Maybe he could’ve improvised.

But this many? He couldn’t make that call unilaterally.

“What should we do with them in the meantime?”

“Telling them to fend for themselves would be too cruel. Since they’re here, we’ll have to arrange shelter and food.”

Whether Hugo would accept them all, turn them away, or only take those useful to the territory remained to be seen.

But until a decision was made, Ian would ensure their survival.

“Captain. Klins.”

“Yes, young lord.”

“At once!”

The two approached promptly.

“Captain, work with the villagers to set up tents on the empty land near the village. They’ll stay there temporarily.”

“Understood. But we won’t have enough for everyone.”

Dariel Village only had about thirty soldiers at most.

Even with emergency supplies in storage, there was no way they had tents for hundreds.

“Then empty the storerooms—gather every spare piece of fabric. If any villagers have tents, buy them.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Also, send word to nearby villages to bring all available tents here. If we’re still short, use planks to build windbreaks.”

“It will be done.”

After issuing orders to the captain, Ian turned to Klins.

“Distribute Levior to the refugees.”

“Huh? Levior?”

Klins was taken aback—Ian was willingly offering the very resource meant for sale.

“Isn’t that… wasteful?”

Wasteful?

‘Not really.’

The merchant lords secretly scoffed at Ian’s question.

‘Is he trying to pit us against each other to drive up the price?’

‘Not a bad attempt, but far too transparent.’

‘His scheme is painfully obvious.’

This was exactly the scenario they’d anticipated.

And they’d prepared accordingly.

One of the merchant lords spoke up. “We propose 10 shillings per bundle of Levior. How does that sound?”

“Ten shillings?”

“Yes, ten. A reasonable price, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Our company agrees with that valuation.”

“At ten shillings, we could certainly consider purchasing.”

Surprisingly, none of the merchants engaged in competitive bidding. They’d clearly colluded beforehand to present a united front.

‘Expected, but they’re treating me like a complete fool.’

“Ten shillings is far too low.”

The merchants had anticipated this response and were prepared to negotiate upward.

“Then what price did you have in mind, Lord Ian?”

They assumed he’d propose something slightly above their offer, allowing them to meet somewhere in the middle.

But Ian’s next words sent shockwaves through the room.

He hadn’t gone through all this trouble for mere double profits.

“Four silver coins per bundle.”

“Wha—!”

“Four silver?!”

Some laughed in disbelief, others in sheer amazement. Even Nea, observing from the side, looked stunned.

Demanding eighty times the purchase price was indeed audacious.

Ian remained unfazed by their reactions. “Yes, four silver coins per bundle.”

The outcry was immediate.

“My lord, you purchased Levior for five shillings per bundle! I personally handled those transactions! How does five shillings become four silver?!”

“This is outrageous! Eighty times markup? Let’s settle at fifteen shillings.”

“Four silver.”

“By the gods! My lord clearly doesn’t understand commerce. We’re offering fifteen shillings—three times your purchase price! This is already generous!”

“Four silver.”

“Very well! Twenty shillings then! Four times your cost! Surely this satisfies you.”

Ian didn’t budge. “Four silver.”

“This is madness!”

The merchant lords shot up from their seats when Ian showed no intention of negotiating.

“With these tactics, you’ll find no trading partners!”

“Four silver for common weeds? Preposterous!”

Through their protests, Ian remained stone-faced.

‘Why isn’t he responding?’

Without counterarguments to react to, the merchants eventually exhausted themselves.

When the uproar subsided, Ian finally spoke. “You seem to be laboring under a misconception.”

He delivered the hard truth: “Can you actually source Levior anywhere else?”

“It’s just a weed—it’ll regrow soon enough.”

Ian smirked openly. “True, Levior’s resilient. But will your people last until next summer? That’s the real question.”

The merchants froze. He’d struck a nerve.

A famine wasn’t called “great” without reason—when no food could be found at any price.

Though Levior grew quickly, during peak season they’d uprooted it all to sell to Ian. By the time the famine was certain and rumors spread about Levior being edible, it was too late to stop the trade.

Outside Shrantz, most northern territories had been stripped clean of Levior. Come summer, supplies might replenish, but for now, Schrantz held a monopoly.

In this famine, with Levior the only viable food alternative, Ian held all the cards.

He knew his advantage perfectly—and intended to wield it.

The merchants recalculated furiously, but the math only grew more grim. Schrantz was the sole source of Levior on this scale—the only territory, the only lord with substantial reserves.

They scrambled for leverage but found none.

‘What exactly can you do?’

Levior—the famine’s only solution—belonged solely to Ian.

Perhaps scraps remained elsewhere in the north, but nowhere near enough to feed entire populations. Ironically, they’d helped create this monopoly by enthusiastically selling every sprig to Ian.

Moreover, Ian had actively purchased Levior at premium prices, even cultivating dedicated fields.

“My price is four silver. Non-negotiable. Further haggling means no deal.”

When they realized who truly held the knife by the handle, the merchants groaned in defeat.

“Damnation! Very well—four silver!”

The negotiations had been impossible from the start. The deal was struck.

---

After concluding his dealings with the merchant lords, Ian lounged comfortably on the terrace, sipping a drink as he examined the new title floating before his eyes.

[Tycoon]
—A model for merchants, one whom all look up to. Your reputation spreads across the continent.

[Effects]
—Permanently increases Command +5
—Grants 10% profit margin in trade deals
—Merchant Favourability +10
—Noble Favourability +10

Ian couldn’t help but grin at his newly acquired title.

‘This was one of the hardest titles to get back then. Now it’s practically free.’

During his gaming days, Tycoon had been one of the most elusive achievements—awarded only after completing a single trade worth 10,000 gold.

Countless players had tried and failed to obtain it.

Ian himself had once stubbornly played as a merchant—a class he didn’t even enjoy—just for this title.

The forums had been flooded with posts celebrating the achievement, with desperate players begging for tips in the comments.

But what was once a near-impossible feat, requiring both skill and luck, had become trivial after the Levior famine solution was discovered.

Official stats showed that only 0.01% of players had earned it before—but after the Levior recipe spread, over 50% of active players obtained it.

By the end of Meta Pangaea’s lifespan, practically every dedicated player had it.

“Good heavens. I never imagined we’d make this much money.”

Nea, who had assisted Ian throughout the negotiations, was still reeling from the sheer scale of the profit.

The numbers were beyond anything she had imagined.

In just ten minutes, Ian had secured 11,800 gold.

‘Though, sadly, not all of it is mine.’

He sighed wistfully.

Taxes had to be paid, loans repaid with interest, and investors compensated.

After all deductions, he’d likely pocket 7,000–8,000 gold—still an obscene amount for any individual.

‘And the merchant lords will keep coming back.’

The money would keep flowing until the next harvest.

By then, he’d easily have over 10,000 gold in his personal coffers.

‘Money problems? Gone forever.’

As he chuckled to himself, envisioning his rosy future, Nea spoke up.

“Watching you negotiate made me realize something.”

“Hm?”

“Couldn’t you have sold it for even more?”

They had a monopoly.

The merchants had to buy—they were desperate.

If he had pushed further, they might have paid gold per bundle rather than silver.

Yet he had stubbornly stuck to 4 silver.

“Ah, that?”

Ian waved it off casually.

“People are starving. If I priced it any higher, how would commoners afford it?”

The wealthy could manage, but the majority would be left with nothing.

‘And more importantly, the backlash would be catastrophic.’

The merchant guilds weren’t charities.

They’d resell Levior at inflated prices, leaving the people no better off despite the supply.

‘And all that blame? It’d land squarely on me.’

He’d seen it happen—not to himself, but to other players.

Those who had gotten greedy, squeezing every last coin from the famine.

When prices soared beyond reach, the people starved even though the empire could have saved them.

The result?

Public outrage.

Nobles and peasants alike turned on those players, their wealth stripped away in territorial wars.

In the worst cases, revolutions erupted, and the greedy merchants were the first to be hanged.

If Levior hadn’t been an option at all, the blame might have been avoidable.

But when salvation existed—only to be withheld for profit?

That was a death sentence.

So players had researched the optimal price—one that maximized profit without triggering revolt.

And the answer?

4 silver per bundle.

Prices would rise the farther it traveled, but one bundle could feed a family of four for four months.

Stretched thin, it might last half a year.

‘Not like anyone would eat more than necessary—unless their taste buds were broken.’

People would endure it to survive, but nobody would enjoy it.

And that was exactly how Ian wanted it.

Winter faded, and spring arrived in a burst of blossoms.

The western and southern regions buzzed with activity—soldiers busy in war, farmers bent over their fields, plowing and sowing. The heaviest fighting raged along the border between the two territories.

Together, these lands produced 80% of the empire’s grain. Control them, and victory in the civil war was assured.

That’s why armies converged here. That’s why the clashes reached apocalyptic scales. And that’s why most of the dying happened here.

---

“Ugh, damn this war. Can’t we live in peace for once? They’re taking 70% of this year’s harvest in taxes. Maybe I should quit farming altogether.”

Charles was an ordinary southern farmer.

For peasants like him, tucked far from the frontlines, daily life hadn’t changed much—except for the crippling taxes that made him want to scream.

Even country folk knew why taxes had spiked.

Natural disasters had ravaged multiple regions, gutting harvests.

‘Why should we bleed and sweat to fix other lords’ problems?’

Rumors swirled that their lord was shipping their crops to curry favour with the capital. Everyone knew. Everyone believed.

“Sweet merciful skies! Don’t say such things! What if they drag our children into this mess?!”

Charles’ wife—always high-strung—jumped like a scalded cat at his muttering. Today, her nerves were frayed raw.

“If trouble comes, it’ll come for me. What’re you on about?”

“You didn’t hear? Goldenbow’s sons—all three—got conscripted yesterday!”

“The jeweler’s boys? Since when are you chummy with them? Thought the draft was two per household?”

“I ran into Mistress Goldenbow at market. Soldiers came at dawn—any family not farming or smithing got emptied out!”

“You certain? Damn. Might snatch our boys next.”

“Thank the gods I eavesdrop. Rumor is, farmers and smiths are safe—for now.”

A small mercy.

“Don’t care about much else—just want our firstborn home alive. But if your loose tongue gets the others drafted, what then?”

His wife’s eyes teary. Charles wiped her tears, rough hands awkwardly gentle.

“Hey. I am just joking. Don’t cry.”

“Don’t joke like that! My heart can’t take it!”

“Alright, alright.”

He soothed her, gaze drifting to their younger sons working the distant field. Unlike them, his eldest was likely knee-deep in corpses by now.

A conscription officer—a drinking buddy—had been bribed to spare his boys. Then the eldest ruined it.

“I’ll never plough another field! I’ll earn a knighthood in the war!”

With those words, he’d volunteered, squandering his father’s coin and his mother’s tears.

‘That fool better come back breathing.’

Still his blood. Still his worry.

The rage when he’d left had curdled into something quieter, heavier.

Was he eating? Sleeping? Alive?

No letters. No news. Just silence where a son should be.

‘Stubborn ox. Street-brawler since he could walk. Too tough to die easy.’

But war had a way of grinding down tough men.

‘Come back without a single medal, and I’ll beat the stupid out of you myself.’

Just as he imagined thrashing some sense into the boy—

BOOOOM—!

The earth split open.

---

“SWEET GODS—! WHY’S THE GROUND—?!”

“WOMAN! GRAB MY—!”

The earthquake hit like a hammer. Then—

RUMBLE—!

A new sound.

They turned. Froze.

The mountain behind their field was coming apart.

“CH-CHARLES—!”

Too late to run. Too late to even stand.

Against nature’s wrath, they could only cling—

CRASH—!

—before the landslide swallowed them whole.

The earthquake erased Charles’ family in an instant.

Nature had joined the war.

And its casualties would reshape the empire.

---

Natural Disasters in the Western and Southern Regions

And that became the signal flare of the nightmare.

In the western and southern regions known as the granary areas, all kinds of natural disasters began occurring—torrential rains causing floods, droughts, and pest infestations.

In the south, marine monsters became active, blocking not only fishing but also maritime trade routes. Even when attempting to purchase food from other countries via land routes, nations eyeing the empire’s territory refused to sell food, creating a dire situation.

Some countries, uncertain which prince would become emperor, either conducted trade cautiously or refused altogether, claiming they were also experiencing shortages. Even when food was somehow acquired, it was often plundered by bandits.

Still, there was hope that last year’s harvest might somehow see them through this year.

But that hope was quickly shattered.

Fierce battles raged in the south and west, with special forces infiltrating deep into territories to burn crops. It revealed how ugly humans could be—as if thinking “I can’t die alone” or “If I can’t have it, I’ll destroy it.”

Even after overcoming all those trials, the crops that had somehow survived were completely wiped out by a sudden swarm of locusts.

When “soaring food prices” turned into a confirmed “famine,” all territories finally went into emergency mode. People in their territories were already beginning to starve to death.

But by the time it became an established fact, any response was far too late. It was a crisis with flames already at their feet—an unprecedented famine in the empire’s history!

Amid this situation, a rumor began spreading among the people.

---

“They say there’s a way to eat a weed called Levior, which only grows in the north and was used as a pesticide.”

“Apparently, it tastes terrible but fills your stomach.”

This rumor, which started in the north, quickly spread to the east, west, and eventually even the farthest corners of the south.

“They say Schrantz County, a remote northern territory, has large stockpiles of Levior and is even ‘cultivating’ it.”

Those who heard rumors of alternative food sources naturally focused on them. The origin or veracity of the rumors didn’t matter—what mattered was the possibility of securing food in the face of a confirmed famine.

Merchants moved the fastest. Though they didn’t know if it was true, if it was, it could be an opportunity. They rushed to secure Levior as quickly as possible, leading to an unprecedented influx of merchant groups from all over heading toward Schrantz.

---

As the rumor spread rapidly, nearby territories were the first to react. Due to their physical proximity, it was inevitable that the closest territories would come first.

A total of 40 merchant groups arrived to trade for Levior.

Ian decided to conduct this trade in Dariel Village, as it was where most of the Levior was stored. The Levior stockpiled in Rosen wasn’t for sale—it was reserved for distribution to the territory’s people during food shortages.

“Young Master, are you really sure about this?”

“About what?”

“The trade. You’re really going to handle it yourself?”

Nea was worried about Ian, and for good reason—he had insisted on personally handling the Levior trade this time.

“Wouldn’t it be better to call the Schrantz trade envoy to handle it on your behalf, even now?”

Nea offered sincere advice out of concern for him.

Merchants had their own specialized skills. Even if he was a war hero who could turn the tide of battle, trade and negotiation with merchants were entirely different. She feared that Ian, who was neither lord nor heir, wouldn’t be able to match the seasoned merchants in trade dealings and might end up being manipulated, losing face in the process.

“It’s fine. I know a thing or two about trading.”

The only trade Ian had ever conducted was with the elf village. That deal had gone smoothly because their interests aligned perfectly, but this trade would be nothing like that.

‘Sigh… I should trust the Young Master.’

Was Ian’s stubbornness normal? While he would yield if he thought his subordinates’ advice was correct, when he dug in his heels like this, there was no changing his mind.

‘And usually, when he insists this much, it means he has a plan.’

Perhaps it was because she had observed him for so long, but she knew that when Ian was this stubborn, it was because he was confident he could succeed. She even felt a little anticipation about how he would successfully negotiate with the merchant leaders—though her unease was still greater.

“Well then, it’s about time. Shall we go in?”

Ian headed to the reception room.

Inside, men dressed stylishly and adorned with precious metals were seated. They were all the merchant leaders who had come this time.

When Ian entered, the waiting men rose from their seats.

“Long time no see, Lord Ian.”

“You seem even more impressive than just a few months ago.”

Ian glanced at Nea. Realizing why he was looking at her, she sighed softly and quietly explained.

“They’re the merchant leaders who came to trade Levior with us before.”

“Ah, right.”

He hadn’t paid much attention to them before, having only exchanged a few brief words, so he didn’t remember them.

“Thank you for coming all this way. Please, everyone, have a seat.”

Ian took the seat of honor.

Watching him, the merchant leaders laughed inwardly.

‘Heh heh, Lord Ian is our trading counterpart?’

‘His memory is bad—does that mean he’s not that bright? Maybe we can make a good deal here.’

They saw Ian as an easy mark.

And why wouldn’t they? He was the one who had paid good money for Levior, a weed no one else wanted to buy. They thought he was just a lucky fool who had stumbled into a windfall.

‘Do they really think I’ll just roll over and let them take advantage of me?’

Ian inwardly sneered, fully aware of what the merchants were thinking. He could practically see them mentally calculating how much profit they could squeeze out of him.

“For merchants, time is money, right? Then let me ask directly: How much are each of you willing to pay?”

“You’re saying Lord Ian is buying large quantities of a weed called Levior?”

“Yes. His warehouses are already full, and he’s even building additional ones to store more.”

News of Ian’s eccentric behaviour had reached Duke Endran.

“Does the Adoran Merchant Group know why?”

“They claim they don’t. Even the master of the company is following Lord Ian’s orders, but he seems deeply troubled by it.”

Of course, if even he couldn’t figure out Ian’s reasoning, how could they?

“Does Levior have some beneficial property?”

“Not that we know of. The only thing we’ve confirmed is that Lord Ian has been teaching his household how to cook with it.”

“And people actually eat it?”

“Yes, apparently there’s a method. But according to those who’ve tried it, the taste is so revolting that it’s practically inedible. Because of this, rumors have spread that Lord Ian enjoys bizarre cuisine.”

Duke Endran fell into thought.

‘If he were just indulging in strange tastes, he wouldn’t need to stockpile such massive quantities.’

No single person would require that much.

Filling warehouses to the brim—even building more—was beyond rational explanation.

Reports of Ian’s eccentricities had been circulating for some time now.

Though their last meeting had left him somewhat disappointed, Ian’s actions always had a clear purpose.

Whether it was his fervent push for uncharted territory exploration (despite uncertain success) or his absurdly efficient weapon production (which greatly aided in territorial wars), everything Ian did was meticulously prepared.

‘Is this another one of his preparations?’

The duke crossed his arms, deep in thought.

But no matter how much he pondered, he couldn’t grasp why Ian was hoarding Levior.

Still, he had a strong feeling that Ian was planning something.

“Father.”

Before the report had arrived, Viola, who had been sipping tea with him, spoke up.

“Yes, what is it?”

“What if we also gather this Levior weed? Looking back, Lord Ian has always acted with purpose. No matter how I think about it, this seems no different.”

She shared his suspicions.

But honestly, he couldn’t shake a slight unease.

After all, it was just a weed.

Did they really need to stockpile it in warehouses?

‘But if even Viola thinks this way…’

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Viola’s instincts were rarely wrong.

“Very well. Let’s do that. We’ll soon find out what he’s scheming. Advisor, gather as much Levior as possible and store it in our warehouses.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Most farmers had likely already uprooted and burned it before planting season, so supplies would be limited.

But it was a common roadside weed.

‘If it comes to nothing, we can always sell it all to Schrantz for some petty war funds.’

At worst, they could offload it to the trading company or use it as insect repellent for soldiers during summer.

For the duke, the looming civil war mattered far more than this oddity.

The key point was—there was little to lose.

“Your Grace!”

A soldier rushed in urgently, bearing the insignia of a frontline messenger.

“What is it?”

“Great news! The Third Prince and the imperial family have safely arrived in our territory!”

The duke’s face lit up instantly.

“Which members of the imperial family are present?”

“Her Majesty the Empress, the imperial princesses, and even His Majesty the Emperor—all have arrived!”

“Excellent!”

Duke Endran was overjoyed.

He hadn’t dared hope they could retrieve every member of the imperial family unscathed.

At worst, he had expected to abandon the empress and princesses—securing only the Third Prince and the Emperor.

Years of preparation had paid off.

“Advisor, make immediate arrangements for His Majesty, the Empress, and the princesses to rest comfortably.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Quickly.”

As the advisor hurried off, the duke couldn’t suppress his smile—everything was falling into place.

“Your Grace, there is one more matter to report.”

“What is it?”

The messenger hesitated slightly.

Though the duke was in high spirits, the next news was far from pleasant.

“This… is less favorable.”

“Speak.”

The messenger braced himself, certain his words would sour the duke’s mood.

But duty demanded he continue.

“The House of Eaton has begun mobilizing. Signs of invasion have been spotted across multiple fronts.”

“Is that so?”

Contrary to expectations, the duke showed no irritation.

In fact, his expression didn’t change at all.

He had anticipated this.

‘They’re no fools. They would’ve realized the imperial family had fled to my lands.’

Though the extraction had been successful, the disappearance of the entire imperial family (except the Second Prince) was impossible to hide.

Everyone would deduce that the Third Prince had taken them somewhere—and tracking would inevitably lead here.

For the Second Prince, this was a slap in the face.

The imperial family siding with Duke Endran was the same as to outright rejecting his claim.

“Prepare for war. We will crush the rebels.”

With both legitimacy and righteousness on his side, the duke no longer had reason to hesitate.

They were the ones drawing blades against the imperial-backed faction.

At last, the grand design he had longed for was complete.

---

Thud! Crack!

“Ughhh~!”

Ian stretched his arms upward and his legs downward while still seated, letting out a satisfying groan.

He’d been sitting for so long that the sound of his joints popping echoed around the room.

Not satisfied with just that, he stood up and shook out his limbs, loosening his stiff muscles.

“Phew, finally done. What kind of work takes months to finish?”

Ian had been forced to take over the duties of corrupt officials who’d been arrested.

With so many administrators detained, the workload had piled up to the point where even he had to step in.

At first, the sheer volume of tasks gave him a headache, but time eventually sorted things out.

By actively recruiting literate locals and receiving dispatched officials from Rosen, he managed to ease the burden.

Of course, most of the existing officials were undergoing rehabilitation programs, so he still had to put effort into training the new hires.

But thanks to that time and effort, the new recruits gradually became more skilled and quickly adapted to their roles.

Now that they were fully handling their duties, work was finally flowing smoothly.

And today, at last, he’d managed to wrap up the backlog.

“Now, what’s left…?”

Ian turned his gaze and reached out.

His eyes landed on a few documents set aside on the corner of his desk.

They were reports on events outside the Schrantz County borders—intelligence gathered by diligent agents.

Even while buried in work, he’d made sure to keep up with the civil war’s progress.

Picking up the reports, Ian read through them slowly, like flipping through a newspaper.

“So the Duke of Endran and the Duke of Eaton are still in a stalemate?”

The two great houses had finally clashed.

A massive battle involving a combined force of 10,000 soldiers had resulted in heavy casualties, leaving the Duke of Eaton’s forces too battered to advance further.

But the Duke of Endran didn’t have the strength to counterattack either—his losses were far from negligible.

The Duke of Eaton, desperate to reclaim the imperial family, had launched a full-scale offensive from the start, leading to a larger battle than anticipated.

While the northern front had settled into a stalemate due to heavy losses, the western and southern regions saw multiple skirmishes daily.

“The west and south are just getting started.”

The false peace had shattered as the empire’s two most powerful houses collided, igniting the nation in flames.

The empire was now split between the Second Prince in the southeast and the Third Prince in the northwest.

The densely populated western and southern regions would inevitably bear the brunt of the casualties.

Already, each region had suffered tens of thousands of losses—enough said.

“By the time this war ends, combat casualties alone will exceed 30,000.”

And that was just the west and south.

Across the entire empire, the toll would likely reach 40,000 to 50,000.

Over half of the civil war’s deaths would come from those fronts.

But Ian wasn’t particularly concerned.

Had the battles been raging in Schrantz, he’d have been alarmed—but the fiercest fighting was happening far away.

Months away by carriage, in fact.

To him, it was just news from someone else’s backyard.

Of course, the war’s effects had inevitably reached Schrantz, whether he liked it or not.

Flipping the page, Ian muttered,

“Deserters turning into bandits and drifting into our territory again. They reached Nase, but it looks like they were dealt with.”

Still, he wasn’t worried.

He’d prepared for this exact scenario before moving here.

In fact, the veteran soldiers from Nase—who’d gained real combat experience during the undead outbreak—had proven invaluable.

Nase, once considered Schrantz’s weak link, was no longer the same ragtag militia it used to be.

It was now a gathering of seasoned fighters who could hold their own.

“Even if I hadn’t prepared, Father and Hubert would’ve had their own contingencies.”

Hugo and Hubert had put their heads together in Rosen, making their own preparations.

As long as things proceeded according to plan, Ian didn’t need to intervene deeply—they’d handle the rest.

“Ah, so convenient! Normally, this would’ve been a headache.”

Had he been the heir or lord, he’d have had to manage everything himself.

The one benefit of the original Ian being a troublemaker was that he’d been pushed out of the succession—sparing him the bureaucratic nightmares.

Of course, that same reputation had made his early days hell, but still.

Right now, he was reaping the rewards.

“It’s about time things start moving…”

While relieved to see events unfolding as he’d expected, Ian was waiting for one particular piece of news.

Knock knock.

Someone knocked on the office door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me. May I come in?”

“Enter.”

Recognizing Nea’s voice, Ian immediately granted permission.

She stepped inside, quietly closing the door before approaching him.

Despite her work as a personal maid, her hands remained delicate—and in them, she held a single sheet of paper.

“What is it?”

“News has arrived from the western and southern fronts.”

Ian’s eyes gleamed.

He already knew, instinctively, what this was about.

“Nea. I have a job for you. Let’s spread a rumor.”

“A rumor? What kind?”

“That there’s a plant—disgusting in taste, but usable as emergency food.”

Ian grinned.

“Nea, why don’t you invest too? I’ll multiply your money several times over.”

“Well, since room and board are already covered here, I don’t have much use for my wages anyway. And you seem so confident, Young Master—very well, I’ll do it.”

A faint smile curved Ian’s lips.

“Even if we take a loss, I’ll personally guarantee your returns. You’ll get every coin back.”

“Hearing that puts me at ease.”

Ian was a man of his word.

And he cared fiercely for his people—so much so that he’d discard pride and scruples to help them.

This investment offer was clearly for her sake too.

Trust built over time made her decision effortless.

‘Come to think of it, Sera and Sir Dwayne also invested with the Young Master, didn’t they?’

Sera had seemed to think, “The Young Master must need quick funds,” while Dwayne had done it purely because Ian suggested it.

Their reasons varied, but one common thread united them:

‘They believe in the Young Master.’

And she was no different.

All she had to do was trust Ian and wait.

That was all.

---

Over time, the crowds thinned.

Now, only occasional visitors came, and the Levior in Dariel Village and its surroundings had been harvested to near extinction.

Fortunately, other territories, hearing of this, began selling Levior too.

Thus, the warehouses continued to fill.

Then, one day—

Servants gathered in the estate’s rear courtyard, summoned by Ian.

“Why did the Young Master call us?”

“Who knows? Maybe he has special tasks for us.”

They waited with quiet anticipation. Ian always rewarded them handsomely for extra work—voluntary, never forced.

When Ian finally appeared, they spotted him alongside an administrator and butler pulling a cart. Klins and Luther. Behind them trailed Sera, though she seemed to be just observing.

“Need help?”

“Ah, no. We’re fine!”

“We’ll manage!”

Klins and Luther wanted all the help they could get but couldn’t bring themselves to ask Sera.

Not because she was a woman—but because of her status.

Officially an alchemist, she was effectively the territory’s sole mage. Mages warranted noble-like respect, making them hesitant.

Sera herself seemed oblivious to this.

Regardless, they somehow carried the massive cauldron onto the cart and, with much grunting, dragging it to the courtyard before collapsing on the spot.

A cauldron large enough to fit a person—the kind alchemists used.

In fact, it was Sera’s own. With no work today, she’d loaned it and tagged along out of curiosity.

“Hmm, everyone’s here.”

Ian surveyed the assembled servants. His reason for gathering them?

“I called you here to teach you how to cook Levior.”

To impart the miracle recipe.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

It was hard to believe the weed they’d been paid to collect could be edible.

“Um, Young Master…”

A maid timidly raised her hand.

“Yes?”

“You’re saying… we can cook Levior?”

“That’s right.”

“My father once mistook Levior for herbs and cooked with it. The whole family fell ill.”

“I got sick eating it as a child too. That plant isn’t food.”

“Same here.”

One by one, servants shared their grim experiences with Levior.

Accidentally ingested during play, mistakenly added to meals—no one had fond memories of it.

At best, its repellent smoke made summer nights slightly more bearable.

“That’s because you didn’t prepare it properly.”

Ian had gathered them to teach the correct method.

‘Even if Father stockpiles food now, it won’t last a year.’

Pre-merger Schrantz might have managed, but now feeding over ten thousand people was impossible without Levior.

Eventually, like it or not, they’d have to eat it.

And Ian intended to train these servants first, so they could spread the technique.

‘They’ll scoff now, but this will save countless lives later.’

Other territories might starve, but Schrantz would endure.

“Listen carefully!”

Ian laid out the steps:

“First, soak it in boiling water for at least ten minutes. Second, dry it for a full day. This removes the toxins.”

The biggest deterrent to eating Levior was its sickness-inducing poison. Eliminate that, and it became nutritious.

“Finally, third: Boil the dried Levior into porridge. This here is Levior dried since yesterday.”

He showed them the prepped sample.

Turning weeds into porridge sounded absurd, but—

“Still, I’ll demonstrate.”

Though skeptical, curiosity stirred.

‘If the Young Master is going this far, maybe it’s delicious?’

They secretly hoped for a culinary revelation.

Ian pointed at the cauldron.

“Water.”

“Yes, sir!”

Klins and Luther scrambled to fetch buckets from the well, filling the cauldron halfway before pausing.

“Fire.”

“Yes, yes, sir!”

There was no time to rest.

They immediately placed firewood beneath the pot and lit the fire.

After a while, the water began to boil vigorously.

“See? The water’s boiling now, right?”

Ian tossed the dried Levior into the bubbling water.

“Now, we just have to simmer this Levior for an hour, and it’s done.”

And so, the so-called miracle dish—”Levior Porridge”—was completed.

A simple recipe with no real difficulty.

Yet, the expressions of the household members, who had initially been curious about its taste, gradually darkened.

And for good reason.

‘The smell is awful…’

The distinct grassy stench and foul odor of Levior had begun to spread.

It was so bad that it felt even worse than the smells wafting from the alchemy lab where Sera worked.

Sera herself, perhaps accustomed to such foul odors, showed no change in expression—but the others weren’t so lucky.

After boiling for an hour, the Levior Porridge was finally ready.

“Alright, everyone gets a bowl. Try it.”

Ian scooped a bowlful onto each plate and handed them out.

“……”

“……”

None of them dared to lift their spoons.

Not only did it look unappetizing, but the stench invading their nostrils made it impossible to believe it could taste good.

As they all hesitated, waiting to see who would take the first bite, Ian sighed in resignation.

Fine. If no one would volunteer, he’d just have to pick someone.

“Klins. Luther.”

“Yes, young master?”

“You two try it first.”

“U-Us?!”

And so, Klins and Luther became the first test subjects.

They hesitated, staring at the Levior Porridge.

The foul, greenish steam rising from it made it seem utterly inedible.

‘Well… just because it looks and smells terrible doesn’t mean it tastes bad, right?!’

Remembering their mother’s old saying—“Try it before you complain!”—they steeled themselves.

‘Ah, screw it!’

‘The young master wouldn’t feed us something he wouldn’t eat himself, would he?’

Shutting their eyes tightly, they shoved a spoonful into their mouths.

“Guh—!”

“Bleh—!”

Immediately, they gagged.

That was their reaction after just one bite.

‘What the hell is this?!’

‘It’s even worse than I imagined!’

The moment it touched their tongues, the overpowering grassy stench and revolting foulness flooded their mouths.

And since it was none other than Ian who had cooked this, they couldn’t even bring themselves to spit it out.

Instead, they chewed miserably and forced it down.

“I-It’s… very unique. Y-Yes…”

“Maybe if the seasoning were adjusted… it might be… tolerable…”

Watching them struggle to avoid outright calling it disgusting, the rest of the household’s expressions darkened further.

So it really was as terrible as it looked and smelled.

‘Adjust the seasoning? If that worked, I’d have done it already.’

Of course, Ian had tried. Hell, every player in Meta Pangaea had probably tried.

But the raw stench of Levior was so overpowering that no amount of spices or seasonings could overpower it.

And in the middle of a famine, where even basic food was scarce, who had the luxury of worrying about seasonings?

Noble or not, when starvation loomed, everyone was equal at the dinner table.

Well, actually, commoners had it slightly better—while they didn’t have Levior, they did have tree bark and roots, which were almost as disgusting.

And Ian was no exception.

He had intended to get them accustomed to the taste early, but he also knew this was an unavoidable fate—for himself as well.

“Alright, everyone, take a plate.”

Ian scooped up a spoonful of Levior Porridge and ate it himself.

‘Ugh. Even though I made it, this is disgusting.’

As expected, it tasted awful. But he had to get used to it.

The sooner he did, the less he’d suffer later.

Like it or not, they might have to survive on this for months—maybe even over a year.

Seeing even Ian forcing it down, the others had no choice but to follow suit.

Their faces twisted in agony.

Exactly the reaction he’d expected.

Some were probably cursing him inwardly for feeding them this slop.

But.

‘I’m just doing my best to keep you all alive.’

They might hate him now, but they’d thank him later.

“Once you’re done today, spread the word about this dish to as many people as possible.”

His plan was to ensure no one starved during the famine by making sure everyone knew this recipe.

Right now, only about a dozen people knew how to make Levior Porridge.

But soon, hundreds—thousands—would learn it, and within this territory, at least, no one would die of hunger.

‘If I have to suffer, so do you.’

People’s thoughts tended to run along the same lines.

In fact, some of the household members were already thinking about feeding this to their absent coworkers later.

Whether for good or ill, this recipe would spread among the people.

And so, that day, rumors spread among the territory’s citizens—not only that Lord Ian had a taste for bizarre food, but also the recipe for that very abomination.

“I could take the risk and propose it to Father, but…”

Given Hugo’s personality, it was doubtful he’d agree. Even if he recognized the potential profit, his dislike to corruption and awareness of the risks would make him reject it outright. Hugo prioritized safety above all else.

Though the Schrantz family had recently risen to prominence, just a few months ago they were merely lords of a minor territory—barely clinging to survival like a candle flickering in the wind. That was why Hugo was content with their current standing.

‘Personalities don’t change overnight.’

Unless someone else took over his body like Ian had, of course.

In the end, Ian decided to drop the matter entirely.

There were other ways to profit—ones that wouldn’t draw Duke Endran’s attention.

‘Now that I think about it, wasn’t it a few months after the civil war broke out that the famine started in the southern and western regions?’

“Nea, contact the merchant guild and tell them to stockpile as much Levior as possible. Use all available funds immediately. Ah—I’ll purchase some with my personal money too.”

Nea tilted her head in confusion.

“Levior? I’ve never heard of that. What is it?”

It sounded like a person’s name, but given the context, it was clearly an object.

“Weeds.”

“Excuse me?”

His answer left her stunned.

“Did you just say… weeds?”

She wondered if she had misheard.

“Weeds.”

The same answer confirmed she hadn’t.

“Why weeds?”

Why would anyone spend money buying weeds?

“You’ll find out soon enough. Oh, and while I’m at it, send a letter to Father. Tell him to focus on stockpiling food and mass-cultivating Levior.”

Ian left it at that.

---

“Wow, we’ve gathered a lot.”

Ian grinned in satisfaction as he inspected the piles of weeds accumulated over the past few days—Levior, the plant he had ordered to be collected in bulk.

He had announced to the villagers that he would purchase Levior, and they had brought in far more than expected. Though puzzled by the request, the villagers welcomed the easy side income.

Coincidentally, this aligned with the season for weeding before spring. In this frigid region, weeds were more of a nuisance than a threat, leaching nutrients from the soil without benefit.

Now, instead of burning them, the villagers could sell the useless plants for coin.

The sight of people lining up outside the mansion was almost comical—one might mistake it for a popular shop rather than a noble’s residence.

With little to do in winter, the peasants had no income, so Ian’s offer was a godsend.

“You’re really buying these weeds?”

Some hesitated, unable to believe their luck.

“That’s right. Place your sacks on the scale.”

“One at a time, please! There’s no rush—we’ll buy everything!”

“No cutting in line! Stay orderly!”

The mansion staff were busier than ever. Guards were mobilized to manage the crowd, while servants hauled the purchased Levior to storage.

Under normal circumstances, the sudden workload might have bred complaints, but Ian had taken care of that—he promised bonuses once the work was done.

The promise of extra pay was so enticing that even soldiers on guard duty asked if they could join in.

‘This is the key to surviving what’s coming.’

The Fried Empire faced several major crises.

The first was the eastern nomadic invasion—a devastating event that had nearly toppled the empire. But that was long past, so Ian didn’t need to worry.

The second was the Rafleon War Period, triggered by a revolution in the Fran Kingdom. But that wouldn’t occur for another 300–400 years, in an era of firearms and cannons.

The third was the Imperial Succession War currently unfolding—a conflict that, without player intervention, would end with the Fourth Prince backstabbing the exhausted Second and Third Princes to claim the throne.

But Ian had already altered that outcome by tipping off Duke Endran.

‘The Fourth Prince’s disappearance means Duke Endran has already made his move.’

Now, only the clash between the Second and Third Princes remained—a battle of brute force Ian had no intention of interfering in.

That left the fourth crisis—the one Ian was preparing for now.

The Great Famine.

A disaster so severe that more would die from starvation than in the war itself.

In peacetime, each territory could have mitigated the damage with relief efforts.

But who had the resources to spare during a civil war? Feeding soldiers alone was a struggle.

‘And wasn’t the empire’s breadbasket in the south and west?’

Eighty percent of the empire’s food came from those regions.

Now, the empire would split in two—the east and south backing the Second Prince, the north and west supporting the Third.

While the south had slightly higher production, the difference was insignificant.

But controlling those regions meant controlling the war.

More food meant more population—and starving the enemy into submission was a viable strategy.

That was why most battles would concentrate in the south and west.

‘But soon, famine will strike those very regions, crippling them.’

The famine was a catastrophe born of human folly and natural disaster.

And Ian intended to profit from it.

Levior wasn’t just any weed.

It was a hardy, fast-growing plant that thrived in poor soil—a last-resort crop during famines.

By stockpiling it now, Schrantz would have leverage when the crisis hit.

‘We’ll sell it at a premium—or better yet, trade it for favours.’

A smirk played on Ian’s lips as he watched another cartload of Levior roll in.

The empire was burning, but Schrantz would emerge richer than ever.

In some regions, unprecedented torrential rains, pest infestations, and swarms of billions of locusts devastated what little crops remained.

In others, droughts and earthquakes struck.

To make matters worse, similar disasters occurred in the south, while massive sea monster outbreaks prevented fishermen from venturing out.

With trade ships unable to sail, maritime food imports came to a halt.

As the civil war intensified, countless men were drafted—killing and dying—leaving too few hands to till the fields.

A cascade of natural disasters within a single year triggered a catastrophic famine, soon ravaging every corner of the empire.

Self-sufficiency became impossible, and with maritime trade blocked, the situation grew dire.

Had the empire recognized the dwindling food supply early and acted, the damage might have been mitigated. But consumed by war, no one had the capacity to respond.

Even if they had noticed, the widespread devastation would have made intervention futile.

Thus, countless perished from starvation, and even after the war ended, the empire took decades to recover.

‘Yet astonishingly, there’s one solution.’

An unremarkable weed, scorned as worthless—Levior, a plant native only to the north—held the key to surviving the famine.

In just days, warehouses were packed to the brim with the harvested weeds.

‘A mere 5 shillings per crate. Unbelievably cheap!’

The price barely covered labor costs. In the north, Levior was so common no one would even pay for it—a testament to its perceived worthlessness.

A hardy grass thriving in barren soil, Levior dotted even the wastelands near Ansen. Farmers despised it for sapping nutrients from the earth.

Toxic if ingested, it caused illness and tasted foul—so repulsive even grazing animals avoided it.

Useless as food or fodder, its only utility was as a pest repellent when burned, thanks to its acrid smoke.

Who could’ve imagined this wretched weed would become the famine’s salvation?

One player discovered that boiling Levior into a watery porridge could sustain a person for a day. Shared online, this revelation went viral.

The game developers had declared the famine unsolvable—until six years post-launch, when this breakthrough emerged.

Soon, the method spread globally, even reaching the devs, who immortalized the discovery by naming the weed “Levior” after the player’s username and expanding its in-game lore.

---

“I’m not sure about this…”

Nea eyed the crates piling up in the warehouse with deep scepticism. Though following Ian’s orders, she couldn’t shake the feeling they were tossing coins into the dirt.

“By next summer, famine will grip the west and south. Food prices—and Levior’s value—will skyrocket.”

She understood Ian had his reasons, but—

“Famine? How could you possibly know?”

Ian had always been like this.

He prepared for crises as if foreseeing the future—not predicting, but knowing with unsettling certainty.

‘He once claimed to have informants, but…’

Nea knew that was a lie. Having attended him constantly (except when he slept), she’d found no evidence of such sources.

Yet, every disaster he’d mentioned had unfolded exactly as he said.

“There are ways to know.”

His baseless confidence baffled her. Ian never explained—he simply bulldozed ahead.

‘Still, his status helps.’

Had he been a commoner, they’d have dismissed him as a madman. But as the young master of a rising house—one with a track record—people followed, even if uneasily.

Levior’s true value would soon be undeniable.

When the famine struck, Schrantz would wield it as both lifeline and leverage—turning despised weeds into empire-shaping power.

And Ian?

He would be the one holding the keys to survival.

“Brother must be thinking of uprooting the corruption completely in one go to prevent any chance of reocurrence.”

In fact, Ian’s swift actions were earning praise from the territorial residents.

Seeing those who had oppressed them being dragged away one after another was a visible relief.

Some villagers were even capturing corrupt officials themselves and delivering them to Ian—such was the extent of the change.

Of course, the administrators in Rosen and the staff at Ansen’s detention facilities were screaming in chaos as they dealt with the aftermath.

“Send a letter instructing him to categorize the crimes by severity and handle them appropriately from now on. Ian should be able to manage that on his own.”

“Yes, Father.”

It was time to shift focus to proper governance.

Stabilization efforts needed priority.

The only problem was that the sheer volume of work ahead made it impossible to estimate when things would settle.

Knock knock!

“My lord.”

Jurdan’s voice came from outside the office.

A soft sigh from Hubert followed.

It wasn’t that their relationship had soured—it was just that Jurdan’s recent visits usually meant more paperwork to review.

His appearance often signaled additional tasks.

“Come in.”

There was no refusing him.

With Hugo’s permission, Jurdan entered.

Fortunately, he wasn’t holding any documents—meaning no additional approvals were needed.

Ignoring Hubert’s relieved sigh, Hugo asked:

“This doesn’t seem to be about routine matters. What brings you here, advisor?”

“I came to report important news.”

“What is it?”

“His Highness, the Fourth Prince—”

“The Fourth Prince?”

The sudden mention of the Fourth Prince drew puzzled looks.

“His Highness the Fourth Prince has gone missing.”

Hugo and Hubert’s eyes widened in shock at the unexpected news.

“Missing? How?”

“According to reports, he disappeared while on a hunting trip with some attendants—the same day the Third Prince also went missing.”

“Hah…”

The office fell into stunned silence at the unbelievable news.

“So,” Hugo finally broke the silence, though the shock hadn’t faded. “How is the imperial family responding?”

“They’re searching, but nothing has been found yet. The other princes are accusing each other of murdering the Fourth Prince, despite his disinterest in the throne.”

Naturally.

‘Whether it was orchestrated by one of the princes or a supporting noble, this situation is far from favorable.’

The critical point was that it provided justification for conflict.

“Is there any more information from the capital?”

“No, my lord. That’s all we know so far. The only other development is another minor clash between Duke Endran’s and Duke Eaton’s forces.”

“Again? That’s the fifth one this month alone.”

The frequency of these skirmishes had undeniably increased.

At first, people thought war was imminent, but by now, many had grown numb to it.

Minor clashes had become routine—occurring once or twice a month over the past two years.

The problem was the recent spike in frequency.

‘It’s about to explode.’

While others might have grown indifferent, Hugo felt the empire burning beneath his feet.

More frequent clashes meant more soldiers deployed to the frontlines.

And these weren’t random skirmishes—they were probing attacks, testing each other’s weaknesses.

“Advisor, keep a close watch on the situation. Report anything new, no matter how trivial.”

Jurdan, who had served him for decades, understood—every rumor, no matter how minor, was to be reported.

“Yes, my lord.”

With a bow, Jurdan left the office.

Hugo pressed his fingers to his temples. Hubert’s expression darkened just as quickly.

Father and son shared the same thought:

Watching their homeland, this great empire, crumble in real time was far from pleasant.

But.

‘If my discontent alone could fix this, I’d gladly endure it a hundred times over.’

Their meager strength couldn’t extinguish the flames threatening to consume the empire.

Against their wishes, the empire’s fate raced forward like a runaway horse—whether toward a treacherous path or an outright cliff, only the gods knew.

---

Swish!

A sharp sound cut through the air as a blade danced gracefully.

Swoosh—!

The next movement followed an unpredictable arc.

Ian’s sword flowed through the air like a dancer’s ribbon.

He was training in the secret practice hall, mimicking the movements of the first Schrantz Count’s phantom.

The third form was starkly different from the second, which had been as aggressive as an enraged bull.

Instead of brute force, this was fluid—like a deadly, elegant dance.

Outwardly, it appeared smooth, but beneath lay the lethality of a viper’s strike.

And it was unorthodox.

At first, some movements were manageable, but soon, the complexity escalated.

Eventually, the sequences became impossible for an ordinary human body to replicate.

How do you transition from this stance to that?

No matter how hard he tried, it was futile.

Ian realized that forcing it would only lead to injury.

Then it hit him—mana reinforcement.

Channeling mana through his body, he found himself executing previously impossible movements with ease.

A swordsmanship style that flowed naturally before striking with unpredictable, razor-sharp precision.

This was the essence of the third form.

And once understood, progress came swiftly.

The result?

[Skill ‘Schrantz Swordsmanship – Chapter 3’ conditions have been met. Chapter 3 effects have been unlocked.]

[Skill ‘Aura Body’ has been acquired.]

<Schrantz Swordsmanship> – A swordsmanship style and secret art passed down through generations of the Schrantz family.

– Chapter 1: Attack Power +5%

– Chapter 2: Maximum MP +100

– Chapter 3: MP Consumption -5%

– ???<Aura Body> – A skill that consumes 10 MP per second to envelop the body in mana, enhancing physical capabilities.

– While active, increases defense and movement speed by 10%.

– When used simultaneously with ‘Aura’, both Aura and Aura Body effects are doubled. However, MP consumption increases threefold.

Ian had successfully unlocked Chapter 3.

“Haah!”

With the exhilaration of unlocking Volume 3, he marveled at his newly acquired skill. Not only did it strengthen his body, but it could also be used in combination with other techniques.

‘And if I use it with Aura, the effects double!’

In a duel against a knight of equal standing, this would give him a decisive advantage. No—it might even allow him to overwhelm stronger opponents.

However…

‘Even at peak condition, I can’t maintain it for even a minute.’

The drawback was that it couldn’t be used recklessly. While it doubled his power, the cost tripled. He couldn’t afford to waste MP like water.

This raised the stakes of MP management.

Though somewhat disappointing—

‘Well, if there weren’t any drawbacks, it’d be downright broken.’

Ideally, he’d prefer no downsides, but from a game balance perspective, it made sense. Of course, now that this was reality, he’d gladly toss balance out the window for pure advantage.

‘Still, it’ll work as a trump card.’

Or he could mix it in during combat to quickly pressure his opponent. There were plenty of ways to utilize it.

“Perfect timing—just as my training session ends.”

Ian wiped off his sweat with a towel he’d brought beforehand, donned his outer robe, and exited the secret training hall.

“Young Master, are you finished?”

Nea was waiting outside as usual, always timing her arrival to match when Ian would emerge.

“What’s for dinner tonight?”

“Meat stew. Sonya prepared it herself.”

“Oh ho, really?”

Sonya was a young kitchen maid. Everyone raved that her cooking rivaled the head chef’s, and Ian thoroughly enjoyed it too. So much so that he sometimes specifically requested her dishes over the head chef’s.

“But why her instead of the head chef?”

This time, he hadn’t even asked for Sonya’s cooking, yet she had prepared the meal.

When he inquired, Nea explained:

“The head chef fell ill and couldn’t come to work. He suddenly developed a fever early this morning. Sonya finished cooking and left early too.”

“Oh dear! Sonya must be worried sick.”

The head chef and Sonya were newlyweds. So lovestruck were they that honey practically dripped from their eyes whenever they glanced at each other during work.

“Young Master, sometimes you amaze me.”

“How so?”

“When something happens, sometimes you’re startled, but when it comes to truly serious matters, you remain completely unfazed.”

Given the context, she wasn’t talking about Sonya and the head chef. She was referring to the disappearance of the Fourth Prince.

Upon hearing the rumors, the entire household wore expressions of concern, fearing the empire would soon be engulfed in turmoil. Nea tried not to show it, but she was clearly worried too.

Yet Ian felt nothing more than “what was bound to happen has happened,” and indeed, his demeanor hadn’t changed before and after hearing the news.

‘The difference lies in whether it was an inevitable event or an unexpected one.’

And this fell squarely into the category of “inevitable for this period.”

Had there been no signs of civil war contrary to his expectations, he would have been far more alarmed.

While the war’s aftermath would undoubtedly have some impact, he judged that the direct effects on Schrantz would be minimal. After all, Schrantz was located in the empire’s most remote corner.

For Schrantz to be directly affected would mean the Endran Ducal House had been breached—and Ian knew full well that wasn’t likely to happen easily. That was why he could remain so composed.

‘It’s not like there’s anything I can do about it anyway.’

All Schrantz could do was profit from the situation amidst the chaos.

‘Weapons trade… The Endran Ducal House would block that thoroughly, so no luck there.’

While smuggling was theoretically possible, Ian had no confidence in handling the fallout if caught. After all, he was merely “a member of the household”—not the lord, not the heir, nothing of significance.

The next day.

Rumors spread like wildfire that—Redem and his private soldiers had all been arrested and were undergoing interrogation.

Given the scale of the incident, it would’ve been stranger if word hadn’t gotten out.

And with so many witnesses from the night before, the news travelled even faster.

Even those who hadn’t seen the events at Redem’s mansion firsthand had watched as his soldiers were dragged away in chains.

Through the ledgers seized during the raid, Ian uncovered the full extent of the corruption.

The records detailed not just embezzlement, but also lists of bribes and collaborators.

With this evidence, rooting out the corrupt officials was laughably easy. Arrest warrants were issued immediately.

“I swear this will never happen again!”

“Please, show mercy!”

The arrested officials begged for mercy, but Ian remained indifferent, focused solely on his duty.

“That goes without saying. If you ensure this doesn’t recur and work to regain the people’s trust, your past crimes will be forgiven.”

“Thank you! Thank you, Young Master! We are eternally grateful for your mercy! We will reform and serve diligently!”

“Good. You will also return every coin you embezzled and extorted from the people. If the recovered amount falls short, the difference will be taken from your personal assets.”

“Y-yes. Understood.”

Those who tearfully complied were allowed to return home—though under discreet surveillance, of course.

But for every repentant soul, there were others who refused to yield.

“What?! Then what about me and my family?!”

“And what of the families who starved while you grew fat? The ones forced to sell their children into slavery? Hypocrite. Lock him up!”

“Aaaagh! I was a fool! Spare me!”

Ian showed no mercy to those who hesitated or outright rejected his offer.

And then—

“Damn it all! If I’d known, I’d have held you hostage and ransomed you to the lord before fleeing!”

Some, like Redem, chose resistance.

The only difference? This one wasn’t a soldier—just a bureaucrat who thought grabbing a sword made him a threat.

“Tsk tsk. Charging in without thinking of the consequences… Has the blood of the North finally stirred in you after all this time?”

Not that it mattered.

A desk-bound official swinging a sword was about as dangerous as a toddler with a butter knife.

Dwayne intercepted him before Ian even needed to move.

“Spare me! I-I must’ve lost my mind! Give me another chance—!”

“Another chance? Oh, you’re getting one—in the rehabilitation program! Take him away and investigate everything!”

How merciful of Ian, even to those who raised blades against him!

Soon, these men would weep tears of repentance in the famed Schrantz rehabilitation program.

The thought of this place finally being set right brought a faint smile to Ian’s lips.

“……”

Meanwhile, Klins and Luther trembled like leaves.

‘Thank the gods we were caught before the wilderness expedition…’

‘Even if we’d cooperated, one wrong move and we’d have ended up in that program too, huh?’

They considered themselves lucky to have gotten off with just a pay cut.

A hair’s breadth from experiencing Schlantz’s infamous rehabilitation firsthand.

Yet, a new worry gnawed at them.

“Young Master… isn’t this too many arrests?”

“Why? Is there a problem?”

“It’s just—everyone detained held critical positions.”

Perhaps it was his experience as a low-ranking official, but Klins immediately saw the issue.

With the entire administrative backbone of the region gutted, who would handle the day-to-day operations?

“No choice. Weed out the rotten ones and fill the gaps with new appointments. Until then, we’ll manage with who we have.”

Too many were guilty of unforgivable crimes.

Letting them off lightly for the sake of administrative continuity would shatter the people’s trust.

‘If they’d just skimmed a bit, I could’ve made them vomit it all up, given a slap on the wrist, and put them back to work. But these bastards went too far.’

Embezzlement was the least of their sins.

Some officials had dabbled in narcotics, murder-for-hire, even human trafficking—either as investors or direct operators.

A little later, and this city would’ve become a place where gangs roamed freely.

‘Deviating from the standard path really does create unforeseen problems everywhere.’

Ian sighed internally, shaking his head.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have been this swamped—none of this would’ve happened.

‘The expedition pulled too many administrators away, leaving this place understaffed.’

Originally, the wilderness survey should’ve been completed by now, transitioning into full-scale development.

‘By the time the new settlement was properly established, this place would’ve stabilized enough to shift resources there.’

But with Ansen draining administrative manpower, problems festered here.

‘People were in the wrong places. Even after annexing territories, we lacked the hands to fully control them.’

Ian hadn’t anticipated this twist.

Being the first to suppress monster outbreaks and push the frontier expansion two years ahead of schedule came with unforeseen complications.

Even he couldn’t predict everything.

“Well, whatever. Father will handle the administrative mess.”

Ian casually dumped the workload on Hugo back in Rosen.

What a filial son.

Besides, this was beyond his authority anyway.

‘Father must’ve considered this when sending me… or not. Whatever.’

With a mental shrug, Ian stretched.

Only minor offenders remained—a slap on the wrist would suffice.

“With this wrapped up, it’s time to schedule our return.”

The relief in the room was noticeable.

Fewer field assignments meant more desk work—a welcome change for these paper-pushers.

Their stamina wasn’t cut out for all this running around.

“Young Master.”

Nea approached, her expression uncharacteristically grim.

“What is it?”

“A moment of your time?”

Ian understood immediately—this wasn’t for public ears.

“Everyone, back to work. I’ll give further instructions later. Dwayne, take a break.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

Ian dismissed those around him.

Even Dwayne was no exception, retreating to a distance where he wouldn’t be able to overhear.

Of course, if Dwayne really wanted to, he could have used the wind spirit to eavesdrop from afar.

But Ian knew Dwayne was too straightforward for that—he wasn’t particularly worried.

“What’s wrong? You look troubled.”

Once everyone had withdrawn, Nea glanced around once more before speaking.

“The uncles brought word—rumors are spreading that the Fourth Prince has gone missing.”

This wasn’t just idle gossip. It was shocking, almost blasphemous news.

The sudden disappearance of the Fourth Prince—who had been famously disinterested in the throne—would send shockwaves through the empire.

And for those aware of the current state of the imperial family, the gravity of the situation was immediately clear.

The already chaotic imperial court was about to become even more turbulent.

“Oh?”

But Ian remained surprisingly calm.

His indifferent reaction even took Nea aback.

It wasn’t that he was forcing composure—it was as if he had expected this.

‘What? Did he already anticipate this happening?’

At first, she thought he simply didn’t care, dismissing it as irrelevant to him.

Or perhaps he considered the rumor baseless.

But she couldn’t bring herself to believe he had genuinely foreseen this.

“It’s only the beginning.”

Crossing his arms, Ian fell into brief contemplation.

If the rumors were true, the Fourth Prince’s disappearance was undoubtedly Duke Endran’s doing—a pre-emptive strike to eliminate a potential threat.

‘Now it’s a battle between the Second and Third Princes.’

This wasn’t a scenario where a third party would swoop in to claim victory.

Only a direct clash between the two major factions remained.

The fragile, false peace had shattered.

Imperial authority had crumbled, and during this illusory stability, the lords had lost their grip on control.

‘Large-scale conflicts will erupt soon, plunging the entire empire into civil war.’

The empire’s darkest hour was approaching.

Within a month at most, the clash between Duke Endran and Duke Eaton would ignite the flames of war.

‘Now Duke Endran will handle the rest.’

Schrantz’s only concern now was how to secure its own interests amid the chaos.

Ironically, the biggest relief for Ian was—

‘Thank the gods I’m not the lord or the heir!’

All those complicated matters were Hugo and Hubert’s problem, not his.

Ian only needed to focus on his own tasks.

---

“Sending Ian to Dariel Village was the right move.”

Hugo muttered in approval as he reviewed the reports from Dariel.

But beside him, Hubert let out a heavy sigh.

“Brother, your enthusiasm is commendable, but…”

“Is this really sustainable? At this rate, Rigasfil’s administration will grind to a halt.”

He had always known Ian’s efficiency was extraordinary, but arresting so many officials at once had unintended consequences.

“At least thirty are directly implicated in corruption, and if we include minor offenders, the number easily surpasses a hundred…”

They were pushing administrative capabilities to the limit, handling each case one by one—yet according to reports, Ian showed no signs of stopping.

“Can we even manage this?”

“We’ll have to try. At least Schrantz’s influence is now firmly entrenched.”

Thanks to Ian’s relentless actions, the ringleaders of corruption had been captured, allowing Schrantz’s reach to extend into every corner.

The only problem was that Ian was moving faster than they could keep up.

“We can’t match this pace. Shouldn’t we tell him to slow down?”

“Yes, you’re right. It’s time to rest a bit.”

Hugo readily accepted Hubert’s suggestion.

Hubert exhaled in relief.

He had worried Hugo might insist on letting Ian continue unchecked.

But even Hugo recognized this was unsustainable.

‘Brother has always been weak when it comes to administrative matters.’

Though as the eldest son, Ian should have mastered statecraft, he had neglected it—and even after reforming, his administrative skills remained lacking.

Back in Rosen, he had always relied on others for cleanup and advice.

No doubt he was counting on his father and brother to handle the aftermath now.

‘Not that what he’s doing is unreasonable.’

If Ian were acting recklessly, they would have stopped him.

But his actions were necessary—the real issue was that other problems had been neglected for too long.

“He’s far too young to be the lord.”

Judging by appearances, this was a man who had just entered his twenties.

Which meant…

The infamous young master who lost his inheritance to his younger brother due to his eccentric and reckless behaviour.

The young master who commanded troops in his late teens to repel hordes of monsters.

The young master who advocated pioneering undeveloped lands and brought prosperity to the territory.

The young master who secured victory in the territorial war!

“W-why…?”

The moment Redem realized who this was, his face turned deathly pale.

No way. It can’t be. Impossible! Absolutely not!

He desperately denied the reality before him.

“You called me a ‘stray mutt from Schrantz,’ didn’t you? How rude of me not to introduce myself. I am Ian von Schrantz.”

“……”

“And if you must know who sent me… let’s just say it was my father, Hugo von Schrantz.”

The reality he had been denying had finally come crashing down.

I’m fucked.

Redem’s face turned from pale to white as he recalled every word he had carelessly thrown at the young master.

He had insulted none other than the lord’s son—no, a member of the very family ruling this territory—to his face.

And worse, Ian had come under the lord’s direct orders.

This wasn’t just an insult to Ian—it could very well be taken as an insult to the lord himself.

“Good heavens… Schrantz? As in, our new ruling family? The lord’s son?”

“This just got much more serious.”

Even the private soldiers grasped the gravity of the situation.

No matter how dim-witted they were, they understood the magnitude of Redem’s blunder.

“Young Master of Schrantz… what brings you here?”

“Nothing much. Just heard you’ve been feasting at this territory’s expense.”

“M-me? How could I? This is all a misunderstanding! Someone must be framing me!”

Redem put on an Oscar-worthy performance of innocence.

To an outsider, he might have looked like a poor, wronged man.

Ian’s gaze swept over the surroundings—the extravagant mansion, far beyond Redem’s station, and the nearly hundred private soldiers standing guard.

“The house is one thing, but this many private soldiers? Impressive.”

“Ah, well, a recent investment paid off handsomely. I came into quite a bit of money.”

“Oh? Feeding, clothing, and housing a hundred soldiers must cost a fortune. Business must be very good.”

Maintaining such a private force wasn’t something just anyone could afford.

Only the wealthiest could manage it.

“Can’t be too careful these days. Public order has been… lacking, so I hired extra security.”

Redem kept up his act, smooth as ever.

His performance was worthy of a best actor award.

“Hmm. At this point, this is just a waste of time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the investigation is already over, and the evidence is more than enough. So drop the act.”

Crimson eyes locked onto him.

“Not content with embezzling taxes, you’ve even dipped into narcotics and illegal slave trading. Will you come quietly, or do I have to drag you out? If you’re truly innocent, you can prove it during the investigation.”

Ian smirked, but Redem wasn’t laughing.

If Ian knew about the illegal operations, it meant they had dug deep into his affairs.

“Damn it all!”

Realizing the jig was up, Redem abandoned all pretense.

“All units, prepare for combat!”

At his command, the soldiers drew their weapons in unison.

It didn’t matter if the man before them was the lord’s son—or even the lord himself. These were private soldiers, loyal only to the man who paid their wages.

“Hope you won’t regret this. Last chance to surrender.”

Ian rested a hand on his sword.

This was his final warning.

“Attack!”

Redem chose violence.

The moment the order left his lips, the soldiers surged forward, blades flashing.

“Well, this is the North, alright. No hesitation—just charge in headfirst.”

[Quest ‘Corruption’ has been generated.]

[Corruption]
Objective: Subdue private soldiers (4/100), Subdue Redem (0/1)
―Suppress Redem Roman and his private soldiers, who have been exploiting the territory and making life hell for the people.
Reward: Territory security +10

Ignoring the quest window, Ian drew his sword.

Unlike the dull gray steel of the soldiers blades, his own gleamed a blue color.

A hundred men rushed him—and Ian didn’t so much as blink.

He only muttered one line.

“I did give you a chance.”

Redem was the one who threw it away.

---

“W-what the hell is that monster?!”

Redem couldn’t believe his eyes.

He’d heard Ian was strong, but—

“Since when can one man overpower a hundred like this?!”

There were limits to human capability.

And yet, here was Ian, shattering every expectation.

Thirty soldiers were already down.

A full third of his force.

“Master, we must flee while we still can!”

Amid the chaos, the butler whispered urgently to Redem.

“Y-yes! Right!”

Redem understood immediately.

The soldiers were buying time—time for him to escape.

Without hesitation, he and the butler slipped away, heading for the stables in the rear courtyard.

The stablehand, who had been tending to the horses, looked up in surprise.

“Master? What brings you here at this hour? There was quite a commotion at the front—”

“Horses! A carriage! And fetch the coachman!”

“Huh?”

“Now!”

Unfortunately, neither Redem nor his butler knew how to ride.

The stablehand, puzzled by his master’s urgency, quickly hitched the horses to a carriage.

“Drive.”

“Where to, sir?”

“Anywhere! As far as possible!”

To flee without even a destination in mind…

What’s happening? Did the villagers finally rise up? Or did a mob of vengeful enemies arrive?

The former wouldn’t be surprising, but one thing was certain—it didn’t seem like a villagers’ revolt.

When he’d been summoned earlier, the village had been as quiet as ever.

Had the villagers risen up, the entire place would have been in an uproar by now.

If only you’d lived a little more virtuously…

But of course, he couldn’t say that out loud.

And whenever Redem hired a carriage, he always paid generously.

Even knowing the money came from embezzling the villagers, the stablehand wasn’t in a position to refuse—he took what he was given.

“Drive at full speed!”

“Understood. I’ll get us moving quickly.”

The coachman cracked the reins. The back gates were already wide open.

As the carriage sped toward the exit, Redem could only hope the chaos would buy him enough time to escape.

Just as the carriage picked up speed and drove toward the gates—

BAM!

A deafening crash sent the carriage shaking violently before toppling onto its side.

Redem, his head smashing against the interior, groaned as he clutched his skull and struggled to sit up.

“Ugh! Butler, wake up!”

He shook the unconscious butler, but there was no response.

For a horrifying moment, he thought the man might be dead—but the faint rise and fall of his chest confirmed he had merely been knocked out.

Miraculously, despite the severity of the crash, Redem himself was relatively unharmed, save for a bleeding gash on his forehead.

But he had no time to assess his own injuries.

Because when he finally managed to pry the carriage door open and crawl out, a gruesome sight greeted him.

“What in the—?!”

A mangled corpse lay before him—its skull and pelvis crushed, its stomach split open, entrails spilling onto the ground.

The coachman.

The carriage must have slammed into something at full speed, crushing him against the wall. Nearby, what looked like the remains of one of the horses twitched slightly.

“Bleh—!”

Redem retched violently, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the dirt.

As he wiped his mouth, his eyes darted around—and then froze.

The back gates were wide open.

But something was wrong.

“What the hell is this?!”

At first, he couldn’t make it out in the darkness—but then he saw it.

A translucent barrier, stained with blood, blocking the exit.

That was what they had crashed into.

But now wasn’t the time to wonder about its origins.

‘I have to run!’

The sounds of battle from the front had gone silent.

Either that monstrous young master had slaughtered all his men, or his men had somehow defeated him.

Or, worst of all, they had surrendered in terror.

The second option would be ideal—but Redem had a sinking feeling that monster hadn’t lost.

He had seen Ian’s strength firsthand.

‘I have to run—no matter what!’

“Impressive work, Sera.”

“All I did was block the gate.”

A man and woman’s voices echoed from the direction of the gates.

Redem’s head snapped toward the sound.

A knight with a drawn bow and a woman in mage robes approached calmly.

‘Wait. A mage? She blocked the gate?’

Their conversation confirmed his suspicions.

Magic.

That translucent wall could be nothing else.

And if they had deliberately sealed the exit…

‘They were sent by Ian!’

‘They anticipated my escape and cut me off!’

Of course. No matter how confident Ian was, he wouldn’t have come alone.

Blocking escape routes was basic strategy.

The realization drained the color from Redem’s face.

“It’d be nice if you surrendered quietly. Less painful that way.”

Dwayne held his bow at the ready, arrow nocked but not yet drawn.

The threat was clear: Try to run, and I shoot.

‘As if I’d surrender now!’

He had already crossed the point of no return.

He hadn’t just fled—he had tried to kill Ian.

If he had surrendered peacefully, there might have been mercy.

But now?

This was a death sentence.

‘I can’t get caught here!’

Redem was a man who clung to life with desperate determination.

His mind raced for an escape.

The gates were blocked, leaving only one option—scaling the walls.

His only hope was to run for it and pray the arrow missed.

He bolted toward the nearest wall.

“Persistent bastard.”

Dwayne saw right through him.

The arrow loosed with a sharp sound, embedding itself deep in Redem’s thigh.

“GYAAAAAH!”

Redem cried as he collapsed, writhing in agony.

“As expected.”

Feeling guilty for making Nea wait so long, Ian sighed.

‘This training hall is perfect, except…’

Its one flaw was that only those of Schrantz blood could enter. Even urgent matters had to wait outside.

That’s why he needed to stick to a schedule.

“Did I miss meal time?”

“Yes, quite a while ago. Though reheating the food isn’t an issue.”

“No need. Too much hassle, and I can’t be bothered to wait. I’ll just eat it cold. You know what would be nice? An alarm clock. Though here, it’d have to be some delicate mechanical device. Wonder if it’s even possible to make one. Probably expensive, huh?”

“What are you talking about?”

Ian brushed it off without answering.

Nea didn’t press further.

Him spouting nonsense wasn’t anything new—she was used to it by now.

“Ah, right. There’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“The investigation is finished.”

“Investigation?”

When Ian gave her a blank look, she sighed.

“Did you forget? Ever since we arrived, you told me to look into what’s been happening in the territory.”

“Oh. Right.”

Hugo hadn’t just sent Ian here to guard the estate.

The real reason was to solidify Schrantz’s influence in the Dariel region.

After deploying agents and gathering intel through Nea, the final report was finally ready today.

“Let me see.”

Ian took the report and began reading.

The further he got, the more stunned he became.

“Is this for real?”

Nea nodded grimly.

“At first, even the men thought the rumors were exaggerated. But it’s all true—still happening now.”

The contents varied, but the highlights included:

• Local officials and village chiefs acting like kings, imposing excessive taxes to line their own pockets.

• Some officials openly harassing young women, even resorting to assault.

• Married women weren’t spared either.

• Despite complaints, the guards turned a blind eye.

As a result, discontent festered. Some villagers abandoned their homes, while others turned to banditry.

“Hah! I heard administrative gaps were severe due to the sudden expansion and lack of manpower, so they delegated some authority to existing officials, but…”

These were former Erce retainers now serving Schrantz.

With no replacements available, they had kept their positions to avoid administrative chaos.

“When the cat’s away, the mice will play.”

And play they did—far worse than expected.

The situation was so volatile that a rebellion could erupt any moment.

“Nea.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

“This ‘Redem’ guy—he’s the ringleader? The most influential figure in the region?”

“Yes. He even has a private force of over a hundred and connections with local soldiers and knights.”

Meaning corruption ran deep.

If Ian marched in with troops, word could leak, and evidence might be destroyed.

‘Worse, they might even turn their blades on me.’

“This is bad.”

And if left unchecked, things would only deteriorate further.

‘Some parents were so desperate they even sold their own children to slavers?’

That detail had shocked Ian the most.

‘For things to get this dire…’

Even the agents compiling the report must have been just as appalled.

This wasn’t something Ian could ignore.

‘If this drags on, we’ll lose manpower—or face outright rebellion.’

A worst-case scenario for Schrantz.

It had to be dealt with before things escalated.

“In that case…”

Ian set the report down and stood.

His crimson eyes gleamed with lethal intent.

“We normalize things.”

Swiftly. Permanently.

“Nea.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

“We’re paying this bastard a visit. Prepare to leave immediately.”

It was late, but Ian wasn’t waiting.

“And summon four attendants to accompany me.”

“Attendants?”

“Yeah.”

He listed the names—each one chosen for a reason.

“As expected.”

---

Redem’s days were filled with nothing but joy and satisfaction.

A grin stretched across his face—he had never imagined he would live to see the day when money flowed so effortlessly into his hands.

Relaxing on the terrace, he sipped expensive wine and indulged in rare, exquisite fruits that were hard to come by in this region.

‘Well, I’ve suffered like a dog my whole life. This much reward is only fair.’

Back when he served under House Erce, he had worked like a slave for meager wages.

There were countless times he considered switching jobs, but the only thing he knew was administration.

He gritted his teeth day after day, climbing the ranks—only to be unjustly framed by his superior, who pinned their own mistakes on him.

As a result, Redem, once a promising official in House Erche’s main estate, was exiled to this backwater.

‘Heh. When House Erce lost the territorial war and this place fell under Schrantz’s rule, I thought I was done for.’

It was practically a demotion, and he had been drowning in despair—until he realized it was an opportunity in disguise.

Schrantz had left him in his position without a second thought, too preoccupied to care.

Before long, he took advantage of the chaos. With the new rulers too busy to monitor the region, he began skimming funds.

He didn’t even have to work hard—just delegate to his underlings and let the system run itself.

Sure, his subordinates took their own cuts, reducing his share bit by bit…

‘But this way, they stay quiet, and I stay safe.’

He made sure they were all complicit, ensuring no one would dare report him.

And it worked perfectly.

He even taught them how to embezzle discreetly, turning them into loyal followers.

Besides, he had other businesses running on the side—this was just pocket change.

Of course, Redem didn’t fully trust his lackeys.

‘Long tails get stepped on.’

He never assumed he’d go unpunished forever.

‘But let them try. If they can even catch me.’

He had bribed all kinds of people—soldiers, officials, anyone who mattered.

If anyone came for him, the local garrison would tip him off long before they arrived.

He’d have more than enough time to flee.

‘So I’ll take what I can while I can.’

Once he left this territory, he’d live the rest of his life in luxury, free from want.

“I’m feeling a bit lonely… Ah, right. That madam mentioned a new girl at the brothel with exceptional ‘night skills’… Should I call for her?”

The wine had gone to his head, and the solitude was getting to him.

Just as he reached for the bell to summon his butler—

“Master!”

The very butler he was about to call burst in, panting.

“Perfect timing. I was just about to call you. You know that brothel I frequent? Go and—”

“This is no time for that! Some unidentified troublemaker is causing a scene at the gates! He says if you don’t come out within five minutes—or refuse—he’ll storm in!”

“An unidentified troublemaker?”

“He won’t say who he is! Just keeps shouting that he’ll only speak to you directly!”

Redem’s face twisted in irritation.

‘Who the hell is this? Someone I screwed over?’

He had silenced or framed anyone who got in his way—so the list of potential enemies was… extensive.

The problem was, he had too many people who might hold a grudge.

No way to guess who it was.

“Can’t the guards just throw him out? Why bother me with this?”

He had hired private soldiers precisely to deal with nuisances like this.

“T-that’s the issue, Master. They can’t.”

“What do you mean, can’t?”

“Four of our men have already been subdued by him.”

That was surprising.

His private soldiers weren’t pushovers—they were known for their strength in the region.

For someone to take down four of them… this wasn’t some ordinary thug.

‘None of the people I’ve crossed are that strong… Did someone hire muscle?’

Honestly, the idea intrigued him.

“Fine. I’ll go see for myself.”

“W-what? You’re really going out there?”

“I want to see this troublemaker’s face.”

If this guy was as capable as he sounded, Redem could use him—either as a bodyguard or to deal with future pests.

Strong subordinates made life easier.

And if he looked like some hulking brute, even better.

Intimidation worked wonders in avoiding messy situations.

“But just in case, gather all the guards.”

“Yes, Master!”

Redem wasn’t taking chances. If negotiations failed, overwhelming force would do the trick.

He walked toward the main gate.

Just as the butler had said, four of his men lay sprawled on the ground.

More soldiers had arrived in the meantime, now forming a defensive line at the entrance.

‘Huh. He’s not as huge as I expected.’

Given how easily he had taken down four men, Redem had assumed the intruder would be built like a bear.

But the figure standing there wasn’t much larger than his own men.

‘…Those eyes, though.’

Something about his gaze sent an involuntary shiver down Redem’s spine.

But he couldn’t show weakness in front of his men.

Just a few months ago, he wouldn’t have understood why nobles cared so much about appearances—but now, in this position, it made perfect sense.

Show vulnerability, and your subordinates start looking down on you.

So he had to project strength.

And right on cue, the butler returned with over ninety guards in tow.

‘This should make him realize his mistake.’

Mobilizing this many men for one guy was a bit excessive, but it drove the point home.

By now, the intruder should have grasped just who he was dealing with.

“So. Where did you crawl out from, you stray mutt? And who hired you? Speak nicely, and I might let you off easy.”

Redem smirked, oozing confidence.

But the intruder didn’t so much as flinch.

“‘Stray mutt,’ you say?”

His eerily calm response only deepened Redem’s confusion.

‘What’s his deal? Does he have some powerful backer?’

Or was he just insane?

The dim lighting made it hard to see, but as the man stepped closer, his features became clear.

“Huh?”

Black hair.

Crimson eyes.

Even if Redem had never seen him before, there was only one thing this combination could mean.

‘Schr… Schrantz…?’

His time in House Erce hadn’t been wasted—he had heard plenty about Schrantz.

And the one thing repeated most often was this:

Every member of House Schrantz is born with black hair and crimson eyes.