Viscount Marco chuckled softly and didn’t directly respond to Ronan’s remark.
Some things were better left unspoken between two people who already understood each other.
With their conversation finished, and a few matters still left unattended to, the two of them decided to stay a while longer.
As for the grain…
there was no rush.
Plenty of time left.
A delay of two or three days before heading back wouldn’t hurt.
Still, not wanting to leave the village chief worried—or worse, giving him the impression he’d run off with Frieren—Ronan made a point of bringing her back for a brief visit that afternoon.
The chief was overjoyed to see them.
Though he did feel some concern about Frieren staying in a human town, given that Ronan was the Hero, he decided to simply let things be.
By evening, the two of them had returned once more to Viscount Marco’s estate.
…
“Yes, yes, exactly, Lord Ronan, that expression right there.
Please, hold that pose.” Inside a quiet room, the rhythmic clang of metal being worked rang out steadily.
Viscount Marco watched Ronan hold his pose, showering him with praise, then turned to Frieren, who was posing as well, and added, “Lady Frieren, you look absolutely lovely as well.” “I have no doubt that before long, the names and likenesses of you both will spread throughout this entire city.” “On behalf of the countless people of this land, I thank you both.” Frieren let out a yawn, growing a little drowsy, entirely indifferent to Viscount Marco’s flattery.
If it weren’t for this statue business, she’d probably have already gone home to sleep.
A long, tiring day.
Honestly.
Why did Ronan even want a statue built in the first place?
She couldn’t for the life of her understand what purpose it served, or what it had to do with her.
Ronan had paid for everything, Ronan had handled everything—she was really just tagging along for the ride.
Squinting slightly, she studied Ronan for a moment, but before long, under the sculptor’s prompting, she settled back into her usual detached expression.
Before long, the rough outline of the statue was finished.
By then, night had fallen, and the remaining details would have to wait until the next day.
At that point, a servant came to see them properly settled into two adjoining rooms.
Before opening the door, Frieren suddenly turned to look at Ronan and asked, “Does the statue actually mean anything?” “Why did you have to include me in it?” “You know full well, as an elf, I couldn’t care less about that kind of empty honor.” “You might not care, but others do.
There has to be a proper reason for it, at least on the surface.” Ronan rested a hand on the door handle, the light falling across him from the side, and spoke slowly: “We’re not doing charity work here.
Naturally, we should accept some form of compensation.” “To them, this compensation is nothing at all—so why not take it?” “Besides, this also serves as a bit of a morale boost for humanity.
You’ve probably heard the demon race has been growing more aggressive nearby.” “If a statue of you exists, it might even help deter the demon race somewhat—because to others, it stands as a symbol of unity between elves and humans.” “Of course.” Ronan continued, slowly releasing his grip on the door handle, his gaze open and steady as he looked at Frieren, “If you feel this crosses a line, I can have the sculptors stop tomorrow.
This was just an experiment, nothing more.” Whatever Frieren might think of it, Ronan genuinely wanted to experience what it felt like to be remembered by others, just once.
It would stand as proof of his own existence—proof that everything happening to him wasn’t just some dream.
Besides.
Ronan was, at the end of the day, an ordinary man with ordinary desires.
His earlier low profile had simply been the path of least resistance, since he’d never been to a human town before and hadn’t wanted to attract unnecessary trouble.
Even the richest man in the world wouldn’t flaunt his wealth every single day.
But neither would he spend his entire life pretending to be poor.
Ronan preferred something in between—a life that was neither too exhausting nor too idle.
As an elf, Frieren naturally found it difficult to grasp this kind of human thinking.
She looked at Ronan quietly, suddenly feeling as though she couldn’t quite see through him.
Humans really were complicated creatures.
To truly understand them, she supposed, might take her several more decades—perhaps even a century or more of contact.
She had no idea how many years Ronan might have left to live.
She could only hope that he’d live a long, healthy life, all the way to a peaceful natural end.
With a sigh, the two of them closed their doors.
Frieren leaned back against hers.
Without quite realizing it, in some quiet corner of her heart she hadn’t noticed, a faint spark of interest in humans had begun to take root.
Something she’d never once felt before.
…
At the same time.
In the interrogation chamber.
“Did you find anything out?” Viscount Marco’s low, hollow voice echoed through the dim room.
He looked at his nephew, brow furrowed, and asked, “What exactly possessed that band of adventurers to attack Lord Ronan?” “Are they out of their minds?” Martin had only chosen to follow Ronan because he’d overheard the conversation between him and Frieren at the grain market.
So he had no idea whatsoever about the two of them purchasing the magic tools beforehand.
Now, having personally extracted the information from the brawler under interrogation, his expression had turned distinctly complicated.
He glanced around warily, making sure no one was eavesdropping, before lowering his voice: “Uncle, I found out, but…
I’m not entirely sure how reliable this information is.” “According to what he told me, the reason they targeted Lord Ronan was because he’d spent an extravagant six thousand gold coins buying up a batch of magic tools.” “Men like them, living day to day on the edge of a blade—you know how it is, they’ll do anything for money.
Six thousand gold coins…” “That’s on par with an ordinary earl’s entire fortune.
If it were me, I’m not sure I could’ve resisted the temptation either.” “Not to mention, this particular group was made up entirely of elite adventurers.” “So, what do you think…” His voice had dropped so low it sounded as though he were confessing to some shameful deed.
Viscount Marco’s face darkened, and without warning, he swung a hand and slapped him.
Smack!
“What do I think?
Do you take me for some brainless fool?
If the man could pull out six thousand gold coins without blinking, don’t you think that already tells you plenty about who he really is?” “Let me tell you something—six thousand gold coins is far from all he has.
Just today, he pulled out another five thousand gold coins to team up with me on fixing the grain market.” “Eleven thousand gold coins, all told.
What kind of scale is that?
Even an earl with a hundred years of lineage might not be as wealthy as he is.” “And that’s likely just the tip of the iceberg of what he’s actually worth…” He took a deep breath, a flicker of absolute certainty flashing in his eyes, “Just as I suspected.
He has to be one of those few figures standing at the very pinnacle of this continent.” “So.” Viscount Marco’s tone grew firmer, “Don’t you ever bring up hiring adventurers to ambush him on the road home again, understand?
And don’t even think about mentioning poison.” “If anything were to actually happen to him, our entire family’s lives combined wouldn’t be enough to cover what he’d do to us in return.” “…” Martin blinked in confusion.
Had he ever suggested such a thing?
He couldn’t recall saying a single word about an ambush, or poison, or any of it.
He was left stunned by the slap, but he quickly composed himself and hurried to take full responsibility for everything anyway.
The viscount was beyond reproach; the viscount would never harbor such dark, scheming thoughts.
All of this was clearly his own failing.
As the nephew, to have entertained such thoughts at all was already an unforgivable mistake.
Smack.
Just as Martin began slapping himself across the face, Viscount Marco coughed twice and abruptly stopped him.
“Enough.
That’s enough.
It’s good that you recognize your mistake.
I’ll handle the rest from here.” “Remember, this matter is to be kept in the strictest confidence.
Under no circumstances is a third party to learn of it.” “Lord Ronan gracing our Miller family with his presence is an honor beyond measure.
We absolutely cannot afford to treat such a distinguished guest with anything less than the utmost respect.” “Starting tomorrow, I won’t be able to show my face much, since I’ll be busy preparing a proper gift of gratitude—this concerns the very future of our Miller family.” “You’ll act as his guide in the meantime.
Whatever he wants, you make sure he gets it.
If you run into anything you can’t handle, come find me.
Understood?” Viscount Marco’s instructions went on at considerable length, as though he wanted every possible detail accounted for, handled to absolute perfection.
Martin nodded in understanding, his resolve firm, ready to see this through no matter the cost: “Yes, I understand, Uncle.
I’ll make certain they’re both fully satisfied.” “Good.
I’ll be counting on you.” Viscount Marco gave a slight nod, a smile spreading back across his face, a stark contrast to the fury he’d shown just moments before.
It was as though he could already glimpse a future of prosperity and glory awaiting his family.