The scent of fragrant tea lingered in Sid Karsen's private study.
A scent that should have put the mind at ease—yet a peculiar tension hung in the air.
"......So, you're saying you liked my brother? That you want to work with him?"
Sid set his teacup down and addressed Doctor Krombell. His tone was somewhat agitated, and that was because Krombell's attitude had been grating on his nerves.
"You received Sion's letter, came all this way, and now you say it 'feels strange'? You want to stay, but you 'don't know how things will turn out'? What exactly are you getting at?"
He'd gone so far as to use the word "getting at." His usual sly businessman's smile had been temporarily shelved.
Krombell, of course, couldn't have cared less. He simply sank deeper into the sofa, staring vacantly in the direction of the arena through the window, and opened his mouth.
"It's not a matter of liking or not liking. It means I misjudged a person by a mile. Me, of all people! Ugh...... like an idiot!"
Krombell fidgeted with a magical telescope he'd personally modified, pulled from inside his coat.
There was nothing to see through a telescope indoors. Yet he fussed with it as if something were visible, restless as could be.
Sid Karsen liked Krombell's attitude even less. The man just seemed insane.
"Until I came here, I considered Sion Karsen—your brother, that is—a mark."
"......"
One could have softened the truth even a little, but Krombell made no such effort.
In other words, there was no pretense.
"A 'precious mark' whose ego I'd stroke while siphoning research funds. But he...... he was truly someone I never expected."
Krombell's eyes glittered with curiosity. But it wasn't exactly fondness. It was pure, simple curiosity. Nothing more.
"You thought he was a half-wit, and he turned out to be a genius?"
"No, no. It wasn't anything that simple. He had a kind of...... composure, I suppose. Eyes that see ahead of the era. Normally, when someone who's been hiding their strength reveals it, there should be a discernible reason—but I can't figure his out...... agh. I can't explain it precisely, but my instincts are telling me. This is not some passing connection."
Doctor Krombell's instincts were startlingly accurate. But neither he nor Sid Karsen, listening to him, could think any further than that.
Krombell rose from his seat and straightened his suit.
"Young Lord Sid. I should formally present myself to the head of House Karsen before long."
"Why do you want to see Father?"
"If I am to forge a deep bond with the third young lord of a grand ducal house, is it not courtesy to pay my respects to the head of that house?"
He wasn't wrong. For a brief visit it wouldn't matter, but if he planned to stay long-term, greeting the head of house was basic etiquette.
But Sid looked at the fervent gleam in Krombell's eyes and shook his head. Brother. What kind of lunatic did you bring home?
Krombell, of course, remained oblivious. He truly was a man who paid no mind to others.
***
At the same time, the Daikah estate might as well have been a house in mourning.
The reason was singular. A photograph that Sion Karsen had delivered to someone in the Daikah household.
"This......"
Count Gidrun Daikah trembled as he stared at the black-and-white photograph.
A shot of Guseto handing money to the lance fighter Sian. The Count understood the instant he saw it. His son had made a catastrophic mistake.
"Was there nothing else?"
At the Count's question, a servant answered, stumbling over his words.
"......No, that was all. I asked that servant called Roman whether there was anything else, and he said just this one photograph."
"......"
There was no explicit explanation of this-means-that. And that was precisely what made it more terrifying as a warning.
"This lance fighter, Sian. Where is he now?"
"He...... is at a hospital operated by House Karsen......"
The lance fighter Sian had been gravely injured in his bout with Sion Karsen, and Sion had stepped forward, saying he'd help the warrior he'd hurt.
Surgery, a private room, rehabilitation, bodyguards—Sion had covered every cost, thereby securing the man himself.
Count Daikah felt the sky caving in. His son had commissioned the assassination of the third son of House Karsen, the great ruling family of the North.
If there'd been no evidence, it might have been different—but both the evidence and the witness were in Karsen hands.
If the "Lord" ever emerged from his seclusion and acted? In the worst case, House Daikah itself could cease to exist.
The Count clenched his fists and shook violently. Fear and fury blazed like wildfire. He couldn't hold back any longer.
SLAP!
He struck the cheek of Guseto, who stood before him with hands clasped together.
"F-Father......"
"Father? I never sired a son like you!"
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
The Count's palm lashed across Guseto's face without mercy.
"I-I'm sorry."
"Shut your mouth!"
The Count's fury was far from spent. If anything, the sight of his incompetent son's groveling only stoked it higher.
The beating continued until Guseto's cheeks swelled and split, his nose bled, and his eyes turned bloodshot.
Though it wasn't visible, two or three teeth were rolling around inside his mouth.
"Do you have any idea what you have done?!"
"I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
The beating went on. By now, fists instead of palms. Pummeling as if he truly meant to kill.
Kicks. Knee strikes. To any onlooker, it would have seemed like a father genuinely trying to murder his own son—and the more violence he inflicted, the more frenzied he became.
When he finally snatched a sword from a bodyguard Knight's waist, the retainers all rushed in to restrain him.
"Let go! I will cut that wretch down where he stands! He is no son of mine! A worthless piece of garbage who threw the house into the abyss? Let go! I'll kill him!"
"My lord! Please calm yourself! Killing the young lord will solve nothing!"
Barely restrained by his retainers, the Count forced Guseto to his knees in front of everyone.
Guseto's shoulders heaved as he hung his head. Cruel treatment from a father, whatever the circumstances.
"Let all of you witness this. From this day forward, this man is no member of House Daikah. He will be treated as a criminal!"
The Count was practically raving. The retainers knew, though. The Count's fury was laced with hypocrisy.
In truth, until just recently, the Count had quietly relished watching his son manipulate the Grand Duke's third son like a puppet.
Watching Guseto sweet-talk the "half-wit" to extract house intelligence and siphon funds, the Count had savored a perverse sense of superiority—the feeling that he, a mere count, had the upper hand over the grand ducal house—and looked the other way.
But.
The man they'd believed to be a half-wit had won the Golden Star Tournament. His standing within the house would be different now.
What had been a disposable nuisance was now a proud young lord.
Northern public opinion was also in his favor. Would the courts be any different?
"If you knew Sion Karsen was a monster of this caliber, you should never have shown your claws in the first place! You dared commission an assassination against the Grand Duke's son? Your pathetic scheming has driven the entire house to the edge of ruin!"
When the situation turned unfavorable, the man who'd stood by and watched now raged as if he'd always been against it. That was Count Gidrun Daikah.
Guseto remained silent. The humiliation, the shame, the degradation—all those negative emotions were simply transmuting into fury directed at Sion Karsen.
Rationally, Sion hadn't done anything wrong—Guseto had. And the humiliation he was suffering now came from his father and his own household. But at least in his own mind, it was all Sion's fault.
Then. A retainer rushed in and reported to the Count.
"My lord. There is an urgent report."
"Speak."
"The thing is, here—"
"I said speak!"
The retainer seemed to hesitate, glancing at Guseto, but the Count's bark left him no choice.
"Sion Karsen has arrived at the estate."
"""......!"""
The Count. The retainers. Guseto. Everyone was stunned. No one had expected him to come this directly, this soon.
"......What? Who?"
"S-Sion Karsen, my lord."
The Count cursed inwardly. He'd planned to beat Guseto first, then go to Sion Karsen to grovel. He hadn't counted on Sion arriving first.
"Clear the reception room at once! Prepare for a guest! And bind this wretch's hands and feet!"
Count Daikah had Guseto dragged like a dog and forced to kneel at one side of the reception room.
He ordered every retainer to remain standing, not seated. Then he, too, stood and said:
"Show him in!"
CREEEAK—
The reception room door opened, and measured footsteps echoed in steady rhythm.
Brilliant golden hair. Deep eyes. An unwavering stride. A crisp, clean uniform. Anyone would recognize a noble of the highest order.
Sion Karsen.
He was no longer the man everyone had known. How could someone change this much? But the answer was already there.
A predator who had hidden his fangs.
A sleeping dragon that had been preparing to ascend.
"W-welcome. I should have come to you, yet here you are at our humble estate. I am deeply ashamed."
"......"
Sion walked in silence, sat down naturally in the seat of honor, and didn't spare Guseto so much as a glance. As if the man wasn't worth acknowledging.
"Please, sit."
The Count was bewildered. Sion had taken the seat of honor with such ease that it felt... correct. As if this was simply where things belonged.
Naturally, the Count took the seat beside Sion, and the rest awkwardly followed suit.
The Count spoke first.
"I have no words. I learned the truth belatedly and punished my son, but I know it falls a hundred times short. All of this is due to my own failure as a parent. I have nothing to rely upon but the mercy of the Grand Duke's house."
Despite the Count's excuses, Sion's expression remained dry. Instead of answering, he stared squarely at Guseto, whose complexion was rotting to ash.
'Perhaps the reason he turned out this way is entirely the Count's fault.'
Sion thought of himself before the regression. Crushed under the weight of Father's reputation, going astray.
Of course, looking at his first and second brothers, the problem seemed to have been with him......
Regardless.
"I accept your apology, Count. However."
Sion murmured in a low voice.
"I understand you manage the Northern liquor distribution network."
"Ah...... yes, our house has managed it for a very long time."
"I would like to take over management of a portion of the brands you distribute."
"......!"
Everyone except Sion was stunned. They'd been certain Sion would bare his anger and threaten them. That he would demand something this practical and profit-driven had never crossed their minds.
Count Daikah trembled. With the house's survival at stake, he was in no position to refuse—but it still stung.
The retainers and Guseto felt the same.
Sion, of course, had no intention of giving them room. He spoke in a frigid voice.
"Count Daikah."
Sion rose from his seat. As if to say any more time here was a waste.
"Your answer?"
The Count's facial muscles twitched almost imperceptibly. But there was no choice. He stood to match Sion and spoke.
"Very well. Send us the brands you wish, and we will transfer distribution rights."
"A wise decision."
Sion walked out of the reception room without a backward glance. The Count and his retainers stared at his retreating figure in a daze.
'Ah. He truly was a dragon.'
The Count watched until Sion vanished entirely from view, then collapsed into a chair.
He gave his retainers an order.
"Take this wretch to the family dungeon at once. And do not feed him until I say otherwise."
Guseto wept and begged forgiveness, but the sight only fueled the Count's rage.
Having just seen Sion Karsen, looking at Guseto only made the comparison more bitter.
The Grand Duke's son ascended like that, while this one knelt here sniveling.
The Count shouted.
"Take him away! Now!"