Even a Scoundrel Gets Tired

153 – Passing the Buck

A black robe.

Reinhardt was not

unaware of what that

meant in Charlotte.

“Charlotte, I asked you,

just what is going on here?”

From his expression,

which remained utterly unmoving,

an intense rage bloomed,

and at the same time, Charlotte offered a smile with his eyes.

From within the thick, dark

black of the robe.

“My apologies, but isn’t this

my job?”

“…Job?”

“Eliminating the Empire’s threats.”

Of course, he knew.

In truth, any noble who’d

ventured even slightly into society

could hardly be ignorant of such things.

Charlotte and the Imperial Family, and the things they did.

“What business is that of mine?”

Still, Reinhardt

couldn’t quite grasp it.

Of course, he knew

what they did.

But even so, there remained something he couldn’t understand:

why they had

invaded his family home.

He could proudly boast that he, as a noble of renown,

had always considered only the peace and

well-being of the Empire,

dedicating his entire life to cultivating his family.

Of course, his relationship

with the Emperor was far from cordial.

After all, as a noble-born man,

how could he ever be on good terms with the Imperial Family?

However,

until now, he had

tried his utmost.

Growing the influence of

his family, while at the same time,

making every effort to placate the Emperor.

And in that process,

he had never done anything to

displease the Emperor.

There was nothing he’d done now

to warrant being treated

in such a way.

There had to be some other reason, he thought.

“Hahaha, is your eldest son doing well?”

That was before

he heard those words.

Why was it?

It was as if his hands and feet were parching dry,

and from the voice of that man, still flashing that

insistent, sickening, sweet smile,

he felt an indescribable sense of unease.

“It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen that child…”

“It seems like quite some time has passed…”

“…What is it you wish to say?”

His greasy smile glinted under the moonlight, and in that instant, the voice of a servant echoed through my mind.

‘Ah…Young Master Allen has become a fiend!!’

Of course, back then I’d dismissed it as utter nonsense.

He was absolutely not

that sort of fellow.

Amongst his peers,

he was overflowing with talent and even diligent in his efforts.

Furthermore, the family

didn’t stint on their support for him.

What could possibly displease a lad like that, causing him to succumb to a demon’s whispers?

Of course, the last time I saw

him, his skin did possess a slight

purple tinge, but

well, wouldn’t it be more likely he was suffering from some kind of poisoning?

Otherwise, how could that

talentless piece of trash have overcome Allen, a lump of sheer talent, and escaped this manor?

“…Don’t tell me you did all this because of that wretch?”

“Naturally. Otherwise,

how often would we have

reason to stir?”

…It appears that servant’s tongue

will have to be removed before long.

Spreading such

nonsense willy-nilly…

Thanks to him, the entire

house has been in an uproar since midday.

“How will you hold a funeral for the boy?”

“…That is not your concern─”

“Considering he has no head?”

In that instant, everyone around

him flinched momentarily

at the cold, chilling voice that lashed out,

and so far, it was consistently half moon

Charlotte’s eyebrows, which had been meticulously shaped, flattened into a single line.

A cold, ruthless demeanor,

one she had never

shown before,

flustered many, including, of course, Duke Reinhardt.

‘How did she know…?’

How could she possibly know?

More than anything else, that was what he wondered most.

It couldn’t have been from the servants.

He had placed all the

ones who knew what

had happened to Allen

directly under his

own supervision…

There was simply no chance of that.

He felt, somehow, that something

was beginning to go terribly wrong,

“Why bring in demons, old friend?”

“…What?”

And then, once more,

the suspicion transformed into an arrow

of certainty, aimed squarely at him.

Crash—

Something shattered.

And as if that sound

were a signal flare,

the two men drew their swords in unison.

*

Lest you’ve forgotten, I’ll remind you,

the age for entering

the academy is, at the latest, ten.

That’s when I enrolled.

Ariana Allen,

even sooner.

And then, for the

next nine years or so,

one remains at the academy.

If there’s a child

among them who is particularly

gifted,

After sitting the exam,

and confirming the results,

if a glimmer of possibility

presented itself, then

they would be transferred

to a class of a higher caliber

than their peers.

More than a few

underclassmen had gone

through this procedure.

Not quite dukes,

but the scions of marquises

or counts, for instance,

having been raised

from their earliest years

on elixirs and spiritual auras,

such fine things,

it was no wonder they possessed mana reservoirs and physiques unmatched by their peers.

Why do I know all this so well?

Because my own sister, Aria,

was one such case.

And, this request Professor Oliver

received is of a similar nature.

Apparently, until two years ago,

this child was merely ordinary,

but somehow,

suddenly, they experienced a meteoric rise,

reaching a level where

the entire class could not overcome them.

Their arrogance and conceit

have only continued to swell,

and so the hope is that

a student from the high-achieving A class

might be able to temper

this individual. Hence, this request.

And, if at all possible, they also wish for them to receive education befitting their skill.

Yes, that much

I could understand.

To curb their hubris and,

To also offer instruction,

and perhaps even a true awakening…

that would be paradise itself.

Perhaps this was a chance

to nurture talent unseen,

a pillar for the Empire in the making.

Even if all else was uncertain,

they said his growth was charting

a course so different from his peers.

And so, all the more reason,

this instruction was crucial.

But to entrust this to me, rather than

another, more brilliant student?

“Professor…”

“Yes? Is there perhaps

something you don’t understand?”

“No, I understand everything, but…”

“Then, is there a problem?”

Yes, a problem there is.

Isn’t it obvious?

It’s nothing but problems, however I look at it.

“Is there a reason you’re entrusting this to me…”

“Is something amiss?

I believe you are quite capable of handling this.”

“Well, it is true that

there isn’t a more qualified candidate than you.”

“Jennison is the one for the job!”

…It seems the situation is,

everyone believes I’m going to

accept this request without a doubt.

But the truth is, I have no such intention.

In the first place, I don’t

have the time for it right now, and

moreover, dealing with a brat

who thinks they’re the best at everything

is among the things I loathe most in this world.

“Professor.”

“Hmm? What is it?”

“No matter how I think about it…”

“For this sort of thing, surely

the other students from Class A would be more…”

suited, I thought.

Of course, I was, strictly speaking,

a member of Class A myself,

but even before I left,

there were so many others

polishing their skills at a higher level than me.

Besides, I was practically always at the bottom of Class A.

What could I possibly teach a junior?

At best, how to

deal with ambushes, maybe.

Or how to survive

in the dark.

‘Beyond that…I can’t really think of anything.’

That was the honest truth,

pure and unfiltered.

My weapon of choice was

the dagger, you see, so

how could I give proper instruction

to people of this era who

used longswords or one-handed swords?

And what could I possibly teach

with my unremarkable talent,

which was only good for making

potions back in my hovel?

My style of fighting was

clearly unfit to be a model for anyone.

Furthermore, even

basic magic would likely

be stronger than any attack I could teach, so

from any angle, wouldn’t it be

better to ask for help from

the others instead of me?

Albert’s even here…

Positioned, of course.

“Albert, what you’re doing is—”

“Refusing. I’m rather

busy these days myself, you see.”

“….”

“Why don’t you just do it?”

“Well, Albert also says so, so perhaps you should..”

“..Give me just one day.”

..I must hurry and find

someone, anyone, to take this on.

If I don’t foist this task onto another,

training, whatever it may be,

will be forcibly denied to me, I fear.

*

“Waaah!!”

“Hey, kill him!!”

“Do you know how much I bet on you?!”

Under the scorching sunlight,

upon the ground, baking hot,

A splatter of red, a handful of blood.

A head, its expression

filled with the uttermost despair,

Rolls, deru-ru-ru, far away.

Waaahhh─

A roar of cheers erupts at the same time.

This is the arena,

a slaughterhouse and breeding pen

for beasts who have forsaken their humanity.

“..So, who is this kid you’re entrusting to me?”

“Ah, big brother. Even that…Hehe.”

“..Tch, useless fool.”

“No…Big brother, why do you say such hurtful things..”

“Ah, whatever. Let’s talk after I get back.”

“Ah, yes, sir. Have a good trip!!”

Thump, thump─

Towards the ground, where

red blood thickly clings,

A man walks barefoot.

The moment he bathes in the

sunlight of the arena,

A thunderous roar erupted from the stands.

“He’s finally

shown himself?!”

“He’s here!!”

“I bet everything I own!!”

At the man’s appearance,

everyone erupted in cheers,

as the announcer, riding the

wave of excitement, declared

his epithet in a thrilling voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our arena’s eternal pride!!”

“..Pride my ass, bunch of lunatics.”

“He is the Black Mule!!”

The old donkey

was shrouded in darkness,

slaying beasts.