Even a Scoundrel Gets Tired

2 – The Worst Choice *Revised*

What is this??

A mark I’ve never seen before.

This is… a potion and… a hand??

It’s not a symbol representing an element, nor does it appear to protect anything.

“…Did I fail the gacha?”

Still, I do have talent, it seems…this body.

Seeing as the mark emerged as more than one…

I hurried to look up what the marks meant.

Two are better than one, I suppose.

“I’m screwed…”

Yeah, I’m really screwed.

Potion, it says, is the mark of an alchemist, and Hand is the mark of creation.

Both are

completely useless in combat.

Talents more suited to a production role than a combat one,

in a place where monsters constantly emerge

and ‘Gates’ are also frequently created,

where fighting monsters is an everyday occurrence,

they are truly useless.

And, in reality, for that reason…

Because of this, it’s also a profession that almost everyone

scorns.

There’s no way a production profession would be useful

in the middle of constant battles.

At best, you can only make healing potions…

But even that, when you look at the effect compared to the time invested,

it’s much more helpful to bring a priest, and

infusing mana into your sword

is more efficient in battle than spending time creating something.

Of course, maybe if you use it right,

you could succeed, but

it’s a talent that’s damn difficult to rise with.

Especially here, in the Reinhardt family,

which others call

a family of knights.

‘I have to report to the Duke tomorrow… how will I face Mother again…’

No, this won’t do.

I have to find a way.

I immediately tried to

think about how to handle this,

but unlike my intentions,

my eyes slowly began to close.

I had poured in too much mana, and was in a state of ‘mana exhaustion.’

‘Ah… wait, if I fall asleep like this, I’m really screwed…’

Someone once said,

the weight of an eyelid is heavier than a ton.

That saying…it’s true.

*

The next morning,

I had to find the Duke to report the results of last night, and

of course, I didn’t know

where the Duke was in this large house, so

“The Duke is in the drawing room, young master,”

I asked the maid cleaning the stairs

for the Duke’s location.

The reception room. A room built for the purpose of receiving guests, typically.

More so than the other rooms,

it was decorated in a grand, antique style,

and so I found it without difficulty.

And now I stood, right there,

before the reception room door.

A door adorned with patterns so archaic they leapt out at you,

and a golden handle gleaming upon it.

A beautiful door, as if plucked from the pages of a fairytale.

You could tell at a glance how much coin had been lavished upon it.

“Father…it’s Jennison.

I have come to report the emergence of the crest.”

Knock, knock.

I remained standing before the door,

and stated the reason for my arrival.

Not long after, the door opened of its own accord.

*Creeeaaak*

“…!”

And in that instant, of its own accord,

a savage energy washed over me, making my body shrink back.

Despite it being morning, the curtains were drawn,

and within the lightless room,

the Duke’s figure slowly materialized.

The traditional Imperial military uniform, the hair and beard white as snow.

The rippling muscles all over his body, and the scars,

seemed to somehow make his physique even larger.

Compared to him, I was still far too young,

and my head bowed automatically.

My head, which hadn’t bowed in such a way,

except back when I was a slave.

“So…the crest has emerged, has it?”

Before him lay countless piles of documents.

He didn’t lift his gaze from the paper in his hand,

and asked the question with a nonchalant air.

From his gaze, a profound indifference emanated.

…Truly, he wasn’t a good father, in many respects.

Perhaps it was because I hadn’t adapted

to aristocratic society.

If a father like that existed in the 21st century, at the very least, he’d probably be on the news.

Under a headline like: ‘A Father Who Never Gave His Child a Single Ounce of Love.’

“…Anyway, how am I supposed to say this?”

Just so you know… he’s

incredibly curt and stern.

Furthermore, he possesses immense pride

in his own lineage.

In short, if he sees these markings of mine,

he’s the kind of man who would never let it stand.

“Speak. Why can’t you speak?”

Even so, it can’t be helped.

I have to tell him.

I can’t very well commit perjury, either;

not when it’s appearing so plainly on the back of my hand…

The last shred of opportunity to lie has vanished.

“Markings… have appeared.”

“What kind of markings?”

“…The shape of a potion, and a hand.”

“…What?”

Less than a second passed before a murderous aura,

enough to make me lose my mind, emanated from the Duke,

and this body, still at such a tender age,

almost fainted, laughably enough.

From just that one bout of murderous intent.

“I apologize…”

However, thanks to that, I clearly realized one thing.

The Duke is currently in a deeply displeased state.

The Reinhardt family, into which I was born, was a distinguished noble house, one of the most renowned that has produced countless knights capable of taking down a hundred foes.

Knights with numerous battle experiences,

owing to the territory’s close proximity to the Forest of Demons.

My older brother, Allen, who has no equal among his peers,

and is already at the level of a semi-knight.

Similarly, my younger sister, Aria, who is on a similar level

as the Ruenyeol Ducal Family when it comes to elemental magic.

In addition to that, numerous capable retainers.

And in a family that’s constantly flourishing like this,

an alchemist-type office worker has appeared?

Even under his own bloodline?

Well, truth be told, I don’t truly comprehend, but in a noble society like this,

the Duke’s fury is perhaps

to be expected.

The nobles I’ve encountered thus far

hold honor more dear than even life itself.

*Grind* –

The Duke’s teeth grinding.

If this truth were to come to light, the nobles,

of course, but even the servants and common folk, would undoubtedly mock the family.

And furthermore, my mother is of common birth…

They’ll ceaselessly

cling to that, won’t they?

When a family’s renown runs so high, to the point they are called one of the Four Great Houses,

then those who seek to tear it down, one way or another, are bound to exist.

Having revealed everything, for me,

nothing remained

but to await the Duke, who maintained a profound silence.

*

The Duke pondered.

What must be done, to keep

the family’s honor from falling.

‘…for that wretch to make a success of himself

by utilizing that useless talent…’

It was a venture fraught with risk.

In a family that had lived and breathed the sword their entire lives,

for such a shallow talent to spring forth.

That b*stard, a mere son of his concubine,

could he truly deliver

the results worthy of expectation?

If he could, surely

it would benefit the family too, but…

‘That is likely impossible.

Judging by his usual conduct.’

But the opponent is none other than Jennison, who since childhood

had been sickly.

He could barely wield a longsword properly,

nor did he have outstanding

Mana levels, like his younger brother,

or any talents related to magic.

If one were to trust such a fellow,

and then suffer a failure from it?

‘The family’s prestige would surely

plummet at once.’

In a family that has, for generations,

nurtured and produced those who wield the sword,

to have such a heretic emerge.

‘Then…perhaps it’s better to place

the blame for everything on that one…’

Even if he were hidden away now,

there’s no hiding him when he

enrolls in the Academy.

So in the end, discovery is but a matter of time.

That from a knightly family, one of the Four Great Houses,

such a worthless wretch has appeared.

Countless nobles will undoubtedly

tear into it and savor the scandal.

But… if all of this could be placed

not on the family, but on that one individual?

That it wasn’t that such a fellow

emerged from our family, but

that his inherent aptitude was

simply and utterly wretched.

That it wasn’t the fault of our family’s bloodline,

but the fault of that one individual…

Doubtless, it was not a deed a father ought to commit,

but alas, the Duke was not one to concern himself with such things.

He had long been a noble, maddened

by that precious lust for honor.

‘If that were to happen,

there would be no risk of

our family suffering any inconvenience…’

He weighed it all.

His son’s reputation against his family’s honor.

For him, a man who held the titles

of both father and Duke,

such a quandary was all too easily resolved.

“…Jenison, how old are you this year?”

“…? Ten…years old.”

“Indeed, then next year

“I suppose I must enter, then.”

“..Yes.”

“Listen well. If you

find yourself within the Academy…”

You must become a scoundrel.

*

After hearing the Duke’s words,

I was stunned for a time.

Wondering if the Duke was truly of sound mind,

to utter such a thing.

Of course, it wasn’t as if I expected paternal affection from him.

From the outset, the very fact that I addressed him

not as Father, but as Duke,

was proof enough that

I did not consider him to be my father.

And perhaps, that same sentiment applied to the Duke as well.

Surely, no sane man would offer

such a proposition to his own son.

To enter the prestigious Academy and behave like a miscreant?

And to suggest this in perfect clarity

to a mere child of ten.

“Forgive my audacity… but might I inquire as to the reason for such an order?”

I secretly hoped that he might,

even now, rescind it.

Despite everything,

this was no suggestion for a father to make to his son.

Perhaps it would suit the relationship between a gang boss and his subordinate, but not this.

“You wouldn’t actually think that

your useless talents are truly

suited to our family, would you?”

“….”

“That is why I have given this order.

If you prove that you alone are worthless…”

“….”

“Then at least that influence will not

extend to the rest of our family.”

It was absurd.

Were those the words of a supposed father?

And spoken directly, even, to the face of his own child?

Of course, our family, known as one of the Four Great Houses, its scale and influence vast,

And, accordingly, the number of enemies it possessed…

I knew all of this, to some extent, but even so,

I simply couldn’t comprehend his words and actions.

Perhaps he feared a blemish on his reputation,

Or maybe he loathed the fact that this

Riffraff had somehow wormed its way

Into the House he had built up through his own efforts.

But to cast out his own blood over so little?

Furthermore, the worry of what would happen

When this deed eventually came to light.

Surely, he hadn’t failed to consider that I might spill the beans.

“…Judging by your expression, it seems you have many grievances.”

“…..”

How could I *not* have grievances?

His own father, abandoning him.

Even if someone else were in my place,

In this very situation,

Grievances would undoubtedly arise, I thought, just then,

When the Duke’s lips parted once more.

“Your mother, Sariel, you see.”

“….?”

“Her health seems to be quite poor… Would she even survive in this bitter weather, living outside?”

That day, the expression on the Duke’s

Face was more corrupted than any

I had ever witnessed on any other human being.

And in that instant, I had to make a choice.

My mother, already so frail,

If she were truly cast out to live

Outside, as he suggested…

It wasn’t a lie, she might

Truly become lost or broken.

Yet, to accept his offer,

The future became far too

Worrying to bear.

How could I give up the peaceful life I had finally achieved?

After swallowing down endless suffering, oppression, and humiliation,

It was my precious life, hard-won.

To throw it all away… simply for the sake of my mother?

“…I accept, Your Grace.”

“…Accept what, exactly?”

“I will do as you wish,

so long as Mother is allowed to remain here.”

Ironically enough, it came to pass.

To throw it all away…simply for the sake of my mother.

‘…Perhaps it’s not so strange.’

Just these ten years of life.

Across a full seven reincarnations,

the love I received from her in those ten short years outweighed

all the love I received from others combined.

Beyond comparison, really.