The double life of a count’s bastard

Episode 32

“The Northern Mountains?”

Count Slater, who had been staring at the report, slowly lifted his gaze upward.

Sandler, the butler in charge, answered calmly in an even voice.

“He left a note at the top of Rosita saying he was returning a kidnapped high elf to her home.”

At Sandler’s answer, Count Slater stared at him for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words, before his brow furrowed slightly.

He said something that sounded like a horse.

“I don’t suppose you know the Northern Mountains as the backwoods of your neighbourhood, and you expect to find elven territory in that wide expanse?”

Count Slater looked incredulous—a look that Sandler shared.

“I told him not to worry; I’ll be back in a month at most.”

“A month? You’re going to find the elves’ territory in those vast northern mountains in a month?”

“I’m guessing that the Information Guild has mapped out some of the elves’ territory.”

“Of course, if you have an idea, The only problem is that there are at least a dozen areas that could have been built.”

Count Slater was right.

The Intelligence Guild has a rough idea of what might be considered elven territory.

However, the elves are very cautious and reclusive, and they move their homes from time to time.

If they hadn’t, they would have already been overrun by greedy humans who would enslave them at any cost.

However, even if they did find a dozen locations, they were likely to be quite far apart in distance, and the prospect of finishing the job in a month at the most was not appealing.

“Who’s your escort?”

“My chauffeur, Hans, and Lord Coach, they say.”

“Lord Coach?”

Earl Slater repeated it in surprise.

“Given Sir Coach’s character, he was directly involved in rescuing the elf, and I suspect he wanted to see it through to the end.”

“That’s a relief.”

The Earl of Slater was inwardly relieved, for though Sir Coach was an old knight on the verge of retirement, his skills were the real deal.

“Your Grace.”

At Sandler’s summons, the Earl of Slater nodded as if to say he had something to say.

“So is Lord Coach, and so are the spellbooks you’ve been assisting with this Rosetta top. I’m curious to know what the Earl had faith in you, Master Russo.”

Sandler’s question had several implications, but the most important was this.

He wanted to know if Rousseau’s position with the Earl of Slater had changed.

What did Rousseau mean by Count Slater?

He had the sorest finger of all his children, so he was willing to let them get away with anything until they were adults, even if it meant getting into trouble.

That was the only and greatest care and love that Count Slater could give Rousseau.

However, when Rousseau comes of age, things are bound to change.

His misbehaviour can no longer be unconditionally tolerated because he is a child.

Even if he’s a direct descendant of the Earl of Slater, he’ll have to take on the responsibilities and duties that come with it.

And if you don’t,?

You’ll no longer bear the Slater name.

That doesn’t mean he’s going to hand Rousseau a sword and send him off to battle, but he’s got to pay his bills, and Sandler has been preparing for Rousseau’s coming of age for some time now.

At best, he’d be relegated to low-level soldier duties or perhaps some menial administrative task.

But these days, Rousseau is different.

He’s acquired a suit of armour of unknown provenance, won a battle against the Marquis of Keita’s knight Colin, and now he’s captured a priest of Satan.

The capture of the Priest of Sahrtan was still a mystery to the few, but it was clear that the neglected Russo had done it, and Sandler couldn’t help but think otherwise.

To top it all off, the Earl of Slater himself backed Rousseau with an expensive spellbook and Lord Coach.

As the one who best understood the Earl’s thinking and needed to keep up with what he was doing, Sandler needed to be clear about his intentions.

“He came to me.”

Count Slater recalled the moment Rousseau came to him.

‘I have a favour to ask of you, something that must be done, and I need your help, and I need you to write the spell here and a confirmation of your orders to Lord Coach.

It was a bold request and one that he didn’t think he could grant, but Earl Slater agreed.

It was not a request without a price.

The spellbook would be paid for in full in market value, and he was confident that the part about Lord Coach would be worth it.

The way Rousseau spoke to him so confidently was enough to convince Earl Slater that he needed nothing in return.

Before he became a cripple, he had been a swordsman, swinging his sword harder than anyone in the past.

That was enough for Count Slater.

It was the result of his support, but Russo had done more than he could have imagined.

He hasn’t yet been paid for the spellbook, but he has been rewarded with Sir Coach.

The Earl of Slater needed a turnaround after 20 years of unsuccessful expeditions, and his capture of the priest of the evil god Sahr’tan earned him the thanks of the Church of Nevatera and the promise of their full support.

The unthinkable has happened, and Rousseau has managed to set a tone that even Count Slater could not easily reverse.

The Earl of Slater was in a better mood than he’d ever been in because the bastard everyone had given up on had done something really big.

But is that enough to erase the past?

Not quite.

Finishing his brief explanation, Count Slater looked at Sandler, who had a complicated expression on his face, and said it firmly.

“This does not change anything. My opinion of Rousseau has not changed.”

At Count Slater’s deeply troubled words, Sandler bowed his head, not asking any more questions.

Not yet.

Nothing has changed.

But in the future?

Sandler realised that maybe, just maybe, his plans would have to be modified a bit.

* * *

“El har roshnaem ziak ventra.”

A High Elf, only seven years old, with a long name, and an incredibly long name at that.

“Well, what does age have to do with a long name?

Russo chewed his jerky viciously and looked at the High Elf, who was still somewhat shrunken and hesitant.

“What’s your short name?”

The High Elf looked at Russo cautiously before answering in a low voice.

“El.”

“All right, El. You don’t know where the house is, do you?”

El shook her head.

She didn’t know where it was, but even if she did, she could never reveal it.

It was a rule.

A rule of elven society is that elves must never reveal their current residence to humans, even if they were kidnapped.

It was ingrained in the elves’ minds that humans were a race that could wear the mantle of the good sheep one moment and reveal their ferocious wolf nature the next.

Rousseau didn’t react much to El’s seeming lack of interest in answering.

He hadn’t expected one in the first place.

“How are you going to find us in those vast northern mountains?”

“A map.”

Jason sighed inwardly at Rousseau’s clean dismissal of his question and pulled out a map.

“Let’s see…….”

Rousseau unfolded the map of the northern mountains he’d prepared earlier, picked up a pen, glared at the map, and circled exactly four places.

“One of these.”

Rousseau’s chewing of jerky as he spoke was unbelievable, to say the least.

“What makes you think this is the right place?”

Lord Coach, who had the least faith in Rousseau, asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m staring at the map, and it’s giving me a hunch.”

“…….”

Shall I kill a wretch who is of no use to the Earl here and now and retire in honour?

Jason asked quickly as he saw Lord Coach’s grip on his sword tighten.

“Did you run this by any chance through the Information Guild?”

Russo hadn’t, but he felt the life radiating from Sir Coach’s narrowed eyes, and he nodded immediately.

“Of course. Do you think I would have gone scouring the great northern mountains without that much information? Do you think I am so unthinking?”

“Not exactly.”

Hans slipped out, and Russo glared at him.

When Hans met his gaze as if to ask what he was looking at, Jason quickly interjected.

Still, they were lords and knights, sworn to loyalty, and how could they not see eye to eye like dogs and cats?

“The closest one is here.”

Even the closest of the four places Russo had marked was at least four or five days away.

“I’ll lead the way.”

Jason, carrying a backpack larger than my own that was enchanted to be lightweight, led the way.

He was followed by Rousseau and Hans, who were empty-handed; Elle, who rolled her eyes in anxiety; and Sir Coach, who used his sword as a walking stick.

It took one month to get Elle the High Elf back home. Thus began a journey that would be short if it were short and long if it were long.

* * *

Ever since her vision, Russo has been unable to leave anything to chance to protect her family and her life.

There is never enough time to prepare for his situation, so whatever he does must be planned.

With so much on his plate, Rousseau’s willingness to take the trouble to escort the high elf Elle home has a clear purpose.

An artefact from Bern.

Four hundred years ago.

Relying solely on a single sword, Berne was a swordsman who defeated many of the continent’s greatest powers.

As he rose to the top of the continent, people called him the sword saint, and even a faction of followers arose.

Bern was so powerful that not even the Emperor would have dared to mess with him, but he mysteriously disappeared.

He left no trace, and no one, not his followers, not those who sought to challenge him, and not those who prepared to challenge him, ever found him.

Some might say:.

“A dragon’s play?” Someone said, “They like to make things up.

Rousseau chuckled to himself as he chewed on a caylac root that freshened his mouth with each bite.

Many speculated that Berne was a dragon who enjoyed polymorphing into human form.

At some point, the speculation had become so firmly entrenched in truth that the majority now believed Berne was a dragon.

Rousseau, however, was well aware of Bern’s true identity.

‘Berne was a man, and he sought out the elves because he no longer thought he had a match among men.

Over the next six years, the mystery of Berne’s identity would slowly unravel.

How?

Rousseau’s gaze turns to Elle.

“Who would have thought that a child like that could be royalty?

El was a high elf, the nobility of the elves, but his true identity was royalty.

Rosita had been so excited by the fact that El was a rare high elf that she had offered him up in human sacrifice, but she would never have acted so rashly if she had known he was royalty.

The elves’ eyes were lit, and they chased after El, only to discover that Rosita was a priestess of the evil god Sahrtan.

By then, it was too late; El was long dead, and in their anger, the elves declared an all-out war against the cult of Sahrtan.

24 elves boldly entered human society, and surprisingly, all of them were swordsmen who had reached the rank of master.

The appearance of twenty-four mastered elven swordsmen, as opposed to only twelve humans on the entire continent, was shocking.

But there was something else that was even more shocking.

‘Who would have thought that all of the elven swordsmen who had reached mastery were Bern’s disciples?

Bern’s apprentices.

It turns out that Bern, the dragon they believed to be a dragon, was a human, and he died while teaching the elves his swordsmanship.

To the Elves, therefore, Vern was a friend, a teacher, and a friend who transcended race.

“If we can get this boy to safety, we can get Bern’s artefact.

Though not certain, the revelation that the elven swordsmen were Vern’s disciples led many to speculate that the elves might have left behind a relic of Vern.

Russo was one of them, which is why he attacked the top of Rosita and began his journey to bring El back.

“It’s the relic of Bern… I can’t resist; I’ll take it! I’ll eat it!!!

Rousseau’s eyes glowed with greed, and Elle, who was behind the group, had to shudder as her highly developed psychic senses took over.

“Can we trust… humans?

El thought to herself, feeling no different at this moment than when she was on top of Rosita.