Chapter 13
Let It All Fly Away (2)
The Mausoleum County was one of the territories with exceptionally good public order.
Partly because a high noble ruled it, but more than that, it was due to the unusually harsh punishments compared to other regions.
After all, the infamous Mausoleum family couldn’t care less about the human rights of their subjects—let alone criminals.
Yet, even so, crime syndicates were not something that could be easily eradicated.
Crash!
Marco flinched at the sound of furniture breaking inside the house, clutching his two younger siblings tighter in his arms.
“You brats, pay back the damn money!”
“Where the hell are your parents?!”
Two burly men were wrecking everything inside.
Apparently, Marco’s parents had borrowed money from loan sharks.
The problem was, Marco hadn’t seen his parents for nearly half a year now.
In today’s Empire, this was nothing unusual.
Irresponsible parents often abandoned their children after succumbing to greed, and abandoned children usually ended up as slaves.
Crack!
Another crash rang out, making Marco cower as he muttered bitterly to himself.
‘I just want to give it all up.’
He already spent every day working his body to the bone at the workshop.
And now, on his only day off in the week, even this was happening. He truly wanted to throw everything away.
“Big brother…”
“I’m scared…”
But the reason he couldn’t give up was right in his arms—his younger siblings.
They weren’t at fault. Of course, neither was he, but his siblings were even more blameless.
If he was dragged away, at least he had a grown body—they’d work him to death, sure, but that was it. His little brother and sister, though… who knew what horrors might await them?
‘Please…’
As something else shattered nearby, Marco held his siblings tighter and prayed.
‘God, devil, whoever… please, help us!’
And perhaps that prayer was answered—
The thugs’ curses and the sounds of destruction suddenly ceased.
“What the hell?”
“Hey, what are you staring at?”
The thugs were pointing angrily toward someone outside the door.
Maybe a neighbor had stepped out after hearing the commotion.
“H-!”
Marco almost cried out for help but clamped his mouth shut.
Inside him, two conflicting desires clashed: the desperate need for someone to save them, and the wish that the stranger would just run away before getting hurt.
“Hmm. Guess this is my first real fight.”
But the newcomer had no intention of fleeing. Upon closer look, the person wore a robe—definitely not just a local resident.
The two thugs exchanged glances and rolled up their sleeves. Magical circuits tattooed on their forearms glowed faintly.
“Traveler, whatever you are—you’d better walk away.”
“Unless you’ve got a death wish…”
The robed man ignored them and stepped inside.
At that instant, the left thug’s arm circuits flared.
Mana coursed through the pattern, shaping a spell.
It was a formula for “Projectile.” A basic telekinetic technique—not even worthy of being called a proper 1st-circle spell.
But for back-alley thugs, it was simple, efficient, and deadly enough.
Whoosh!
The thug’s hand axe, fueled by his muscles and the circuit’s power, flew straight at the robed man’s head.
Marco was certain the axe would split the man’s skull in two.
Thud!
But instead, the axe struck something else entirely.
Its trajectory twisted midair, and it embedded itself in the floor five full steps away from the robed man.
The thugs froze, staring at him with wary eyes. The man took another step forward, stretching out his hand.
“—!”
The right thug dodged instinctively, but the left wasn’t fast enough.
“What the—?!”
Before he knew it, his knees slammed into the floor.
“Ughhh…?!”
A crushing force bore down on his shoulders. He couldn’t even stay upright, much less stand.
Thud!
He collapsed flat on the ground.
“Gah!”
“You bastard!”
The other thug’s arm lit up with an even more complex circuit. Mana surged, weaving a 1st-circle spell: Magic Missile.
“Die!”
He unleashed the spell at the robed man.
“Hmm.”
The man casually lifted a finger.
Then the unbelievable happened.
“W-what?!”
The Magic Missile, meant to pierce him, instead began to orbit around him in circles—like a butterfly flitting around a flower.
“So this works in live combat too, huh.”
“…!”
The thug finally realized.
This man was someone far beyond his ability to handle.
And then he noticed—the robed man was pointing at him.
The Magic Missiles circling like little faeries shifted course—aimed straight at him.
Splat!
His head burst, and he collapsed lifelessly.
The thug pinned to the ground gave up all resistance and just lay still.
The robed man turned to Marco, who was staring in shock.
“Marco, right?”
“Ah… y-yes.”
The man lowered his hood.
Beneath it was hair black as the night sky, and golden eyes gleaming like starlight.
“Wow…”
Marco’s little sister, Maria, whispered in awe.
“You’re…!”
Marco realized who he was.
Black hair wasn’t unique to the Mausoleum family, but black hair paired with golden eyes and such striking beauty? That combination belonged only to them.
“I greet the Count!”
Marco hurriedly bowed his head. At the same time, countless thoughts flooded his mind.
‘Why is the Count here? Did he just happen to save me while inspecting the town?’
But that didn’t matter. What mattered was something else entirely—
‘This is my chance!’
A chance to turn his life around.
From an abandoned, debt-burdened orphan laborer—to escape all that.
Still bowing, Marco cried out:
“Lord Seymour, thank you for saving our humble lives! I swear to repay this grace for the rest of my days! Please, accept my family into your service!”
A plea for gratitude—but in truth, a request to be taken in.
Marco suddenly worried that his words might have offended such a lofty noble.
“Hmm.”
Seymour made a thoughtful sound. That brief pause felt like an eternity to Marco.
“Very well.”
Seymour smirked.
“Repay me with your body—for the rest of your life.”
Marco exhaled in relief, bowing even lower.
“Thank you, my lord! Truly, thank you…!”
Wait—what?
Marco’s words stopped mid-flow.
‘Repay… with my body?’
The realization struck him like a hammer, leaving his mind blank.
He recalled what Anna, a barmaid from the factory, once said.
That many high nobles were perverts.
Bored of the “ordinary,” they sought out the “unusual.”
‘Oh God…’
Marco squeezed his eyes shut.
The thought of what awaited was horrifying.
‘But… if I become a noble’s consort, at least my siblings will live comfortably.’
The Mausoleum County was full of nobles and knights.
Marco knew well how their lovers and mistresses received endless gifts and allowances.
Some people even schemed to catch a noble’s eye, while others went as far as pushing their children into a drunken noble’s bed.
‘If it’s for my siblings…’
Marco held them close, closing his eyes tightly.
Marco, in the original story, was one of Seymour’s administrators.
He was the one responsible for handling underworld affairs, staging countless incidents, and eliminating countless criminals—paving Seymour’s path to becoming the underworld’s ruler.
‘He maximized casualties even when he didn’t have to.’
To criminals and gangsters, Marco was a merciless mass-murderer with neither pity nor tears.
That reputation spread Seymour’s infamy far and wide, and Seymour valued him highly for it.
‘They say it was because of a past where he lost his siblings to crime syndicates.’
Those siblings were likely the very children now staring curiously at me from his arms.
“Kids, don’t stare at the Count like that.”
“Yes, brother.”
“Sowwy.”
Even so, they couldn’t take their eyes off me.
Well, it was their first time seeing a noble. And maybe Seymour’s face wasn’t too bad to look at either.
I rode back to the lord’s castle with Marco and his siblings in the carriage.
Watching them briefly, I turned to the window.
‘Since his siblings are alive and well, Marco won’t fall into corruption like in the original story.’
He had plenty of talent. With the right guidance, he could run multiple enterprises on my behalf.
‘Just a few more capable people, and I could hand off all the family businesses.’
Lost in thought, I turned back.
Marco, who had been staring, quickly looked away.
But in his eyes, I saw something familiar.
‘Simon looks at me with that same gaze.’
It was fear.
‘Well, I did kill someone right in front of him.’
I tried flashing the “not-at-all-like-a-villain smile” I’d been practicing in the mirror.
“Eek!”
Marco flinched and looked away in even greater terror.
What the hell? Did he think I’d eat him alive?
Clicking my tongue, I turned back to the window.
The surviving thug had been handed over to the guards—he’d be dealt with.
The dead one, having dared to attack a noble, would’ve been executed anyway.
‘Come to think of it, that was my first kill too.’
Yet, surprisingly, I felt nothing at all.
Was this Seymour’s influence?
Or maybe I still hadn’t fully accepted this world as reality.
‘Good thing I didn’t bring Lucis along.’
I hadn’t expected to use magic, so I’d left him with Xia.
In hindsight, sparing him from seeing bloodshed was the right call.
‘And Seymour didn’t take over this time either.’
Because I’d been careful to use mana only within the “line” I’d discovered after multiple training attempts.
‘When I get back, I’ll play with Lucis again.’
Even after a short while apart, I already missed him.
“…What?”
When I returned to the castle, the butler was waiting.
His face pale, bearing unwelcome news.
“What’s opening?”
“The Black Dragon Society is convening, my lord.”
