I'm the Crazy One in the Family-Chapter 128: For True Love (2)

Even though Keter had suddenly vanished from the mansion in Eslow’s palace, the rest of the group remained focused on their respective tasks. Anis and Taragon were sparring with knights of Eslow in the training grounds, and Katherine was practicing forming and controlling mana spheres.

Myle, the group’s spiritual anchor, sat calmly on the terrace in plain sight, seemingly reading a book. His eyes were fixed on the pages, but the quiet, rhythmic shaking of his leg showed that he wasn’t focused on the book at all.

“Lord Myle?”

Myle flinched at the unexpected sensation on his shoulder. Katherine, who had touched his shoulder, also jumped in surprise.

“I’m sorry if I startled you. It’s just that you’ve been shaking your leg so much. I was getting worried.”

“I was shaking my leg?”

“You haven’t even turned the page in thirty minutes.”

“...”

Myle closed the book with a sigh.

Katherine could guess what was bothering him.

“It’s about Maste... about Lord Keter, right?”

Myle didn’t bother to hide it. There was no point since she had already guessed it.

“Yes. It’s been two hours since Keter disappeared, and we’ve had no word. It feels like we’re trapped here. It’s frustrating.”

Of course, the others weren’t completely at ease either. But they had things to focus on, which helped them ignore the unease.

Myle, on the other hand, bore the responsibility of ensuring the group’s safety, and that meant he had nothing else he could focus on. The lack of information and the absence of any plan both made Myle feel exhausted.

“Countless nobles are targeting us. We’re safe here in the palace, sure, but Keter? He may not be a known figure, and he’s not the type to be taken down easily. But still... still...”

Myle trailed off. He suddenly realized why he felt so anxious.

Am I angry? Or am I just uneasy?

Keter never once consulted Myle when making decisions. He always acted on his own. As the leader of the group, it was normal for him to feel ignored or even defied. What was more, Myle hadn’t even known Keter for a full week. They had only interacted when Myle failed to cast a spell on him, and when he gave him a Mind-Soothing Pill.

Sure, Myle’s feelings toward Keter leaned more toward liking than dislike. But as a noble raised in a prestigious family, Keter’s behavior often rubbed him the wrong way. Still, he understood; Keter had earned the right to act that way.

So what exactly was gnawing at him?

This feeling... it’s not anger.

Myle was sure now. Keter’s arrogance was bothersome, yes, but this feeling wasn’t anger.

What I’m feeling is anxiety.

Myle suddenly understood his own emotions, like the moment an archer suddenly realized they were out of arrows.

...I’ve also been relying on Keter.

He was uneasy because Keter wasn’t there—because he wanted Keter by his side. That was the root of Myle’s anxiety.

Of course, they were safe in the palace. The enemy nobles couldn’t touch them here. But what if Eslow, the lord himself, changed his mind? What if he decided to test them? Could they survive that test?

Myle remembered the fear he felt when he faced Eslow. It still made him tremble. Only Keter had stood tall before Eslow; he was able to look him in the eye and speak his mind without flinching.

How shameful. Depending on someone seven years younger than me...

Myle rubbed his eyes and laughed. It was the relieved laughter of someone who had just admitted a personal flaw.

“Should I fetch you something for your headache?” Katherine asked.

Katherine offered Myle what he needed without overstepping, but he shook his head.

“I’m fine. But could you take on a task for me instead?”

“Yes, of course, my lord.”

“You didn’t even ask what it is.”

“I was taught that a knight of Sefira doesn’t pick and choose her missions.”

“Well learned. I need you to leave the palace and observe the city. Word has probably spread to the enemy nobles that we’ve entered the palace. I want to know how they’re responding and what the atmosphere in the city is like.”

“Should I also search for Lord Keter?”

“There’s no point. He’s not the kind of person you can find just by looking.”

“I agree. With Lord Keter, if you go searching, he disappears—but when you give up, he’s suddenly there.”

“Mm. Also, the reason I’m sending you, a knight of the Order of the Stars, instead of the Order of the Galaxy is because you aren’t as well-known as them. No one would have expected you to be part of this journey.”

Katherine was known as Sefira’s Rose, but the public didn’t really know her name. Not because she had hidden it, but because she rarely took on public-facing missions, serving instead as a leader of her knights.

“If you do happen to run into Keter...”

Myle hesitated, then said, “Tell him not to worry about us.”

* * *

A carriage the size of a small house stood imposingly at the entrance of Eslow’s palace. Not only that, large, luxurious jewels dangled from it like grapes, jingling and clinking noisily with each breeze.

“Turn back,” said Jeffrey Edmund, captain of the Twenty-Second Division of the Order of the Immortal Knights.

It was already the third time he was repeating himself.

The old butler standing before him exploded in anger.

“Are you a parrot? All you say is the same thing! Do you even know who’s riding in this carriage that you’re blocking the way? This is the Marquess Galahind, the top sponsor of the Sword of the South Tournament! He has brought a gift for Lord Eslow, and you dare treat him with such disrespect?!”

Despite the long explanation, the response remained brief and unchanged.

“Turn back.”

“That’s not for a mere knight like you to decide! Stop blocking the way and move aside!”

The old butler, having solved many problems in the past by invoking Galahind’s authority, tried the same tactic again, but he didn’t realize who he was dealing with.

“This is your final warning.”

Jeffrey placed a hand on his sword, speaking in the exact same tone as before.

“Turn back.”

Just as the butler was about to shout again, the carriage door opened.

“I’ve heard rumors that the Immortal Knights never compromise for allies or enemies. Now that I’ve seen it myself, it seems the rumors are true.”

Galahind stepped out of the carriage. His servants swarmed around him, forming a bowing line and offering themselves as steps.

Having come in person to confirm the rumors of Sefira’s presence at Eslow’s palace, Galahind asked the knight blocking his way: “State your name and rank.”

“Sir Jeffery Edmund, Captain of the Twenty-Second Division of the Order of the Immortal Knights.”

“You’re in charge here?”

“Yes.”

“You have my sympathies.”

Galahind flicked a finger behind him. A servant stepped forward with a small golden box and offered it to Jeffrey.

“Why not take a short break? It’s a festival day, isn’t it?”

“I cannot accept this.”

“Haha, no need to be so stiff. Or is the box too small? You won’t be disappointed once you see what’s inside.”

The servant opened the box, and in it were platinum coins.

“Take the whole thing. That’s probably at least three thousand gold.”

“Marquess Galahind, four minutes have passed.”

“Hm? And what of it?”

Voosh!

Jeffrey drew his sword. It was the sound of one sword, but eight were drawn. Eight Immortal Knights flanking him had unsheathed their swords in perfect unison, without any delay.

Though Galahind had brought twenty knights of his own, they were overwhelmed by the Immortal Knights’ presence and instinctively stepped back.

“Visitors may remain at the gate for five minutes. If you do not withdraw within one minute, we will strike.”

“W-What?! You dare threaten me?!”

“Insane! A mere gatekeeping knight threatening the great Marquess Galahind?! If Lord Eslow hears of this, something like you...”

The butler tried to speak on Galahind’s behalf, but he couldn’t finish his sentence.

Thud.

The old man’s head rolled across the ground. His eyes and mouth were still open, as if he didn’t even realize he was dead.

Splatter!

Jeffrey flicked the blood from his blade and said, “Do not dare speak of Lord Eslow’s name with your vulgar mouth.”

His voice brimmed with killing intent.

“Gasp! Y-You’re insane! You dare draw your sword in front of me?!”

Galahind staggered back, to which Jeffrey advanced with his sword in hand. He tried to board the carriage, but his servants, terrified, had long fled instead of forming steps.

“Ten seconds remaining.”

As Jeffrey offered a kind reminder, Galahind, who had likely never run in his life, now abandoned the carriage and ran, stumbling away ridiculously. His knights and servants trailed behind like fleeing soldiers.

Jeffrey sheathed his sword and calmly returned to his post, as if nothing had happened.

Far from the palace, Galahind panted like a dog, his tongue hanging from his mouth.

“D-Damn it. That damn knight killed my butler and humiliated me?!”

He had known Eslow’s palace wouldn’t be easy to approach, but he never expected to be treated like this. He had assumed, as the top sponsor of the Sword of the South Tournament, he would be shown at least some courtesy. After all, he hadn’t come empty-handed; he had brought tribute! This was an outright insult and humiliation.

But he didn’t have the guts to retaliate—not against Eslow, not even against the knight who had humiliated him. As such, his misdirected rage turned toward his subordinates.

“And you weaklings call yourselves knights?! Do you know how much elixir you’ve consumed?!”

Smack! Whack!

Galahind struck his knights with open hands.

They stood quietly, hands behind their backs, enduring the blows as if this were routine.

“All of you, who failed to form steps for me to board the carriage! You’re all sentenced to death! Immediately!”

“Shriek!”

“P-Please have mercy, my lord!”

His servants wet themselves as they begged, but it was no use. The knights, though looking grim, unsheathed their swords. When Galahind’s wrath began, someone had to suffer. Secretly relieved it wasn’t them, they carried out the execution.

“Stay still. I’ll make it painless.”

“Aaaaah!”

Knowing that it was useless running away, they just cried out in despair. That was when...

“Excuse me, are you Marquess Galahind?”

...a stranger’s voice froze Galahind and his knights. They were worried the person was an executor of Eslow.

The gentleman who approached wore a sharp black tuxedo and a round hat.

Galahind, seeing no one else respond for him, scowled. He felt a fresh wave of annoyance toward the dead butler.

“I am Galahind. And you are?”

“A pleasure to meet you. I am a servant of Golden Fragrance. We’ve recently received an extraordinary item at our auction house, so we wished to extend a personal invitation to the esteemed marquess of the south.”

Golden Fragrance, a guild that operated worldwide, held unmatched authority in the field of auctions. They only dealt in items worth over one hundred thousand gold, and only the chosen elite were invited to participate.

Galahind, a renowned wealthy man in the south, was familiar with them; this would be his second invitation to their auction house.

But the timing was bad.

“I’m not in the mood for auctions right now. I will decline the invitation.”

Rumors were that Infinite Bank was behind Golden Fragrance. Even if the visitor was just a servant, he was not someone Galahind could dismiss lightly.

Still, the servant didn’t withdraw easily.

“It’s a map to the ruins where Sword Saint Magenta’s legacy lies. Still not interested?”

“Sword Saint Magenta!?”

All of Galahind’s attention, previously consumed by thoughts of Eslow and Sefira, was immediately drawn.

Magenta the Sword Saint: though he lived two hundred years ago, his legacy and legend still lived on. He was so famous that there were fairy tales about him.

He was born the son of a farmer but rose to reach Prime. He was a knight of the Kingdom of Baen, his home, but once he became a free knight, he never served any king or lord. He stood alone against the empire’s injustice. He was a symbol of hope that even a lowborn could reach seven-star, and a symbol of courage that one man could defy an empire.

Everyone desired his hope. The courage... not so much. And that hope lay in his swordsmanship and aura cultivation technique.

Magenta left no successor. One day, he simply vanished. Many claimed to be his students, but all were frauds. And now, his legacy was discovered? Galahind simply couldn’t believe it.

“Has the authenticity been verified?”

Galahind’s face grew serious.

The servant removed his hat and nodded.

“At Golden Fragrance, we only deal in verified items. It’s a rule we’ve upheld for centuries.”

“Of course... Golden Fragrance’s credibility rivals that of the Infinite Bank.”

Galahind glanced between the palace and the servant, but mentally, his decision had already been made.

“I accept your invitation. But I have one question, if I may?”

“If I can answer it, I will.”

“I’m curious about the seller. I know auctions are anonymous, but I would like to know just this once.”

It was the legacy of the Sword Saint; if acquired alone, it would be worth millions—maybe tens of millions of gold. But the seller was selling it for money instead of taking it for themselves. This legacy was enough to not just change a life, but alter history itself. It would be dangerous, but it was that valuable.

Putting on his hat again, the servant answered, “At Golden Fragrance, we usually keep our sellers’ identities strictly confidential. However, in this case, the seller has chosen to reveal their real name.”

“Their real name? They must be someone famous then. Tell me, who is it?”

“Their name... is Keter.”

“Keter...?”

Galahind’s eyes darted left and right.

Looking puzzled, he muttered to himself, “That name sounds familiar.”

* * *

News that the Golden Fragrance auction house was opening had reached countless tycoons and powerful figures. Among them was Eslow as well.

“My lord. According to the servant from Golden Fragrance, they’re hosting an auction for a map to the ruins containing the legacy of the Sword Saint Magenta,” reported Butler Twelve.

“Is that so?”

“Here’s the invitation.”

“I see.”

Eslow gave the invitation a glance and casually tossed it over his shoulder. Twelve caught it and quietly stepped back.

Eslow had no interest in the Sword Saint’s legacy.

That was when...

Kaboom! Crash!

A massive explosion rocked the city. Eslow’s own palace, his domain, even vibrated slightly from the shockwave. Looking out the window, a rose-shaped cloud of dust spiraled into the sky.

The office door creaked open. Twelve returned, having received new information.

“The Feathers Hotel has collapsed. All the rooms were empty, so luckily there were no casualties.”

“Okay.”

There was an explosion in the middle of the city, which collapsed the Feathers Hotel, the pride of Eslow’s fief. However, none were able to rattle Eslow; he actually brought up something else.

“Is Henya back yet?” he asked.

“She has not, my lord. Shall I call for Sir Jeffery?”

“Go on.”

Soon after, Jeffery came into the office, kneeled on his left knee, and bowed.

“Jeffery Edmund of the Order of the Immortal Knights. I await your command, my lord.”

“Jeffery, go and bring Henya...”

As Eslow was about to give his orders, Twelve came into the room with new information.

“Pardon the interruption, my lord. There’s something urgent I must report.”

“Go on.”

Though his tone remained the same, if Twelve didn’t have a worthy reason, his head and body would part ways, regardless of his forty years of loyal service.

“When the explosion hit the Feathers Hotel, a flurry of papers scattered into the air. They mentioned Prince Fabian.”

“Who’s Fabian?”

“Your eldest son, my lord.”

“Right.”

“Apparently, all of Prince Fabian’s statues are plagiarized.”

“Is that so?”

Eslow seemed to be asking if the butler was seriously interrupting him because of some trivial issue like that.

“But the originals he plagiarized are works by Demonikar.”

“...What?”

Eslow’s tone shifted.

Demonikar was an artist who worshiped demons. He had died a hundred years ago, yet the terror he wrought was still burned into people’s souls.

“Take a look at my paintings. Aren’t they beautiful?”

Demonikar was a psychotic killer who would show his paintings to people and kill them, whether they liked them or not. But he wouldn’t be memorable if he were just some lunatic murderer. The shocking thing was that he didn’t just kill powerless commoners; many of his victims were knights and mages. This was because he was a Demonic Contractor, one who had literally signed a contract with a demon.

In the end, powerful figures from around the continent gathered and slaughtered him. Yet, his works were not destroyed. Though he worshiped demons, his artistry was real. His paintings actually became more expensive and were quietly dealt around among high-ranking nobles.

But the true danger was that his paintings contained the power to form demonic contracts. Demonikar’s nightmare didn’t die with him. New Demonic Contractors arose thanks to his remaining art. Eventually, his works were all deemed forbidden art and erased from history.

But now, Fabian had plagiarized Demonikar’s works and used them to make sculptures.

Eslow’s eyes narrowed slightly. It was a subtle change, but Twelve recognized it instantly. That meant he was angry.

“Jeffrey.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“By tomorrow morning, I want every one of those scattered papers retrieved.”

“As you command.”

Jeffrey quickly departed.

“Twelve.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Bring Fabian to me by tomorrow morning.”

“As you command.”

He also exited the office.

Eslow set down the weapon he had been polishing and brought a smoking pipe to his lips. A maid standing beside him lit it.

He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing further.

If it was an explosion... Well, the empire did plant some bombs underground. But the crow beastman reported those had all been neutralized. He should still be watching the empire’s spy... so this explosion likely has nothing to do with the empire.

He didn’t even consider that his loyal crow beastman might have betrayed him. Even if he did, he had nothing to gain from betraying him like this, and that also went for the empire’s spy, who planned to bomb underground.

If it were the empire, they would’ve used the opportunity far more wisely, not just to annoy me.

Crack.

The World Tree pipe, worth millions of gold, shattered in Eslow’s grip.

The appearance of the map to Sword Saint Magenta’s ruins, the explosion at Feathers Hotel, and the demonic art scandal involving his eldest son, Fabian—all of these events were happening at once. It was clear someone was pulling strings behind the scenes.

“I’d like to see who it is.”

* * *

At that very moment, the Feathers Hotel was in ruins. Thousands of soldiers scoured the city to recover the leaflets that had been scattered everywhere.

The once peaceful capital of Eslow had descended into chaos.

Amidst that chaos, two men sat together peacefully in a cafe. It was Keter and a handsome man in a blue military uniform.

There was a dessert between them: a mint chocolate cake, a trendy dessert from the empire.

Keter took a bite first.

The blue-uniformed man followed suit and commented, “The refreshing and sweet flavor is strangely addictive.”

“The refreshing and sweet flavor is so disgusting.”

Keter and the man both turned and stared at each other.

The man in blue grinned.

In an overly charming voice, he said, “Hello, Keter. We meet again!”

Keter took another bite of mint chocolate cake.

He tilted his head in puzzlement and asked, “Who are you?”

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fre𝒆webnove(l).𝐜𝐨𝗺