I'm the Crazy One in the Family-Chapter 72: Stop—Are You Pulling a Fast One on Me? (4)

Who could have guessed that the owner of a small tavern in Liqueur was the legendary Mercenary King? Even Joyray himself never saw this coming.

“What nonsense are you spouting? Me, the Mercenary King? Seriously?”

Joyray, who had his hand poised on a knife handle, suddenly let out a deep sigh, resting his hand on his forehead.

“Well, it’s not like I have no connection to the Mercenary Association... But calling me Ray? That’s ridiculous.”

“I guess you’re really not him. But you are involved with the guild, right?”

“Yeah, technically. But you... What made you think I’m Ray?”

“Honestly, no solid proof. The only prominent figure I know in the mercenary world is the Mercenary King, and he’s conveniently missing. I just assumed he was biding his time here in Liqueur, building strength for revenge. You know, a story like that.”

That was a lie. Keter knew Joyray’s identity perfectly.

In his past life, Keter had paid a million gold to the Mercenary Association for assistance, and Joyray was the helper they sent. He was not just a major figure in the guild but also someone who knew the secret of leaving Liqueur.

The reason Keter asked for Joyray’s cooperation was not because he doubted his ability to take over the Liqueur Mercenary Guild but because it would be a problem if Joyray opposed him.

So, what Keter was doing was informing him in advance and asking whether he had a problem with him taking over the mercenary guild. It wasn’t that Keter avoided lying; he would happily tell a full-blown lie if necessary. But if the other party could never uncover the truth, then to Keter, the lie was the truth.

Yet, Joyray wasn’t easily convinced and began questioning him.

“How did you figure out I was connected to the Mercenary Association? I never gave you any clues.”

“Creating something from nothing—that’s what I do as Liqueur’s Solver.”

“...You crazy bastard. You’re absolutely insane. If you go around exposing someone’s identity like that, you’re dead meat.”

“But that surely wouldn’t happen between a master and his student, right, Master?”

“Shut up, idiot. You’re just running your mouth because you’re confident you can take me down.”

“Well, saying that doesn’t do much for your reputation, Master.”

Swish, swish, swish!

In an instant, the six knives at Joyray’s waist flew out and embedded in the wall behind Keter, forming a perfect hexagon. The speed and precision were astounding. And the most impressive part—Joyray hadn’t even moved his hands.

“Don’t get cocky. You’ve only scratched the surface of my Flying Thunder Sword technique.”

“Flying Thunder Blade. That’s a good name for it.”

“Ugh! Look at you, you actually sound serious. You’re infuriating!”

Joyray gestured at the knives, and they flew back to his waist as if on command.

“You’re not going to kill me, right?” Keter asked, looking innocent.

Joyray clenched his fists and trembled with barely contained rage.

“Just let me hit you once. If you do, I won’t oppose you becoming the branch manager.”

“If you’re going to hit me, return the ten thousand gold first.”

“You cheap bastard!”

Joyray lunged at Keter, swinging his fist. His movements were so swift that it was hard to believe he had any physical limitations. But Keter simply spun aside with ease, dodging the blow.

As he exited the kitchen, Keter called out with a smirk, “I’m counting on you, Master.”

“If you’re going to call me that, learn my Flying Thunder Blade properly first!”

“I’ll send someone to learn it for me.”

Keter left without so much as a glance back.

Joyray scratched the back of his head, muttering to himself, “That brat just shows up out of nowhere and says what? That he’s going to become the branch manager of the mercenary guild? How the hell did he figure that out?”

Though Keter had handed over a hefty sum of ten thousand gold, Joyray still felt uneasy, as this still forced him to reveal his identity.

“Bringing up Ray out of nowhere...”

The Mercenary King Ray lived fifty years ago. It was true that the world never learned when or where he died.

“Did my name give it away?”

Joyray let out a long, weary sigh and turned to the tavern’s patrons, shouting, “We’re closed! Everyone out!”

The customers grumbled and cursed but ultimately left. They had learned the hard way that defying Joyray never ended well.

After locking the tavern door, Joyray headed into a secret room connected to the dining area.

“Of all people to remember my father, it had to be Keter. My life really is cursed. Have I grown fond of him? Or is it because he genuinely feels like my apprentice? Ugh.”

Joyray sat down and began writing a letter, addressing it to the Mercenary Association’s chairman.

* * *

Luke didn’t know what Keter and Gyro had talked about, thanks to the mana barrier Keter had set up. But he didn’t feel left out or upset about it. In fact, he was grateful. Luke had already been exposed to too much in too short a time—his newly awakened powers, the secrets of his birth, and the overwhelming stress of life in a place like Liqueur. Hearing something he wasn’t ready to handle wouldn’t have done him any good.

“I thought it wouldn’t be possible, but I have two down already. I just have one left.”

Though Luke couldn’t hear their conversation, he saw Keter receive the letter of recommendation from Gyro. And now, Keter was on his way to the mercenary guild to fulfill the last condition.

Keter’s not the type to walk far unless he absolutely has to. That must mean the mercenary guild is nearby.

There was no need to ask how Keter would get a Diamond-class badge. Keter always showed his answers through action rather than words.

Still, I can’t help but wonder. Diamond-class... They say it’s equivalent to a three-star knight.

In the mercenary world, a mercenary’s rank was likened to minerals, divided into seven tiers: Bronze, Silver, Gold, Platinum, and Diamond. Most mercenaries belonged to the first five ranks, and at the very top was Diamond-class.

It wasn’t a rank one could achieve simply by being strong. Just as knights upheld their code of chivalry, mercenaries had their own strict code of conduct. They had to complete their assignments flawlessly, never abandon their tasks midway, and never betray their employers. Only mercenaries who were both powerful and utterly reliable could become Diamond-class.

Come to think of it, Keter’s role as a Solver is pretty similar to a mercenary’s, even if the process is quite different.

Luke’s thoughts didn’t last long, as the air around him shifted drastically all of a sudden. When he snapped back to his senses and looked around, the scenery itself had changed. Instead of the tightly packed buildings and maze-like alleys, he now stood in an open plaza, and at the center was a large building surrounded by a tall wooden palisade.

Anyone would know where this was because a massive sign hung high above.

—Mercenary Guild, Liqueur Branch.

—Warriors who survive on their swords, draping the night sky as their blanket, boldly claim their place even in the darkest depths. There may be mercenary guilds everywhere, but none will be as notorious and combative as the Liqueur branch.

Boom!

Keter kicked the guild’s heavy door open.

Luke wasn’t exactly shocked by this anymore, but it still drained his energy every time.

I never expected him to have a calm discussion with the branch manager to get the Diamond-class badge anyway.

There were more than thirty mercenaries in the building: some scanning the request board, others were lounging at tables, and a few sat by the hearth, tending to their weapons. But the moment Keter entered, everyone turned toward him. It was as if they had all silently agreed to glare at him in unison, their eyes sharp and unyielding.

Unfazed, Keter calmly walked further into the guild under their watchful gazes.

...Sigh.

Luke wanted nothing more than to keep his distance and just watch Keter from afar, but he couldn’t. Keter wasn’t a stranger to him; he was his partner and friend. They shared both hardships and joys together.

Though it feels like we’re sharing a bit too much lately...

Among the mercenaries here, there wasn’t a single amateur. From what Luke could sense, they were all at least Gold-class or higher.

“Look who it is.”

A man descended the stairs from the second floor.

He stood out starkly from the other mercenaries on the first floor. His armor, though made of metal, looked lightweight. He was adorned with exceptional-looking weapons and tools, none of which seemed cumbersome. They were not mere decorations but actual weapons and equipment he actively used.

This man was Cork, the branch manager of the Liqueur Mercenary Guild and a Diamond-class mercenary known as the Weapon Peddler.

He stopped in front of Keter and looked him up and down.

“So, what brings Liqueur’s infamous Solver—one of the Five Lunatics—to the mercenary guild?”

“I’ve come to finish something I’ve saved for later—a treat I’d left untouched until now,” Keter replied.

“You mean you’re here to finally settle our bad blood? And what’s with the knight you brought along? Don’t tell me, you’re working for some noble?”

When Cork mentioned nobles, the mercenaries who had been passively watching sprang to their feet. While nobles were a major source of income for mercenaries, nobles looked down on mercenaries like dirt. Their relationship was a strange one of mutual need and hatred.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” Keter said calmly. “I’m here today as Keter of Liqueur, nothing more.”

Keter glanced around the room and nodded.

“Good, looks like everyone’s here. Gather around. Don’t stand too far back and claim you couldn’t hear. I’m about to make an important announcement. Hey, you there—wake that guy up!”

Keter even roused the sleeping mercenaries, proving that the title of Solver carried just as much authority as the branch manager’s. Soon, every mercenary in the guild had gathered around him.

“Cork, do you remember what I told you twelve years ago?”

“Kekeke, yeah. I remember,” Cork replied with a chuckle.

“You own up to it. As expected of a man among men—a true mercenary. I told you back then that since you crushed my dream, I would crush yours too.”

“The knight over there might get the wrong idea,” Cork said. “I was just following the rules. Accepting a six-year-old as a mercenary was unprecedented. The minimum age was twelve. And when you turned twelve, I personally came to you and said, ‘Let’s put this behind us. Now that you’re of age, I’ll accept you as a mercenary.’”

“I had admired mercenaries since I was four. The act of selling oneself for freedom while simultaneously living for freedom suited me perfectly. On top of that, mercenaries don’t go back on their word. Back then, Liqueur’s branch manager told me that anyone could become a mercenary if they could prove they could carry their own weight.”

“Hey, that was my predecessor’s saying, not mine. I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

“Are you sure? You’re the one who overthrew that manager. But that’s not even the main issue. What stung was when you refused to acknowledge me after I completed a C-rank request. That wasn’t mercenary-like. The mercenary I dreamed of wasn’t someone as irresponsible and shackled as you. That day, my dream was shattered because of the pettiness you showed me.”

“What an outrageous grudge. Wouldn’t you agree, Sir Knight?” Cork said, stepping aside to address Luke.

Cringing, Luke replied, “I cannot judge right and wrong because I am not a judge.”

“Hm, a typical noble,” Cork murmured, but big enough for the surrounding mercenaries to hear.

Cork watched as the mercenaries’ hostility began to turn toward Luke. With a faint smirk, he continued.

“So, it all comes down to this: either you or I must die, is that it?”

Cork exaggeratedly recoiled as if he was afraid.

“You really think you’ll be given such a nice choice?” Keter shouted, pointing a finger directly at Cork. “Cork, hand over the branch manager position and leave. If you step down willingly, I’ll let you walk out of here on your own two feet.”

Cork burst into boisterous laughter at Keter’s demand.

“Hahaha! Asking me to hand over the branch manager position? Are you out of your mind? Do you belittle mercenaries and the Mercenary Association so much that you think this position could be traded like goods at a market?”

“This is Liqueur. Nothing’s impossible here,” Keter shot back. “The Mercenary Association doesn’t have any influence over this place.”

“Fine, bring me one million gold, and the position is yours.”

When Keter reached into his pocket, Cork quickly changed his tone.

“Forget it. I wouldn’t give up this position even for ten million gold.”

“You’re as two-faced as ever. How about this instead? Let’s ask the mercenaries here who they think is better suited to the position.”

“You’ve lost your mind,” Cork sneered. “Why are you wasting my time with this nonsense?”

“What’s the matter? Afraid the mercenaries won’t take your side?”

“Shut up! Fine. Everyone, gather around!”

The scattered mercenaries moved closer, forming a circle around Cork and Keter.

Luke, watching them converge, urgently whispered, “Keter, what are you doing? This wasn’t our goal!”

“This was my goal,” Keter replied with a sly grin.

“Ugh...” Luke groaned inwardly.

Our original plan was to get the Diamond-class recognition tag. Why are you suddenly aiming for the branch manager position?”

Luke could feel the mercenaries’ sharp gazes. It was clear none of them were going to support Keter. He subtly observed their movements.

This is bad. Forget the majority—he’s not even going to get ten votes.

There were forty-seven mercenaries in total. To win, Keter needed at least twenty-four supporters. But no one seemed friendly to him at all, even when judging their attitudes more favorably.

With nothing to lose, Cork wasted no time rallying the crowd.

“Let’s get started. If you’re against Keter becoming the branch manager, stay where you are. If you’re in favor, well...” He paused, his tone dripping with mockery. “It would be wise not to draw my attention.”

Though it sounded like a joke, Cork deliberately refrained from explaining what would happen to those who sided with Keter. The mercenaries didn’t hesitate—they all stayed rooted in place, not one raising their hand in support.

Luke struggled to remain calm.

There must be a twist, right? Keter wouldn’t have set this up without a plan.

One full minute passed—a painfully long silence. Cork wore a triumphant smirk.

“Keter, there’s no need to draw this out. Let me sum it up for you. The number of mercenaries who support you is...”

Cork slowly raised his middle finger.

“...Just one. And it’s me! Hahaha!”

No one raised their hand for Keter. A twist without a twist.

I guess even Keter can’t anticipate everything.

Luke gripped his bow tightly, bracing himself for a fight.

Then, Keter slowly raised his hand and clenched it into a fist. He said nothing, not a single word. Yet, something unexpected happened.

Cork’s eyes widened in shock.

“What the hell are you doing?”

One mercenary raised his hand. Cork stormed over, grabbed the mercenary by the collar, and growled.

“It seems like Keter’s been slipping you some gold, huh? Do you really think one raised hand will change anything?”

Cork raised his fist, his arm bulging with muscles from the anger.

“I’m not alone, sir.”

Another mercenary raised their hand.

Cork flung a dagger from his wrist toward the second mercenary.

Clang!

The blade, sharp enough to pierce steel, was stopped, not by the targeted mercenary, but by others who blocked it with their weapons.

Cork trembled as he took in the scene. The atmosphere had shifted. The once-cold air now felt hot and charged. Without him noticing, the group of mercenaries had split into two factions.