The Mad Dog of the Duke's Estate-Chapter 152. To Pajar Sultanate (1)

Time in the capital passed in the blink of an eye.

Caron visited his grandfather's house, picked up formal attire with Amy at Ruhon's store, and took care of other postponed matters. Before he realized it, the day of his departure was fast approaching.

Before leaving, Caron made one last stop at the academy to conclude the special lecture that had been disrupted by the previous terror attack.

"Caron Leston! Caron Leston! Caron Leston!"

"Wooooaaah!"

The lecture ended amidst a sea of cheers. Unlike last time, it was held in the wide-open central plaza rather than the auditorium, with nothing to contain the deafening roar of the crowd.

Caron's message to the students was short and to the point:

"You all saw me beat up Professor Bail last time, right? Stay on the straight and narrow. If any of you grow up to become bad adults, I'll be the first person you'll meet. If you think you won't change that easily, the Reformation Club is always open to you. You can become decent people, too."

"Reformation!"

"Live right!"

It had been only a week since Caron founded the club, but what started with thirty members had swelled to nearly one hundred.

The sight of one hundred clean-shaven students exuding raw intensity brought a satisfied smile to Caron's face. At least in this academy, no more delinquents would rise to power, and Caron decided that was enough. He had eliminated his future competition, taking another step closer to his dream of becoming the greatest troublemaker.

"See you again, students of the Imperial Academy!" Caron said, then waved a final goodbye and stepped off the stage, where Principal Octavio was waiting with barely restrained excitement.

"Ah, what a heartwarming lecture! Truly! To see how much you care for the students' future—it brings tears to my eyes! I'm certain they'll grow into fine adults..."

The flattery poured in without pause. Compared to a week ago, Octavio's praise was far more blatant. And with good reason—his reappointment had been confirmed just the day before.

"Principal Octavio," Caron began.

"Yes! Please, speak!" Octavio said.

"If I hear even a whisper about students of the academy causing trouble... You know what I'm going to say, right?" Caron's voice lowered to a dangerous tone.

"Y-Yes, I do," Octavio stuttered.

"You'll be stepping down from the Principal position on that very day," Caron said.

Failing to detect the terrorist plot had already all but sealed Octavio's fate. His continued tenure was due entirely to powerful backers: The Imperial Magic Tower and the Ducal Family of Leston.

And, of course, Caron himself had been the one to nudge both his father and the Magic Tower Master to support Octavio's reappointment.

"I'll never forget this kindness as long as I live!" Octavio gushed.

"Remembering it isn't enough. Push the Reformation Club hard," Caron instructed.

"Yes, yes! Absolutely!" Octavio answered.

"Focus on character education," Caron reminded Octavio, then chuckled.

"It will be done without question! Haha! Trust me!" Octavio replied.

Freed from the stress of uncertainty, the principal positively beamed. It made sense—he had just experienced the extremes of both heaven and hell.

"I'll ensure the academy fully backs the activities of the Reformation Club," Octavio said.

"I'm counting on you. To the day when every last delinquent disappears from this world," Caron said.

"To that day!" Octavio shouted.

The fate of the academy had fallen squarely into the hands of the Mad Dog.

"Young Master Caron," Professor Ulysses called out.

While Caron chatted pleasantly with Principal Octavio, Ulysses approached with a folder of documents in hand. Holding them out, he said, "Here are the materials you requested."

"Ah, thank you, Professor," Caron said.

Caron had made a special request from Ulysses earlier. He took the folder and immediately stowed it in his pouch of dimensional space.

"I've cross-referenced the empire's records with those of the Pajar Sultanate, marking potential locations where traces of the Malevolent Emperor might remain. I'll continue the research, and if any significant findings emerge, I'll inform you right away," Ulysses said.

"Isn't your work on Sir Cain Latorre enough to keep you busy? No need to push yourself on my account," Caron said.

Research into the Malevolent Emperor was essentially taboo. The academy, after all, was an institution established by the Imperial family, which had every reason to avoid dredging up that dark chapter of history.

But Ulysses smiled and shook his head dismissively. He replied, "The reappearance of the Malevolent Emperor's followers makes this the perfect time to begin. In truth, it's something I've wanted to do for a long time."

"Why?" Caron asked.

"Because studying Sir Cain Latorre inevitably requires delving into the Malevolent Emperor's history as well," Ulysses answered.

Updated from freewёbnoνel.com.

Caron's smile turned wry. Seeing someone else study his past life always left him with a peculiar feeling—a swirl of emotions too complex for words.

Still, he didn't feel the need to stop Ulysses.

"Professor, you really do follow your own path, don't you?" Caron asked.

"What makes you say that?" Ulysses asked.

"You've kept at your research despite all the criticism," Caron answered.

He had heard stories from Principal Octavio—how Ulysses had been ostracized for researching Cain Latorre.

At Caron's words, Ulysses offered a faint smile, then said, "I'm doing this because I want to. Someone has to study that era's history so we can warn future generations before such horrors repeat."

"I heard funding's been tight lately," Caron commented.

"Regrettably, that's true," Ulysses admitted.

"I've already contacted my father. If you need more research funds, take what you need. I'm quite wealthy," Caron offered.

It was a worthwhile investment for the future. Scholarly research into the Malevolent Emperor could yield unexpected insights in the long run, and Caron felt Ulysses was exactly the right person for the task.

"Principal Octavio, make sure Professor Ulysses can focus entirely on his research. Understood?" Caron said.

"Rest assured, Sir. Professor Ulysses is like a brother to me. No outside pressure will reach him—I'll handle everything myself," Octavio reassured Caron.

"Good to hear," Caron said.

"Professor Ulysses! If anything's troubling you, just say the word. Ah! We should hire a few more assistants, don't you think?" Octavio suggested.

"Would that be all right?" Ulysses asked.

"Why not? I'll post the notice today. If you've got any students in mind, feel free to snatch them up," Octavio said.

Once Octavio made up his mind, he'd committed fully to securing his connections with Caron.

And with that, Caron wrapped up the last of his business at the academy.

***

With all his business in the capital complete, Caron headed straight to the bustling central train station.

At the exclusive platform reserved for high-ranking nobles, a group had gathered to see him off. Among them were Sir Luke and Dame Amy from the Imperial Guards, as well as Cor, the Magic Tower Master. And lastly, there was Gyle, Caron's maternal grandfather, dressed in a tailored suit.

Gyle pulled Caron into a warm embrace and said, "I wish you'd stay a bit longer..."

"I'll stop by on my way back, Grandfather," Caron said.

"Promise me that you will, alright?" Gyle confirmed.

Watching the tender moment, Cor let out a dry chuckle. He muttered, "To think I'd ever see such a soft side to the devil-like Commissioner of the Imperial Tax Office himself."

Gyle smiled at the jab from the "young" Magic Tower Master, with whom he was already well acquainted. He said, "My precious grandson is the apple of my eye."

"You'd go blind if he was like an apple. Do you even know what your grandson's done to the Magic Tower? He practically wrecked my business!" Cor said.

"Grandfather, I did a good job, didn't I?" Caron asked.

"Of course, you did. Make sure you keep shaking them down regularly," Gyle answered.

"Hah! Like grandfather, like grandson." Cor scoffed in disbelief.

However, Gyle narrowed his eyes with a smirk, retorting, "The Magic Tower rakes in money but doesn't pay a single coin in taxes, no?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Cor replied.

"Think of it as my grandson collecting taxes on my behalf," Gyle said.

Cor's eyes widened in outrage, then he shouted, "Your grandson pocketed that money for himself!"

"Typical rich folk. They hoard gold until their graves. Greed's unbecoming in one's old age. Tsk, tsk," Caron muttered under his breath, loud enough to be heard.

"...I heard that, you brat," Cor said.

"Hehe, sharp ears for an old man," Caron said, shrugging nonchalantly, then turned to Luke and Amy.

His time with them had been enjoyable as well. Three days earlier, he had reserved the Imperial Guards' sparring grounds to test their skills. He had been thoroughly impressed—both had improved dramatically since four years ago.

"Amy, I've given you some special help, so next time we meet... you know what I expect," Caron said.

"Of course!" Amy answered.

As a favor to Kerra, he had given Amy a drop of the Dew of the World Tree. Her natural talent was already remarkable; with this boost, she would surely rise to a position capable of revitalizing her family one day.

"Oh, right. Sir Luke," Caron called out.

"Yes?" Luke responded.

"Sir Zerath is planning an exchange event between the Imperial Guards and the Oceanwolf Knight Order. You should discuss it with your Commander," Caron said.

"Will you be participating?" Luke asked.

"It's scheduled for at least six months from now. If the timing works, I'll join in," Caron answered.

Luke nodded, recognizing it as an excellent opportunity. A friendly match between rival forces was a perfect motivator.

After bidding farewell to everyone, Caron boarded the train bound for the empire's eastern region. He waved through the window at the people still gathered on the platform, then said, "See you all next time."

With those parting words, the hum of the magical engine began to rise.

Whoosh!

Thus, Caron's week-long stay in the capital came to an end.

Screech!

The train brushed against the rails as it pulled away from the station, leaving those who had come to see him off staring silently at its receding form.

"Magic Tower Master," Gyle called out.

"Speak, Commissioner of the Imperial Tax Office," Cor replied.

"Caron didn't tell me where he was headed. He kept it from me right to the end. Do you happen to know anything about it?" Gyle asked. He gave Cor a sidelong glance. Caron had only mentioned that he was leaving on a mission, keeping the specifics shrouded in secrecy.

Cor snorted in amusement before replying, "How would I know?"

"Come on, tell me something," Gyle said.

"The items your grandson pilfered from the Magic Tower were mostly desert gear. That should narrow it down for you," Cor explained.

"I knew it..." Gyle said.

East of the capital, and a desert... Combining those clues left only one answer.

"The Pajar Sultanate," Gyle muttered.

It was the empire's long-standing nemesis—the Pajar Sultanate. That could only mean one thing: Caron was boldly heading into enemy territory.

To say that Gyle wasn't worried as Caron's grandfather would have been a lie. But his concern wasn't limited to just his grandson's safety.

"Are you fretting over him?" Cor asked, giving Gyle a look of incredulity.

"How could I not worry about him?" Gyle replied.

"Your grandson could survive even if he were tossed into the pits of hell," Cor said.

"Still... Qe may need to prepare for war," Gyle stated.

Cor chuckled dryly, then remarked, "You're still a grandfather at heart, huh? At least you know exactly what kind of menace you raised."

Gyle had heard every detail of Caron's escapades—from Reben to the Southern Great Forest. Every single one had been a catastrophic mess that was just barely contained. Gyle wondered what kind of chaos he would unleash in enemy lands. He didn't even need to imagine it; the answer was obvious.

"I'm telling you now," Cor drawled, a wicked grin spreading across his face, "Your grandson is going to be this year's top export. Think about how much gunpowder those Pajar scoundrels have smuggled into our empire's black markets. It's time we return the favor. Let's ship them a bomb of our own."

"Don't treat my grandson as a bomb," Gyle said.

"How about a walking plague, then?" Cor suggested.

"That's even worse. You want a full tax audit?" Gyle said.

"Nah, we're exempt. No taxes here—completely legal," Cor replied.

Their argument was so petty it barely seemed like a proper debate between old men.

"We elders should just sit back and enjoy the show," Cor mused, his grin turning even more sinister.

"I guarantee it—soon, the Pajar dogs will be wailing in misery," Gyle said.

Now, it was the Sultanate's turn to deal with Caron. The empire's finest live bomb had just been delivered, and the timer was ticking.