The Protagonist's Useless Brother-Chapter 121: The Prodigal Son’s Return [2]

Marcus stepped off. The ground felt solid and real.

He reached back and helped Elara down. Her legs were still shaky.

"Can you walk?" Marcus asked.

Elara nodded. She took a deep breath of the pine-scented air.

"I can walk," she said. "I am okay."

Marcus turned to the dragon girl. She was still fast asleep on the carpet.

He sighed. He bent down and scooped her up.

He positioned her on his back. Her arms draped over his shoulders. Her head rested on his neck.

"Piggyback it is," Marcus muttered.

She was light, but the dead weight was awkward.

Ventessa floated in the air. She waved a paw at the carpet.

The woven wind unraveled. It dissolved into a gentle breeze and vanished.

"Done," Ventessa said.

She looked at the path leading out of the woods.

"Now we walk," she said.

Goliath hopped down from the carpet before it disappeared. He landed in the grass.

"To the mansion!" Goliath cheered. He pointed a fuzzy arm forward.

They began to walk.

The forest was quiet. Birds chirped in the canopy.

Marcus led the way. The dragon girl snored softly in his ear.

Elara walked beside him. She looked around nervously. She wasn’t used to noble estates.

Goliath marched ahead. He looked like a small, grey general.

Ventessa floated above them for a moment. Then she descended.

A soft white light enveloped her fluffball form.

It expanded. It grew taller.

The light faded.

Standing on the path was the little girl in the white dress.

She had the same black hair and empty black eyes.

She looked harmless. She looked like a noble daughter.

"Disguise active," Ventessa stated.

She walked over to Goliath.

Without asking, she bent down and picked him up.

"Hey!" Goliath protested. "I was marching!"

"You are luggage," Ventessa reminded him. "And walking toys attract attention."

She tucked him under her arm like a doll.

Goliath went limp. He accepted his fate.

Ventessa walked up to Marcus.

She reached out with her free hand. She grabbed the hem of his jacket.

"I will hold this," she said. "It fits the image."

"The image of what?" Marcus asked.

"The wayward noble returning with his illegitimate children," Ventessa said deadpan.

Marcus choked on air. "That is NOT the image we are going for."

"It is the most likely assumption," Ventessa argued. "Embrace it."

"Please don’t say that to my father," Marcus begged.

They reached the edge of the forest.

The trees opened up.

Before them lay the manicured gardens of the Aldridge Estate.

Hedges were trimmed into geometric shapes. Flower beds burst with color.

Gravel paths wound through the greenery, leading up to the main house.

The manor loomed in the distance. It was a three-story building of grey stone and slate.

It looked imposing. It looked cold.

Goliath peeked out from under Ventessa’s arm.

"Wow," the bear whispered. "Look at that place."

"It is big," Elara agreed. Her voice was small.

She smoothed her torn dress. She felt painfully out of place.

"Just keep walking," Marcus said. "Act like you belong."

"Easy for you to say," Elara muttered. "You are the Viscount’s son."

"Trust me," Marcus said grimly. "That doesn’t help as much as you think."

They walked onto the main path.

The crunch of gravel under their boots sounded loud in the quiet morning.

They approached the main gate.

It was a tall iron structure set into the stone wall.

Two guards stood there. They wore the Aldridge livery.

They held spears and looked bored.

One guard was leaning against the wall, picking his teeth. The other was staring at a cloud.

They heard the footsteps.

The leaning guard straightened up. He nudged his partner.

"Someone’s coming," he grunted.

They squinted at the approaching group.

A man in dirty clothes carrying a sleeping child. A woman in rags. A little girl holding a bear.

They looked like refugees. Or beggars.

The guards stepped forward to block the path.

"Halt!" the first guard shouted. "This is private prop—"

He stopped.

He looked at the man’s face.

The messy brown hair. The grey-blue eyes. The familiar, tired expression.

The guard’s jaw dropped slightly.

"Lord Marcus?" the guard asked. He sounded incredulous.

Marcus stopped. He shifted the dragon girl on his back.

"Good morning, Stevens," Marcus said.

He knew the guard’s name. He remembered it from his memories.

Stevens blinked. He looked at his partner.

"It is him," the partner whispered. "The Young Master."

"He looks like he crawled out of a swamp," Stevens whispered back.

They didn’t bow. They didn’t salute.

They didn’t say, "Welcome home, My Lord."

They just looked at him with a mix of surprise and mild annoyance.

"You are back," Stevens stated. It wasn’t a question.

"I am," Marcus said.

"We thought you stayed in the capital," the partner said. "To party."

The tone was casual. Disrespectful.

"Things happened," Marcus said vaguely.

He gestured to the gate.

"Are you going to open it?" Marcus asked.

The guards looked at each other. They shrugged.

"Sure," Stevens said.

He turned and pushed the heavy iron gate. It creaked open.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t hold it wide. He just opened it enough for them to squeeze through.

"Who are the extras?" the partner asked. He pointed his spear at Elara.

Elara flinched. She stepped closer to Marcus.

"Guests," Marcus said sharply. "My guests."

The guard raised an eyebrow. He looked Elara up and down. He sneered at her dirty clothes.

"Guests," the guard repeated. He made the word sound like a joke.

"Right. Guests."

He stepped aside.

"Go on then," the guard said. "The Butler is inside."

Marcus walked past them. He felt their eyes on his back.

He heard Stevens whisper as they passed.

"Look at him. Dragging strays home now. The Viscount is going to flip."

"At least he is not drunk," the partner chuckled. "Yet."

Marcus grit his teeth. He kept walking.

Goliath heard it too.

The bear squirmed under Ventessa’s arm.

"Hey!" Goliath whispered furiously. "Why didn’t they bow?"

"Because they are rude," Ventessa said calmly.

"That wasn’t respect!" Goliath hissed. "That was... that was mean!"

"Welcome to my world," Marcus muttered.

Elara walked silently. She kept her head down.

She felt the hostility. It wasn’t directed at her, but it radiated from the place.

"They don’t like you," Elara whispered. It was an observation, not an insult.

"No," Marcus said. "They don’t."

They entered the main gardens.

The path led straight to the front door of the manor.

It was a long walk.

Servants were working in the gardens. Maids were visible through the ground-floor windows.

Word traveled fast.

Heads turned.

A gardener paused with his shears. He watched Marcus walk by.

He didn’t tip his hat. He just stared. His expression was one of judgment.

’Look who’s back,’ the look said. ’The disappointment.’

A maid in the window stopped dusting. She leaned closer to the glass.

She called to another maid. They both pointed and whispered.

They were laughing.

Marcus kept his eyes forward. He focused on the door.

’Just get inside,’ he told himself. ’Just get to your room.’

He felt the weight of the dragon girl on his back. She was the only thing grounding him.

Goliath was looking around frantically.

"Why are they staring like that?" the bear asked. He sounded distressed.

"Where is the awe? Where is the admiration?"

Goliath looked at a stable boy who openly spat on the ground as Marcus passed.

"This is wrong," Goliath whispered. "This is all wrong."

Elara moved closer to Marcus.

She saw the looks. She recognized them.

They were the looks people gave to things they considered worthless.

She felt a surge of indignation.

Marcus had saved her life. He had freed a dungeon.

He was a good man.

Why did these people look at him like he was garbage?

"Ignore them," Elara whispered to Marcus. "They don’t know."

"I know," Marcus said.

He held his head up. He tried to muster some dignity.

But it was hard.

The atmosphere of the estate was heavy. It pressed down on him.

It reminded him of everything the original Marcus had been. And everything he was failing to fix.

They reached the stone steps leading to the main entrance.

The heavy oak doors were closed.

Marcus stopped at the bottom of the steps.

He took a deep breath.

Marcus climbed the steps. His boots echoed on the stone.

He reached for the heavy brass knocker.

Before he could touch it, the door opened.

It swung inward smoothly and silently.

A figure stood in the doorway.

It was a man in a pristine black suit.

He was tall and thin. His hair was grey and perfectly combed.

His posture was rigid. He looked like he had a steel rod for a spine.

He stood in the center of the doorway, blocking the path.

He looked down at Marcus.

His expression was perfectly neutral. His face was a mask of professional indifference.

But his eyes were cold.

They scanned Marcus from head to toe.

They noted the torn clothes. The dirt. The sleeping child on his back.

They lingered on the woman in rags and the girl holding a toy.

The servant’s left eyebrow twitched. Just a fraction of a millimeter.

It was the only sign of emotion. And it conveyed volumes of disgust.

It was him.

The same servant who had woken Marcus on his first day.

The one who had looked at him like he was a stain on the carpet.

Marcus stared at the man. He felt a familiar sense of inadequacy wash over him.

"Hello, Alfred," Marcus said.

The servant didn’t move aside. He didn’t bow.

He clasped his hands behind his back.

He looked Marcus in the eye.

"You have finally come, Young Master," the butler said.

His voice was smooth. It was polite.

And it was dripping with absolute, freezing sarcasm.

He checked a pocket watch, then snapped it shut.

"We thought we would have to wait for another week," the butler said with a straight face. "Or perhaps you would forget the way home."