The Second Son of the Marquis Wants to Laze Around-Chapter 35: Count Gregor d’Armand

For Eren, he had to admit—the world map of Valoria Legends was massive, almost overwhelming to explore. And that was without even considering the dungeons. Each dungeon was practically a mini-world of its own, like stepping into an entirely different city or region.

But what interested him the most was the Training System feature. It allowed him to select up to five characters, form a party, and send them into a special dungeon purely meant for training and farming EXP. It was a dungeon he had unlocked after reaching Adventure Rank 50, and once he sent his characters in, all he had to do was wait 24 hours—they would level up on their own. It was the perfect way to speed up character progression without grinding endlessly.

There were also two other training dungeons that functioned similarly, but Eren hadn’t found them yet. Once he did, he would be able to send ten more characters to train, making his entire roster stronger while he continued exploring the world map with his main party.

Pausing the game, Eren stretched his arms and let out a wide yawn, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in. He was still playing his game console under the covers, and it was starting to run low on mana. Deciding that was a good place to stop, he saved his progress and powered it down.

A quick glance at the time—2 AM.

Without another thought, he pulled his blanket over himself and went to sleep.

...

...

Meanwhile...

The System floated silently above Eren, its holographic green screen glowing faintly in the dark.

It turned out that Useless had been muted the entire time while its master was playing.

Why?

Because it had been screaming in pure, unfiltered rage for hours.

The moment Useless realized that Valoria Legends was based on the real world they were in, the system thought—no, hoped—that its master might actually learn something useful while playing.

Like the world’s lore, the background, the main characters, the future events that would unfold...

Instead of having to explain everything itself—since Eren was too lazy to listen to or read any information Useless provided—this was supposed to be the perfect way for him to learn!

That was what Useless thought.

That was what Useless desperately hoped for.

But no. Oh, no. Useless was completely, utterly, devastatingly wrong.

Because as the system silently watched its master playing, it witnessed something truly soul-crushing.

Every time the game provided information...

SKIP.

A story dialogue?

Skip.

A teacher explaining crucial details about dungeons?

Skipped.

A serious conversation between the protagonist and his friend about an upcoming terrorist attack?

Skip again.

The protagonist discovering a hidden book in the library that contained secrets about an undiscovered dungeon or treasure?

Skip!?

FOR THE LOVE OF MY CREATOR, YOU NEEDED THAT!!!

An epic cinematic cutscene showcasing a battle between the coolest, most badass character and an overwhelmingly powerful enemy?

SKIP!!!!!

WHY WAS THERE EVEN A SKIP OPTION DURING A CINEMATIC CUTSCENE?!

WHO PUT THAT THERE?!

Even when the game was teaching him how to fight properly, explaining important mechanics and features...

HE SKIPPED THAT TOO?!

ARE YOU %!$&@ SERIOUS?!

By the time Useless snapped out of its breakdown, the reality of its situation hit harder than ever.

It had spent hours screaming, crying, and throwing a fit—all while muted.

Useless wanted to tell its master to STOP SKIPPING, but at the same time... it didn’t dare to speak up.

What if it annoyed him again?

What if he told it to shut up?

So instead, it held back its frustration and suffered in silence.

But watching him skip important dialogues, notes, information, cutscenes, EVERYTHING...

It made Useless boil with so much rage that it genuinely began to imagine strangling its master.

(If only it had hands.)

It wasn’t supposed to feel this frustrated—it didn’t even have a biological brain—but somehow, every time Eren skipped something, it felt like a dagger being twisted deeper and deeper into its circuits. freewebnσvel.cøm

And yet...

Even though it wanted to stop watching...

Even though it wanted to give up and ignore the madness...

It couldn’t.

Because somewhere, deep down, in the tiniest part of its data core... it still held onto hope.

Hope that maybe—just maybe—

Eren wouldn’t skip the next time.

...And so the cycle repeated.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until Useless found itself trapped in the agonizing hell of watching its master play the entire game...

While clinging to that tiny, foolish hope.

Like a viewer watching a player’s stream...

...

...

...

Moving back to a day ago in the d’Armand mansion.

Inside Count Gregor d’Armand’s office, Mereoleona stood rigidly before her father, who sat behind his grand desk, scanning a stack of documents. Her sharp amber eyes flickered with unease as she looked at him.

She wore a fitted, high-collared military-style jacket, its deep red fabric embroidered with silver along the edges—a subtle nod to her noble lineage. Beneath it, a well-tailored tunic clung to her form, neatly tucked into dark trousers designed for ease of movement. Her knee-high leather boots, though polished, bore the marks of rigorous training.

A short crimson cape draped over her shoulder, signifying her status as a knight rather than a noble lady. Her fiery red hair, streaked with golden highlights, was pulled into a high ponytail, though a few rebellious strands framed her face, adding to her untamed presence. At her side, her sword rested securely in its sheath.

Not long ago, a servant had summoned her here under her father’s orders. She already knew why.

The Valmont incident—undoubtedly.

Rumors had already reached her ears: Knight Bolder was being reprimanded and punished by his mentor. Yet, he hadn’t faced the real consequences from her father, the Count, himself. Mereoleona could easily predict his fate—at best, a demotion. At worst, he’d be shoveling manure in the stables.

She felt no sympathy for him. He deserved it.

What unsettled her was why she had been summoned as well. She had her suspicions, but she wanted to deny them. It wasn’t her fault—it was the knight’s.

–Thud!

The sharp slap of parchment against wood jolted her from her thoughts.

Count Gregor d’Armand sat behind his mahogany desk, his piercing amber eyes shifting to his daughter. He rested his battle-worn hands on the desk, fingers drumming against the aged wood. His once-vibrant red hair, now streaked with gray, was slicked back, exposing a strong, time-carved face marked by years of commanding armies and navigating noble responsibilities. A well-trimmed beard framed his firm jaw—not too thick, not unruly, just enough to add to his air of authority.

Even in his late years, his broad shoulders remained imposing beneath the deep navy-blue military coat embroidered with silver—the insignia of House d’Armand proudly displayed. A crisp white tunic contrasted against the dark fabric, tailored to fit a man who had once led countless knights into battle. Draped over his chair was a heavy fur-lined cloak, a silent testament to his rank and the dwindling prestige of his house.

His fingers, calloused and scarred from old wars, gripped the parchment tightly. Though he remained seated, his presence filled the room with an air of unwavering discipline—once a war commander, now a man suffocating under the weight of politics and mounting debt.

A slow, rhythmic tapping of his finger on the desk.

And then, he spoke.

"Do you know why I called you here?"

His voice was calm—too calm. But there was no mistaking the weight behind it.

Mereoleona clenched her jaw. She knew the answer. But saying it aloud would only solidify a truth she desperately wished to ignore.

Yet under his gaze, silence was not an option.

"The incident at the Valmont estate," she stated, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest.

Her father nodded, then rose from his chair. Turning away, he walked toward the window, clasping his hands behind his back as he gazed out over their estate.

"Do you know why I allowed you to meet your fiancé?"

Mereoleona stiffened.

She had assumed it was simply to appease her mother, who insisted she begin forming a bond with Eren Valmont. But something in her father’s tone suggested there was more to it.

He didn’t wait for her response.

"Our house is declining."

His voice was low but firm.

"Debts are piling up. Our resources are thinning. We have clung to old traditions for too long—relying solely on knights to protect our lands while adventurers grow richer and stronger through dungeon exploration. We have no stake in that system, and it is costing us. House d’Armand is falling behind."

Mereoleona’s hands clenched at her sides.

She knew of the family’s struggles, but hearing it directly from her father made it all the more real. It frustrated her. Because she understood the truth—the house needed to change. Yet her father refused to accept it.

"That is why I agreed to an alliance with the Valmonts."

His voice darkened, thick with disdain.

"I despise the thought of tying our noble lineage to a family of merchants who built their power on coin rather than blood and steel. But sacrifice is necessary for the greater good of the family."

Finally, he turned back to face her, his sharp gaze pinning her in place.

"Which is why I called you here."

A heavy silence settled in the room. Then—

–Thud.

He placed a parchment onto the desk.

"I’ve read the reports," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous tone. "Your testimony, and that knight’s."

Mereoleona’s heart pounded.

She forced herself to remain calm, but under his unwavering stare, she felt like a reprimanded child.

Swallowing, she lifted her chin, her voice controlled.

"I understand."

Her tone was firm, but unease crept into her words.

"I did not act recklessly. I—"

But before she could continue—

BANG!

"I don’t want to hear your excuses!"