“Another problem again? Tsk, can’t I catch a f*cking break?” Lysander muttered, gritting his teeth in frustration. The room fell silent as everyone held their breath, staring at him—waiting. When he noticed their reaction, he sighed in resignation. “Both of you can go.”

When Landon heard that, he perked up, swiftly suppressing the smile creeping across his lips, wary that it might draw the unwanted attention of the custodian. Just as he feared, the noble turned to him when he noticed Landon awkwardly rising to his feet, mirroring the treasurer in front.

“And you, brat… Don’t forget to pay your dues,” Lysander said, frowning at the merchant.

“But…”

“There’s no ‘but’,” the noble interjected, cutting off the younger man’s words. “I’m not asking; I’m telling you,” he added firmly, his voice carrying a severe tone this time. “This is not up for discussion. Are we clear?”

“Yes, m-my lord,” Landon stammered, his face turning pale. He swallowed hard, staring at the floor, trying to hold back tears.

‘Serves you right, you idiot!

I despise arrogant fools who know nothing but spend their father’s wealth. He believed himself to be a skilled merchant solely because of his father’s success. Yet he dismissed the experienced people his father relied on, replacing them with sycophants who exploited his naivety.

What a fool!

This world is unforgiving. Those who refuse to learn will be devoured.

I’m relieved that my nephew appears to be maturing and learning his lessons. Hmm…

Sigh, I pray he doesn’t follow in the footsteps of my worthless brother.’

“Fulk, make sure he pays what’s owed, and verify it,” Lysander instructed, turning to the treasurer on his left. Suddenly, his expression darkened as he added, “Also, follow up with those rotten Alderwicks. Let’s see how they respond this time. If they attempt to cause trouble again, inform me immediately.”

“As you command,” Fulk responded, bowing respectfully.

“That’s all. You may go,” the noble said, dismissing them. He then gestured to the head of his security. “Humphrey, come in.”

“Excuse us, my lord,” Fulk said as he turned to leave. His gaze briefly lingered on the merchant, a snort escaping his lips, before he continued to exit the room.

With palpable hatred in his eyes, Landon growled at him as he followed him outside.

When Lysander noticed this interaction, he sighed deeply, shaking his head. Despite enjoying the power that came with his position, dealing with the people that came with it could be incredibly frustrating, sometimes to the point where he felt like tearing his hair out. It wasn’t surprising, considering most of them had grown up in luxury, sheltered from any real hardship, unlike him and his older brother, who had often endured hunger since they could remember. Faced with a quagmire, he felt he had no choice. If he did not hold hands with these wealthy merchants, Ironspire would be in dire straits. Just thinking of the expenses required to maintain their army was enough to give him a terrible headache. With the ongoing war, it made their predicament even worse, creating a giant hole in their finances that he couldn’t seem to fill. Now, wolves were circling them, probing for any weakness they could exploit.

‘Do they think Ironspire is easy prey because my brother isn’t here? Those vermin! Grrr!

I’ll show them. I’ll rip them apart…’

“My lord?” Humphrey asked, smiling as he sought the noble’s attention. “Forgive the interruption, but…”

Lysander shifted his attention to the man standing in front of him. “Shut up, you d*ck head!” he cursed, glaring at his friend. Despite his harsh words, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate compared to before. “Sit down. It’s just the two of us here.”

Humphrey grinned as he nonchalantly took a seat closest to the noble. “You seem to be in a pretty bad mood. What happened?” he asked, chuckling at the noble’s scowling face. “Did you eat something bad?”

“What else is new? Every day, there’s another problem. Now it’s Alderwick,” Lysander responded, exhaling deeply as he leaned back in his chair. “And it seems there’s another issue. What is it this time?” he inquired, raising a brow. “Is it something serious?”

Upon hearing the question, Humphrey’s grin vanished, taking the mirth in his eyes along with it. “Yes. Very serious,” he responded solemnly, his voice devoid of humor as he stared directly into his lord's eyes.

Suddenly, the room fell silent as the noble’s gaze lingered on the man for a moment, processing the gravity of the situation while waiting for the news.

‘Just as I feared. Another problem again.

It seems it’s true what they say: when it rains, it pours.’

Closing his eyes for a long moment, Lysander sighed in frustration. Since assuming this position, he had hardly slept. He had once imagined a life of comfort and luxury when his brother appointed him custodian of Ironspire so that he could play his wars. Instead, it had brought him nothing but endless problems. True, he possessed power, but what could he even do with the limited authority of a barony on Thorin’s distant fringe? Surrounded by greedy neighbors to the front and relentlessly attacked by the wilderness at the back, their predicament seemed insurmountable.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

‘Is this why that useless brother of mine constantly went to war? To avoid these problems. Ugh!

No matter. In due time, I’ll resolve all these issues and gain absolute power. And perhaps… Perhaps I’ll ascend to higher nobility—maybe even to the rank of count or higher…’

“Okay, tell me,” Lysander finally said after steeling himself for the bad news.

“Dead bodies were found this morning.”

“Bodies?” the noble asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. “So? Plenty of dead bodies are found in this godforsaken place.”

“Yes,” Humphrey agreed, nodding. “The question is, who.”

“Goddamnit, quit playing around and spit it out!” Lysander exclaimed, frustrated by the other man’s incremental reporting of the information.

“The dead bodies were from the Crimson Talon,” Humphrey stated, sighing. “Their entire gang might have been wiped out from all of Ironspire.”

‘Sh*t!’

“What?!” Lysander cried out, jolting forward in surprise. “Is it a gang war?”

‘If this is a syndicate war between the major organizations, Ironspire will be decimated if we can’t contain it. Damn it! Why of all times?!’

“I don’t know. The investigation is still ongoing…”

“Wait!” the noble interjected, his eyes widening upon realizing something. “Don’t tell me Grimscar is one of the dead?!” he asked, studying the expression of his friend. When he saw him sighing in confirmation, Lysander could only lean back in his chair again, massaging his head. “How could that damned idiot die? We’ve invested so much in our relationship with him, and this is what we get. Ugh, what a waste of time and resources!”

‘Problems upon problems are just piling up! This is so frustrating!’

“Though the investigation results aren’t out yet, these murders might not be the result of a gang war,” Humphrey stated, his tone grave. “This could be the work of just a couple of people, or worse, a single person.”

“What do you mean?” Lysander asked, immediately snapping out of his despair of losing money.

“I’ve seen all the bodies. Most of them were killed in their base,” Humphrey stated. When he saw the noble was about to object, he immediately continued, “I know there’s nothing peculiar about that since their forces are likely there. But the way they were killed is bizarre. Most of them had a puncture on the back of their heads. It seemed they didn’t even know that they were killed.”

“A professional?” the noble asked, his gaze sharpening with a dangerous edge.

“Most likely,” the soldier responded, nodding in agreement. “A very formidable one.”

“I agree. Hmm…” Lysander grew quiet for a moment, lost in thought. “A highly skilled killer. Who could have hired him? Hmm…” he muttered before sighing in frustration. “Well, all of their main rivals could. They’re all suspects. They have the money and influence to commission such murders.”

“I might be wrong, but I don’t think the other syndicates were responsible for this,” Humphrey stated, studying the reaction of the noble.

“Huh, why do you think that?” Lysander asked, glancing back at his friend.

“The bodies weren’t just left there after he… she, they, or whoever killed them,” the soldier answered, a hint of worry starting to seep through his normally nonchalant expression. “After all of them were killed, the killer dragged the bodies and arranged them into some patterns. Some were even made into a smiling face symbol,” he continued, pausing for a moment as he let the information sink in. “This is certainly the work of a professional, but I have doubts if this were contracted by the other syndicates. This seems personal.”

“A personal vendetta,” Lysander muttered to himself as he contemplated that notion. “That’s a possibility,” he said, nodding in agreement. “They might have messed with someone very dangerous. Damn it! Those fools!” he exclaimed, frustrated at the thought of being entangled in something perilous. “From the way they were killed, it’s likely the work of someone who operates in the shadows—an assassin type. I can’t think of anyone apart from those on the Red List,” he muttered, glancing at his friend. “Has anyone we don’t personally know recently visited Ironspire? Someone is rumored to have the capability to do this?”

“No.”

“I can see it in your face,” Lysander stated, carefully studying the soldier’s expression. “You have a suspect?”

“Yes, but I’m not certain. It’s just a hunch,” Humphrey remarked, smiling playfully. “Make a guess?”

“If not someone new, are you saying someone on the Red List is responsible for this?” Lysander asked, already doubting the validity of his assumption. “That’s impossible. They’ve made their vow of noninterference; they’re bound by it. They won’t and can’t be responsible for this. Besides, everyone knows they shouldn’t provoke anyone with a red band on their arms; that’s suicidal, especially for major organizations like the Crimson Talon. They wouldn’t make that mistake.”

“Does that person have to be on the Red List?” Humphrey asked, raising a brow.

‘Not on the Red List? Most of the people capable of this are involved in the war. Besides, they aren’t the sneaky type.

Who could it be? Hmm… ’

“If not on the Red List, then who?” the noble asked, frowning at his friend, who seemed to be enjoying his struggle. “Say it!”

“The old man is back!” Humphrey exclaimed, chuckling at the revelation.

“Old man?” the noble asked, confused. “Who are you talking about?”

“Who else? Jareth,” the soldier answered, grinning at him. “When I heard it, I couldn’t believe that he was still alive.”

‘That can’t be true. He’s dead.’

“Huh? Didn’t he die?” Lysander asked, suddenly looking around the room. “Damn it, the old man might be here, listening to us,” he muttered before glancing back at the soldier. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Cedric confirmed it,” Humphrey responded, sighing in resignation. “It seems it’s true. He really might have nine lives.”

‘Damn, I really thought he had died this time. It’s been years.’

“Nine lives?” the noble snorted at the number. “That b*stard should have died more times than I could count. If someone tells me the old man is immortal, I won’t be surprised. I might even agree,” he stated, sighing deeply like his friend. “My brother was right again. It seems I’ve lost the bet.”

“Idiot,” Humphrey said, shaking his head. “Why would you even bet against the old man? No matter how certain you are, that b*stard has been defying fate since before you were even born.”

“Whatever,” Lysander retorted, his voice tinged with irritation. “I don’t think the old man killed those men.”

“Why? He certainly has the ability to kill them. It would be as easy for him as stepping on ants,” Humphrey responded, arching his brow in challenge. “And they died exactly the day he arrived here. Isn’t that evidence enough?”

“I know the old man. He isn’t the type to kill without reason,” Lysander countered. “Even if they offended him, he wouldn’t have done anything. At worst, he would’ve killed one or two,” he continued, shaking his head. “But to eradicate the entire Crimson Talon?” he asked, snorting at the idea. “I don’t see him doing that, especially in Ironspire. He wouldn’t cause trouble in my brother’s land.”

The argument by Lysander was pretty sound; Humphrey couldn’t find anything to counter it. “If not the old man, the likely suspect might be your nephew.”