Chapter 5: Eagle Claw’s Territory

Chapter 5: Chapter 5: Eagle Claw’s Territory

"Well, well, well—!" he exclaimed, leaping in front of Hesia with an exaggerated, sing-song voice. "Look who we have here, daring to trespass on Eagle Claw’s domain! Oh, heavens, could it be... the legendary little piece of trash who studied for three whole months and still couldn’t even manage a basic ’Holy Light Strike’—Hesia Atmesia?"

Behind him, a portly attendant named Ferdinand immediately stomped his foot and chimed in, "The master is right! This noble garden only welcomes respectable folk who can recite the *Eight Virtues of the Knight* by heart!"

He stomped so hard that his toes slammed into a stone jutting out from the corner of the wall. He let out a pained "YEEEOOOW!" and started hopping on one leg, clutching his foot.

The other portly attendant, Otto, clumsily tried to imitate his master’s pose, but his sword fell to the ground with a "CLANG."

Cyril completely ignored his two foolish goons. He poked Hesia’s coarse linen sleeve with a finger and said gloatingly, "You know, my dear Hesia? Tonight’s ball has invited all the important figures in Print Town—"

"—even the old goblin who guards the gate is on the guest list! But you?" He suddenly straightened up, gave an exaggerated shrug, and spread his hands, a smile mixing disdain and schadenfreude on his face.

"Tsk, my father himself said that your name would utterly ruin his ball!"

The moment he finished speaking, Ferdinand and Otto, who had just picked up his sword, put their hands on their hips in perfect sync and burst into uproarious laughter.

Otto’s laugh was particularly grating, like a strangled goose.

"So, Hesia? How was my performance?" Cyril’s mean expression vanished in an instant, replaced by the nervous, expectant look of a student.

Hesia looked at the trio of clowns before him and rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "It was great, Cyril. A perfect ’American-style bullying’ scene."

"’American-style’? Is that a language from some lost kingdom or an ancient Elf race? It sounds strange..."

"Ah... well..."

Hesia cursed himself for the slip-up.

’I can’t just tell them it’s something from another world, can I?’

So, he began spouting nonsense with a perfectly straight face:

"The so-called ’American-style’ refers to an extremely elegant and efficient form of ’performance art.’"

"Take the Saint Vinnica Empire, for example. They used a series of ’treaties’ that seemed unreasonable on the surface but were actually filled with wisdom. These treaties made the regions brought under their wing not only lose the will to resist but also embrace their rule even more fervently, willing to devote everything to them."

The attendant, Ferdinand, slapped his thigh and excitedly interjected, "Oh! I get it! It’s like that ’Goblin Resettlement Tax’ they levied in the neighboring Oak Town last year! Not only did those little green-skinned guys not cause any trouble, but now they’re all scrambling to work in the territory’s mines! So that’s ’American-style’!"

Cyril gave Ferdinand a light karate chop on the head. "Aren’t you the smart one! That’s the art of governance! A sign of being civilized and enlightened! Get it?"

Watching these three clowns, Hesia suddenly remembered that tonight, Cyril’s father, Baron Uer, the Lord of Print Town, was hosting a ball at the manor.

Baron Uer had said it was to celebrate the harvest, and he had also demanded that Cyril perform an interesting act at the ball.

A few days ago, Hesia had chatted a lot with Cyril, all in an effort to farm some Points off him.

He learned that despite holding the title of a baron’s son, Cyril rarely interacted with others and preferred to fiddle with his strange insect specimens.

But Hesia didn’t think the guy was actually introverted; he just liked being immersed in his own world.

Baron Uer, however, didn’t see it that way. As the sole heir to his title, he had higher expectations for Cyril.

Furthermore, the laws of the Federation explicitly stated that a commoner could not inherit a noble title.

Therefore, he had always been rather strict with his "introverted" son.

...

Cyril and his two clownish attendants, Ferdinand and Otto, were practically inseparable, which always reminded Hesia of a certain blond young master and his two cronies from a Magic World novel in his past life—though Cyril was nowhere near as handsome as the one in the movies.

At the time, Hesia had a flash of inspiration. He thought that having this introverted guy perform a scene of a "vicious young noble bullying a commoner" would create a stark contrast that might leave a lasting impression and have a fantastic effect.

So, on a whim, he taught them this "American-style bullying" routine.

But he had been so busy these past few days that he had completely forgotten about the ball tonight.

’I can’t believe they actually took this "act" and rehearsed it.’

"Cyril," Hesia said, looking at the darkening sky, "the ball should be starting soon, right? What are you guys still doing here?"

Cyril’s arrogant demeanor from the performance had vanished without a trace. He rubbed his hands together, a little embarrassed, and his voice grew quiet:

"Ferdinand said you’d probably forgotten about the ball, or maybe you didn’t want to come at all... So the three of us... we thought we’d come and get you."

Hesia hadn’t expected the guy to even think of him. A faint warmth spread through his chest, but he still said, "I really wasn’t planning on going. You know my health isn’t the best. A lively occasion like a ball isn’t really for me."

But Cyril was insistent. "You have to come! Otherwise... otherwise, if our act bombs, or if something unexpected happens, who are we supposed to ask for help? You’re the mastermind behind it all!"

As he spoke, he shot a look at Ferdinand and Otto.

Ferdinand and Otto immediately took the hint. They grabbed Hesia’s arms, one on each side, and began dragging him toward the manor on the north side of town without another word.

"Hey! Wait! Bruce!"

Bruce immediately trotted after them, his doggy face full of the kind of excitement that comes from watching chaos unfold.

Watching Hesia being dragged away, Cyril followed behind.

He was turning over a little scheme in his mind. ’Father invited so many ladies tonight. It’s obvious he wants to pick a fiancée for me from among them, and I don’t want to be tied down by marriage so soon!’

’This is perfect. If I bring Hesia along, with a dazzling guy like him there, who would pay all their attention to me?’

Cyril felt he was truly blessed by the Goddess of Wisdom.

...

「Eagle Claw Manor, brightly lit.」

The melodious music faded, and the once-noisy hall gradually fell silent.

The townspeople, dressed in their finest clothes, stopped their conversations and turned their gazes to the figure on the raised platform at the front of the hall.

"People of Print, esteemed guests!"

"We gather in this hall not just for fine food, good wine, and graceful dances. More importantly, let us raise our glasses together!"

He raised his crystal glass high. "Let us give thanks for the land beneath our feet that nourishes us! Give thanks for every hardworking farmer! Give thanks for the tempering of the wind and rain and the blessing of the sun!

It is this shared diligence and the heavens’ favor that has earned us this hall full of joyful faces and the abundance of overflowing granaries!"

"Today!" the Baron’s voice grew more impassioned. "Let us set aside our worries! Let our cups never be empty! Let the cheerful music never cease! Sons and daughters of Print, put down your hoes and spindles! With your most beautiful smiles and most dashing dance moves, let us offer our most fervent celebration to this harvest season!"

"To the harvest—!"

"To the harvest—!"

The crowd erupted in fervent applause and cheers.

The Baron smiled, stepping down from the dais and retreating toward his study, his gaze sweeping over a corner of the hall.