The Terminally Ill Young Master is the Mad Dog of the Underworld - Chapter 30

Chapter 30: It Wouldn’t Be Fun If I Told You Already

The court tailor of Grunewald was a master craftsman who had been making clothes since the time of the previous clan head.

“Please spread your arms for a moment. Yes, that’s good.”

The white-haired elderly man took measurements of various parts of my body.

Despite his protruding belly, he carried himself with such elegance that even that seemed part of his charm.

“Hm. How interesting.”

The tailor clicked his tongue.

“What is it?”

“Your build is remarkably identical to that when the Duke was young.”

“Oh?”

I touched my shoulders and sides as I responded.

“That is interesting indeed.”

“Yes, indeed. I’ve been personally making his clothes since then, so I know every detail by heart.”

“That’s fortunate then. This should result in an even finer outfit.”

“How could it not?”

I looked around the workshop.

It was filled with precious fabrics like silk and velvet, threads of various colors, and garments in different stages of completion.

The sea breeze flowing through the half-open window prevented the room from feeling stuffy. It was truly a master craftsman’s workshop.

“Do you have any particular style in mind?”

After rubbing my chin thoughtfully, I asked.

“Did you perhaps make my mother’s clothes as well?”

The tailor answered with slightly sorrowful eyes.

“Yes, I did.”

“Then please make it to match my mother’s taste, while incorporating elements of the style my father preferred.”

“Hmm. That’s…”

The tailor tilted his head, seeming puzzled by the unusual request.

“So that when the mother sees her grown son someday, she’ll be pleased.”

“…I understand.”

“Don’t take it too seriously though. I’m merely speaking in general terms. I trust the end result to your expertise.”

I treated the tailor as an expert and authority in his field. Sensing this, his expression grew solemn.

“Then I will pour my heart into crafting your attire.”

“I’ll likely grow taller and broader in the shoulders. I’ll also build more muscle, so please account for that with some extra room.”

“Understood.”

Like the butler and the librarian, the elderly staff who had worked long in this palace tended to respond favorably when their professional pride was acknowledged.

This was a rare trait in the underworld where it was difficult to maintain a steady profession for long.

Even the innocent could get hurt if caught up in unfortunate circumstances there.

If you asked about the chances of a boy selling alcohol in the back alleys of the underworld surviving unscathed after five years, it would be hard to give an optimistic answer.

“I leave it in your hands.”

“Trust me. Come to think of it, it’s been quite a while since I’ve made formal attire for Young Master Allenvert.”

Joy mixed with a hint of sympathy crossed his face. It was the typical reaction of those who remembered Allenvert from his childhood.

“Well then.”

“Ah, Young Master.”

The tailor called out as I was about to leave.

“Yes?”

“…Well.”

He hesitated as if struggling to find the right words before speaking.

“Young Master. You’ve grown into such a fine young man. I’m glad to see you like this after so long.”

I don’t remember what my relationship with this elderly man was like.

But he must have had some deep impression of me, who was once the fourth young master of the clan he served.

“Thank you. Take care of your health.”

I simply responded thus before stepping outside. What a peculiar feeling.

“Come to think of it-”

I immediately asked Peter.

“How’s that fellow Marco doing?”

“Ah, that?”

Peter answered.

“When it comes to badmouthing others behind their backs, you’d be hard-pressed to find someone more talented than that idiot.”

“That’s reassuring. Even a pathetic fellow can be useful somewhere.”

I kept to myself the thought ‘He’s going to get beaten up if he gets caught.’

But Peter must have been thinking the same thing, as his nostrils flared above his tightly closed lips.

“You’re just like Julia. Are you two siblings by any chance?”

“Hehe, sorry.”

“Look at Olivier. His face doesn’t change no matter what nonsense he hears. A man of exceptional discipline.”

“I’ll strive to improve further.”

“Hmph.”

Olivier looked like he wanted to retort but ultimately said nothing. It seemed he still wanted to maintain his dignity.

‘Come to think of it, Barclava is quieter than I expected.’

Given his personality, I thought there would have been a reaction by now.

If he hasn’t suddenly matured, it must mean he’s that afraid of his brother.

‘But is it normal to keep such a tight leash on your younger sibling? What a nasty personality.’

It’s my long-held belief that those who are cruel to their siblings are cruel to others as well.

My hostility and wariness toward Verdzig Grunewald grew stronger by the day.

“I’m getting hungry.”

“I’ll prepare your meal right away.”

I shook my head at Peter’s words.

“No need. Let’s go to the dining hall.”

“Oh? You’re not eating in your room?”

“There’s no one left to gossip about us anyway, right?”

“That’s true. We’ve dealt with all those types…”

“Besides, food tastes best when eaten fresh. It’s not good when it gets cold.”

“Hehe, that’s true.”

“Call Julia too.”

“Yes!”

I pointed to some men walking in formation somewhere.

“By the way, butler, are those guards as well?”

“No, those are apprentices.”

“Is that so? Their bearing is no less impressive than regular knights.”

“Even apprentice royal guards have similar martial prowess to regular knights.”

“Oh ho.”

I observed their posture, gait, physique, and muscle development.

‘Indeed, they’re elite. I suppose when you’re the ruler of a duchy, even your subordinate warriors are of this caliber.’

I recalled when Barclava cracked his bones while throwing a tantrum alone in mid-air.

The martial prowess of the guards who had rushed over then was even higher than these men.

‘What a waste – warriors who could dominate the battlefield like death gods, serving under the wrong master.’

I mentally criticized Barclava out of habit.

“Ahem. Uh, Young Master.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve been wanting to say this for a while. Since I’m your butler, please speak more casually with me. That way I could…”

I quickly answered before Olivier could finish.

“Shall I do that then?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

“…”

“What are you doing? Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

“Ah, um. Understood.”

Was it just my imagination that the look of respect was gradually fading from Olivier’s face?

“Haha.”

If so, everything was going according to plan. I preferred being more casual with my people.

* * *

The chef busily brought out large cuts of grilled meat and various side dishes.

“Ah, excellent. The use of this sauce is particularly exquisite. Did you use chicken stock?”

“Yes, Young Master. I’m glad it’s to your liking.”

“After eating your meals these past few days, I’ve found great pleasure in dining. In my opinion, you’re among the most skilled within this ducal castle.”

“Y-you’re too kind.”

The middle-aged man, who looked more like a butcher than a chef with his burly appearance, was flustered by my praise.

I heard he’d never once steal any ingredients. That showed remarkable integrity.

“Let’s meet often. Indeed, food tastes best when eaten fresh.”

“Thank you. It’s truly rewarding to have such appreciation…”

“That’s good to hear.”

I watched the chef’s departing figure, his face flushed with joy.

“I’ve noticed for a while that, young master treats us subordinates exceptionally well.”

Peter remarked.

“You even look after the family of an insignificant servant like me, and help during times of hardship…”

Peter’s eyes unexpectedly turned red.

“Stop it, you idiot.”

“Huungh.”

“Though the Young Master has changed much, that aspect remains exactly the same as in childhood.”

Olivier added with a pleased expression.

“You flatter me. But since I enjoy hearing it, continue.”

“Yes.”

Remember this- if you want to build your reputation, you must start from the very bottom.

Of course, I wasn’t being fake with them. From the beginning, Karzan was a man who had daily interactions with people worried about their next meal since childhood.

‘Unlike Barclava who acts up without realizing how comfortable his life is thanks to his servants.’

As I ate while habitually criticizing Barclava, I noticed royal guards conducting outdoor training in the distant training grounds.

“Are those the apprentices from earlier?”

Olivier narrowed his eyes while enhancing his vision with mana and answered.

“Yes, they are.”

“Hmm.”

Indeed, Olivier was quite adept at using mana.

Even I found it difficult to gauge just how powerful he might become if he fully unleashed all his pent-up strength.

“Tell me more about the Royal Guards.”

“The Royal Guards are a unit created to protect the clan head, their blood relatives, and the ducal castle.”

Olivier answered promptly.

“They’re composed of specially selected talents among warriors trained by Grunewald, along with veterans. Their combat ability equals or exceeds that of the knights.”

“Based on your explanation, the martial arts of the knights and guards must differ then, correct?”

“Ah, that’s right!”

Olivier exclaimed in admiration.

“As their purposes differ, so do their paths of martial arts. I’m impressed you deduced that right away.”

I enhanced my vision as Olivier had done. In other words, I strained my eyes. Blood rushed to them along with mana.

“Indeed. Their physical abilities are uniformly excellent.”

The guards were all running vigorously, with none falling behind. Great warriors are good runners.

“Though I haven’t directly seen them wielding swords-”

I idly waved my dinner knife mid-meal.

“I imagine knights’ martial arts would focus on mounted combat in heavy armor, accounting for battlefield chaos and variables.”

“Hmm.”

This was a lie. It wasn’t imagination but experience.

If I were to load a ship with all the knights or former knight swordsmen I’d crossed blades with in my previous life, it would fill a large merchant vessel to capacity and beyond. Of course, that ship’s name would be the Ghost Ship.

“I suspect they’ve generally evolved toward favoring momentum and aggression over precision.”

Of course, Grunewald might pursue a different direction, but the broad strokes should be similar, right?

“You’ve observed correctly.”

Judging by Olivier’s expression, I was right.

“Meanwhile, the Royal Guards are probably more accustomed to fighting on foot rather than horseback, in smaller-scale combat. They’d often engage in one-on-one fights too. Given the unit’s purpose, they’d prioritize defense and protection over pure offense.”

It differed from Karzan’s swordsmanship. But that was actually good. Defense and stability were principles I lacked.

“Would it be something like this?”

As my knife movements changed, so did Olivier’s gaze. Another correct answer.

“Similar.”

“Oh? I must have been a sword genius.”

“Perhaps so.”

Though I said it jokingly, it wasn’t a joke.

“By the way, Olivier.”

“Yes?”

“Are there any hot-headed, rough Royal Guards?”

“Pardon?”

“I’d like to provoke one a bit and have a match.”

“You’re joking, right?”

Seeing my expression, Olivier sighed.

“…Please refrain. It’s not good to cause unnecessary trouble.”

“Who said anything about trouble?”

“Your eyes are saying it.”

There was a hint of irritation in Olivier’s response.

“Amazing, young master. Making the butler angry.”

Peter, who had been quiet until now also chimed in.

“Shut up.”

“Yes.”

“Young Master, if you want a sparring partner, we could easily find volunteers through proper channels.”

“True.”

“So don’t even dream about it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Everyone has the right to dream. The right to dream is something everyone…”

Olivier sighed with an ‘Oh boy.’

I excitedly pointed at him.

“See that? Your composure is cracking bit by bit!”

“This too shall be part of my training. I’ll strive to improve.”

“Good. That’s the kind of spirit you need.”

I returned to cutting my meat. It sliced so smoothly. With mana infused, the aura-imbued knife cut through the meat’s sinews as easily as cheese.

‘Ah, this is bad.’

I was getting restless. I wanted to grab a sword and start swinging right away. Ah, I could hear the song of the sword. My fists were crying from neglect.

I turned my head again toward the Royal Guards visible through the window.

Sensing my gaze, several guards glanced at me. Despite the considerable distance, they had quite sharp intuition.

“Oh ho, look at that?”

Those eyes look quite hostile.

I have a chronic condition where I get the urge to stab anyone who gives me such sharp looks.

“Olivier.”

“Yes.”

Let’s change the question this time.

“Are there Royal Guards who come from vassal or feudal families?”

“Yes, there are.”

“Then these families might support different young masters, correct?”

This time, Olivier’s response came slightly slower.

“…That’s right.”

“Excellent. Then there must be quite a few who lack proper respect for Allenvert Grunewald, the Fourth Young Master.”

No matter where you go, there are always young people full of vigor and excessive confidence in their background and abilities.

‘I can see the chaos brewing.’

Only then did I smile with satisfaction.

“Hehehe.”

“No, Young Master, surely you’re not…”

Sensing something ominous, Olivier became flustered.

“If possible, I’d like to go on an ‘observational training’ visit over there.”

“What exactly are you thinking?”

It wouldn’t be fun if I told you already.

I simply replied.

“Who knows?”

———