EPISODE 34

Luke Badniker, the Iron-Blooded Knights' leader and the Iron-Blooded Lord's brother, was a man of restraint.

Restraint defined him in every aspect of his life—his sleep, meals, hobbies, and even desires. Even the most devout, moderate people would eventually falter, but Luke maintained his control.

But this wasn't always the case. Luke had not been born this way, nor had anyone forced him into it. It was a choice, one driven by his moderate nature. He believed it to be the surest path to the strength he sought.

High self-control also meant deep patience. This was why he had waited until now to intervene, despite knowing about the disturbance outside the auditorium earlier.

Luke approached and regarded Hector. "What are you guys doing?"

Hector's body trembled under his stare.

"Hector Badniker," he called out, his tone commanding.

"Yes," Hector replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I need confirmation. Did you have permission to draw the sword in the main house?" Luke questioned.

"No," Hector admitted.

"Then was this an emergency serious enough to justify breaking the rules?" he pressed.

"No," Hector muttered again.

"So why did you put your hand on the handle of your sword?" Luke demanded.

"I'm sorry," Hector mumbled.

"This isn't about apologies," Luke said, his tone cutting. "I'm asking for the reason. Were you planning to draw your sword against Luan?"

Hector lowered his head, but Luke's expression remained stern. "Do you think you're above the family's rules? Have you reached a position where you can disregard them?"

"I didn't mean—"

"Understand this," Luke said, his voice dropping to a low, warning tone. "Only one person stands above the family's laws. Do not mistake yourself for the family head."

Hector's face burned with shame. His greater humiliation wasn't Luke's reprimand but the realization that his actions had disrespected the Iron-Blooded Lord.

Luke sighed inwardly. He had spoken harshly deliberately, hoping to prevent the situation from escalating. If the elders caught wind of this, they would turn it into a drawn-out ordeal.

"I'll pretend I didn't see what just happened. Go back," Luke instructed.

"What?" Hector exclaimed.

Luke didn't respond.

"I understand." Hector bowed and left, but not before shooting Luan a glare.

Luan, however, ignored him, his face blank.

"Luan Badniker," Luke called out.

"Yes," Luan replied.

Luke fell silent, struck by Luan's calm demeanor.

The image of Luan striking Hector on the back of the head replayed in his mind. He had much to say, but the first words that escaped were a question. "Why did you do it?"

Luan's eyes finally met his. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Why did you hit Hector?" Luke questioned.

"He deserved it," Luan answered without hesitation.

Luke's eyes glimmered at the blunt response. "He deserved it?"

"He slapped my subordinate's face in front of me," Luan explained, his tone steady.

Luke glanced at Arjan, the butler standing nearby. Her face bore no marks, but her lips were slightly torn.

Luan said dismissively, "Hector— My brother crossed the line, so I paid him back. That's all."

"That's why you hit your brother on the back of the head and slapped his cheeks?"

Luan fixed his gaze on Luke. A chill ran down Luke's spine, though he couldn't explain why.

"Is the fact that he is my brother important?" Luan asked nonchalantly.

"What do you mean?"

"No matter who it is, if they dare harm what's mine, I won't let it slide. Debts should always be repaid threefold," Luan stated, his voice cold.

Be it good or bad, Luan added inwardly.

Luke studied him intently, the same way he had scrutinized Hector. "You talk big, but do you really have the right to say that? What would've happened if I hadn't stepped in? Hector had his hand on his sword and was full of killing intent. Yes, he broke the rules and would've been punished at home. As for you, if you were lucky, you'd be crippled. Between the two of you, who would've suffered the greater loss?"

Luan remained silent.

"You lacked restraint and nearly died because of it," Luke continued, his tone firm. "That's not courage, Luan Badniker. It's recklessness."

"Well, you aren't entirely wrong," Luan admitted.

"Do you mean that I'm not completely right?" Luke asked.

Luan nodded silently before continuing, "Would my subordinate have stood by and watched as Hector drew his sword?"

"What?"

"In that situation, Arjan and I had justification. I retaliated because Hector hit Arjan. If Hector, having lost all reason, had charged with his sword drawn, Arjan would've joined the fight," Luan explained.

Silence followed.

"You spoke of losses earlier, didn't you?" Luan's voice was quiet yet firm. "If I had endured the insult, I would have lost this subordinate."

"You are delusional. Even Hector wouldn't kill someone here," Luke rebuked. "Didn't he just slap her cheek?"

"Let me turn the question around. Suppose you suffered a great humiliation while protecting your master, but that he just stood there, smiling meekly like a coward. Would you still be able to swear true loyalty to such a man?"

Luke fell silent, though a small ripple of unease stirred within him—a rare sensation.

"Hmm." Luan exhaled, his tone light but resolute. "Well, in any case, I understand your concerns. I'll be more careful from now on."

Luke almost burst out laughing this time. Luan's tone, as if sparing his pride, struck him as absurd.

Who's the one doing the lecturing here?

As he inwardly shook his head, Luan said, "If you have nothing more to say, may I leave?"

Luke nodded, having no reason to keep him further. "Yes. Go ahead."

Luan nodded in return and left.

For a moment, Luke stood there, watching the retreating figure and muttering, "Luan Badniker..."

He had sensed something unusual when the Iron-Blooded Lord summoned Luan directly, but meeting him in person proved more surprising than expected.

Has he always been like this?

Luke didn't know. He had no memories of Luan, though he'd often heard of his notorious deeds. Still, Luke believed in judging people face-to-face. If this was their first meeting, and he scored Luan based on first impressions alone, the boy would earn at least nine out of ten.

If I get the chance, I'd like to hear my brother's opinion, he thought.

What he liked most was Luan's courage and the way he ruled his subordinates.

Why was he only noticing him now?

Luke had assumed he had identified all the children with potential. Naturally, he wouldn't jump to conclusions, but if possible, he wanted to keep Luan close and observe him as a trainee knight of the Iron-Blooded Knights.

"Ugh," he muttered, shaking his head.

It was too soon to think that way.

Luke wanted to speak with Luan more and get to know him better, but he held back. For a man whose motto was self-control, this wasn't difficult.

***

My back tingled uncomfortably, likely because Luke was staring at me. The prickling sensation on the back of my neck only subsided after I stepped inside the mansion. Finally, I let out a sigh.

"Why did you do that?" Arjan asked abruptly.

"I already explained it in front of Sir Luke earlier," I explained.

"You said you almost lost someone. That can't be the reason. I'm not your subordinate," Arjan retorted.

"Ah, that's right."

"It isn't something to be taken lightly," Arjan said firmly. "Don't you know Young Master Hector's position in the family? If he holds a grudge over this and decides to retaliate—"

"Then this time, I suppose it won't just end with a slap to the back of my head or a strike to the cheek," I muttered, glancing at Arjan, who looked at me wide-eyed.

"Don't misunderstand. I didn't do it for you. I just couldn't stand by and do nothing. It would've left me disgusted with myself. I know what I've done and understand your concerns. I also have a rough idea of the fallout this might cause."

Arjan remained silent.

"Don't worry. I've thought it through," I added.

The Martial God, who had been listening quietly, suddenly interjected.

—Messenger, do you really have a plan?

"No." I couldn't have one, but I also couldn't admit that I fucked up by hitting Hector.

—Hah.

"I don't regret it. In the long run, this was the right choice."

—What do you mean, Messenger?

"It means that acting as a Badniker is what matters most at home."

In the Badnikers' main house, eyes and ears were everywhere. If I showed I couldn't protect my people, the Council of Elders, the family head, and the higher-ups would quickly hear about it. It meant losing credibility.

"Arjan, how was it?" I asked.

"How was what?"

"How did you feel when I hit Hector in the back of the head and slapped his face? Good or bad?"

Arjan hesitated.

"Tell me honestly. No one is listening here," I assured her.

"I think I was a bit relieved," she admitted.

I laughed. "Then it is good. What about your face? Does it hurt?"

"Just a slight tear in my mouth, that's all."

"Your monocle seems broken," I remarked.

"It is okay. It wasn't essential in the first place," Arjan revealed.

I looked at her in surprise. Was the monocle just a fashion item?

After a brief hesitation, Arjan bowed her head. "Thank you, Young Master Luan."

"Enough of that. It's embarrassing," I said, brushing it off.

"Still, be careful. Young Master Hector won't let this slide," Arjan warned.

"I'm sure he won't."

I had no intention of avoiding a confrontation with him.

For some reason, it wasn't Hector, the one I had just clashed with, who unsettled me most. It was the other guy—the one from the Garcia branch, the one who had been watching me earlier with those sinister eyes.

What was his name again?

***

The table shattered into pieces as if it were made of rotten wood, but even that wasn't enough to quell Hariba's rage.

He destroyed every piece of furniture in the room, his anger burning hotter with each strike. Yet, no matter how much he wrecked, the image of that insolent platinum-blond boy refused to leave his mind—along with the silver-haired girl the brat had approached without knowing who she was.

Amid the wreckage of what was once a tidy room, Hariba stood panting, his face emotionless. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Father," he muttered, his voice low and strained.

There was no immediate response, but Hariba continued, his tone hardening, "Didn't I tell you? We need to be certain. Absolutely certain."

"Certain? So you are really suggesting we kill him?" answered Reagan, standing at the door. "Whatever the case, today was the final check. Tomorrow is the real thing. Luan Badniker will not be present tomorrow."

Hariba's eyebrows twitched. "How is that possible? You said that we shouldn't kill."

"Murder isn't the only option," Reagan scolded in a stern tone. "Son, why don't you understand that murder is one of the worst options in a scheme?"

Hariba fell silent.

"The important issue is that he doesn't attend the blessing ceremony. We don't have to do it ourselves. For instance, it doesn't matter if he chooses not to participate."

"What do you mean?"

Reagan's eyes lowered. "You will find out soon enough."

With that, Reagan left his seat.

Hariba stared at the door, deep in thought. One conclusion crystallized in his mind: I can't entrust my fate to him.

Once his breathing had steadied, Hariba pulled out a glass bottle filled with red liquid. He hesitated, staring at it, then finally opened it.