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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: As for Me
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As for me—
Decullan Family.
A former Troubleshooter of Decullan, the great magical house rooted in the eastern continent.
So, what's a Troubleshooter?
Simply put, a hunting dog.
Like a hound that lives and dies by its master's command, one faithfully carries out the family's orders.
The tasks are incredibly varied—to name a few, infiltrating rival families to uncover secrets and preventing dangers to Decullan before they arise.
What happens if you get caught?
Then you fight to the death.
Anyway, that's the life of a Troubleshooter, but the truth is, there's no such thing as retirement for one.
Think about it. Every job a Troubleshooter does is an evil deed that must never be exposed, and on the day it is, the losses outweigh any mission accomplishments.
Who'd let one live to retire?
'Even I wouldn't.'
So how am I a former Troubleshooter?
I retired.
The work itself wasn't hard. No, in fact, it suited me perfectly.
Once, I was chased by Lortel, the greatest swordsmanship house in the east, and they sent an entire knight order after me, swords drawn, just to catch one guy.
That time was truly—
Something else.
'It was a blast.'
Their faces turning red as they chased me was just so satisfying to taunt. I've been chased by pretty much every major house, but Lortel's reaction was the most entertaining.
Those brutish sword-swingers.
I could go on about those brutish sword-swingers, but anyway.
The work itself was manageable.
It was fun.
So why did I retire—
'Who knows.'
There wasn't any particular reason.
One day, I happened to look up at the sky, and there was a wyvern flying. Cutting through the clouds, circling the heavens—it looked utterly free.
Of course, the fact that the wyvern tried to eat me but ended up in my stomach instead was a separate incident.
'That guy was...'
Delicious.
Maybe because I'd been starving for days, but it was a rare treat. Not that I'd eat one again.
Anyway, the reason I was having such a flashy retirement party was exactly this.
"You're the last one left, you bastard."
The devastated wasteland.
A chilling wind swept through the space.
It was the same wind that always blew, but the scent it carried was nothing like before.
The metallic tang of blood.
A man took his place amid the sprawled bodies of the Decullan mages who had come to capture me.
"No. 1, you... you hid your power. That's not the level of some mere Troubleshooter."
A Decullan bloodline member.
His name... I don't know. Among Troubleshooters, he was just known as that annoying Manager No. 1.
"I ask the questions."
I lightly drove my fist into his solar plexus, and he curled up like he was in ecstasy.
I pulled out a single book and held it before his eyes.
"This is a grimoire?"
"..."
"Answer me."
The bloodline member nodded faintly.
"That's... right. Did you think we'd all come charging in just to catch a nobody like you?"
"Well, if you'd known, you would've brought even more dogs, right?"
The bloodline member didn't respond.
Probably because he agreed deep down, and I didn't bother pressing him.
That wasn't what mattered now.
"So, how do you use it?"
"I don't... know."
"You don't know?"
I echoed him briefly.
Then it clicked.
"Well, if you did know, you wouldn't have left it buried in some archive like that."
Decullan's greed is no joke—it puts greedy goblins to shame.
Yet they'd let a grimoire whose usage they knew just rot away? Ridiculous.
They probably would've swallowed the entire continent whole if they'd known. From what I'd observed of Decullan all this time, they'd go even further, not less.
'Hmm, an unexpected gain.'
No, acquiring a grimoire wasn't just a gain—it didn't do it justice.
A grimoire. Depending on how it's used, it could reshape the continent's map and etch a name into history.
No wonder houses are ranked by the number of grimoires they possess.
But was this good for me? Not really.
'They'll hunt me to the ends of hell.'
Even if they didn't know how to use it, Decullan weren't the type to let a grimoire go. As I said, their greed outstrips any goblin's.
That's when it hit me.
"Hand over the grimoire now. I'll ask the Patriarch for leniency."
A snort escaped at the bloodline member's words.
"You have the pull for that?"
"..."
No answer.
Of course.
No matter that he was bloodline, he was just a manager overseeing Troubleshooters—a loser booted from power struggles.
"So, any last words?"
"You bastard..."
"Finally realizing your true nature. Commendable."
People seem to gain enlightenment on the brink of death.
Anyway, to celebrate the bloodline member's small epiphany, I grabbed his throat. Enlightenment's one thing; this is another.
Just as I was about to snap it—
That's when it happened.
"...!"
A shiver ran down my spine.
Instinct screamed.
Danger.
Every hair on my body stood on end, cold sweat pouring from my glands, and a low voice whispered in my ear.
"You've got sharp senses."
I slowly turned my head.
A middle-aged man.
Utterly composed.
He strolled across the corpse-strewn wasteland with a leisurely smile, as if out for a walk—peaceful on the surface, and only there.
Each step radiated a vicious aura, layered and brutal.
"..."
As far as I knew, only one person in Decullan could exude such presence.
The Decullan Patriarch.
Head of the eastern continent's greatest magical house... and the strongest mage in history.
Only him.
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Pahren von Decullan—the fool you're holding's uncle and the head of Decullan."
The Patriarch introduced himself casually, then extended his hand to me.
"If it's alright, I'd like my nephew and the grimoire. We can talk after."
* * *
Troubleshooter for over a decade.
Half my life in Decullan, but this was my first time seeing the master.
I'd imagined it sometimes.
What would the head of Decullan, the east's premier magical house, the mage hailed as the strongest ever, be like?
And my impression was...
"What a pain in the ass."
"...?"
I stored the grimoire in my subspace and spoke.
"I knew Decullan were shameless thieves, but I didn't think it was this bad. You want to just take the spoils I earned fair and square?"
Was this the first time he'd been treated like this?
The Patriarch let out a hollow "Hah."
I laughed along, but inside, it was anything but funny.
'Damn wyvern.'
Maybe I shouldn't have eaten it. Who'd have thought the Patriarch would come personally.
Seeing him up close, he exceeded imagination. His presence was more vicious and overwhelming than any mage I'd encountered.
Not a single gap visible.
As I assessed that, the Patriarch spoke.
"So, what do you want? Captured and killed by me? That'd be easiest for me too, but..."
"You've got an angle. Spit out the real offer. You're not the type to dawdle over one fool getting caught."
I tightened my grip, and the bloodline member groaned, "Ugh..." The Patriarch grimaced at the sight.
"He's incompetent, but he's still my nephew. Seeing him suffer doesn't sit right."
No, he looked perfectly fine. He hadn't even glanced at the bloodline member once.
I didn't react. No point wasting energy on bullshit. The Patriarch seemed to get it and shrugged.
"Fine. The real offer: I watched the whole fight."
"Start to finish?"
"Does it matter?"
"Nope."
But it did make me think.
If the Patriarch watched from start to finish, then Decullan's bastards weren't limited to the one in my grip.
"Anyway, it was impressive. I planned to kill you myself, but after seeing the fight, I changed my mind."
"...?"
What was with all the preamble?
I waited silently, and when he spoke, it was an unexpected proposal.
"Come back under Decullan's shadow. Hand over the grimoire, and I'll overlook everything you've done."
"Hah."
I couldn't help a hollow laugh.
"Do you know how many Decullans died by my hand?"
"Of course. I watched the fight—counted them one by one."
"You counted?"
He meant it as a joke, but it wasn't funny. Still, it turned my suspicions into certainty.
Decullan's bastards weren't just one—there were two right here.
"What do you say? Accept? Your talent is astonishing. I regret not noticing sooner."
"Hm."
I crossed my arms, organizing my thoughts.
The Patriarch waited patiently, and soon I nodded.
"Fine."
A quiet reply.
But a bright smile lit the Patriarch's face—genuine joy. Seeing him happy lifted my spirits too.
The happier they are, the worse it feels when expectations shatter.
"But on one condition."
"What?"
"Give me the Patriarch's seat, and I'll consider it."
"..."
His lips sealed shut. Eyebrows twitched. Emotion cracked the Patriarch's ever-calm facade.
I inwardly cheered at the sight. Then I remembered something.
"Oh, right."
"...?"
"You said you counted, didn't you?"
He eyed me curiously, and I met his gaze, tightening my grip.
Crack.
A soft snap.
The throat of the bloodline member in my hand breaking—I said calmly,
"So, how many now?"
Was he actually counting? The now-silent Patriarch.
Whatever. I tossed the limp corpse onto the pile of Decullan mages, and that's when the Patriarch spoke.
"Strange."
"Strange?"
"Why provoke me? You should know better. You're no match for me."
He seemed genuinely baffled. I snorted.
"You don't know until you try, right?"
"Some things are clear without trying. The gap between us."
True.
Painfully true.
Thud.
"...!"
I kicked off, slamming a fist straight at the Decullan Patriarch's face.
But as expected of the Patriarch.
He blocked before I could even react, a barrier up in that split second.
Crackle.
My fist's mana clashed with his barrier, our eyes meeting.
"You're really going this route? You could die."
"Even dog food's lost its taste."
"Fine, then. I'll show you the difference. See for yourself."
Vicious energy poured from the Patriarch. He was gearing up for real combat.
Amid it, I spoke.
"What if I bow my head now? What if I return to Decullan's shadow?"
"Would you?"
His aura briefly softened. I nodded.
"As if."
Another strike.
Crackle!
The fight began.