Sylas's words resonated deeply within Roderick's heart. Had there ever been a word that so well understood the heart of a knight? It wouldn't be strange for someone who had lived as a commoner and then learned their true identity to be frantic about reaching the count's household as quickly as possible.
Yet, here was Sylas, calmly prioritizing Roderick's well-being.
'He's no ordinary person!'
Roderick swallowed hard as he looked at Sylas. As he had noted before, even his appearance was different from ordinary people.
'His face is as white as jade, even in this harsh environment.'
That was because Sylas had been scrubbing it clean in front of a mirror this morning.
'His reddish glow has an auspicious aura about it.'
That was due to the expensive candles he had burned generously to set the mood.
'Even his calm demeanor and the comforting words he speaks!'
Sylas had seen countless knights obsessed with honor before his regression, and he was bored of them.
'Perhaps I am witnessing the future hero.'
Unaware he was falling into his own delusions, Roderick's eyes misted over with emotion. Meanwhile, Sylas silently prepared the meal with a slight smile.
This is easy.
For someone who had experienced the trials and tribulations of regression, dealing with a young knight was a piece of cake.
Five days passed. Roderick's wounds had healed enough not to interfere with his daily life. It was not only because of Sylas's medicine but also due to his remarkable recovery ability.
'There won't be any aftereffects.'
The wound from the pitchfork was on his shoulder, which could have easily prevented him from wielding a sword, but fortunately, it had avoided the nerves and tendons. With about two weeks of treatment, he would likely be able to swing a sword without any issues.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to become a burden..."
"Don't worry about it."
Roderick repeatedly apologized, looking embarrassed, while Sylas brushed off the apologies lightly. In reality, it wasn't a significant problem at all. The second visit would come sooner than the wound's full recovery.
'By the way, didn't the village chief visit once before?'
"Sylas ! Are you home ?"
As he rummaged through his hazy memory, he heard the village chief's voice from outside. Roderick's expression tightened slightly as he was eating stew. Fortunately, it seemed the chief hadn't seen the interior scenery, as he shouted before arriving.
''To the basement''
''Understood.''
Sylas quickly directed Roderick to the basement and disguised him. Since he had thoroughly prepared in advance, the disguise was completed in an instant. Having erased all traces, Sylas went out to greet the village chief.
"What brings you here?"
"I just stopped by for a moment. Were you eating?"
The chief mumbled as he entered the cabin and sat down, acting as if it were his own home without any hesitation. Sylas was taken aback but made an effort not to show it as he sat across from him.
"How's the hunting these days? You haven't come down to the village at all."
"There aren't many game animals, so I'm short on food."
"A person needs to eat grains, too, don't you think? Eating just meat could make you sick."
It was rather a transparent remark. It seemed that he had secretly missed the taste of meat since he hadn't had much lately. Yet, when it came time to exchange for grains, he shamelessly haggled for an outrageous exchange rate.
"I'll handle that myself. Now, please get to the point."
"Your tone just now… tsk, no."
The chief furrowed his brow and interrupted himself. Although he was displeased with Sylas's attitude, it was better not to provoke him further, considering what he was about to say.
"Actually, I came because of a debt issue."
"Debt? What do you mean?"
"Well, your grandfather borrowed a little money from the villagers when he was alive."
It was a lie. Sylas's maternal grandfather, Norman, had hated owing any money to the village while he was alive. Being treated as an outsider and then accumulating debt would likely lead to being exploited by the villagers.
'But this kid doesn't know that.'
Typically, such financial matters were handled by the guardian. Unless one was an adult, it was common to be informed only when death was imminent. However, Norman had passed away suddenly not long ago. Naturally, Sylas wouldn't have received any information about the debts.
'For now, I just need to insist that there are debts. If the villagers are all claiming there are debts, what can he do?'
The chief didn't actually intend to collect any money. What mattered was preventing the young man from threatening to leave the village or causing a scene about wanting to be paid. This family had to remain a cheap source of meat and leather in the future.
"What debts? Exactly how much does he owe and to whom?"
"Well, there's the debt to Max and Ralph..."
A list that he had prepared in advance rolled off his tongue. Individually, each amount wasn't significant, but together, it added up to a considerable sum. As the list continued, Sylas scoffed.
"That's rather strange."
"Strange ? How so?"
"My grandfather always told me the list of debts. Yet, not a single one matches up."
"W-what?"
The chief flinched. No, did he really mention it to him?
'Your kind of guy was something he anticipated long ago.'
Seeing the chief's flustered face, Sylas smirked. His grandfather had known very well what kind of mindset the villagers had. He had also informed Sylas of several contingency plans should he ever find himself in trouble. The issue of debt was one of them.
"You mentioned borrowing a few utensils from Uncle Doris and two coins from Sven, right? But those two aren't even on the list."
'Damn it!'
The chief's face twisted in rage as his plan fell apart. He had never expected that all the debts would have been revealed!
Sylas let out a hollow laugh in disbelief.
"Are you saying my grandfather lied?"
"He must have lied if he denied the debts he owed. Tsk tsk, as if pretending they didn't exist would make them disappear."
The village chief stroked his beard with a pitying expression. To an outsider, it might have seemed like a perfect performance, enough to make someone believe Sylas's grandfather had indeed lied. However, Sylas knew it was a blatant lie. It was practically an announcement saying,
"I'm lying, so you better accept it."
'Ah, I remember now.'
Come to think of it, the same thing had happened before his regression. The village chief had come to falsely accuse him of debts, and Sylas, unable to tolerate it, had argued with him for a long time. In the end, the chief had backed down and left the hut, but later he rallied the villagers, demanding Sylas acknowledge the debts as a group.
However, during that confrontation, the second visit from the Corleone family occurred, and the matter was left unresolved.
'So today is that day.'
That meant there was no need to endure it any longer. A sharp smile formed on Sylas's lips.
"What—what's with that smile?"
"Ah, it's nothing. So, you're saying I really do owe these debts, right?"
"That's what I said! How many times must I tell you?"
The village chief flinched momentarily but quickly put on a brazen face, standing firm. There wasn't a hint of shame in his expression.
"I see. In that case, it can't be helped. Let's step outside for a moment."
"Wait, why all of a sudden…?"
Despite the chief's confusion, Sylas got up and opened the door, stepping outside. Perplexed, the chief followed him out. Once outside, Sylas picked up a wooden stick lying on the ground nearby.
"Chief, what does this look like to you?"
"It's a wooden stick, what else would it be?"
"Well, I see it a bit differently. To me, it looks like a perfect club for beating an old man who lies about imaginary debts. Don't you think?"
"What?"
The village chief paused, unable to comprehend what Sylas had just said. After a few seconds, as he processed the words, his face turned pale. Sylas's fierce grin was far too vivid to be mistaken as a joke. Realizing the situation, the chief began to back away, waving his hands in protest.
"Wait, wait. Calm down."
"I am calm."
"Sylas, let me explain. The debts really don't matter at all."
"What do you mean they don't matter? They're quite important. Important enough that hitting someone for making up lies about them is almost forgivable."
"Just listen to me for a—ahhh!"
Thwack.
The village chief rolled on the ground, clutching his side where the stick had struck. Although it seemed like a light blow, the pain seeped deep into his bones.
Sylas adjusted his strength carefully, making sure the blows hurt immensely. It was a skill he had gained from his experience before his regression.
[Your experience increases due to an accurate strike.]
[Your current Blunt Weapon Skill level is 'Novice.']
"Oh, a bonus."
Sylas smiled at the message. It meant he had perfectly controlled his strength, just as he intended. Deciding to practice this technique repeatedly like before, he aimed to maximize the experience points without ending things too quickly.
"W-wait! If you do this, I'll—ugh!"
[Your experience increases due to an accurate strike.]
"If you stop now, I'll forg—aargh!"
[Your experience increases due to an accurate strike.]
"I was wrong! The truth is, there isn't really any deb—aaagh!"
[Your experience increases due to an accurate strike.]
Sylas continued to swing the stick as if he were dancing. Although he hadn't used blunt weapons much before, raising the skill level might come in handy someday. It wasn't because he enjoyed the satisfying sensation with each swing. Not at all.
[Your experience increases due to an accurate strike.]
[You have gained enough experience to level up.]
[Your Blunt Weapon Skill level has increased to 'Skilled.']
"Whew, that feels refreshing."
Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Sylas smiled, looking content as if he had just finished a satisfying day of farming. Without the village chief writhing below him and the blood-stained stick, anyone would have thought so.
"P-please, spare me…!"
The chief, his face swollen, clasped his hands together, begging desperately. His earlier confidence and brazenness had long since vanished. His mind was now filled with the fear that he might actually die.
"Well, I don't know. Do I have any reason to spare you?"
"If I die, the villagers won't just stand by!"
"Even if I spare you, they probably won't stand by either. You'll gather them and attack as soon as you get back to the village, won't you?"
"N-no, of course not!"
The village chief flinched as Sylas hit the mark. In fact, he was already planning to rally the villagers and storm Sylas's hut as soon as he made it back alive.
Sylas chuckled, poking the chief's forehead.
"Listen, chief. The truth is, I'm planning to leave the village soon."
As the chief thought, he nodded inwardly. If Sylas intended to stay, there's no way he would dare to do this.
"You have two options."
"Two options…?"
"First, you go back to the village and stay quietly in your home, reflecting on how you tried to scam my grandfather and me."
"And, the second option?"
"Second, you do what you were planning—gather the villagers and attack me. But then, you'll pay the price for it later with tears of blood."
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