Chapter 8: The Girl Who Will Become a Countess (2)
Chapter 8: The Girl Who Will Become a Countess (2)
“This… is quite strange.”
“What is it?”
Duon wiped his nose and cleared his throat, stroking his mustache. He handed the object to Ronan and spoke.
“I can’t figure out the material at all. I used to have a broad perspective even on pets, so I didn’t think my knowledge was limited… but I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“Damn… Could it really be a gem and not just a piece of crap?”
“I don’t think so.”
Ronan raised an eyebrow at Duon’s confident tone. Duon rummaged under the counter and pulled out a small hammer. One side of the iron head gleamed with a bluish hue.
“This is an emotion-enhancing hammer coated with mithril. One of the most expensive items in our shop.”
He tapped the object with the hammer. A sound unlike the usual impact reverberated. Ronan squinted his eyes.
“This sound…?”
“Do you know the properties of mithril?”
Ronan nodded.
Known as the “Prince of Metals,” mithril had the unique quality of producing a sound like the one just heard when it collided with materials of similar or lesser hardness.
“Try holding it.”
“What? Are you sure?!”
Ronan caught the hammer. He struck the object again. Cha-aang! The resonating metallic sound captured the attention of the market crowd.
“What on earth did you bring in to sell?”
Ronan clicked his tongue. He had struck the object with force, but it showed no signs of damage. The hardness of the object was comparable to or even greater than mithril. Duon couldn’t hide his admiration either.
“One thing’s for sure… Whatever it is, it’s an extraordinary item.”
Whether it was gem or dung, it was awe-inspiring. Ronan found the possibility of it being a gem slightly more unsettling. If it was an egg, it means that some life form will broke out of this shell.
“Are you planning to sell it? I’m interested in buying, but…”
“Oh? No, I’ll just keep it. I can’t sell something I don’t even know.”
“I think that’s the right choice. Get a proper appraisal.”
Ronan put the object back into his pocket. He wasn’t eager to sell it now, even out of curiosity. He intended to find someone more knowledgeable or inquire with the creator named Barren.
At that moment, Aselle poked Ronan’s back. He made a motion with his lips, saying the word “Philleon.” Ronan clapped his hands and turned to Duon, speaking again.
“By the way, it seems like you’re interested in buying and selling anything. Do you happen to have any books related to Philleon?”
“Hmm? Are you referring to Philleon Academy?”
“Yes.”
Ronan explained his situation. He needed to gather information for the entrance exam next month. Duon’s face brightened considerably as he nodded along.
“Ah, you’re prospective students for the entrance exam? This works out quite well.”
“It’s going well, isn’t it?”
“My daughter is also taking the Philleon exam this time. I might be able to offer some help, even if it’s just a little.
“Marya!”
He called out while looking at a carriage set up behind the counter. The modified baggage carriage served as both a means of transport, a shop, and a warehouse. When no response came, Duon started knocking on the carriage as if knocking on a door.
“Marya! Mar!”
“What? Marya?”
At that moment, a head popped out from the roof of the carriage. The girl had impressively voluminous golden hair, and she was the smallest-headed woman Ronan had ever seen. She opened her mouth with an annoyed expression.
“Stop it… Didn’t I tell you to not call me that?”
“Oops.”
Ronan burst into laughter. The dialogue was quite incongruous with her doll-like appearance. Suddenly, a sense of recognition flashed through his mind.
“Hmm? Wait a minute. I’m sure…”
Small head, golden hair. The face seemed familiar from somewhere.
Marya…. Marya? Where have I seen her before?
The memory hovered on the edge of his consciousness. Duon, putting his hands on his hips, began to grumble.
“Marya! What kind of behaviour is that?”
“If you’re annoyed… Ugh, let me go independent.”
“Really!”
Marya yawned unabashedly. Aselle’s face turned pale. Stretching herself with a yawn, she leaped down from the carriage. Her graceful landing was reminiscent of a cat.
“So, who are you guys?”
She sized up the boys, hands on her hips. Her posture seemed to attempt a semblance of authority, but she was only slightly taller than Aselle, so it didn’t quite land. At that moment, Duon grabbed her head.
“Ouch! Why hit me?”
“Behave. Come on, introduce yourselves. They’re important customers who just made a big deal. They’re planning to apply to Philleon next month.”
“Geezz… You call them customers?”
Rubbing the spot that had been hit, Marya scanned the boys from top to bottom. Her petite stature aside, she seemed too young. Suspicion crept into her gaze.
“What did you sell to be called big customers?”
“Marya, don’t forget our first rule. We don’t ask about the customer’s money or the origin of their goods.”
“Ah, right. I’m sorry.”
Marya bowed politely, offering an apology. Ronan nodded with interest.
From previously focusing on the term “customer” rather than “PhilLeon” to her lacking manners, her attitude was far from perfect, but her mindset as a merchant seemed excellent. Observing her, Duon also lowered his head in agreement.
“We apologize for the rudeness. She’s my only daughter, and since she’s been around men from the upper echelons since she was young… It’s my fault as a parent.”
“It’s okay. By the way, would you mind lifting your head?”
“Yes? Why?”
Marya raised her head. Her finely chiseled features were symmetrically balanced as if they had been measured meticulously. Her watery eyes shimmered with a faint green hue, reminiscent of the southern seas.
She was quite a beauty. Of course, compared to the eldest sister, she was nowhere near as attractive.
“Uh-huh?”
Ronan, who was carefully observing her face, smirked.
“Hey, mister, did you say you have only one daughter?”
“Yes? Ah, yes. That’s correct.”
“That’s strange… Do you maybe have a hidden son or something?”
“Well…”
“Think about it. Why do our males often make mistakes? Like the so-called youthful indiscretions…”
Confusion spread across Duon’s face. Even if he had downed five bottles of alcohol, he wouldn’t discuss such matters in front of his daughter. Sensing the awkward tension, Aselle grabbed Ronan’s sleeve, but his smirk only continued, along with a series of more vulgar examples.
“Like the night when the maid’s buttocks looked especially tempting as she cleaned dishes… You don’t really have only one child, do you?”
“Are you serious with that nonsense!”
Smack!
Marya’s hand flew like the wind and landed a slap on Ronan’s cheek. A strange sound echoed as his head turned abruptly. The force coming from her small frame was hard to believe.
“What are you saying in front of my father!”
“Ro-Ronan… Are you okay?”
“This sting on my cheek…”
Ronan touched his cheek gently as he slowly turned his head. While his temper flared, he also gained a sense of certainty. The girl before him was indeed someone he knew.
Ronan spoke.
“Is your middle name by any chance ‘Sen’?”
Marya’s confident gaze widened. It was a middle name she had whimsically chosen around the age of ten, a secret known only to her and Duon.
“H-How did you…!”
Ronan let out a chuckle. Life truly was full of surprises. He had never expected to encounter a past connection here.
“Jigyal, Count Armalen. You… were a woman.”
****
The first time Ronan met her (at that time, he thought of her as ‘he’) was about two years after being conscripted as a penal soldier.
It was in the northern wilderness of Tucan Plateau where they had been fighting werewolves for two months. Suddenly, a well-dressed noble named Nari from some remote place arrived with a load of supplies.
“I am Count Sen of Armalen. I have come to acknowledge your efforts and show my support.”
The count was a short-haired androgynous beauty. Now that the secret was out, it was obvious, but he bore a striking resemblance to Marya.
He supplied the frontline soldiers with precious silver weapons, equivalent to a year’s worth of provisions. True to the rumor that he was a wealthy noble right after the emperor, he had the means to afford it.
Of course, it wasn’t for free. Traders didn’t engage in losing deals. Providing silver weapons, a weakness of the werewolves, was essentially a way of telling them to get rid of those fur-bearing monkeys from his business premises.
Everyone understood his intention. But since gratitude was genuine, Ronan and the soldiers, including himself, expressed their thanks using the count’s title.
“Oh! This is why it’s nice to have wealthy folks around! Please enjoy my half-hearted applause, Count Sen!”
“Take my butt, Sen!”
Anyway, on the day the count arrived, he threw a lavish banquet. The penal soldiers, who had piled up resentment, could finally release their tension amidst a feast of exquisite food and drinks they had never seen before.
As the finest warrior, Ronan sat by the count’s side. Sen’s unpretentious personality allowed for enjoyable conversation despite his noble status. After about thirty rounds of drinks, as Ronan refilled the glasses, he slurred his words.
“Hey, um, I have a curious question, Count… um, are you silver… below as well?”
“What? Below…?”
“Why not? You know, down there, the… ahem… private parts and, um, the backside… Do you have… silver hair? Nobles might be different, I was just wondering. Hehehe.”
“…You brat!!”
The count’s face turned crimson as he slapped Ronan’s cheek. Rolling twice, Ronan grabbed a bottle and smashed it onto the count’s head.
Crash!
The banquet came to an abrupt end.
“…There was a reason for his anger.”
The last time Ronan saw him was during the battle with Ahaiyute. The number of soldiers the count had brought along was almost equivalent to an entire legion.
To boost the soldiers’ morale, he had stood at the forefront, only to be swept away by an explosion on the first day of battle.
“He was a good person.”
Ronan twisted his lips and lowered his gaze. Marya’s face, still brimming with spirit, caught his attention. Even from this angle, her developing chest was starting to make its presence known. How had she managed to hide that? It would have grown larger over the time.
“How could you mention that name?! No, you should apologize to dad before anything else!”
Marya shouted loudly. Aselle was nervously watching their interaction. Ronan raised one hand to restrain Duon, who was about to scold his daughter.
And then, he lowered his head.
“I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”
Aselle’s face contorted in shock. Duon tried to help him up, but Ronan remained frozen as if rooted to the spot.
After a while, when another customer arrived and Duon left his seat, Ronan finally lifted his head slowly. Marya, with her arms crossed, snorted in a huff.
“Hmph, it’s good that you’re quick with apologies.”
“It wasn’t directed at you. You, flat-head girl.”
Whack!
As Ronan rose, he delivered a punch to Marya’s forehead. The intensity was far different from the honeyed words of affection from Duon. Marya practically collapsed to the ground.
“Ugh… ugh…”
“If you don’t want trouble, don’t touch my face. Got it?”
Ronan warned. Although he couldn’t fathom the circumstances that led the Earl of Armalen to cross-dress, the count he knew was the continent’s foremost magnate. Building camaraderie could undoubtedly yield significant influence.
“I got it.”
“R-Ronan… that’s enough now…”
However, he wasn’t particularly keen on building camaraderie to the extent of bowing and scraping. What Ronan had said to Duon was undoubtedly rude. As Marya’s father, his anger was perfectly understandable.
Yet, apart from that, he didn’t feel good about getting slapped on the face. The rest of the cause and effect wasn’t clear to him.
“Uh… ugh… it hurts…”
Marya clutched her head and didn’t get up. Sniffling sounds started to escape her. As Aselle jabbed Ronan’s side, he winced.
“You hit her too hard…”
“I didn’t hit her that hard… damn it.”
Her small shoulders were trembling miserably. Her crying was growing louder. Ronan sighed and approached her, placing his hand on her shoulder.
“Hey… Why did you do that? Next time, calm down and discuss things properly!”
Thump!
Marya jumped up, clutching her knees, and delivered an uppercut. Ronan’s body swayed from the direct hit to his chin. Her face, now visible, showed no traces of tears.
“You jerk! I thought my head was about to split in two!”
Without hesitation, Marya grabbed a nearby chair and swung it down on his head.
Crack!
His face broke through the chair’s seat, sticking out. Amidst the untimely commotion, the market-goers’ attention converged.
“C-Customer! Marya! What’s going on right now…!”
“This darn woman…!”
Veins stood out on Ronan’s clenched fist. Duon, who had been receiving another customer, rushed over, throwing money in the process. As Aselle screamed like a banshee, he shouted:
“I-Invisible Hand!”