Chapter 9: Is This How You Treat Your Father? Truly a Son After His Own Heart
It was a slender, golden-haired young man, wearing a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, giving him a very refined appearance. He was standing by the back door of a tavern, lost in thought. Hearing footsteps, he instinctively turned his head, and upon seeing Joshua, he was momentarily dazed. But after recognizing him, he broke into an excited smile—yet before the golden-haired youth could even greet him, a hand like an iron vise clamped down on his throat.
"Chris, didn't expect to see you here."
Hoisting the golden-haired youth up with one hand, Joshua slammed him heavily against the wall of the alley. With a flick of his right hand, he drove his spear into the ground and flashed a friendly smile: "Long time no see. How have you been lately?"
"Ugh—cough—"
"Oh, I forgot you can't talk like this." Joshua loosened his grip slightly.
"Cough... Cousin, what are you doing?"
The golden-haired youth named Chris, whose face had been flushed red, regained a bit of color. Though his neck was still gripped, he didn't seem particularly afraid: "There's no need to treat me like this the moment we meet, is there?"
"Just for that word 'cousin,' not killing you on the spot means we're on good terms." Joshua remained unmoved: "Don't forget what your father did."
As the conversation indicated, the golden-haired youth Joshua had encountered in the alley was the son of his cheap uncle, his cousin—Chris Radcliffe.
What luck. He almost wondered if this was a trap.
"Even so, our relationship isn't that bad."
The golden-haired youth tried to defend himself: "At least it shouldn't be like you're about to kill me the moment we meet."
Hearing this, Joshua couldn't help but nod slightly. In truth, this cousin and Joshua had once been on good terms. As children, they had played together on the snowy plains, sharing a fair bit of brotherly affection.
But even so, he still didn't let go.
"Regardless of how things were before, Chris, ever since your father decided to seize the title, there's been no friendship left between us." Speaking bluntly, Joshua didn't bother asking why Chris was here. He cut straight to the point with two demands: "Perfect timing. Now, you're going to tell me how many guards are in the Lord's Mansion, and who the backer behind your father is. You have ten seconds. If you can't explain clearly, get ready to be killed by me."
With that, he stared into his cousin's eyes and began counting down: "10."
Meeting Joshua's gaze, Chris's blue pupils behind his glasses contracted sharply, cold sweat pouring down his face. He wasn't stupid—he could see that Joshua was serious. If he didn't get the answers he wanted in ten seconds, this ruthless bastard would undoubtedly ignore their past bond and snap his neck without hesitation.
"The Lord's Mansion has twenty-four guards: fifteen Silver Low-rank, six Silver Mid-rank, and three Silver High-rank." Reporting what he knew decisively, the golden-haired youth kept his composure under pressure, speaking quickly through his sweat: "I don't know who the backer is, but I have a guess—oh, and I actually don't support the title seizure at all. I snuck out!"
At this point, Chris's words came out in a rush, terrified of being interrupted by Joshua: "Look, my brother, I was genuinely happy to see you at first. I'm sure you can tell—I'm really not on their side!"
"...That's true."
No one would lie in a situation like this. Joshua's expression softened slightly, but his hand still didn't let go: "But even so, using you as a hostage is easier than barging in. If you get caught in the crossfire, blame your father."
"Wait a minute! The mastermind behind this title grab isn't even my father. He's just a pawn. Those real culprits wouldn't give a damn about my life!"
Realizing that Joshua didn't intend to snap his neck right away, Chris breathed a sigh of relief, but hearing the last remark, he grew anxious: "Think about it. With my father being a non-noble second son, how could he have learned of Uncle's death so quickly?"
At this, the golden-haired youth's expression turned very serious: "The day after Uncle died, a large group of people suddenly appeared and surrounded our house. They negotiated with my father for a long time, then set off together—but neither I nor my father trusted them. There's no such thing as free help in this world. I escaped last night because of my father's hints and tacit approval. Otherwise, with my Black Iron-rank strength, how could I have slipped away unnoticed?"
"But regardless, he clearly wants to be the Count."
Joshua let go of his hand, setting Chris down, and shook his head as the golden-haired youth coughed: "If he didn't want it, no one would have come. Even if he's being used as a pawn, he's definitely willing to be used."
With that, he pulled Chris, who was sitting on the ground, to his feet and asked seriously: "You said you have some guesses about where those people came from. Spill it all."
"The Wilson Family."
Rubbing his neck, which bore clear marks of strangulation, and adjusting his glasses, Chris's tone carried a hint of lingering fear but was very clear. He said decisively: "Among the four great Count territories in the Northern Lands, only the Wilson Territory has a motive to strike at you. They're a forging family specializing in fine weapons and magical accessories. But because of the Lava Pool, more and more dwarves are gathering in Moldavia. While the magical accessory business hasn't been affected, their weapon trade is being suppressed on all fronts. This is a direct conflict of interest."
"What a boring reason."
Joshua felt this reason was likely spot-on. Moldavia had historically been on good terms with the dwarves, so refined ore processing was its main industry. But recently, with more dwarf blacksmiths willing to take on commissions, they'd started venturing into forging and selling weapons and armor. This undoubtedly impacted the Wilson Family's business.
There weren't many ways to make money in the Northern Lands. Boring as it was, this reason was enough for the Wilson Family to act—come to think of it, only a Count-level noble could muster dozens of Silver-rank knights and hundreds of soldiers.
If Moldavia didn't have to face the Black Tide, with its main forces stationed at the Black Forest Fortress, Joshua could have pulled together over a hundred Silver-rank knights. But now, he had to face the enemy alone.
Thinking this over, Joshua suddenly asked curiously: "Chris, you seem to really dislike your father's decision. Think about it—even if he's being used as a pawn, it's still the title of Count. If your father actually succeeds, even the Wilson Family couldn't truly control him. At most, they'd regain their market share—don't you want to be Count someday?"
"Not everyone wants to be a noble, Joshua." Sighing, the golden-haired youth pushed up his glasses and shook his head helplessly: "Everyone has their own pursuits."
"I love alchemy. I love business. I love a relaxed, leisurely life—life in the Northern Lands is too harsh. It's nothing like the peaceful South. Here, it's freezing cold, desolate and uninhabited, with a Black Tide every winter. Neither my father nor I are strong enough to lead a team to kill powerful magical beasts. Coming here to be a noble is worse than being a commoner in the South."
At this, Chris's expression was very earnest. He sighed to Joshua: "Listen, I have a fiancée in the South and my own alchemy lab. Here, I have nothing but an old home. Nobility is a privilege, but also a responsibility—I'd have to be crazy to want to be a noble in a place where you have to fight the Black Tide in front and explore mountains behind, with nothing fun to do, and winters cold enough to freeze a bear!"
Joshua: "...Hearing you say that, I suddenly don't feel like fighting your father for the title anymore."
Everything Chris said was true. For Joshua, who had grown up here, the Northern mountain ranges were indeed a beautiful sight. But for Chris, who had spent his whole life in the prosperous southern Empire, both the atmosphere and the culture here were genuinely at odds with him—a land of a warrior race where the coming-of-age ritual was killing a bear bare-handed, and failing that made it awkward to even greet people. How could a refined alchemist survive here?
"In short, cousin, I fully support you in this matter." Chris pretended not to hear Joshua's remark, his expression cold: "If you succeed, my father is yours to deal with."
"Even if I kill him?"
"It's not like I'd be the one killing him. Honestly, he betrayed my mother, and I'm his only son. That's all our relationship amounts to." Chris didn't seem to be joking: "Of course, it'd be best if you spare his life, for the sake of the same bloodline."
"Is this how you treat your father? Truly a son after his own heart..."
Chuckling, Joshua's gaze turned icy cold. During their cooperative question-and-answer session, he had silently drawn the short blade he'd taken earlier from his waist. Then, spinning around, he hurled it fiercely toward the end of the alley, into a shadowy corner!