The Marquis of Variati became irritated as soon as he saw his men rushing in. He was tired of being stuck in this remote corner of the country, surrounded by men who were used to getting wet in the mud.
But that was the fate of the mercenary captain. When war broke out, all monarchs would bow down to the condottiero as if they were willing to give him their liver, but when the uprising was suppressed, they became bloodshot in an attempt to erase the presence of the mercenary corps.
Living in the capital was out of the question. The best he could hope for was a position within the territory, like the current King of the Salamanta Kingdom. Marquis Variati, a man from the Celestial City, hated the disadvantages of this profession so much.
“What now?”
“Sir, someone claiming to be your son has appeared.”
The Marquis of Variati twitched his eyebrows. He had always wanted a successor. A next-generation standard-bearer who would inherit all that he had built with his bare hands. The problem was that he had never sat down and raised a child.
“Are you a scammer?”
Many men appeared claiming to be the sons of Marquis Variati and asked to be accepted as successors. They were usually rookie mercenaries who dreamed of striking it rich. Some were lunatics who believed that they were really the sons of Marquis Variati, but most were frauds.
“I don’t know. He seemed to be of sound mind.”
The subordinate shrugged his shoulders in front of him.
“He had this.”
What the subordinate handed the Marquis was an old silver button, he added.
“He looks a bit like the captain.”
Tall and ash-haired, with sunken eyes and a hooked nose—all of it a replica of the Marquis de Variati.
The young man who had been clinging to the mercenary captain's trouser leg, begging for his life, did not seem to resemble the Marquis of Variati at all.
It wasn't his tall stature or the color of his hair that brought the Marquis here. It was his wolf-like tenacity, his slow movements, and his hidden ferocity that made the Marquis of Variati a brave warrior who survived countless wars.
But the simple words that he resembled himself made Marquis Variati's eyes begin to shine. He took the button and examined it closely. It was old and dirty, but thick, and it was the one used by Marquis Variati's family. The emblem engraved on it was also from his original family, long ago. His subordinate added one more word.
“They say his mother was Lucrezia of Taranto.”
"Ah."
The Marquis of Variati let out a sigh mixed with a little disappointment. He remembered, Lucrezia. The girl he had met in a remote seaside village. She was the country girl who had been obsessed with him. They had met again by chance a few years later in San Carlo, but their relationship had not been renewed due to various circumstances of the adults.
He asked again to confirm.
“Didn’t he grow up under Cardinal de Mare?”
Although Lucrezia was not a woman of outstanding intelligence, she certainly had a talent for choosing men. Her new husband was once a strong candidate for the papal throne.
“We didn’t talk about that.”
“Why are you here, holding on to your father, who almost became the Pope?”
The story of Ippolito being cut off from the de Mare family, the story of drug trafficking, and the subsequent wanted notice had not yet spread to the Kingdom of Salamanta. However, the Marquis of Variati, who had been through all sorts of hardships, noticed that something was strange.
But he was an old man with no heir. Even if a child were born tomorrow, it would take at least twenty or thirty years for him to grow up to be a leader of a mercenary band. It was not a reasonable choice. He desperately needed a fully grown son.
“Bring him here so I can see him first.”
The subordinate went out as ordered and was about to bring Ippolito back when he looked back.
“Oh, but ‘son’ came with a tail.”
"Tail?"
A deep wrinkle formed between the Marquis Variati's eyebrows.
“There are people who have shown up, saying they have a grudge against him and are willing to take his life. But they don’t look ordinary.”
“What is the content of their relationship? How is it not normal?”
“I haven’t heard the full details...”
The subordinate described a group of black hoods with a commanding demeanor. It was about the unusual attire, the commanding posture, and most importantly, the family crest on the boots of the man who appeared to be their leader.
But that was the fate of the mercenary captain. When war broke out, all monarchs would bow down to the condottiero as if they were willing to give him their liver, but when the uprising was suppressed, they became bloodshot in an attempt to erase the presence of the mercenary corps.
Living in the capital was out of the question. The best he could hope for was a position within the territory, like the current King of the Salamanta Kingdom. Marquis Variati, a man from the Celestial City, hated the disadvantages of this profession so much.
“What now?”
“Sir, someone claiming to be your son has appeared.”
The Marquis of Variati twitched his eyebrows. He had always wanted a successor. A next-generation standard-bearer who would inherit all that he had built with his bare hands. The problem was that he had never sat down and raised a child.
“Are you a scammer?”
Many men appeared claiming to be the sons of Marquis Variati and asked to be accepted as successors. They were usually rookie mercenaries who dreamed of striking it rich. Some were lunatics who believed that they were really the sons of Marquis Variati, but most were frauds.
“I don’t know. He seemed to be of sound mind.”
The subordinate shrugged his shoulders in front of him.
“He had this.”
What the subordinate handed the Marquis was an old silver button, he added.
“He looks a bit like the captain.”
Tall and ash-haired, with sunken eyes and a hooked nose—all of it a replica of the Marquis de Variati.
The young man who had been clinging to the mercenary captain's trouser leg, begging for his life, did not seem to resemble the Marquis of Variati at all.
It wasn't his tall stature or the color of his hair that brought the Marquis here. It was his wolf-like tenacity, his slow movements, and his hidden ferocity that made the Marquis of Variati a brave warrior who survived countless wars.
But the simple words that he resembled himself made Marquis Variati's eyes begin to shine. He took the button and examined it closely. It was old and dirty, but thick, and it was the one used by Marquis Variati's family. The emblem engraved on it was also from his original family, long ago. His subordinate added one more word.
“They say his mother was Lucrezia of Taranto.”
"Ah."
The Marquis of Variati let out a sigh mixed with a little disappointment. He remembered, Lucrezia. The girl he had met in a remote seaside village. She was the country girl who had been obsessed with him. They had met again by chance a few years later in San Carlo, but their relationship had not been renewed due to various circumstances of the adults.
He asked again to confirm.
“Didn’t he grow up under Cardinal de Mare?”
Although Lucrezia was not a woman of outstanding intelligence, she certainly had a talent for choosing men. Her new husband was once a strong candidate for the papal throne.
“We didn’t talk about that.”
“Why are you here, holding on to your father, who almost became the Pope?”
The story of Ippolito being cut off from the de Mare family, the story of drug trafficking, and the subsequent wanted notice had not yet spread to the Kingdom of Salamanta. However, the Marquis of Variati, who had been through all sorts of hardships, noticed that something was strange.
But he was an old man with no heir. Even if a child were born tomorrow, it would take at least twenty or thirty years for him to grow up to be a leader of a mercenary band. It was not a reasonable choice. He desperately needed a fully grown son.
“Bring him here so I can see him first.”
The subordinate went out as ordered and was about to bring Ippolito back when he looked back.
“Oh, but ‘son’ came with a tail.”
"Tail?"
A deep wrinkle formed between the Marquis Variati's eyebrows.
“There are people who have shown up, saying they have a grudge against him and are willing to take his life. But they don’t look ordinary.”
“What is the content of their relationship? How is it not normal?”
“I haven’t heard the full details...”
The subordinate described a group of black hoods with a commanding demeanor. It was about the unusual attire, the commanding posture, and most importantly, the family crest on the boots of the man who appeared to be their leader.
“...I’m not sure about this, but from what I’ve seen before, it looks similar to the coat of arms of the Duke of Taranto.”
“!”
In that moment, the countless calculations that had been going on in Marquis Variati’s head suddenly came together.
The fact that the Black Hoods were so bold in demanding the son's enlistment meant that either the son's claimant had committed something close to a felony, or that the Black Hoods' family was of such high status that they had no visible family. However, the Duke of Taranto was not such a stubborn family. It was highly likely that their demand had a considerable basis.
A son born to a cold mother, with no particular name to make.
His current situation is that he is stuck at the edge of a mountain range, almost abandoned by his current employer, King Salamanta.
A mercenary group that needs to find a new host.
And the Duke of Taranto, the most delicious piece of meat on the continent.
He had no qualms about raising a felon as his successor, but he had no intention of siding with one of the most prestigious families on the continent and a potential client because of his unsatisfactory son. Marquis Variati's eyes narrowed.
Finally, the Marquis said,
“Let’s pretend that guy isn’t my child.”
“Yes? Is that your child?”
“The child is right. I remember the day I made him.”
Was it under the zelkova tree? Was it on the sandy beach? Either way, it's the same day.
It's because he had... when he was young, no, he made him, so he remembers even these little things. After becoming a successful mercenary captain, he had so many affairs that he couldn't remember even if they were beautiful women.
Ippolito's mother was a woman he had met when he had nothing, even though she was rustic and ugly. It was a time when he was young and clumsy, and each moment was precious.
However, that did not mean that Ippolito's mother was his wife, and the other party was the Duke of Taranto. The best customer at any time, and a special customer who could potentially be a guardian or husband to a single mercenary captain. He could not fight with such a customer because of a child he did not raise.
“First of all, tell him that he is not my child.”
If he were truly a worthy successor, then perhaps there would be some merit in opposing the Duke of Taranto. Marquis Variati felt his old blood boiling.
“If he comes out of there alive, let’s think about it from there.”
***
As soon as he heard the sound of Marquis Variati's men coming down to the castle's main gate, Ippolito, who had been hiding behind the captain of the mercenary force, became very proud.
“I don’t know who you are, but you shouldn’t bully good people like that!”
He sternly preached to the black-robed party, sticking his head out from behind the captain mercenary.
“What kind of assassin is so persistent when he chases you all the way across the mountains! It’s the courtesy of the assassin community to just let them go once they cross the border!”
The unfunny swearing was a bonus.
“You guys are useless...”
Just as he was about to preach to them not to work too hard, a subordinate mercenary who had finished his report and came down from above looked at the captain mercenary and blurted out.
“Sir, that’s not him.”
Ippolito, who still had no idea what was going on, stared blankly at the subordinate mercenary. The subordinate mercenary kindly repeated.
“Isn’t that guy the captain’s son?”
“?!”
Ippolito jumped up belatedly.
“No, that can’t be!”
He looked at the mercenary captain with a blank expression and tried desperately to persuade him.
“It’s clearly written in my mother’s diary...”
But the captain of the mercenary army suddenly became angry.
“How would we know if your mother has a conspiracy theory?!”
He now shook Ippolito off twice as roughly, feeling even more ashamed of having been played by a conman.
Ippolito, completely defenseless, was blown away and fell to the ground, rolling along the dirt road. Ippolito cried pitifully as he rolled.
“No, there is clearly a mistake, Lord of the Mercenary! My mother is Lucrezia of Taranto, and the young Marquis of Variati was definitely her lover...”
The mercenaries' jeers followed.
“I don’t care who your mother slept with. The captain has never had a child like you!”
But Ippolito crawled back up the dirt road and tried to hide in the castle gate guarded by mercenaries. Laughter is laughter, and an assassin pursuing with a sword is an assassin.
The captain of the mercenary looked down at Ippolito, who was crawling back again and trying to hang on to his leg, as if he were looking at an insect, and kicked him away with his boot.
“Hey, guys like you show up once every three months!”
The mercenaries behind him snickered at those words. Indeed, the bastards who claimed to be the sons of Marquis Variati appeared periodically.
“Our captain is a total farmer, a farmer!”
“They come from all sides, you bastards.”
The mercenary captain, who thought he had been humiliated, went up to Ippolito and shouted at him. The mercenary subordinate who returned after reporting to Marquis Variati was so angry that it stung.
“It’s you swindlers who got screwed! Get the hell out of here!”
“No, just this once...”
Bam!
The captain's mercenary's boot struck Ippolito in the face.
"Ugh!"
Ippolito rolled down the dirt road again, reaching the noses of the black hooded men waiting at the bottom of the road.
A group of black hooded men approached them.
“Ippolito of San Carlo.”
The purple eyes that looked just like Lucrezia sparkled with despair. The black hooded man in the lead spoke in a low voice.
“It's time to pay your debt.”
***
The mercenary subordinate who reported to Marquis Variati observed the man, who was said to be the captain's son, being dragged away like a dog by the black hood.
“Tsk tsk tsk.”
A man's gotta have balls, the Marquis Variati always said. If Ippolito had been outnumbered and charged the Black Hood, he would have saved him and reported to the Marquis. His son is worthy.
Then it purred like a gray kitten and swept its knee across the front of Bariati's citadel. It rolled away from the black hood's grasp. It was almost embarrassing.
He had been worried that the captain of the mercenary army would not leave him alone if he confessed that he was, in fact, the Marquis' son, but it was a complete waste of time. The Marquis's subordinate decided to stop here.
“Ugh.”
The captain of the mercenaries shouted.
“Guys, get off the pulley! Just close the door and go in! Don’t worry about that kid!”
With the seeing eyes gone, it was now the time of the black hood.
“Please save me, please save me! I’ll do anything, just save me!”
Ippolito ran away like a madman until he was cornered on a deserted path.
“Oh my, what did I do wrong? Please just let me live! I’m a good person!”
“What the hell are you being kind about!”
A tall young man behind a black hood was there spouting more curses.
The black hooded man stepped forward, holding the young man back with his hand. Instead of listing Ippolito’s sins one by one, he slowly took off his hood. Ippolito was shocked when he saw her face.
“Huh! Princess Bianca...! Why are you here...?!”
Bianca gritted her teeth as she faced Ippolito's natural, feigned ignorance. Her jaw muscles bulged, and her expression became even more sinister.
Seeing Bianca's terrifying expression, Ippolito realized, without even asking her, why the Princess of Taranto had come here. This was revenge for the previous attempt he had made to attack the Princess of Taranto.
“No, Your Highness... Let’s talk about it.”
Ippolito stumbled backwards. He had never known before today that he could step backwards on his butt.
But, contrary to his insignificant body language, his voice became sly when he confirmed that the person he was talking to was Princess Bianca.
“Don’t think badly of it, it’s all because you’re pretty...”
Ippolito thought to himself.
'She's not pretty, but you're not that pretty.'
Leticia, who had been blushing at his approach, flashed through his mind. The ugly woman was thrilled by his attention. He glanced at Princess Bianca's face. Yes, Princess Bianca's face was more than enough for her.
'Wouldn't it be enough to say that it was my true love for the Princess, but I approached her that way because I was clumsy? If she chased me across the mountains, then I guess it could be seen as obsession, another form of love...'
And those were the last thoughts Ippolito had in his life.
Phew!
The two-handed greatsword engraved with the coat of arms of the Duke of Taranto held in Bianca's hand shattered Ippolito's ribcage.
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