SYMDF 38

Chapter 38

 

Ion had come to understand a few rules while living in Ion Craiger’s body.

One rule was that a total loss of consciousness only happened when the death probability reached over 50%. Although fainting still occurred at lower percentages, he had never stayed awake once it passed 50%.

The second rule was that from 35% death chance onwards, moving around became increasingly difficult, and pushing too far would lead to collapse.

So he still had roughly 11% leeway.

Ion pulled out a handkerchief to cover his mouth and coughed before asking:

“By the way, when did you say the performance starts?”

As they turned a corner, Sir Ernst skillfully draped his cloak over Ion’s shoulders, pulled the hood up to hide his face, and lowered his voice so only Ion could hear.

“In thirty minutes. We’ve stationed a few near the audience, and one will even take the stage.”

“I see.”

Their footsteps guided them deeper into a back alley. Sir Ernst also shaded his armor beneath a black cloth. Not long after, the scent of indulgence floated in the air despite the daylight.

Drunken figures sprawled on sidewalks. From open doors, sounds of scuffles and groans intermingled.

Ion walked silently through this, but Ernst grew tense.

“Young master, you don’t need to go yourself in this condition. This time it looks dangerous. I heard the Noah Knight Order is taking interest.”

“The Noah Knight Order? Why?”

“In places like this, it’s obvious. Even the Crown Prince has been seeking medicine lately.”

“Medicine? Has that bastard really gone so far?”

“Coincidentally, he seems to be looking for the same medicine as you—something to increase mana capacity.”

Ernst’s words made Ion frown. Seeking the same thing as him. Coincidence?

Though Vernian often displayed inferiority complex toward Camillus since he went north, it was unsettling.

“If there’s a traitor inside, find them.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ernst looked at Ion with concern as Ion struggled for breath even while walking.

Ever since the curse from years ago, Ion’s body had been weak, stunting his growth. He looked small and fragile enough to be mistaken for a boy.

“Young master, let me carry you. Walking any further would be too much.”

Ion shook his head.

“I said I’m still okay. But I hope this time is for real.”

“Indeed, but…”

Virtually all magic controlling human mana was forbidden and dangerous. Just finding a cure wouldn’t mean the curse would vanish.

“…The chances of this being the real thing remain low, I imagine.”

Ernst was honest but heavy-hearted. Ion certainly knew that no cure would undo the powerful curse on him.

However…

About a month after Camillus Clodel, the Emperor’s bastard, left for the North, Ion recalled a moment when, newly freed from bed, he summoned Ernst.

His face had been tortured—but his eyes were different now. No longer the innocent child believing everything would be fine.

〈Ernst, I want you to be on my side.〉

〈I swore loyalty to House Craiger as a knight, so I am already your ally, young master.〉

Ernst grasped the meaning but stuck to formal lines. The clever boy promptly read between them and led the conversation as he wished.

〈No.〉

〈…?〉

〈Not your loyalty to the house or His Grace, but loyalty to me, Ion Craiger.〉

〈…〉

〈Ernst, I want you to serve only me, with all your heart.〉

〈Young master…〉

To be honest, Ernst was somewhat taken aback. He had helped Ion several times out of pity for a sick child, but never with greater meaning.

And there was another problem.

〈I have nothing now. You might think my words are ridiculous.〉

As Ion pointed out, there was no reason for loyalty to him.

But Ernst hesitated to say that plainly, trying instead to soothe:

〈It is not so, young master.〉

Yet Ion spoke firmly.

〈I promise, Ion Craiger will not stay like this. I will certainly become strong.〉

Strong. A word hardly suited for a youth who collapsed after only a few steps or runs.

〈Strength means many things. I don’t mean physical strength. But money, power, information—grasp those, and I can protect my body.〉

Ion outlined some of his future plans to him. His ideas were realistic, not the fanciful talk Ernst had expected.

Whom among the house’s retainers to recruit. How to place the house’s wealth under his control. How to leverage that for greater influence.

Ernst was surprised at the insights. He concluded that Craiger’s heir was the most intelligent and wise person he had ever met. Not necessarily now, but soon to be someone worth risking one’s life for.

〈Will you trust and follow me?〉

When Ion asked, Ernst knelt and bowed deeply.

〈If you wish for my loyalty.〉

From then on, Ion ventured more freely as his condition improved, building connections among houses both inside and outside his domain.

By sixteen, as the sole heir, he absorbed every lesson from his Duke father, preparing to inherit the family line.

Had he stopped there, he would have been just another noble prospering on his family’s name.

But Ion was not ordinary.

Slowly, he grasped the family’s finances so tightly they became almost his. Just as he grew confident all were his, a new guild was founded in the capital.

The Latchik Guild.

At first, it was merely an agency, finding people or things, helping with hiring, or delivering goods.

But backed by strong capital, it quickly branched throughout cities across the empire. Soon it was the talk of the town, with tens of thousands affiliated.

People wondered who founded them, but the Guildmaster always sent a proxy to public affairs, never appearing in person.

In fact, it wasn’t a simple agency. Behind a facade of normalcy, it wove a web of underground networks for illicit deals with nobility, amassing wealth.

Even darker, it controlled rumors and information, spreading and extracting secrets to shape events as it wished.

And within five years, this all was made possible by Ion Craiger—the mysterious founder.

Recently, after a covert incident, the royal house began desperate searches for the Guild’s true purpose leader.

“Cough, cough…”

Suddenly, Ion’s coughing worsened. Ernst quietly handed him a spray to clear his breath.

“Thank you… haa…”

Ion sprayed, exhaling relief. Ernst thought silently,

No one would guess that this small, frail boy was shaking the very foundations of O’Brien’s noble society.