The Mad Dog of the Duke's Estate-Chapter 379. Its Never Too Late for Revenge, Even If It Takes Fifty Years (1)
At the far edge of the empire, Baron Norang could hardly contain his joy over the sudden stroke of fortune that had come his way.
Finally, all those bribes I've fed to the central officials are paying off. Who would've thought I'd catch a break like this at my age? Heh. No more of this damned backwater life for me, Norang thought.
His domain lay in a remote border region. It wasn't wealthy, but it wasn't poor either. It was close to the southern kingdoms, and that proximity had been a source of quiet prosperity. Smugglers often slipped through the border, and Norang had built a tidy profit selling those who were caught as slaves.
Of course, slavery had been outlawed fifty years ago, ever since the fall of the Malevolent Emperor. But no one in the capital cared enough to check what went on in a forgotten frontier estate like his.
Thanks to that neglect, Norang had quietly filled his coffers and used that money to expand into several profitable ventures. Given a few more years, perhaps he could have even broken into central politics.
If only that idiot Marquis Leandro hadn't ruined everything, Norang thought.
Until the man's execution for attempted rebellion, Norang had believed his future was bright. But once Leandro's head rolled, his own ambitions had crumbled with it, and all his energy had gone into dodging the investigators that suddenly started circling closer.
The only silver lining was that he'd paid off enough nobles in advance to avoid being dragged down in the rebellion scandal.
Still, I'd never have pegged Leandro as the crazy type to plot treason, Norang thought.
But that was all in the past, so it didn't matter much. What mattered now was that a new lifeline had appeared—one that led straight to the capital.
"Hehehe, a pleasure to meet you. I am Baron Norang," Norang introduced himself, bowing slightly.
"Ah, the pleasure's all mine, Baron," the man across from him said with a grin. "My name is Cobler. I am the Immigration Director, heh heh."
Norang smiled politely at the ugly man before him: Cobler, once a notorious slave trader, now supposedly reformed and serving as the Immigration Director of the empire. Rumor had it he had connections to both the Ducal Family of Leston and the emperor himself.
Reformed? Norang scoffed inwardly. Men like that don't change. A dog's still a dog, no matter how fine the collar.
The man's lowborn origins made Norang's skin crawl, but he knew better than to underestimate him. Anyone who could rise this high had friends worth respecting.
He glanced around the room to make sure they were alone, then drew a small pouch from his coat and handed it over.
"Ah, I nearly forgot I was carrying this with me," he began smoothly. "Please, consider it a small token of goodwill."
"Heh heh, well, I'm not the kind of man to turn down a gift," Cobler replied.
"Hahaha, is that so?" Norang said.
Both men laughed.
Inside the pouch were gemstones worth a fortune. Cobler peeked in and admired them softly, then said, "People said you knew how to make an impression, Baron. I can see they were right; I like it."
Norang's lips twisted into a thin smile as he thought, Typical slave trader's greed.
He thought that Cobler had probably only gotten this far on a streak of luck, so it'd be natural he'd want to keep a backup up his sleeve. Thus, as Cobler tucked away the pouch, Norang watched him with satisfaction.
"I've heard a great deal about you from Marquis Segnal," Cobler began. "He tells me you lent him quite a hand during difficult times."
"Oh, come now," Norang replied with a modest chuckle. "What help could a humble border noble like me really offer? I merely lent some small assistance."
"You're too modest. I like your style, Baron. Ah! My language choice may be a bit rough— old habits from my commoner days—but I mean every word," Cobler continued.
"In today's empire, bloodlines mean little. What matters is mutual understanding, wouldn't you agree?" Norang comforted Cobler smoothly.
He thought Cobler was very vulgar, but if he could ride the man's coattails up to the top, that was all he needed.
Norang smiled as he sat down, and Cobler poured him a cup of tea.
"This is a rare blend of herb tea from the Southern Great Forest," Cobler offered.
"Such a precious tea. You honor me, Director. I'll gladly partake," Norang accepted.
In truth, his thoughts were already far ahead. The true power of the empire lay with the Ducal Family of Leston. Everyone wanted to tie their fortunes to that family, but few ever got the chance.
If Cobler hadn't contacted him first, Norang knew he wouldn't have had this opportunity at all. He could still remember how shocked he'd been when Cobler reached out, asking to meet.
He didn't know the reason, but since the chance had come, he was determined to seize it. He didn't yet know what kind of task awaited him, but if he handled this one well, he would surely make it to the central ranks.
"I must admit, Director, I don't understand why someone of your standing would contact a humble country noble like me," Norang said with a carefully measured tone, bowing his head slightly.
Cobler, the Immigration Director, smirked in that sly, unpleasant way of his and gave a slow nod. He asked with a chuckle, "My, my, you're quite the impatient man, aren't you?"
"Whatever the task, give the word and I'll see it done. I'll put in everything I have," Norang replied earnestly.
"How reliable," Cobler began. "But you see, I'm merely the intermediary here. The one who actually has business with you is someone else."
"Pardon?" Norgang asked.
"The one I serve wished to meet you personally. He'll be arriving shortly, in fact—"
But before Cobler could finish, his secretary approached quietly and whispered something in his ear.
Cobler's expression brightened immediately. Rising from his seat, he said, "Ah, he's here."
"He...?" Norang started, but the words died on his tongue.
A moment later, the door to the office creaked open.
Creak.
A young man stepped through the doorway. Cobler practically tripped over himself hurrying forward, hands rubbing together in nervous reverence.
"Heh heh, welcome, Young Master! We've been waiting for you," Cobler said.
"Waiting for me? You make it sound like I'm late," the young man said lazily.
"There's a guest," Cobler informed him.
"Ah, is that so?" the young man asked.
Norang wondered how many young men a man like Cobler could possibly address as Young Master. He observed the young man who had just entered the office.
The young man had golden hair and blue eyes, and was perhaps twenty years of age—handsome in a cold, dangerous sort of way. And the Immigration Director was bowing and scraping like a servant before him.
There was only one man in the entire empire who fit that description.
Caron Leston, Norang concluded.
This was the slayer of all the Demon Kings, the greatest hero alive, and the strongest man on the continent.
Caron Leston was a living legend, though Norang knew better than to believe in legends. He had heard the darker whispers, the ones people only shared in hushed voices.
That this man was insane. A complete lunatic.
People said Caron Leston had branded Marquis Leandro a traitor and had him executed simply because he'd offended him once—a petty, monstrous act. He was practically the one who'd shattered Norang's dream of entering the central government.
But now, things were different.
Step. Step.
The young man approached, his steps slow and steady. When he stood before Norang, he extended a hand without expression. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢
"Name's Caron Leston," Caron said flatly.
It was incredibly casual and arrogant, but Norang bowed at once, bending nearly ninety degrees as he reached to clasp the offered hand.
"It is an honor, my lord. I am Baron Kamin Norang."
"Yeah, I know," Caron said offhandedly. His tone carried not even the faintest trace of noble etiquette.
What an insolent brat, Norang thought behind a polite smile. But he hid his irritation well. This arrogant brat could be his ladder to the heavens. Only a fool would let pride get in their way of opportunity.
"I have a bit of business with you," Caron continued, moving toward the head of the table. "It might take a while, so why don't we sit?"
"Y-Yes, of course," Norang responded.
"Cobler," Caron called.
"Yes, Young Master!" Cobbler answered immediately.
"Bring us some liquor. The expensive stuff," Caron ordered.
"At once!" Cobler answered.
Caron dropped into the high seat, then motioned with two fingers for Norang to sit.
"Sit," Caron said. A brief flash of murderous intent glinted in hi eyes—cold and suffocating. But then, just as suddenly, he reined it back in.
Calm down, Caron told himself.
This wasn't about whether to kill Norang or not. Killing was too easy a form of revenge.
First, I'll strip him of everything he owns, Caron thought.
And with that, he began his work, the slow, deliberate kind of revenge that hurt far more than death ever could.
***
Once he dealt with this man, Caron's revenge from his previous life would finally be complete.
Compared to the demons and the Demon Kings he had fought, this one was a pathetic insect—but that didn't mean he would let him go easily. If Caron wanted to live out the rest of his life in peace, this man, too, had to be dealt with.
For a brief moment, old memories resurfaced—fragments of the childhood he had endured in his previous life. Those were his years of slavery. The days when the former Baron Norang and his wretched son had inflicted unspeakable cruelties upon him.
...I couldn't even tell Halo about it, Caron thought.
Now that he looked back, it was fortunate that he'd never told Halo about the things that had happened when he was a slave. If Halo had known, he would have hunted these vermin down himself after Cain Latorre's death.
"May I ask what it is that you wish to entrust me with?" Norang asked with his usual politeness.
At that tone—so humble and so composed—Caron's gaze darkened. He remembered. Fifty years ago, this man had been the monster who took pleasure in torturing children. A perverted beast who had delighted in the screams of the powerless.
If Caron considered the atrocities Norang had committed against his house's slaves, killing him on the spot would be too merciful.
And yet, here Norang sat, fifty years older, wrapped in the convincing mask of a dignified nobleman. But behind that mask, Caron could still see the hunger writhing, the greed that had never changed.
According to the reports Caron had received from Caligo, the old man hadn't changed much. His "refined tastes" still remained.
He already has more than enough money. Now all he wants is power, he thought.
Caron nodded faintly and took a sip of his drink before smiling and beginning the conversation. "There's something I want to discuss. And I'd prefer that it stay between us."
"Of course," Norang answered smoothly. "Whatever is said here will be taken to my grave."
"I'm thinking of starting a private business," Caron continued casually.
"From what I know, I thought your father managed the Ducal Family of Leston's affairs," Norang replied. "Are you proposing a joint venture with the ducal family, perhaps?"
Caron clicked his tongue then snapped, "If that were the case, do you think I'd be here personally like this? The duchy's already a mess with the succession issue. I can't exactly expand openly right now."
"Ah, I see," Norang answered as his lips curved into a faint smile.
He thought to himself that when Caron said he wanted to start his own business, what the latter really meant was that he wanted a hidden pocket. It was common to use intermediaries for that. Other influential figures also typically raised secret funds through frontier aristocrats.
It seems the Ducal Family of Leston must be in deeper turmoil than I thought, Norang mused.
But one thing still bothered him: The reason why it was him. Out of all the noblemen Caron Leston could have chosen, he wondered why the latter had selected him of all people. They had no past dealings, no connection at all. And Norang didn't believe in coincidences. There was always a reason behind every choice.
"If I may be so bold," Norang began carefully, "May I ask... why you chose me?"
"Are you doubting me?" Caron snapped.
"N-No! Not at all, my lord!" Norang panicked.
"Here, read this first," Caron said, handing him a single sheet of paper with an easy smile.
Norang accepted it. And as his eyes skimmed the contents, the color drained from his face.
The document listed crimes. Dozens of them. Every illegal act, every secret atrocity he himself had committed over the years—all in clear, undeniable detail.
"T-This... This can't be..." Norang stuttered.
"Before doing business together, it's only fair that I check who I'm working with. I have a lot more to lose than you do, Baron. So I prefer to only cross the bridge after I've made sure it's safe," Caron explained.
Norang's mind went blank.
The evidence Caron held was more than enough to drag him straight into court. It was enough to end not just his career, but his life. His trembling hands clutched the paper as he looked up, horrified.
Caron was still smiling—relaxed, calm, almost amused.
"From what I found," Caron continued pleasantly, "your late father committed his fair share of crimes too, didn't he? Even after slavery was abolished, he kept purchasing and selling slaves in secret. He made quite a fortune from it, I hear."
There was something disturbingly familiar about that smile.
Norang wondered why this lunatic was like this. The air in the room grew heavier. He felt like prey, frozen before a predator's gaze.
"Why... Why are you... showing this to me...?" he asked weakly.
Caron's smile widened, then he continued, "Because I don't trust anyone who doesn't have a weakness. People without weaknesses are too dangerous, as they might stab you in the back someday. You, though? You're perfect."
Norang's voice shook as he asked, "W-What would you have me do?"
Caron looked at Norang, who was trembling in fear, and let out a sinister smile.
"I want to build a private fund, but I can't exactly withdraw large sums from the ducal treasury, can I? And when I looked into you, I found that you've already built yourself quite the slush fund," Caron answered, then paused for a moment. "...So here's my proposal."
He leaned in closer and whispered, almost playfully, "We'll start the business using your secret funds. The plan's all in my head. All you have to do is follow orders. I'll cover your back."
"W-What kind of business...?" Norang asked.
"Answer first," Caron said, his voice suddenly cold. "Are you going to work with me, or do you want to be executed? The law may have abolished collective punishment, but your family... Well, they've got a lot of problems too, don't they? Should I dig those up too?"
There were two options, but only one ending.
The devil was smiling.
