Baron’s brow twitched. ’An Old Blood Clan through and through,’ he thought. ’Even the guards at the confinement room speak in riddles.’

Just as he was about to leave, a Guard stopped Jack. "Where do you think you’re going?"

Jack asked, surprised, "Aren’t we leaving the confinement room?"

The Guard said, "He’s the one leaving, not you. Your confinement isn’t over."

Hearing this, Baron’s interest was piqued. "How long is his sentence?"

The Guard clicked his tongue. "I hear it’s up in ten years."

Baron: "?"

’What the hell did Jack do!? Don’t tell me he blew up someone’s ancestral tomb? Just to get thrown in here?’

The Guard said, "Apparently, he blew up the Beowulf Family’s cemetery."

Baron: "..."

...

Baron left the confinement room to the sound of Jack’s protesting shouts. Guided by a Guard who wore a look of open disgust for a Bloodless, he passed through a corridor and returned to the rear courtyard.

The Guard stopped and said coldly, "This is it."

With that, he abandoned Baron on the spot and walked away without a backward glance.

Baron surveyed his surroundings. He was in a forgotten corner of the rear courtyard, a place of overgrown weeds and piled-up junk. It faced the window of a storage shed.

Before he could even wonder where he was or what was happening, two burly Attendants emerged from the shadows behind him. Without a word, they began shoving him deeper into the corner.

Further in, Baron saw four more Attendants standing with their hands clasped behind their backs. Facing them, a malicious sneer on his face, was the Chief Steward who had ordered Baron to kneel earlier that day.

The Chief Steward held a whip. Beside him stood a Maid, her eyes rimmed with red. Her hands were covered in welts from being whipped.

It was Wanda.

In a situation like this, what had already happened—and what was about to happen—was perfectly clear.

Baron’s expression darkened. He finally understood the Guard’s cryptic remark from when he’d left the confinement room.

’So he was in league with the Chief Steward all along.’

Baron scanned the area. There were seven of them in total, including the Chief Steward. All of them were just ordinary members of the Old Race, none having reached the Entry Tier.

’If I act now, I’d have to kill them all. Otherwise, my identity will be exposed the moment they investigate.’

’Killing this many people, a Chief Steward among them, would undoubtedly draw suspicion, especially with the training grounds right nearby.’

’I can’t be sure if that Guard from earlier will come back to check on things.’

’More importantly, the Beowulf Family is an established Old Blood Clan. And as Dragon Slayers, they are, in a very literal sense, the antithesis of Dragon Knights. Who knows what other dirty tricks they have up their sleeves.’

’Standing up for Wanda right now would be incredibly foolish.’

The two Attendants shoved Baron before the Chief Steward. Without even glancing at him, the Chief Steward pointed to the ground at his feet and said curtly:

"Kneel. If you kneel, I’ll forgive your insolence from today. We’ll let bygones be bygones."

’Let bygones be bygones... It’s not like *you* were the one sent to the confinement room,’ Baron thought.

Wanda sobbed, "Ronnie..."

She mouthed words at him. He could make it out: *Run!*

After spending so many days among the Proles, and having seen countless similar cases in the news, movies, and television from his past life, Baron knew the type. The Chief Steward was a classic bully, used to having his way within the manor.

The only people who could keep him in check were those of higher status.

Baron shot Wanda a reassuring glance and said, "I got in through the back door."

’If you can’t kill them, bluff them.’

’That was Baron’s strategy. He was good at both, after all.’

The Chief Steward paused. He considered this, and a hint of caution appeared on his face. "Whose back door?"

Baron casually threw out a name.

The Chief Steward listened, stunned. Then he exclaimed, "So it was him!"

"The very same!"

’Even with my terrible luck, I still managed to get lucky for once,’ Baron thought, breathing a sigh of relief.

But the Chief Steward’s expression suddenly turned frigid. He ordered the surrounding Attendants, "Since he won’t kneel, break his legs."

Baron’s expression soured as the Attendants closed in on him.

The Chief Steward sneered. "A man about to be dismissed, still pretending he has connections. The most important part of being a Chief Steward is memorizing the identity, background, and name of every employee. That’s how you avoid making mistakes."

"You got the name right, but the man it belongs to died ten years ago."

He raised his whip and lashed it viciously at Baron. "That was my goddamn father’s name!"

Baron froze. ’The goddess of misfortune must really have it out for me,’ he thought.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when he instinctively sidestepped the whip. His shoulder slammed squarely into an Attendant’s jaw, and the man crumpled to the ground, unconscious from the sheer force of the blow.

"You dare fight back!" the Chief Steward roared, his face contorted with rage. He turned to the other five stunned Attendants. "Beat him senseless! Just make sure he’s still breathing!"

He paused, then added, "When he gets his severance pay next week, we’ll split it amongst ourselves. Then we can kill him."

At his words, the Attendants exchanged a look and charged at Baron.

Baron glanced at the Attendant foaming at the mouth on the ground. A plan was already forming in his mind.

Then, as the well-trained Attendants formed up and charged him, Wanda grabbed the sneering Chief Steward’s wrist to keep him from swinging the whip, screaming, "Ronnie, run!"

Baron stumbled and "fell" to the ground.

...

Isabella used to spend her afternoons reading in her grandfather’s collection room in the rear courtyard.

It was a habit her grandfather had instilled in her before he passed away, a way for her to remember him.

But after she had completed the Dragon Hunting Ceremony on her own and formed her own Dragon Hunting Team, she had not visited the collection room in a long time.

This time, perhaps to calm the restless feeling in her heart before the upcoming Dragon Hunting Ceremony, Isabella found herself, as if by some unseen force, pushing open the door to the collection room, which the Attendants had long since turned into a cluttered storage space.

And then, on the other side of the window, she witnessed what was perhaps the most unforgettable and bizarre scene of her entire life.

Five burly Attendants were ganging up on a single, frail-looking young Attendant who seemed vaguely familiar.

Isabella instinctively frowned and moved to intervene, but then the strangest thing happened.

She had just reached the window when she saw the frail-looking Attendant seemingly step on something. He slipped, and the tip of his foot caught the ankle of the first man charging at him.

Caught off guard, the Attendant tumbled, starting a chain reaction that sent a second Attendant’s head crashing into a rock jutting out from the lawn. He was knocked out cold.

The other three, who hadn’t been tripped, were about to throw punches at the young man on the ground when they, too, seemed to step on something. They all slipped at once, the backs of their heads smacking against either the wall or another rock. All three were knocked unconscious simultaneously.

A total wipeout!

After that, the manor’s Chief Steward, whom Isabella recognized, and the Maid beside him—the same one she had seen earlier that day—seemed just as stunned by the scene as she was.

The Chief Steward turned, not watching where he was going. His foot slipped, and he too cracked his head against the wall and passed out.

The young man, who had been cowering with his head in his hands, got up and looked around in "utter confusion," seemingly just as startled by the turn of events as everyone else.

Urged on by the Maid, he scrambled to his feet and they fled in a panicked, stumbling rush.

Isabella slid back the rusty bolt, pushed open the window, and leaped from the collection room onto the grass. She looked at the unconscious bodies on the ground, then at the receding backs of the young man and woman. Her phoenix eyes narrowed. She had a feeling things were not as simple as they appeared.

’If I recall correctly, isn’t this young Attendant the newcomer Bass mentioned? The one who was sent to confinement?’

Isabella decided she would ask the steward about it later.

Just then, she saw the young Attendant in the distance stumble again and fall hard.

It took him a long moment to get back up.

Isabella frowned again. ’Perhaps I’m just overthinking things?’

Just then, the Household Servant, Bass, hurried over. He took in the scene on the ground, raised an eyebrow, and asked what had happened.

"Nothing," Isabella said coolly. "Have someone drag these wastes of space to the front courtyard. They’ll be joining me for extra training tonight."

Bass: "..."

————

[Excerpt from the work diary of the original Baron Constantin:

June 1st, 1987 / Edinburgh / Weather: Overcast

It’s Children’s Day. I’m by the window with Kristen, watching the downpour over Birmingham. She’s nestled against my shoulder. It feels so warm.

It would be perfect if the landlord hadn’t come knocking to demand the rent.]