“I saw that look again. Could you stop making that face?”
“Cough, my apologies.”
Butler Lawrence quickly straightened his expression, wearing a serious look once more.
“So what you mean to say, young master, is that you plan to head to a larger city where there are more merchants who want our goods, have them compete, raise the price, and sell there, correct?”
“Oh, you catch on quick, butler.”
“Thank you for the compliment.”
Patrick nodded with satisfaction and spoke.
“In the end, if you want to make money, you have to go where the money is. How much wealth do you think those small-time peddlers have, to travel all the way out here to our remote fief?”
“Well, that is certainly true.”
Everything Patrick said made perfect sense. Lawrence looked at him anew, with eyes filled with a kind of admiration.
“Young master, you definitely have a head for business.”
“Hahaha, of course I do.”
Lawrence looked at the self-satisfied Patrick with genuine admiration as he joked.
“Hahaha, anyone would think you’ve done trade deals like this many times before.”
It was just a harmless jest. But, just like a frog killed by a casually thrown pebble, that innocent remark struck Patrick right in a painful memory. Patrick’s expression darkened in an instant.
He tilted his head back to look at the ceiling and let out a long, heavy sigh.
“If I… if I don’t earn money… the kids will all starve to death.”
“... Pardon?”
“They’re all freeloaders who don’t know how to earn a single copper coin. And that soft-hearted fool can’t stand to see the orphans and beggars around him go hungry.”
“... Pardon?”
“If… if even I don’t get my head together… uugh…”
Huh?
Is he crying? Did I just see tears in the young master’s eyes? No, surely I was mistaken.
I mean, I can’t understand half of what he’s saying, but in that ten-year-old face, I can see the weary sorrow of someone who’s suffered through a lifetime of hardship. Then, with a strong, resolute expression, Patrick said, “Just trust me. I’ll sell the goods for the highest possible price.”
The way he beat his chest and made that confident declaration—he didn’t look like a ten-year-old boy at all. He looked utterly dependable.
“Yes, young master. Then I shall trust in you.”
Five wagons in total. That’s what it came to, after all the monster by-products Patrick had hunted down were loaded up to the brim. Of course, he couldn’t possibly haul all that alone.
Butler Lawrence sent several village servants along to act as laborers.
“I’d follow myself if I could, but…”
“No. You can’t, butler. You must remain here and oversee the estate.”
Patrick replied firmly to the wistful Lawrence.
“If even you leave, what’s going to happen to the fief’s administration? You’re the one person who must stay behind.”
Lawrence was the man who somehow managed to stretch the poor budget of Schneider Fief just enough to keep things functioning. If he were to leave, Baron Schneider would have to handle financial management by himself, and…
‘No matter whether Father’s competent or not, you don’t hand money to a bleeding-heart fool.’
That was a bitter truth Patrick had learned well in his past life.
[Disciple, what happened to the personal funds I entrusted to you?]
[Hohoho, forgive me. There was a man whose child was gravely ill, and he said he couldn’t afford medicine, so I…]
‘Ugh. Just thinking about it pisses me off again.’
Later he found out it had all been a lie. There was no sick child. The man just wanted to scam money.
When Patrick dragged the con man to his master, what did that old man say?
[Ah! Then that means there’s no dying child. What a relief.]
[Masterrrr!]
[Hemhem, ahem… yes, I suppose I shouldn’t have done that.]
[For heaven’s sake!]
That day, Patrick had realized something important. Entrusting money to a soft-hearted fool is the same as giving matches and gunpowder to a child. Patrick shook his head vigorously, grimacing as if the memory made his skin crawl, then placed a firm hand on Lawrence’s shoulder.
“Butler, I trust only you. Only you.”
That gaze, so earnest it was almost suffocating, made Lawrence’s expression twist briefly before he nodded.
“Understood. Then, to properly assist you, young master, I’ll assign someone to accompany you. Chandler!”
“Yes, sir, butler!”
A neatly dressed young man, probably in his late teens, stepped forward in response.
“This is Chandler. I’ve been training him to be my successor these past few years. He’s literate and can keep ledgers.”
“Oh, a skilled man, huh?”
“He’ll be useful for managing trade transactions, I think.”
At that, Chandler bowed politely toward Patrick and said in a calm, respectful tone, “My name is Chandler. I look forward to serving you, young master.”
“Yeah, I’m counting on you.”
Just from the way he spoke and moved, Patrick could tell he’d been trained with proper discipline.
“Then, I’ll be off. Handle things well while I’m gone.”
“Yes, young master.”
Then Patrick turned to the others gathered to send him off and gave them each a few words.
“Sanson, make sure the kids’ footwork training stays consistent while I’m gone.”
“Yes, understood.”
“Youngest.”
“Yes, young master.”
“If even one villager gets hurt or killed by monsters while I’m away… you know what that means, right?”
“I-I’ll do my utmost to prevent it.”
“Good. That’s wise—for your own sake.”
After giving them all their orders, Patrick went last to his father, Baron Schneider, and mother, the baroness, both of whom wore worried looks.
“Well, I’ll earn a lot of money, so just wait for me.”
“More important than money is coming back safe. No dangerous acts, understood?”
“Yes, yes… I know.”
“Ugh…”
The baron sighed, clutching his stomach. Lastly, Patrick turned to his trusting mother and bowed politely.
“I’ll be off, Mother.”
“Go safely, my son.”
“Please travel safely, young master.”
“May you bring back great profit, young master.”
And so, ten-year-old Patrick departed with five loaded wagons in tow—to earn money. Everyone’s eyes shone with faith and trust as they watched him go. Patrick smiled to himself.
‘Wait a second… isn’t this technically child labor?’
Ah well, whatever.
Move on.
Though they called it a wagon, of course it wasn’t the luxurious kind nobles used. It was a cargo wagon built for hauling monster by-products—meaning there wasn’t any space meant for sitting comfortably.
‘I wonder if he’ll be alright.’
Chandler, escorting the young master for the first time, couldn’t help worrying. Yes, the Schneider family was only a barony and not wealthy, but still, the young master had grown up with all the care and refinement befitting a noble household. Could someone like that endure the discomfort of such a rough journey?
Fortunately, that concern proved unfounded. Because there he was—the young master—lying flat atop the wagonload of monster parts, snoring away, fast asleep.
‘He looks… incredibly relaxed.’
“Hehehe… money… all that money…”
Well, his sleep-talking didn’t exactly sound childlike—but Chandler decided to overlook that. Anyway, since the young master seemed fine, Chandler took responsibility as the acting leader of the group and kept things in order.
“Let’s rest here for today.”
“Yes, Sir Chandler.”
It was a bit early, but when Chandler spotted a stream nearby, he decided it was a good place to camp. They needed to let the horses drink and graze anyway. While the beasts drank, the men began to prepare food—cooking soup, cutting jerky, and slicing bread.
When the meal was ready, Chandler climbed onto the wagon and gently woke Patrick.
“Young master, please wake and eat.”
“Hmm? Huh… is it morning already?”
“It’s dinner time, young master.”
Just how long were you planning to sleep? Chandler nervously handed the prepared meal to Patrick. He’d even gone out of his way to pick the best jerky, since he wasn’t sure if the young master could handle such coarse food.
But his worries were quickly dispelled. Nom nom, munch munch.
“Oh! This is tasty. What soup is this?”
He was eating with amazing appetite.
“It’s carrot soup, young master.”
“Mmh, nice. Sweet and warm—perfect for camping.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“Hahaha. Though honestly, there’s something that warms you up even better during a camp like this.”
“Ah—yes, what would tha—wait, what?”
Chandler followed his gaze—and saw that Patrick’s eyes hadn’t left the bottle of harsh liquor the workers were passing around.
“Now that,” Patrick said, “that’s the true essence of camping. A bonfire, a roasted wild boar, and a bottle of hard liquor—” “Absolutely not.”
“Aww…”
“Absolutely not, young master. If you drink, the butler will kill me.”
“It’s fine, I’ll cover for you.”
“Then my lord will kill me too.”
“That kindhearted fool? He wouldn’t. And even if he did, I said I’ll cover for you.”
“The baroness will hear about it.”
“... That’s just unfair.”
When Patrick furrowed his brows in defeat, Chandler quietly exhaled in relief.
‘So the baroness works as leverage, huh…’
Chandler looked at Patrick seriously.
“I swear, young master, I cannot—will not—allow underage drinking while I still draw breath.”
“Really?”
“Yes. As the next butler of Schneider Fief, I—” “So if I throw dirt into your eyes, then it’s fine, right?”
Ah… that’s… one way to interpret that phrase, I guess. No one normally would, but he’s technically not wrong. And the worst part—he actually bent down and scooped up a handful of dirt as if he meant it.
“Yo-young master, please, let’s calm down—” Then suddenly, Patrick’s expression shifted.
His head whipped toward the forest.
“Everyone, behind the wagons!”
He barked the order, and in the same instant, he was already standing on top of the wagon, twin swords drawn.
Then— KWAAARGH!
The forest trembled as three Trolls burst out of it. Three of the large-type monsters attacked simultaneously.
“W-what…?”
“No, no, no!”
The workers scrambled in terror. They were men of Schneider Fief—used to seeing Goblins or Kobolds—but Trolls were something else entirely. The massive monsters could tear a man apart with their bare hands.
No ordinary human could stand against them.
“A-aah… ahhh…”
One worker froze as a giant green hand reached toward him. He wanted to run, but his legs gave out, his nose and eyes running with tears and snot. At that very moment— Swoosh!
He didn’t see what happened. Something blurred past his ear, slicing the air itself.
Then— Squelch!
The Troll reaching for him—stood there headless, vomiting a fountain of blood from its neck. And beside him, Patrick’s irritated voice snapped, “Get behind the wagon! You’re in the way!”
“Y-yes!”
The worker stumbled back just as Patrick licked his lips and said, “Well now… looks like unexpected extra profit.” -322. “GRRRRRAHHH!” The other two Trolls roared in fury over their fallen kin. But Patrick simply grinned.
“Cute. Real cute.”
Who was he, after all? Even faced with two rampaging Trolls, Patrick didn’t show the slightest hint of fear. The laborers could only swallow hard as they watched the unreal scene unfold.
The ten-year-old young master had just decapitated a Troll in one strike, and now he was smiling at the remaining two. Then he crooked a finger and taunted them.
“What are you waiting for? Come on, then.”
ROAAAR! GUAAAH!
Both Trolls charged like beasts gone mad. One swung its massive club overhead, intending to crush Patrick into paste. The raw power of the blow could have shattered stone— But before it could fall— “You’re too slow.”
Patrick didn’t even bother with a stance. He simply stepped forward, straight into the Troll’s reach—and two sword lights crossed in an X. The glowing cross of blades perfectly bisected the monster’s skull. Even with their famed regeneration, no Troll could survive being quartered at the head.
Thud!
The huge body collapsed. The last Troll froze, then turned to flee. But it hadn’t taken more than three steps before Patrick flashed forward like lightning and slammed a kick into its back.
Thud!
Despite being a large monster over three meters tall, it toppled face-first from the force of a ten-year-old boy’s kick. Patrick planted his foot on the Troll’s head and pressed down.
Crunch!
“GUAAARGH!”
Even though it was the strength of a child’s leg, the creature howled in agony as its skull was crushed. It flailed its limbs pathetically, trying to rise—but Patrick’s foot didn’t budge in the slightest.
“W-what the hell… is that?”
“Th-that shouldn’t even be possible…”
The workers no longer felt fear. Only pure disbelief. They’d heard he was gifted with the sword.
They knew he’d slain the monsters whose parts they were hauling. But hearing about it and seeing it were two entirely different things. Wasn’t this monster said to be equal in power to a three-star knight?
Yet the ten-year-old young master was toying with it. Patrick’s strength surpassed all common sense.
“Farewell.”
Crunch!
Pouring his internal energy into his foot, Patrick stomped down hard, crushing the final Troll’s skull completely. When it was done— “Ugh… ruined my shoes.” He grumbled, wiping the blood off on a nearby rock.
Then, seeing the stunned faces of his men, he yelled, “What are you staring at? You just gonna watch?”
“A-ah, y-yes, pardon, young master!”
Chandler was the first to snap out of it.
“Someone fetch fresh clothes and water for the young master—” “No, not that.”
Patrick sighed, exasperated, and shouted, “Go carve them up! Skin, drain, harvest—move it! Don’t you see all that blood spilling out?
That’s money flowing away!” As he looked at the bleeding corpses with genuine distress, Chandler understood two things. First, his young master was truly, terrifyingly strong.
And second, his young master was truly, deeply serious about money.
‘I’ll remember that.’