Paaaah—!
With a flash of light, the magic imprinted in the scroll was activated. A glowing subordination magic circle formed upon Brian’s chest, leaving behind a faint burn shaped like a slave seal.
“Is it done now?”
“Yes, young master. It’s complete. The master registered within the seal is you, so escape or rebellion are both impossible.”
“Kuhuhu, now this—this is good. If only I had something like this back in the day, things would have been so convenient.”
‘Back in the day? What could he possibly mean by that?’
Lawrence Gerrick, the butler, tilted his head inwardly, but did not ask further. A butler had no place prying into his master’s words. He instead sighed lightly and said.
“It may be useful, but obtaining that scroll wasn’t easy, young master. It’s very expensive.”
“I know, but don’t worry.”
Patrick smiled broadly at Brian and said in a tone full of confidence.
“I’ll make sure to get my money’s worth.”
At that burning look in Patrick’s eyes, Brian’s body trembled all over. And so, Brian—once the only knight of the Schneider Fief—was stripped of his title and reduced to a mere slave soldier. His expression was that of a man who had lost everything, yet, at least, he still lived.
‘As long as I’m alive… there’ll come a day when I can escape this wretched fate.’
Even in this hopeless state, Brian tried to hold onto a fragile thread of hope. But could such hope truly exist? At that moment, he still didn’t realize who he had provoked.
Schneider House’s training grounds. All the soldiers of the fief were gathered when Patrick ascended the platform before them.
“What’s going on?”
“Why is the young master up there?”
The murmuring soldiers looked up in confusion as Patrick cleared his throat.
“Ahem, ah, can you all hear me properly down there?”
With that, he began in a calm and composed tone.
“I have two important announcements to share with you all today. First… hey! You there, the youngest one!”
“Yes, young master! You called for me?”
The moment Patrick called out, a man rushed forward like a well-trained dog— “Sir Erickson?”
“Why is he here?”
“Didn’t the young master just call him the youngest?”
Before the puzzled soldiers could make sense of it all, Patrick said.
“Brian Erickson has been stripped of his title as knight. From today onward, he will serve as a common soldier. The reason? This bastard embezzled the fief’s funds.”
At those words, the soldiers clenched their fists tightly, holding back their cheers.
‘Finally!’
‘He’s been caught at last!’
‘Serves that bastard right!’
The rumor of Brian’s embezzlement had long been whispered among them. But as the sole knight of the fief, with Baron Schneider’s full trust, there had been no way to accuse him openly. Now, justice had finally struck him down.
Patrick continued speaking.
“I’ll say this one more time. Don’t start showing him any special treatment just because he used to wear a knight’s crest. If this mutt steps out of line even once, report to me immediately. I’ll personally—tear his flesh and crush his bones—piece by piece.”
At each cold, deliberate word from Patrick, Brian shook. He wasn’t bluffing. Brian knew now—this boy was terrifyingly strong and even more terrifyingly malicious.
The slave seal carved upon him already prevented rebellion, but even if it didn’t, facing such a monster would be suicide.
Patrick continued.
“Now, for the second announcement. From today onward, I’ll be the one in charge of your training and command.”
At that, murmurs spread among the soldiers once again.
“Uh, young master.”
“What?”
“Do you truly mean you’ll be training and commanding us?”
“That’s right.”
“You, young master?”
“Yes, me.”
The soldier wore a troubled look, then carefully spoke.
“My lord, forgive my rudeness, but if I may… share my humble opinion…”
“Don’t twist your tongue. Say it.”
“Young master, you’re far too young to lead us.”
“I’m too young, you say?”
“Yes, I mean no disrespect, but that’s how it is.”
Patrick smiled faintly.
“No, let’s speak honestly. What you mean is that I’m too weak, isn’t that right?”
“That’s… well…”
“I told you not to twist your words.”
Pressed by Patrick’s gaze, the soldier finally squeezed his eyes shut and blurted out, “Young master has never even held a sword, has he? How could you command us in battle against monsters or train us properly?”
“So you don’t trust my strength, is that it?”
“Yes, precisely.”
“Well then, that’s simple enough. What’s your name?”
“Sanson, my lord.”
“Sanson… I see.”
Patrick’s eyes sparkled with interest as he looked the man over. Dark hair, reddish-brown eyes, broad shoulders, long limbs, a tall and solid frame. Just by appearance, his was the body of one born for warfare.
“Among the soldiers, you’re the strongest, then?”
Sanson smiled slightly, proud.
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Good, you’ve got confidence. Though…”
Patrick paused midway and exhaled.
“Ah, never mind. My apologies.”
He had realized something. In another fief, even a commoner with Sanson’s talent would never have been left to rot as a simple foot soldier. He’d have been promoted to a knight apprentice and trained properly.
But Sanson had been unlucky—his superior was scum. Brian had been sucking the fief dry, clinging to his position as the only knight and deliberately suppressing any capable subordinates who might threaten his status. Any fool with eyes could’ve seen Sanson’s potential, but Brian had chosen to ignore it.
“Damn it. You worthless bastard!”
Without warning, Patrick turned and kicked Brian viciously. Then he stepped forward and began to stomp him again and again.
“Embezzlement, negligence, corruption—well, you’ve really done it all, haven’t you?”
“Agh, I was wrong, young master! Forgive me!”
“Wrong? Then die for it!”
“Gaaah!”
Patrick kicked and stomped, his fury boiling over, while the soldiers stared in utter shock.
“The young master… he’s actually—beating up Sir Erickson?”
“He’s a two-star knight! How—how is this even possible?”
They simply couldn’t believe what they were seeing: the ten-year-old young master dominating a seasoned knight. After a while, Patrick stopped and muttered, “Ah, wait, that’s not what I was talking about. What was the point again…?”
“Ugh… have mercy…”
“Shut up! Your whining’s distracting!”
He said that, but his foot kept driving into Brian’s side mercilessly. Then, suddenly, he stopped and said, “Ah, right—you said I’m too weak, didn’t you?” With a wicked grin, he stepped away from the battered man and addressed the soldiers.
“Then that’s an easy fix. I’ll just prove I’m strong, right?”
Sanson laughed bitterly.
“You’re saying you’ll spar with me, my lord?”
“Huh? No, of course not. What kind of maniac would challenge just one?”
Then what—?
While the soldiers wondered, Patrick spoke again, his grin growing wider.
“I’ll spar with all of you. Every single one. You wouldn’t believe me otherwise, would you? Each and every one of you should get beaten properly so it sticks.”
“…What?”
“No matter how thick-headed, once I crush you in a one-versus-two-hundred match, none of you will dare claim I’m weak again.”
“…You’re serious?”
“What, you doubt me?”
“Not that, but… you mean right now?”
“Why not? Grab your weapons.”
Patrick walked over to the weapons rack and picked up two wooden swords.
“You guys can use live steel, by the way.”
The soldiers watched, dumbfounded. The Schneider Barony’s soldiers were no mere rabble. Though their knights were few and weak, every soldier here had survived countless real battles against monsters.
Each one of them was hardened by blood and fear. One either grew stronger—or died. There was no other path here.
And now this ten-year-old boy stood before them, declaring he’d take them all on. How were they supposed to take that? As they stood speechless, Patrick raised his voice again.
“What, no one’s picking up their weapons? Fine, stay that way if you like. Either way, get ready.”
“Young master, are you really serious?”
“So much chatter. I hate people who talk too much before a fight—the twenty-eighth thing I despise.”
Why does he have so many things he hates…? The soldiers thought blankly as Patrick smirked.
“Well then—begin!”
Crack!
The moment the word left his mouth, Patrick’s body vanished. And when he reappeared, his knee drove hard into a soldier’s face.
“Wh… what…?”
“What the hell just happened?”
Amid their bewilderment, Patrick smiled brightly.
“Still dazed? Then I’ll keep going!”
And with that, he exploded into motion.
Radiant Dragon Grandmaster. That title meant “a dragon swift as light.” Of course, some preferred to call him by the less flattering nickname—Mad Dragon.
Either way, Patrick’s martial arts centered entirely on speed. Even the famous unorthodox masters—like those boasting about their ‘Soul-Stealing Strike’ or their ‘Demon Wolf Wind Step’—had never once managed to glimpse his shadow when he moved seriously in his past life. Among all his battles, Patrick had fought against multiple enemies more times than he could count.
To him, fighting in the midst of hundreds was second nature. Once he pierced through their weak points and shattered their formation, their numerical advantage turned worthless, even burdensome.
“Damn it, what are you doing?!”
“Block him! Block him now!”
“Argh!”
The soldiers scrambled to regain order, but with their coordination in chaos, it was impossible to catch him. One by one, they were struck down, kicked aside, punched in the face—a storm of movement, and Patrick tore through them like lightning among trees.
“Is that all you’ve got? Are you all scarecrows?!”
Patrick barked in fury as he sent another man flying with a kick, then used the momentum to plant his fist straight into another’s jaw. Even while ruthlessly pummeling them, he shouted again.
“You call yourselves soldiers? Then fight back, damn it! Even a worm writhes when stepped on, doesn’t it?!”
Out of two hundred soldiers, more than fifty already lay on the ground groaning. The rest suddenly understood—this was no time to worry about appearances. If they didn’t want utter humiliation, they had to go all out.
“Draw your weapons! Fast!”
“Don’t just charge barehanded, you idiots!”
“Surround the young master!”
Once the clang of drawn steel filled the training grounds, Patrick’s lips curled into a satisfied grin.
“Finally. That’s more like it. Why do you all only come to your senses after a good beating?”
With two wooden swords hanging loosely from his hands, Patrick stood smiling—a young boy no longer, but a devilish figure emanating raw killing intent. No one could mistake him for a child now. He was a monster.
“Stay sharp!”
“Hold your shields firm!”
“Think of him as a troll and surround him!”
When the soldiers finished forming ranks, Patrick smirked wider and whispered.
“Looks like you’re ready.”
He raised his twin wooden swords slightly and said with delight, “Now the real beating begins.”
Real beating?
Then what in the world had that brutal scene earlier been? With a boyish grin spread across his face, Patrick lifted a hand and crooked his finger toward them.
“Come at me.”