Chapter 14
Chapter 14: The Swallow Trap
Burnell had always been told he was someone who lived entirely by his own whims.
That stubborn streak had left him isolated within the Academy’s narrow social circles, and his academic standing had plummeted from that of a celebrated prodigy straight to the verge of complete expulsion.
Yet even a man as hopelessly stubborn as Burnell felt entirely powerless before the figure standing in front of him.
An overwhelming aura radiated from the man.
Gazing into his eyes was akin to peering into an endless, shadowy abyss.
Yet those depths were not merely hollow; a profound, boundless devotion toward Valdrova burned within them. He appeared to be the sort of man who would genuinely overturn heaven and earth for the sake of his sovereign.
Fearing for his very survival, Burnell barely managed to force out a few strained words.
“I… I remain unsure. I do not believe my core beliefs can be swayed by such pressure…”
Matters of business were one thing, but personal ethics were another. Burnell was unwilling to betray his own convictions simply because a blade was hanging over his head.
Aaaah! Am I really going to die right here?
Burnell shut his eyes tightly, his mind running wild with horrific possibilities. Would this terrifying noble snap his fingers and obliterate him? Or would he thrash him within an inch of his life, much like a brutal debt collector on a hot afternoon?
Ferda’s hand rested gently upon Burnell’s shoulder.
“I understand.”
Ferda gave him a light, reassuring pat. Realizing that all his limbs were still intact, Burnell snapped his eyes wide open in confusion.
“Uh… wh-what? Excuse me?”
“I said I understand.”
“…Is that all? We are finished?”
“Indeed. This is sufficient for today. I never anticipated winning you over in a single afternoon.”
“Take this.”
“What might this be?”
“An official appointment.”
“An… appointment?”
“It is a formal decree naming you Chief Researcher of Valdrova Castle. The terms remain precisely as I outlined before. The only element left to change is your own perspective.”
Ferda rose to his feet and turned toward the shattered doorway.
“Take all the time you need to contemplate it. Once your decision is made, journey to the Archduchy whenever you wish. We depart.”
“Understood, My Lord.”
Ferda and Ruri walked directly out into the street. Without lingering or pressuring him further, they vanished completely.
The parchment left behind tumbled across the dirty floorboards, coming to rest beside Burnell’s boots. Abandoned in the quiet room, Burnell could do nothing but stare dumbfoundedly down at the document.
“Can we genuinely place our trust in that scholar, Burnell?” Ruri inquired from the carriage seat across from him as the coach rattled down the road.
In her right hand, she held a wooden skewer of honey-candied fruits, while her left gripped a sweet beverage, with half a dozen more confections lined up to meet their end in her mouth.
Ferda gave a calm nod. “He is dependable.”
“Stubborn dreamers of his sort usually cling to their foolish ideals until they are in the grave.”
“I will ensure he cooperates.”
“How can you be so confident?”
“Because it has always been said that whoever desires peace must prepare for war.”
“And who coined that phrase?”
Who else could it be? It was Burnell himself.
The future Marquis Burnell, whom Ferda had witnessed in a past life, had uttered those exact words. He had come to understand far too late how hollow and hypocritical his stubborn pacifism had truly been.
“Assuming he is secured… where does our path lead next?”
Naturally, Ferda had already determined their next course. “We make for Halim.”
“Halim? Is that not the pleasure capital of the South?”
Ruri’s gaze grew noticeably colder than usual. While she regularly regarded him with faint disapproval, her eyes now held blatant suspicion.
“If it is merely on our route, let us detour through another settlement.”
“No, that city is our exact destination. The individual I seek resides there.”
“In the pleasure quarter?”
“He will be there without fail.”
“Are you entirely certain you hold no illicit motives?”
“None whatsoever.”
Ruri narrowed her eyes intently at Ferda. She could clearly tell there was not a single falsehood in his voice, which only heightened her unease. How could an ordinary human live with such unsettling honesty?
“Very well. Whom are we tracking down?”
“Jed Swallow.”
The name matched one of the entries on the parchment Ruri was holding.
“What sort of person is he?”
“A gigolo.”
“…A gigolo?”
“Precisely.”
A heavy silence lingered in the coach. Ruri paused briefly to ensure she had not misheard before questioning him once more.
“…You refer to the kind of degenerate who charms noblewomen and wealthy heiresses to swindle their wealth?”
“He is also a seasoned gambler.”
“Why do you look at me with such a face?”
As their exchange carried on, Ruri’s expression grew progressively darker. A heavy, suffocating pressure began to bleed outward from her frame.
Neigh!
“Whoa! What in the world has gotten into the horses?!” the driver yelled from the front.
Her leaking aura had managed to terrify the poor beasts. The carriage began to violently jolt as the agitated animals panicked. Seeing the commotion, Ferda offered the final piece of the puzzle.
“He is also a surviving member of the Red Eye Tribe.”
The stifling pressure Ruri was emitting vanished in a fraction of a second. Her skepticism turned into outright shock.
“The Red Eye Tribe?”
“Indeed.”
“I was under the impression they were entirely wiped out during the Incident.”
“That is merely the official account.”
The official account. Ruri knew full well that such a matter could never be brushed aside easily. Had there been even the faintest whisper of a Red Eye survivor, an urgent missive would have been dispatched immediately, and Ruri would have been informed.
“How could you possibly possess such knowledge?” Ruri asked pointedly.
“I simply know.”
He smoothly evaded a deeper explanation. Ruri yearned to press further, yet lacked any concrete reason to demand an answer.
A smooth swindler and a chronic gambler… yet simultaneously an inheritor of the Red Eye bloodline.
It was an utterly absurd combination. Compared to Marquis Burnell, this man sounded like a far more degraded scoundrel, yet he wielded an unmatched, invaluable capability.
Should I prevent this recruitment, or facilitate it?
Caught at a difficult crossroads, Ruri struggled with the dilemma. She chewed rapidly on her candied treat to keep her mind sharp, weighing every factor as thoroughly as possible.
Ferda decided to tilt the scales in his favor.
“I have heard the southern territories are renowned for their exquisite sweets.”
“Let us proceed for the time being.”
…
The southern domain was a territory bathed in relentless heat throughout the entire year. Under the blistering sun, the earth was cracked and parched, stretching endlessly into a desolate wasteland where neither water nor vegetation could endure.
Halim was an oasis of indulgence constructed precisely to exploit this intense climate. While the daytime was scorching, the night air turned brisk and refreshing, giving rise to an extravagant nightlife that drew countless aristocrats and wealthy merchants.
If Escoleia carried the subtle aroma of roasted beans and dark tea, this place reeked heavily of cloying syrup and rich perfume. Ferda felt a dull ache forming behind his temples, whereas Ruri’s senses were utterly thrilled every step of the way.
Ferda made a direct path toward an upscale gambling hall. Ruri watched in complete silence as Ferda traded their funds; he had converted nearly every bit of currency they carried into betting chips.
“Did you not swear you harbored no illicit intentions?”
“I do not.”
“Truly?”
Under Ruri’s unyielding stare, Ferda glided quietly across the bustling casino floor. Women dressed in revealing attire and wealthy patrons losing themselves in hedonistic indulgence filled the grand hall. He moved past those wallowing in a fleeting paradise bought with pure gold.
And there, right in the center of it all…
Amidst the heavy, indulgent atmosphere of the hall, one youthful figure stood out brilliantly. He possessed sandy brown hair paired with deep, dark pupils. Tall and solidly built, his frame was sleek yet far from fragile.
A sizable crowd had formed around him. Whenever he laughed, the spectators laughed with him; when he showed dismay, they mirrored his distress. The young man commanded the entire circle effortlessly.
Jed Swallow.
Armed with an silver tongue and devastating good looks, he easily captured the hearts of noble ladies. He was an artist of deception so refined that his marks remained oblivious to the fact they were being bled dry.
Inevitably, his greed got the better of him, leading to his capture.
Even so, mere capture meant nothing to him. If a clever creature prepared multiple escape routes, Swallow was the sort of phantom who would carve three additional tunnels inside those very passages to slip away.
He had successfully broken out of Shark Island, a fortress widely deemed entirely inescapable, as well as the sub-zero prison pens of the frozen North.
He was a master thief of the highest caliber, a phantom for whom no barrier was insurmountable.
Naturally, all of those feats were only possible because the world remained ignorant of his Red Eye lineage.
Those carrying the legacy of the Red Eye Clan are distinguished by their crimson pupils and wield a singular trait: the capacity to disperse and dismantle mana lingering within physical items or the surrounding atmosphere. Because of this absolute negation, the Red Eye Tribe was the ultimate predator of all sorcerers.
Yet the eyes of the man before Ferda right now were pitch black—the ordinary gaze of a standard human. Not a soul would ever suspect him of possessing the bloodline.
And even were his secret uncovered…
The man possessed absolute confidence that he could never be ensnared. He had the skill to back up his arrogance.
He is precisely the specialist I require.
Keeping his hands casually behind his back, Ferda strolled over and quietly pulled out an empty chair. Noticing the new arrival, Jed offered a bright, welcoming grin.
“Well, well, another guest graces our table. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I go by Jed.”
“The pleasure is mine. I am Ferda.”
“You would do well to stay on your guard around these parts. Everyone here is a hungry vulture eager to strip you down to your boots.”
The surrounding ambiance was lighthearted and lively. Not a single participant at the table was actually coming out ahead. It was truly astonishing how Jed could keep everyone laughing even as their coin slipped through their fingers.
His presence and charm effortlessly sway the room.
To Ferda, it appeared as though Jed had thoroughly ensnared his prey.
“Have you spent much time at the card tables?” Jed asked smoothly.
“I am familiar only with the basic rules.”
“Ah, you can easily pick it up as we play. Is that not right, gentlemen?”
“You cannot have seasoned players without a few novices, haha!”
“Precisely! I only started playing today myself. I think I finally understand the flow!”
Ferda paid no mind to the fools bragging about being easy marks. “Let us deal a hand.”
“Let us do just that. Words are cheap, after all.”
The cards were distributed, and the game commenced. Ferda secured minor victories hand after hand. An onlooker might have chalked it up to beginner’s fortune, but Ferda understood the reality. It was merely Jed laying out the bait, preparing the net.
He is remarkably adept at setting the hook.
The rogue’s sleight of hand was sublime. Even Ferda, who took great pride in his sharp perception, could not detect where the cards were being manipulated. Ferda played along willingly, yet subtly projected the impression that he would not let himself be bled dry slowly, deliberately enticing Jed to go for a decisive blow.
“Hmm, it seems high time we bring this gathering to a close. The night is slipping away,” Jed announced.
“Is that so already?”
“If that is your call.”
“Let us conclude with a massive pot! Hahaha!”
Jed shuffled and distributed the deck, initiating the final confrontation.
“Very well, let us raise the stakes. One hundred!”
“Two hundred gold coins!”
“Everyone is feeling quite bold! I match the two hundred and elevate it to four hundred!”
Jed’s wager was placed, passing the momentum to Ferda.
“All-in.”
Ferda pushed the entirety of his chip stacks into the center. At a glance, the pile exceeded two thousand gold pieces with ease. The entire table erupted into whispers.
Ferda interlaced his fingers and rested his elbows on the felt, reiterating calmly. “All-in.”
The wealthy patrons clutching their hands let out frustrated groans before tossing their cards face down.
“Too rich for my blood. There is always tomorrow.”
“I fold as well.”
The turn shifted squarely back to Jed. “What could possibly justify such immense confidence?” he asked, wearing an easy smile.
Ferda met his gaze directly. “Have no fear. I will be the one taking this hand.”
“I fail to see the basis for your absolute certainty.”
“Because you are going to lay down your cards willingly.”
Jed leaned back against his chair and let out a light laugh. “And why on earth would I fold a winning hand?”
“To be entirely frank, I hold no desire to squander wealth here. A certain young companion mistakenly believes I indulge in reckless wagers, you see.”
“So you throw away a mountain of coin just to impress a child? That sounds rather excessive. If that were your concern, should you not have avoided stepping into a casino entirely?” Jed smirked, dismissing it as a desperate bluff.
“It extends beyond mere coin.”
“Oh?”
“I am aware of your deepest yearning.”
“My yearning? What could a man like me possibly lack? I have fine wine, mountains of coin, and stunning beauties right beside me.” He casually drew the woman at his side closer, drawing a delighted giggle from her. She was unmistakably the neglected spouse of some local landholder.
Ferda leaned forward slightly and said, “Among all these women, Emilia is nowhere to be found.”
The flawless composure shattered. A subtle twitch rippled through the fingers gripping the cards, and Jed’s jaw tightened. It lasted for only a fraction of a heartbeat, yet the sudden clash of wills was palpable across the table.
Nevertheless, Jed was a seasoned rogue. “…I call.”
He refused to fold; instead, he pushed forward the necessary chips. He had no intention of throwing away a hand that was guaranteed to take the pot.
“A Straight Flush. What say you?”
Ferda turned his cards face up on the table. “King-high.”
“A King-high?!”
“You pushed an entire fortune on a completely unranked hand?!”
The spectators gasped in absolute disbelief, their eyes bulging. Jed had claimed victory. Having lost every last piece of gold, Ferda stood up from his seat without the slightest hint of dismay.
“Since I have stripped you of your purse, permit me to treat you to a drink as consolation. You appear seasoned enough to handle your spirits.”
The charismatic grin returned to Jed’s lips, yet the expression failed to sit naturally.
“The drinks are on my coin.”
Cold, lethal intent lurked behind that charming facade.
“I accept.”
Everything was unfolding precisely according to Ferda’s design.
The casino behind them remained awash in hedonism and cheers—an artificial realm where time was forgotten beneath an unending golden light.
Leaving the noise behind, Ferda and Jed strolled together toward the private guest quarters.
The precise moment they crossed out of the grand hall and entered the quiet, empty hallway…
“Who are you?”
The voice, previously drenched in playful warmth, dropped like an executioner’s steel. Ferda halted, offering no sudden movements. In truth, even had he wished to explain, the time was not yet right for pleasantries.
“You know who I am, do you not?”
“That holds little significance.”
“Fine. It is meaningless at this stage. Let us dispense with tedious pleasantries.”
Jed reached inside his jacket and produced a gleaming dagger.
“Tell me why you uttered that name.”
Jed’s dark eyes shifted, bleeding into an ominous, radiant scarlet. Those were the unmistakable hallmarks of the Red Eye Clan—the terrifying lineage known throughout history as the ‘Mage Killers.’
Any incantation or spell circle caught within that direct gaze would instantly unravel into nothingness.
The revelation of an active Mage Killer would strike absolute horror into the heart of any ordinary sorcerer. Yet Ferda stood entirely undisturbed.
“Jed Swallow. If you have no desire to see your secret broadcast to the entire realm, suppress those eyes.”
“You belong to them, do you not?! Confess it!”
“I came seeking a rational exchange.”
“What have you done to my sister?! You filthy bastard!!”
The man who had worn a mask of carefree indulgence had stripped it away entirely, revealing a face warped with unbridled fury. Even Ferda had never witnessed such raw, violent emotion from him before.
“Direct no further bloodlust toward me,” Ferda warned in a calm, measured voice. “My companion is not known for deep sentimental loyalty. However, should she perceive that my life is threatened, she will end yours without a second thought.”
The warning was delivered purely out of concern for Jed’s survival.
“I have no interest in executing you. I came solely to converse. Therefore…”
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