Claude barely thanked Ghislain for saving him and instead asked for a drink.

Unable to bear the disrespect, Gillian stepped forward, his voice stern.

"Mind your manners. This man is Baron Ghislain of the Kingdom of Lutania."

But Claude twisted his lips into a sneer.

"So what? I’ve lived like this all my life. If you don’t like it, kill me."

Gillian frowned but said nothing more. The defiant attitude felt oddly familiar.

Before meeting Ghislain, he had that same look in his eyes.

Ghislain, observing the exchange, nodded as if he had expected this reaction.

In his past life, he had spent a lot of time with Claude. He understood better than anyone why Claude acted the way he did.

"There’s no need for formalities right now," Ghislain said.

"For now?" Claude raised an eyebrow, confused by the phrasing.

Ghislain only smiled without offering further explanation.

Even if Ghislain didn’t mind the lack of courtesy, his companions were visibly displeased.

They had just saved someone from losing a hand, yet instead of gratitude, Claude acted indifferent. Naturally, this didn’t sit well with them.

‘Why did the boss bother coming for this guy? He just seems like a gambling addict.’

‘Not even a word of thanks after we saved him.’

Sensing their thoughts, Ghislain spoke up in Claude’s defense.

"This guy’s been through a lot. He’s not doing well. Cut him some slack."

Claude’s expression darkened at Ghislain’s words.

"You think you know what I’ve been through? Who the hell are you?"

"Just relax, I’ve heard some things. No need to get worked up," Ghislain replied with a casual shrug.

Claude eyed him with suspicion. What rumors could there be about him? The most anyone would know was that he was a gambling addict or maybe a washed-up scholar.

Yet, it seemed like Ghislain knew more than he let on.

"Come on, don’t be so tense. You want that drink, right? I’ll get you a good one," Ghislain said, wrapping an arm around Claude’s shoulders in a friendly gesture.

Claude scowled. He had just escaped the clutches of a gang, and now this strange noble was sticking to him.

He tried to pull away, but there was no way he could overpower someone who had just broken a knife barehanded.

Resigned, Claude let Ghislain drag him along, his face twisted in discomfort.

The mercenaries followed behind, clicking their tongues. They couldn’t say anything more since Ghislain had already defended Claude.

Except for Belinda, who narrowed her eyes at the back of Ghislain’s head.

‘This is so strange. How does he always find these kinds of people?’

Everyone Ghislain recruited had something wrong with them. It was as if he deliberately sought out those who were flawed.

‘And now a gambling addict?’

Belinda sighed as she mentally reviewed the odd group that had gathered around Ghislain.

‘I’m the only normal one around here.’

She shook her head and followed, completely ignoring the fact that she wasn’t exactly "normal" herself.

Ghislain led Claude into a lavishly decorated tavern.

"Everyone, sit down and relax. Have a drink. I’ll talk to this guy separately."

The mercenaries, eager for a break, began to settle in, but Gillian wasn’t having any of it.

He quickly divided them into shifts, making sure they stayed alert, and threatened them with dire consequences if they got drunk.

Though grumbling, the mercenaries didn’t dare disobey Gillian.

Meanwhile, Ghislain dragged Claude to a corner table.

As fine liquor and appetizers were brought out, Claude’s eyes lit up, showing signs of life for the first time.

‘He’s in worse shape than I thought.’

Ghislain watched Claude closely while sipping his drink.

Despite nearly losing his wrist, Claude didn’t seem to care. Yet, a mere drink evoked a strong reaction from him.

It was clear his spirit was broken.

"My wrist is intact, and I’m getting free drinks. Seems like my luck has turned. I’ll drink well," Claude said before gulping down his liquor.

Ghislain matched his pace, silently downing his glass.

The two continued drinking, ordering more as they emptied their glasses.

It wasn’t long before Claude, who lacked the mana control and physical stamina Ghislain had, began to show signs of wear.

His face flushed, and he mumbled, "You sure can drink. But judging by your eyes, you don’t seem like someone who enjoys it."

"I drink when it’s available. If it’s not, I don’t. But I do like a good wine, something like Red Dragon."

"Ha, Red Dragon? Even royalty struggle to get that. You’re full of it... Anyway, you saved me for a reason, didn’t you? Why haven’t you said anything?"

Ghislain just shrugged. Claude continued grumbling.

"What do you want from me? You want me to teach you how to gamble?"

"If I wanted to learn, I’d find someone who’s good at it. You’re not exactly the best teacher," Ghislain quipped.

"Dammit, I can’t argue with that. Just tell me what you want already. Why did you save me?"

Ghislain straightened up and looked Claude in the eye.

"I’ll be blunt. I want you to handle the administration of my estate."

Claude blinked, as if he hadn’t heard correctly, then burst out laughing.

"Hahaha! You want a gambling addict who’s drunk most of the time to manage your estate?"

"Yes."

"Wow. People have called me crazy, but you’re on another level. You’re joking, right? Do you even know who I am?"

"This is my offer. Whether you accept it or not is up to you."

Ghislain said no more and took another drink.

Still chuckling, Claude downed a few more drinks before responding.

"I appreciate the rescue, but... honestly, it’s meaningless. I don’t want to do anything. There’s nothing left for me."

Ghislain remained silent.

"I’ve got nothing left. No dreams, no hope," Claude continued, emptying his glass again.

"Once, I had something I wanted to achieve. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t do it. Now I’ve lost my money, my health, even my knowledge. There’s no one more useless than me."

His eyes grew duller, filled with the kind of emptiness only someone who had lost everything could possess.

"Sure, following you and taking on estate management sounds like a great opportunity. A high-ranking job, even. I shouldn’t be turning that down."

Ghislain stayed silent, listening.

"But I can’t leave. I’m shackled to this place. This... is all I can do. It’s the only thing left for me."

"I’ll break those shackles for you," Ghislain interjected calmly.

Claude gritted his teeth at Ghislain’s unwavering confidence.

"Still young, huh? Thinking you can solve every problem on your own... That kind of arrogance will destroy you one day. You don’t realize how much of a curse that mindset can be."

Ghislain set his glass down with a firm thud, staring intently at Claude with eyes that carried a depth beyond his years.

"When I want something, I’ll do whatever it takes to get it. Even if that means death. There’s no point in worrying about the rest."

Claude’s face contorted with anger.

The way Ghislain spoke so fearlessly reminded him too much of his younger self, a time he couldn’t bear to remember.

"I used to think that way too. But the results were nothing but disastrous. Fine, if I follow you, what can you do for me?"

"Name what you want."

"Money. I need a lot of money. More than any noble would comfortably part with."

Ghislain smirked.

"Money? That’s the easiest thing to deal with. Anything else? Do you need someone taken care of?"

"Don’t mock me."

Claude bit his lip.

Most problems in the world could indeed be solved with money. If they couldn’t be solved, it just meant you didn’t have enough of it.

But this wasn’t some simple problem.

Claude’s issues could be solved with money, yes, but the amount required was staggering.

It was hard to believe.

In fact, he couldn’t believe it.

This had to be the empty bravado of a rich young noble.

That’s what his rational mind was telling him.

But deep down, something in Claude’s eyes began to change.

When someone who had lost everything saw a glimmer of hope, even if that hope seemed false, they would inevitably reach for it.

Claude, half-jokingly, asked, "Baron Fenris, huh? You seem so confident. Your estate must be wealthy, then... You said money’s an easy problem? Lend me some, then. Or better yet, do you want to buy me? My price is quite high."

From the next table, Belinda, who had been listening in, furrowed her brows.

He was saved, given a drink, and offered a position of authority, yet here he was asking for money.

On top of that, he had the audacity to declare that his "price" was high.

She figured Ghislain would turn him down.

Ghislain wasn’t someone who could be easily fooled.

If he could take 20,000 gold from his fiancée, there was no way he’d fall for such a transparent scheme.

But Ghislain’s response was entirely unexpected.

"Alright. I have more money than you think. How much do you need?"

The young master, who never easily handed out money, had just agreed so readily?

‘Is he just giving out charity? This is getting ridiculous. Shouldn’t I step in?’

Belinda simmered with frustration as she downed her drink.

But then, Claude spoke again, his next words even more shocking.

"2,000 gold. Can you give me that? It’s not a small amount for a barony."

Belinda whipped her head around, eyes wide.

Ghislain was wearing a strange expression, one that seemed torn between amusement and pity.

Claude, seeing that look, openly laughed at him.

"What’s wrong? Did you think I was going to ask for 20 gold? Do you think I haven’t met nobles like you before? It’s obvious. I can see the gears turning in your head."

Belinda couldn’t take it anymore and jumped to her feet, shouting, "Are you kidding me?! I thought you were going to ask for a few gold, but 2,000?!"

Having made such a bold claim earlier, it would have been difficult for Ghislain to back down now. It would hurt his pride.

Belinda had raised her voice to give Ghislain an excuse to refuse.

But Ghislain’s response left her utterly dumbfounded.

"Not 5,000, but only 2,000 gold? That’s nothing."