Despite Ihan’s visibly sour expression, the marquis only seemed to find it all the more amusing, grinning with genuine enjoyment.

That was just how serious he was.

“I want you to be my son.”

This wasn’t some offhand offer to adopt him as a ward, like Revi; he was proposing for Ihan to take on the name of [Tristan]—to be given a name with centuries of history. In other words, he was offering Ihan the qualifications to be his successor.

“This isn’t just about qualifications either. I have no children of my own, and none among the collateral branches are sharp enough to carry on the full legacy of Tristan. The closest might have been Vale, but he gave up his rights to the inheritance when he joined the knights’ order. So, if you accept, you’d become first in line, heir to the Tristan marquisate! Such an opportunity doesn’t come twice.”

It was a rare and tempting offer that would sway nearly anyone, even those indifferent to wealth or power.

But for Ihan…

“No, really, thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“…….”

“Just so you don’t think I’m playing hard to get—I genuinely don’t want it.”

“Do you think you’re dismissing Tristan too lightly?”

“It’s not that. I just find the whole idea of calling you ‘Dad’ rather nauseating.”

“...You know, that hurts more than it should. Even nobles have feelings, can’t you be a little gentler?”

“This is me being gentle. If I weren’t, you’d probably be choking on it right about now.”

“…Harsh.”

The marquis’s expression drooped, disappointed.

 

The marquis’s offer had been no joke; he hadn’t made it lightly.

‘A real shame. I didn’t expect it to be easy, but…’

If Ihan had accepted, the marquis would have earnestly adopted him as his own. The senior members of the family would’ve been dumbstruck to hear it—a complete outsider who once threatened their estate given the name of Tristan.

But the marquis thought his decision made perfect sense.

‘If anyone could handle this family, it’d be him…’

While Tristan held a noble title, it didn’t have any of the legendary [Mystique] that other noble lines possessed. The original Tristan patriarch supposedly wielded the “Demon Bow,” an artifact of mystique, but its legacy had long since faded. As a result, Tristan had faced dozens of crises over the centuries.

Time and time again, unworthy heirs without skill or mystique caused internal strife, often spurring infighting between family factions. Even the marquis himself once left briefly, only to return and find the family divided by civil war among the elders.

‘All that’s truly important to Tristan is the name and strength to protect it.’

If an heir could carry both the family name and the overwhelming force to command respect, then the marquis believed they’d be enough to uphold the legacy.

Bloodline, as many nobles claimed to value, was irrelevant—nobles’ bloodlines had thinned too much to hold meaning.

‘And if bloodline purists make trouble, I’ll just have him marry one of the women from the collateral branch.’

Tristan’s bloodlines were genetically strong; every child born into the family bore the signature red hair, whether from the mother or the father’s side. If blood was the only issue, that could be easily solved.

Others might be shocked to hear the marquis’s reasoning, but he would have calmly explained, ‘It’s worth it.’

‘…This one’s a gem, a diamond in the rough.’

For now, he could still best Ihan. But as time went on… perhaps even by tomorrow, would that still hold true?

‘Just yesterday, his aura was wild. But today? It’s already stabilized—this rate of growth is astonishing.’

And so, he couldn’t help but look forward to it.

Maybe… just maybe, this young knight could reach it.

The heights that young fighters and prodigies dreamed of, the realm of [Aura Users]—a level that the marquis himself had once given up on as a distant fantasy.

And though Ihan wasn’t his son, the marquis yearned to see him attain that level, to witness it from the closest vantage point.

He knew some might call it vicarious pride, but what of it? Watching the youth grow was one of life’s privileges.

‘I’m genuinely excited.’

Yes, for now, just planting the seed was enough.

Though…

‘Having him nearby would be quite entertaining…’

The desire to have Ihan as a son wasn’t purely to see him flourish. There was something about this young man that felt like he’d never be boring to be around.

Yes, it was a shame, but even so, he couldn’t help but smile as he watched Ihan.

“Well, it’s a pity. So, then, would you at least consider teaching our knights that floating technique? I’d compensate you handsomely.”

“Ah, there it is—the real agenda! No way. Why would I teach my technique to an order that isn’t even my own?”

“Is that so? Hmm. Just thinking out loud here, but the damages to the door, walls, marble floors, statues… add up to about three thousand gold coins. And considering some of the broken items were dwarven-made, repair costs might rise. Should I track down the culprit and make them pay?”

“…….”

“Should I?”

“…Ever thought about learning a way to walk without leaving footprints? There’s this thing called ‘Stepping Lightly’…”

“Hahaha!”

Look at him. Just watching him was amusing.

The marquis chuckled, wondering if this was what it would be like to have a mischievous son.

 

“What a pain of an old man…”

Ihan sighed, feeling utterly drained.

He’d rather spar or fight with a sword than endure a conversation with a wily politician—it was mentally exhausting and frustrating. He was just about ready to collapse from mental fatigue.

As he rubbed his face to dispel the weariness, he muttered, “So, you guys skipping out on the end-of-term ceremony too?”

At the sound, a faint rustle echoed nearby—a movement so subtle that an ordinary person would never have noticed it. But not Ihan.

“That habit of lurking? You’ll get into serious trouble if you get caught doing that one day.”

It was a gentle warning, almost like a teacher’s advice.

“…Perhaps, but if it weren’t for you, no one would ever know we were here.”

From the shadows stepped two familiar figures. Ihan, finishing his face rub, saw them both clearly:

Roen and Jack.

The two smirked at him, and Jack scratched his cheek sheepishly.

“We thought we hid pretty well this time…”

“Yeah, you did. You’re getting better at hiding than you are at swordsmanship. Planning a career change to assassin?”

“…No, it just seems I’m naturally good at hiding, so I improve even without trying.”

“That’s… irritatingly lucky.”

Ihan shot a glare at Jack, who, under the weight of Ihan’s gaze, lowered his head sheepishly. Ihan then shifted his sharp stare to the dark-haired young man beside him.

“For someone who looks like they’d rather sit back and watch, you sure end up in the thick of things, don’t you?”

“Guess I’m not built to sit still.”

“That’s a condition.”

“…Do you think the marquis noticed I was there?”

“He probably noticed before I did. The guy’s sharper than I am. He just pretended not to see you.”

“…….”

“Why do you look so curious?”

“…For someone who turned down his offer, you don’t seem to think poorly of him.”

“He’s not a bad guy.”

“Then why reject his offer? A marquis would make a fine patron.”

“You sure are nosy…”

“I am your student, after all. A bit of curiosity seems appropriate.”

“Oh, really?”

The black-haired one seemed baffled by Ihan’s choice, unable to comprehend why Ihan would refuse an offer that could’ve made him one of the most prominent noblemen in the land.

Was it really just because Ihan didn’t want to call the marquis “Father”?

“Well, yeah, that’s it.”

“…….”

Ihan’s casual answer left Roen speechless.

“Quite the thinker, aren’t you?”

Ihan, who was technically a “Regressor” but still had plenty of age and experience under his belt, offered his student an unsolicited bit of advice.

“I’m already old enough to have kids myself, so the idea of suddenly having a father now? Ridiculous.”

“Becoming the marquis’s child means a lot more than getting an allowance…”

“To me, that’s all it’d be. Besides, if you’re going to rely on people for material reasons, that’s not family.”

“Then what does family need?”

“Loyalty and responsibility.”

“…….”

The answer came without hesitation, and Roen’s eyes widened.

Ihan went on, “That’s what’s essential in a family. Husbands and wives should respect each other; children should honor their parents, and everyone should have the commitment to uphold those bonds. Families formed out of mere convenience end in misery. Not always, but most of the time.”

“…….”

“So in that sense, the marquis and I don’t have a family-type relationship. I don’t need parents at this stage, and he’s not looking for a son—he’s just interested in what I can do, like a well-trained dog or cat.”

Ihan understood that the marquis hadn’t extended the offer purely out of kindness. He was curious about Ihan’s capabilities.

But Ihan didn’t mind; in fact, he found it almost flattering that his skills were recognized.

They say, “A true man would die for someone who recognizes his worth.”

However, Ihan wasn’t desperate for validation.

If he were weary of the world or starved for recognition, he might’ve accepted the offer without hesitation.

‘Though the idea of living under his thumb sounds miserable.’

He grimaced at the thought, and Roen looked at him thoughtfully.

“…If you ask me, I’d say you’re not much of a pet. You’re more like a lion or a bear.”

“…….”

“I mean, I feel like you’d tear someone apart if you grew big enough.”

Cheeky as ever, the black-haired youth chuckled, and Ihan held up a clenched fist.

“…Want a taste of my Divine Fist technique?”

“…Whatever that is, I’ll pass.”

“Good, because I’ll pass on using it.”

He lowered his fist.

 

The marquis sighed with slight regret as he boarded his carriage.

There was still one more question he’d wanted to ask.

He stepped inside and noticed a small slip of paper tucked into the door frame.

“Hm?”

He held up the note, turning it over thoughtfully.

“My lord, is something wrong?”

“…Wrong? No. But did anyone approach the carriage?”

“Not a chance, my lord. We’ve been guarding it closely.”

“…I see.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Nothing, really.”

The marquis chuckled and pocketed the note, leaving the servant puzzled.

But the marquis said nothing, only grinning as he considered the note’s message.

So this was why the recent disturbance at the marquisate had been handled so discreetly. His curiosity was finally satisfied. The knight he wanted as a son seemed to have powerful connections indeed.

“Ha! The boy has caught the attention of a dangerous figure, it seems.”

The note bore no name, but the dragon sigil in red wax said enough. And the brief, bold message carved into the paper read:

[He is mine. Don’t covet him.]

The marquis, chuckling, slowly tore the note in half.

“Only the king, with true strength, has the authority to command Tristan… And you, my dear friend, are not yet there.”