NoveLight ™
Chapter 43
A personality diametrically opposed to Viretta’s boundless optimism and energy—this gloomy demeanor, capable of flipping others’ emotions on their heads, was undoubtedly the core issue.
Though his slave status might suggest some form of protest against the journey, it was evident that Saffron was, at his core, a deeply cynical person.
As Ranken hesitated, seeing this as a no-win situation, Viretta seized Saffron’s hand with a firm grip.
“You’re hired!”
“What?”
“You’re hired!”
“…What?!”
“You’re hired!”
Saffron, eyes widening in shock, broke into a cold sweat as he darted glances around, as though silently pleading for help. His expression resembled that of a cow being led to the slaughter.
Unable to ignore the absurdity, Ranken jumped into the fray.
“What?! Why?!”
“Look at that slanted posture, like he’s standing on a hillside. It’s a fresh perspective we don’t have! He’s hired!”
Viretta pointed cheerfully at Saffron, announcing his employment a fourth time.
Saffron froze like a statue, sweat dripping from his brow.
“You’re seriously bringing him along for that reason?”
“Yes. It’s not like anyone else is willing to join us.”
The Count flinched—Viretta had hit the nail on the head.
Having returned his wife and daughter, the Count was practically worshipping Viretta as a goddess. Yet, the best candidate he’d managed to present was this surly slave.
Indeed, if the kind savior—Hogu—of a Count couldn’t find a better option, there likely wasn’t one in the entire city.
“…Of course. No sane person would sign up for such a crazy journey. Only a lowly slave like me, dragged along to serve as bait, would even consider it.”
Having snapped out of his initial shock, Saffron once again let his bitter cynicism flood the air. His passive aggression pricked Ranken, who instinctively hid behind Viretta.
“Are you sure about this? What if he stabs you in your sleep?”
“Hah… Shouldn’t I be the one worrying about an untimely death? Traveling with two mercenaries drenched in blood?”
Saffron’s gloomy gaze shifted toward Moslin and Iola, full of resentment, as if asking how such dangerous individuals could dare to judge him.
Only then did Ranken fully grasp the reality: these two were, in fact, blood-soaked warriors.
It didn’t take much reflection—after all, not long ago, they’d been mowing down the courtroom mob without hesitation.
“Uh… well… maybe we are the dangerous ones?”
“Of course you are. We’re hunters who invite bloodshed. And, Saffron! You’ve been chosen to join us on this glorious quest!”
“Hah… Indeed. As a mere slave, what choice do I have but to shove my head into a dragon’s maw at your command?”
“That’s the spirit!”
“Excellent resolve! With that courage, there’s no need for such self-deprecation.”
“……”
Even a fool could recognize the overflowing passive aggression in Saffron’s tone. But it was utterly obliterated by Viretta’s natural optimism and Iola’s sincere belief in others.
A vein throbbed in Saffron’s neck, his blood pressure clearly spiking.
Yet, as a slave, he had no choice but to stop there—he couldn’t push back any further against someone who might become his master.
Realizing the tension, the Count stepped in to mediate.
“I’m glad you’ve taken a liking to him. Very well, Saffron is yours. Take him with you.”
“Thank you, Count, for introducing us to such a remarkable individual. And Iola approves as well! I’d love to throw a celebration, but alas, we must depart in haste.”
“Why would I host a celebration for you? Oh, never mind. Congratulations on your engagement. You two seem to suit each other well. The Medleidge family’s judgment is as impeccable as ever.”
His words were layered with meaning, though Iola would never fully grasp the Count’s true intentions.
“We owe our meeting to that impeccable judgment.”
The orchestrator of this convoluted situation beamed brightly, her mood entirely unscathed.
“It’s a relief to know Viretta has found a good match. With that settled, the Medleidge patriarch won’t be pestering me with complaints anymore.”
“Hah, Father does worry too much.”
So he’s been doing that…
Inwardly, Viretta’s opinion of her father dropped yet another notch.
The Count, oblivious to her thoughts, grasped her hand cheerfully.
Iola flinched, and upon noticing, the Count did too, but thankfully, nothing came of it.
“We were married first, but we could learn a lot from you two. I hope we can become as harmonious a couple as you seem to be. Best of luck to you.”
“A wise aspiration. As expected of you, Count.”
“Ah, but I forgot to ask—why are you two going after a dragon in the first place?”
Having been preoccupied with his trial, the Count finally voiced the question on everyone’s mind.
“Oh, come now, isn’t it obvious?”
“Not at all.”
The Count wasn’t alone—none of those around him had any clue.
Hunting a dragon was a monumental task, something only a large mercenary company might attempt. For someone like Viretta, the second daughter of a merchant family, it was far from obvious.
Viretta turned to Iola, flashing him her brightest smile.
“Well, to break off my engagement, of course.”
“……”
The Count, utterly blindsided, lost all the light in his eyes.
Journal of the Eastern Filian Dragon-Hunting Expedition, Day 9.
Progress:
“We’ve already come this far.”
Two days had passed since leaving the city that housed Count Beckdelace’s estate.
As he diligently recorded the day’s events in the journal, Iola mumbled with a touch of sentiment.
They’d secured a butcher and even extracted more funds—no, received generous support from their benefactor. Everything was progressing smoothly.
Though Iola had never considered a butcher necessary, his wise fiancée clearly thought otherwise.
Viretta, ever the visionary, was already planning for the aftermath of their dragon hunt.
It made perfect sense—they’d need a skilled butcher to dismantle the dragon and proper permits to transport its parts back to the Medleidge estate.
Viretta had prepared everything in advance.
In polite terms, one could say she had a talent for seeing the big picture. Less charitably, she was drinking soup from a pot that hadn’t even been filled yet.
Naturally, Iola chose the former interpretation. As a man of optimism and faith, he sincerely admired his fiancée’s foresight.
“Everything’s going perfectly.”
“Perfectly?”
Saffron, who had been lying sprawled out in the carriage for two days in silent protest, abruptly sat up, his face darkened.
While his defiant inaction might have warranted a whipping, Viretta and Iola had simply ignored it.
For Saffron, it was a minor miracle—rarely did a slave encounter such lenient masters.
But with their destination being the dragon-infested southern mines, that leniency felt more like a honeyed promise at the gates of hell.
Fearing he’d be sacrificed to the dragon’s maw, Saffron finally broke his silence.
“Let me ask you this.”
He raised his hand, extending two fingers while curling the others.
“What do you see here?”
“A victory sign!”
“Hah, you fail on the first question… How many fingers?”
“Two, obviously.”
Saffron added two more fingers.
“And now?”
“Four.”
“If I add nine?”
“Thirteen.”
A brief pause accompanied the calculation.
“If I subtract three, add one, then subtract fifteen again?”
“You can’t subtract fifteen from eleven.”
Viretta lifted her head, puzzled, while Iola, still engrossed in the journal, chimed in lightly.
“Technically, it’s negative four. Numbers include negative values, after all.”
Saffron cast Iola a brief glance before dismissing him entirely. The exact answer didn’t matter—this wasn’t about mathematical truth.
Meddlesome intellectuals are such a pain… Saffron muttered gloomily as he arrived at his conclusion about Viretta’s intellect.
“Average, at best.”
“…What?!”
“Simple addition and subtraction of two-digit numbers suggest you have average cognitive abilities. Nothing remarkable.”
“Well, for me, that’s child’s play!”
Watching this absurd exchange, Ranken murmured under his breath.
“…That’s the most idiotic conversation I’ve ever witnessed.”