Trash of the Count's Family Chapter 4: They Met (1)

Translator: miraclerifle

Editor: Borderline Masochist

With food right before him, his mind refused to wander elsewhere. Even praise escaped his lips without restraint.

“Ha. It’s so delicious.”

Deputy butler Hans jolted at Cale’s remark. Cale dined solo at the table, while Hans remained by his side.

Apart from breakfast, the Henituse family handled other meals independently. Truthfully, it stemmed from their individual duties.

Nobility came with no easy path.

In particular, those in governance or politics adhered to rigid timetables, halting all else upon commands from superiors.

As the regional lord, Count Deruth bore heavy obligations, hindering shared meals. Cale’s younger siblings aligned their eating with study sessions. The Countess occupied herself with social ties to prominent local wives and various chores.

‘Now that I think about it.’

Recalling something abruptly, Cale set down his fork. Hans grew tense, recognizing this as the typical Cale. He fretted over a possible flying utensil aimed at him. Unconcerned by Hans’s anxiety, Cale delved into his musings.

‘Numerous masters conceal themselves among artists and artisans.’

The Roan Kingdom excelled in building and artistic pursuits, notably sculpture. Abundant marble fueled this prowess. Consequently, the Henituse area ranked fifth in marble extraction, yielding substantial wealth.

Moreover, a vast mountain chain dominated Count Henituse’s territory. Despite its northwestern position, the peaks brimmed with fertility, enabling grape cultivation for wine amid the slopes. Though yields weren’t vast, these wines ranked among the continent’s finest.

Yet Cale’s thoughts fixated on the ‘powerful figures,’ not these details. He’d skipped lunch, lost in study all day pondering them.

‘Why does this foolish land harbor so many masters? This isn’t murim.’

Hermit experts abounded here, much like in murim tales. Thus, Cale reached a firm resolve.

Avoid provoking random folks.

A plain chef might excel in poisons, or a repairman could slay with deadly wires. Such perils defined this realm.

“Sigh.”

Cale exhaled deeply. He’d just finalized his scheme for averting death and securing tranquility.

“Young master.”

Swallowing another sigh, Cale glanced at the tentative voice’s origin. It belonged to deputy butler Hans.

“What?”

“Shall I have them prepare something different?”

“Huh?”

Hans suppressed a sigh seeing Cale’s furrowed brow and widened eyes. He braced for a table overturn. Unsure why the Count tasked him with Cale, Hans quelled his despair, awaiting a reply.

And Cale replied.

“Why remake something this tasty?”

“...Excuse me?”

Retrieving his fork, Cale cut into the meat. Dinner surpassed breakfast in lavishness. Its appeal lay not in novelty for former Kim Rok Soo, but in opulent flavor even the original Cale savored.

Kim Rok Soo lacked insight into Cale’s upbringing, but the original Cale scorned anything less than luxurious. Cale appreciated this trait. All knew it, serving only the finest.

Ignoring decorum, Cale speared a succulent yet tender steak piece and queried Hans.

“Hans, who prepared this dish?”

“Ah, second chef Beacrox.”

...Cale’s hunger vanished instantly.

Beacrox. Neat and precise, he was servant Ron’s son. Unlike his father’s stealth kills, Beacrox mastered the blade. A cleanliness fanatic, he honed his pristine sword daily, severing foes’ heads with it.

‘...He excels in torture too.’

Such a man would admire Choi Han’s swordsmanship and pledge loyalty. Ron, striking a bargain with Choi Han, would depart alongside them for his son’s sake. Beneath his facade, Ron deeply valued his heir.

Eyeing the pink-centered medium-rare steak, Cale swallowed hard.

‘I won’t let my blood spill like this meat.’

Shifting to Hans’s watchful gaze, Cale sliced another portion and chewed.

“It’s delicious. Ron’s son, eh? I had no idea he was such a skilled cook.”

“...I’ll relay your words to chef Beacrox. He’ll surely delight in young master Cale’s praise for his cuisine.”

“Is that right? Tell him I savored this fine meal thoroughly.”

“...Yes, sir.”

Hans eyed Cale rigidly, yet Cale resolved firmly. He’d steer clear of Beacrox, aiming to foster a positive view.

With eased mind, Cale relished the feast anew. Matters would resolve once Beacrox encountered Choi Han and departed the territory. Cale deemed his scheme for that event solid.

As at breakfast, Cale devoured every bite. Satisfied, he rose, smiling at Hans.

“Hans, what prompted your sudden assignment to me?”

Pre-dinner, Hans noted Deruth’s directive for personal oversight of Cale’s needs. Post-Choi Han’s exit, family dynamics eluded Cale, but Hans’s prowess positioned him as top deputy butler candidate for head position.

Bowing lightly, Hans responded.

“Count-nim worried after learning young master skipped a meal in the study and commanded me to ensure all meals are taken. Thus, I’ll manage just the young master’s dining affairs.”

Precisely, Hans handled meals.

“I see. Father fussed unnecessarily. I’d eat fine alone. Still, without Hans notifying me, I’d have missed dinner time.”

Cale had busied transcribing the novel’s initial five volumes’ key meetings in Korean. Exiting the hall, he grinned at Hans.

“Hans, look after me well.”

“Ah, certainly. Please do the same for me. I’ll give my all.”

Hans faltered in reply, but Cale overlooked it. Opening the door, he spotted Ron and scowled.

“Ron, didn’t I say go eat?”

Cale had dismissed him to avoid the elder’s visage, yet he persisted, buzzing like an insect. Ron lingered outside the study too, irking Cale further.

“Young master, serving you is my role.”

Tongue-clicking at Ron’s grin, Cale vented mildly.

“Enough already. I don’t want it, so eat. Why ignore my order to dine? Stop trailing me. You know my temper if you don’t, right?”

Glaring to deter pursuit, Cale strode to the study. Glancing back, Ron stood rigidly, Hans gaping in astonishment.

‘Maybe the tantrum was too much?’

Fearing the assassin’s frozen look, Cale hurried onward.

The desk stood bare.

The Korean-scripted document, laboriously penned, now burned away by Cale’s hand. No one here read Korean, yet caution prevailed. He’d banned servants from entering unbidden too.

‘I recall it all regardless.’

Kim Rok Soo excelled at memorizing enjoyed media—comics, books, films—retaining character names and looks effortlessly. Disliked things? Total blank.

Leaning back, Cale pondered upcoming tasks.

‘Tomorrow, meet Choi Han and proceed.’

His lips curved upward gradually.

‘Time to claim a shield.’

Long life sans death meant no battles for him.

Toward that end, first bolster defenses. Next, secure healing. Then, outpace all. Finally, wield power that spares him but fells others.

Above all, evade wars or bloody sites.

Mulling these strategies, Cale shut his eyes contentedly. Thoughts lingered into slumber.

‘At least, when the novel’s perils strike, I won’t get thrashed.’

The Indestructible Shield. Dwelling on this initial intangible power, he dozed off. His upturned smile promised to endure.

Destiny’s meetings claimed no sole claimant. First arrival seized them.

The pivotal day loomed. To steady nerves and triumph, Cale deemed a robust breakfast essential.

Transmigration seemed dominated by feasting, yet he’d indulge now, as busyness awaited from tomorrow.

“Mm, ahem. I heard you dozed off in the study last night.”

“It just happened that way.”

Brushing off his father’s query, Cale fixated on breakfast. Ignoring Deruth likely appeared insolent, but suited his trash reputation.

Finishing first, Cale rose. The chair’s scrape drew all eyes.

“I’ll leave now.”

Breaching etiquette, yet Deruth adored his son unconditionally. Glancing between Cale and cleared plates, he beamed.

“Of course. Proceed.”

“Thanks.”

Eager to depart for today’s errands, Cale paused at Deruth’s call.

“No allowance needed today?”

“...I could use some.”

What a affluent household. Suppressing glee as Hans would deliver funds, Cale exited sans gratitude. He met brother Basen’s gaze briefly but dismissed it, aiming for the door.

Spotting trailing Ron, Cale waved him off.

“Ron. I’m heading out. Don’t seek me.”

‘Don’t seek me’ signaled estate departure for boozing in the city’s rear. Ron typically smiled, wishing safe travels.

“Skipping the study today?”

Oddly, Ron probed. Cale frowned.

“Ron, that’s not your concern.”

“...Understood, young master. I’ll await your return.”

Ron’s waiting vow creased Cale’s brow deeper.

“Don’t wait.”

Beckoning an entrance servant with a flick, Cale departed alongside him. Still irked, the servant trailed silently.

Beyond the residence, garden and distant gate appeared. Only then did Cale sigh, glancing back. Through the shutting door, Ron’s taut face showed.

‘Good, shook him loose.’

Relieved sans escort, yet Ron’s rigidity unnerved him—an assassin nonetheless. Cale vowed kinder treatment henceforth, entering the carriage and leaving.

He reached the spot shortly.

“Young master. Correct location?”

The driver queried warily, door ajar. He eyed the storefront dubiously, face puzzled.

“Yes. Here it is.”

In attire lavish to most but basic for him, Cale alighted. Locals scattered upon spying the count’s emblem.

[The Fragrance of Tea with Poetry]

A tea house for poetic reading amid brews. This pristine three-tiered structure screamed expense. Indeed, its proprietor amassed fortune. As a merchant guild concubine’s illegitimate offspring, he outstripped Cale’s wealth, merely concealing it here.

‘If memory serves, around volume 3, he journeys to the capital, encountering Choi Han. There, he vows to helm the guild despite his bastard status.’

The fervent declarer to Choi Han of guild mastery. Cale, versed only in first five volumes, ignored his success, but as ally to the protagonist, triumph likely awaited.

Addressing the perspiring driver, Cale commanded.

“You’re dismissed.”

“Pardon?”

“Must I repeat?”

“No, uh, shall I not linger for you, young master?”

Casually, Cale entered the shop.

“Yeah. I’ll linger awhile.”

Gulp echoed from behind, but a sharper delight rang: Clang. The subtle bell heralded his arrival inside.

Pausing at the threshold, Cale surveyed the tea house. Morning hush meant sparse patrons, all stunned by his presence.

Naturally, the novel noted regional fame for Cale. Merchants dreaded him for wrecking their wares.

“Welcome.”

Yet the proprietor greeted warmly. Cale regarded the porcine-counter man.

‘Owner, no doubt.’

The affluent bastard, Billos. His plump visage and girth matched the novel’s porcine depiction. His allure shone in that radiant grin.

‘Resembles a coin pig.’

Placing a gold coin on the counter, Cale ordered.

“I’ll occupy the third floor all day.”

Billos beamed at Cale. Ignoring it, Cale gestured to the shelves.

“Non-bitter tea. Novels available, or just verse?”

Clang. A teacup clattered down. Cale dismissed it as rough handling, facing Billos. He favored tales over rhymes.

“Certainly. We stock plenty of novels too, young master Cale.”

“Great. Send the most captivating one with tea.”

“Yes. Got it.”

The coin landed in Billos’s pudgy palm. As change offered, Cale turned.

“More tea later, so hold it.”

“...Still excessive, young master.”

One gold equated a million gallons—million won equivalent. With it, Cale enacted a long-held whim.

“Money’s no issue. Tip it is.”

Boasting riches thrilled. Billos’s hidden surplus? Irrelevant. Cale knew money-spinning fates ahead. Striving for suave, he chin-nodded at ground-level tables.

“If overmuch, buy rounds for all here on me.”

Golden Bell vibes. Post-allowance plea, three coins—three million gallons—arrived.

“Young master, even so...”

“Ah, drop it. Fetch my tea.”

Trash perks abounded. Disregarding courtesy, Cale ascended to the third. Whispers trailed, but he ignored, knowing enmities aplenty.