Trash of the Count's Family Chapter 5: They Met (2)

Translator: miraclerifle

Editor: Borderline Masochist

‘He gets chased away from the gate early in the morning.’

After completing the burial of his cherished villagers, Choi Han set off in the direction the locals had mentioned. His destination was Western City.

Transported to this realm during his high school freshman year, Choi Han had already resided here for decades. Naturally, much of that time involved struggling to endure in the Forest of Darkness, which warped his maturity in a peculiar manner, rendering him more logical than one might anticipate following such a tragedy.

‘I must inform the lord at the castle about this.’

Though Harris Village lay in a secluded spot, it fell within Count Henituse’s domain. Thus, Choi Han made his way to Western City, aiming to arrange at least a modest funeral for the villagers.

Additionally, he intended to seek details on the assassins he had slain in his rage, since he hadn’t managed to interrogate them. Yet, honoring the deceased took priority over vengeance.

‘Considering it, he truly possesses a warm heart.’

Nevertheless, the sudden loss of the initial individuals who offered him affection after decades in the Forest of Darkness twisted Choi Han’s psyche inevitably. In the story, this marked the point where Cale provoked Choi Han and struck a sensitive chord. He recalled the novel’s Cale’s remark to Choi Han.

[“Why should my father care whether or not some useless villagers are dead? This cup of alcohol in my hand is worth more than all of your useless lives combined.”]

Choi Han begins chuckling at Cale’s statement while countering.

[“What an intriguing perspective. I’m eager to see if you’ll alter your view.”]

[‘Shall we test it out?’]

That trial involved thrashing Cale nearly to death. Remarkably, Cale held firm to his stance even after the brutal beating.

“Ah, I’m getting the chills.”

Goosebumps rose on Cale’s skin, prompting him to rub his arm. He hastily sipped the tea Billos had provided, then glanced out the window anew, only for the shivers to return.

‘It’s that punk.’

As the gates swung open at dawn, a youth clad in garments stained with black scorch-like marks, appearing as if scorched in various spots, neared the entrance. It was Choi Han.

Cale remained seated, watching Choi Han intently.

His pace was impressive; he had dashed like a madman across a route that typically required a week by carriage, leaving him disheveled. The village incident contributed somewhat to his unkempt appearance too.

The guard halted Choi Han, who advanced with his head lowered in utter fatigue. Cale couldn’t catch their exchange, but he observed Choi Han shaking his head in response to the guard’s inquiry.

‘They’re likely asking for identification.’

Western City’s guards tended to be mild, yet firm on regulations, mirroring their lord Count Deruth’s demeanor.

“They kicked him out.”

Predictably, Choi Han retreated through the gate. He refrained from any outburst. After nonstop running for a full day, his partially restored sense urged him against harming an innocent.

‘Choi Han will now linger until nightfall, then sneak over the wall to slip inside.’

Next, he encounters Cale, who is occupied with heavy drinking.

Screech. Alone in the room, the chair’s scrape as Cale rose echoed sharply. He descended the stairs and told Billos at the counter.

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t clear my spot.”

“Yes, young master. I look forward to your return.”

Cale disregarded the grin on Billos’s plump face and exited the tea shop.

“He didn’t break anything!”

A voice emanated from within the shop, but Cale paid it no mind. Today, he had to lay the groundwork for acquiring that Indestructible Shield.

The Indestructible Shield.

This doesn’t refer to a tangible object. A mage’s mana shield serves as the closest analogy—something intangible. Yet, it diverges from mana shields, resembling a superpower more than magic.

Curiously, the creator of this power, who ultimately perished, was a god’s servant cast out from the faith.

‘This novel is packed with oddities.’

Like any fantasy realm’s past, this world boasted an ancient era. Back then, neither magic nor weapons had advanced.

Society revolved around personal innate abilities or those derived from mystical events. The mightiest forces were superpowers, divine powers, and elemental forces. It was a raw, primal age.

Certain of these powers endured to the present, concealed in specific sites or artifacts. Acquiring them was feasible under proper circumstances.

Ancient powers.

Heroes unearthed these, though they functioned as auxiliary strengths, insufficient as a primary force for protagonists.

These were precisely the powers Cale sought.

‘Anything except divine powers.’

Gods, angels, devils—Cale wished to steer clear of all such entities.

Hence, he targeted powers arising from human nature or the environment.

‘That ensures minimal effort on my part.’

Such powers aligned with his preferences. Sword arts or magic demanded rigorous training, which he avoided.

Unlike typical tales, the ancient civilization in [The Birth of a Hero] wasn’t overwhelmingly potent.

As society progressed, developed magic and summoning eclipsed the primal powers of antiquity. Superpowers fared similarly. Most minor ones shattered under a single strike from modern ‘Aura.’

Heroes didn’t employ them frugally without cause.

‘My aim is to gather these minor superpowers for moderate strength.’

A gratifying objective. Particularly since he knew of an ancient power capable of amplifying these subtle ones.

To initiate his scheme, Cale pursued the ancient power concealed in Western City. He was aware of the acquisition conditions.

“Youn, young master. Welcome.”

Cale merely nodded at the baker, who bent so deeply his forehead nearly met the floor. Gasp. The baker’s intake of breath reached him, yet Cale feigned ignorance. His notorious trash image evidently terrified the man, stirring a twinge of guilt.

“Give me some bread.”

“Excuse me?”

Cale indicated the entire assortment in the bakery and replied firmly.

“Everything from here to there.”

Clang. The gold coin Cale placed began spinning on the counter.

“Pack it all up.”

The baker appeared stunned as Cale pressed on.

“Two or three more gold coins should cover a week’s supply of bread, right?”

The baker’s eyes shifted from the coin to Cale. The sum far exceeded the bread’s value. Cale met the baker’s trembling gaze with stoic calm.

“I can shop elsewhere if you decline.”

“No, nothing of the sort! Young master! I’ll pack it swiftly!”

Now deferential for a fresh cause, the baker bustled about. Minutes later, Cale departed the bakery, a sack of bread slung over his shoulder.

Though merely bread, the load was substantial, causing Cale to grimace. He overlooked the baker observing his exit and proceeded into the street.

Cale strolled unhurriedly, noting how those meeting his eyes hastily averted and departed. Most fled to dodge his gaze altogether.

‘It’s worlds apart from Korea. A genuine fantasy realm.’

Surveying the market’s classic fantasy vibe, Cale ambled through.

“Mm.”

“Mmph.”

Merchants startled upon eye contact, swiftly looking away. Tsk tsk. Cale had evidently earned his trash moniker thoroughly before. Self-deprecating inwardly, he traversed the market toward Western City’s western edge.

The slums occupied the west. Even prosperous territories harbored the destitute. In such settings, one might anticipate a clichéd scene.

‘Ah, the destined meeting gained by distributing food to the needy.’

Regrettably, that wasn’t it.

Entering the slums, Cale sensed curious stares immediately. This area housed both the laziest and cruelest sorts.

Though the impoverished might not recognize their count, Cale’s visage was familiar. With nothing to lose, they monitored disruptors in markets, taverns, squares, wells—Cale had stirred chaos everywhere imaginable.

“Tsk.”

Despite knowing Cale’s tales, the bread’s aroma proved irresistible. Cale dismissed the stares and pressed onward.

His fine leather boot’s tip soiled in filthy puddles. An unidentified odor assailed his nostrils, instinctively wrinkling his nose.

Accelerating his pace, Cale navigated the slums’ rundown homes on a modest hill’s side, aiming for the summit. Nearing it, trailing footsteps and peeks dwindled. His piercing stare likely contributed.

‘Much improved here.’

Escaping the reek, Cale reached the hilltop and surveyed Western City below. Naturally, this elevation fell short of the count’s estate. No lord would dwell beneath slum level.

Regaining focus, Cale approached a tree enclosed by barriers on all sides. The broad planks forming the fence featured a decayed entry, crumbling under Cale’s nudge.

This massive tree appeared centuries old. Slum trees typically became fuel or were stripped bare, but not this one.

The explanation was straightforward. Voices reached Cale’s ears. These two had trailed him from the slums to the finish.

“You can’t approach that t-tree!”

Cale disregarded the caution. Another anxious tone followed.

“You can’t go there! It’s a man-eating tree!”

A man-eating tree. Suicides here turned to mummies by dawn. Blood touching it vanished instantly.

Moreover, only barren soil encircled it—no grass or weeds.

This was Cale’s target tree.

In antiquity, a glutton ousted from his temple for overeating starved fatally.

Legend held this tree sprouted over his remains, harboring his resentment and might. The Indestructible Shield Cale desired resided within.

How archaic, enigmatic, and bizarre! Most ancient powers shared this mystique.

Extracting a loaf from the sack, Cale examined a head-sized cavity. He needed to dismiss the voice’s owner first. But before he spoke, the cry intensified, as they lost sight of him crouching behind the fence. Trembling heavily.

“You’re going to die! Don’t do it!”

Cale massaged his temples.

“Sigh.”

Followers thinned approaching the hilltop’s man-eating tree, yet that voice persisted.

‘Nosy folks exist everywhere.’

Frowning, Cale turned. He spotted a girl around ten, clasping her little brother’s hand, eyeing him worriedly. Concern filled her gaze.

Noticing Cale’s scowl and stare, the girl faltered, mumbling.

“It’s a man-eating tree. You’re going to d, die.”

“I won’t die.”

Cale withdrew two loaves and tossed them to the girl. Individually wrapped, ground contact was fine.

“Take that and get lost.”

The boy snatched one promptly, but the girl wavered. Ultimately, Cale invoked his status. Rising, he poked his head beyond the fence.

“You two don’t know about Cale the trash?”

The girl paled. Her brother glanced at Cale, retrieved the second loaf, and tugged her arm.

“Noona.”

“Uh huh.”

Even dragged away, the girl alternated glances between tree and Cale.

“You can’t die.”

Cale tongue-clicked at her repeated plea, confirmed solitude, and settled beneath the tree. Visibility required approaching the fence closely.

“Let’s get started.”

He inserted a loaf into the hole, his hand vanishing into the tree’s shadow, sensing chill as the bread dissolved.

Fearing his hand’s engulfment, he withdrew swiftly.

The hole’s darkness persisted unchanged.

“If you die with a grudge, you have to resolve that grudge.”

This wasn’t truly man-eating; it devoured anything. A remnant of the starvation victim’s power caused this. Linking to ancient strength seemed absurd yet authentic.

‘Recall: feed until darkness fades.’

The hole’s gloom stemmed not from shade but grudge manifestation.

This task demanded one individual supplying ample food solo until the dark lifted. Then, concealed light would emerge.

Consuming that light granted the ‘Indestructible Shield’ to Cale.

“Eat all you want.”

Cale positioned the sack’s mouth at the hole, dumping all bread in. Normally, the small opening would overflow, but withdrawing the sack revealed enduring darkness.

“I guess I’ll need about ten more large bags.”

The hole’s shadow had paled slightly.

Ten bags. Only Cale, with his 3 million gallon allowance, could utter this nonchalantly.

Rumble-

A strange groan echoed from the tree, as if demanding more amid hunger. Cale sensed the darkness might lunge.

“...It is a bit scary.”

Cale stood hastily. Lingering felt unwise.

“Just what can a stupid grudge do?”

Gluttony proved terrifying.

“I’ll come back tomorrow.”

Addressing the rumbling tree like a living being, Cale bid farewell and left the enclosure. Reentering the slums, he saw the siblings devouring the bread.

Despite warning of the man-eating tree, they relished the loaves happily, clearly savoring the taste.

“My my.”

Cale scoffed at the pair before dismissing their looks. Actually, their attention fixed on the formerly bread-laden, now vacant sack—likely puzzled.

But what could they achieve? Nothing.

These kids probably feared nearing the tree too much. Still, caution was wise. Harm might befall if they peered into the hole and got consumed.

[The children of the slums have no fear. It was because they treasured a single grain of rice more than a blade coming their way. Death is always around them, so they do not fear death. They fear being hungry more than death.]

From [The Birth of a Hero].

Thus, Cale addressed the siblings.

“If you want to eat bread again tomorrow, don’t say a thing.”

The pair stayed silent, obeying instantly. The young girl, who seemed hesitan