Trash of the Count's Family Vol 2. Chapter 442: …Can I Take It All? (5)

“Where is the Pope?”

The head steward seemed unable to properly answer Cale’s inquiry.

“That is not something I can disclose to you.”

Cale offered a smile of satisfaction upon hearing the steward’s eventual response.

He then posed another question.

“Does Young Master Jimon have knowledge of the gray sickness?”

“......!”

The very edges of the head steward’s eyes twitched.

Once more, the head steward found himself unable to speak.

Leaning back in his chair, Cale withdrew his imposing presence.

“You may leave now.”

Cale dismissed the head steward.

The old man could only cast a fleeting glance at him, and as their eyes met, Cale added a brief clarification.

“Go and see Young Master Jimon.”

The tone was casual—so light, it seemed to carry no consequence—yet the head steward still had to exert considerable effort to steady his trembling form before giving a deep bow.

He then carefully moved toward the door, his hand reaching for the handle.

“Ah.”

Cale’s voice reached him as he stood with his back turned.

“The Purification of Chaos is achievable.”

The head steward inhaled sharply.

Click.

He slowly exited the dining chamber.

“......”

Standing by the window, Clopeh observed the actual head steward as he merged with the other servants and made his way from the annex toward the main castle. He then spoke.

“Lord Cale.”

“Yes.”

“It seems the structural damage is not as severe as we had initially anticipated.”

The corners of Cale’s lips curved upwards, and he nodded in contentment.

“Indeed. At the very least, it appears Young Master Jimon retains control over Moraka Castle.”

The servants and the head steward were acting under Jimon’s instructions, carefully evading the notice of the Order of the God of Chaos.

Furthermore, the head steward's loyalty remained with Jimon.

This indicated that, within the confines of Moraka Castle, Young Master Jimon had not yet had everything wrested from him by the Order of the God of Chaos.

“He proves more useful than I had initially estimated.”

In response to Cale’s observation, Clopeh offered a smile.

He recalled the questions Cale had recently posed.

The inquiry about Jimon’s awareness of the Pope.

And there had been one more question.

The mention of gray sickness had also been brought up.

As anticipated, Lord Cale was not merely assessing Young Master Jimon as a potential ally.

Clopeh felt a surge of keen anticipation regarding the unfolding events.

“Clopeh.”

At that precise moment, Cale’s voice cut through the air, drawing Clopeh from his contemplation.

The instant their eyes met—those eyes focused directly upon him—an inexplicable chill coursed through him.

Cale slowly began to speak.

“Cease indulging in pointless contemplation and partake in the meal first.”

Something about the intensity in Clopeh’s gaze unsettled him, prompting Cale to make the remark before turning his complete focus back to the food.

“This is delicious!”

“It tastes even better than yesterday’s.”

“Hehe. It’s so yummy! Clopeh, you ought to eat too!”

Responding to the chatter of the ten-year-olds, Clopeh offered them a faint smile before resuming his seat and picking up his spoon.

Glance.

His gaze briefly flickered towards Cale.

Just as he had suspected.

Just as he had suspected, Lord Cale was not an individual to be taken lightly.

In the moment he had almost forgotten the reality of their surroundings and found the situation engaging, as if it were merely a story—

Lord Cale had served as a potent reminder that this was indeed reality, making it impossible for him to regard the world as mere entertainment.

Truly, he was unique.

He was undeniably different.

“Heh.”

Releasing a soft chuckle, Clopeh commenced his meal.

...Is that madman planning some sort of bizarre scheme?

Cale observed him with a deeply distrustful expression.

His attention then shifted to Team Leader Sui Khan, who was intently observing both him and Clopeh.

What is it?

He mouthed the unspoken question, and Sui Khan responded with a sigh.

“Eat.”

Following the instruction, Cale dutifully returned to his meal.

The cuisine was, in fact, superior to that of the previous day.

A satisfied smile graced Cale’s lips.

*****

Knock knock!

At the distinct sound of knocking, Young Master Jimon sprang to his feet.

The door opened at a deliberate pace, and the moment Jimon saw the elder head steward step across the threshold, his anxiety became palpable.

“—”

Yet, he remained silent.

For through the opening of the door, he could discern a holy knight peering inside.

“I have brought some refreshments for your morning tea.”

The elderly head steward closed the door with composed movements and began arranging the tea service on the table.

Clink, clink.

His actions were not intentionally noisy. The tea set was presented before Jimon with a natural and graceful arrangement.

“……”

However, Jimon did not sit.

His gaze remained fixed upon the head steward, his anxiety completely unconcealed.

“Excessive worry is detrimental to your well-being.”

Though the old head steward uttered these words—

Jimon had already noticed the sheet of paper and pen concealed at the very bottom of the cookie container.

Any writing materials within the study were subject to immediate search by those scoundrels in the Order of the God of Chaos. Consequently, whenever written communication was necessary, the head steward would discreetly procure paper and a pen from elsewhere, only to remove and dispose of them shortly thereafter.

These scoundrels from the Order of the God of Chaos, who feign respect openly while tightening their surveillance, are quite something. They mask their control as protection.

Fortunately, this chamber remained unwatched. When the late Count Lupe, before the young Jimon inherited Moraka Castle, had feared assassination attempts from rival factions, he had enchanted this very room with potent defensive magic. This is why the Order of the God of Chaos could only station holy knights outside the door as a superficial display of “security,” likely believing they had already seized complete dominion over the castle.

Ever since Young Master Jimon discovered their true intentions and methods, his actions became even more reckless and desperate. All of it was a performance to blind their watchful eyes.

Crunch.

He deliberately crunched on a cookie, a loud sound accompanying his writing on the paper. <How did it go?>

The head steward penned a reply underneath. <They are aware of both the Order of the God of Chaos and the gray sickness.>

“...!”

Jimon froze mid-bite, the cookie still in his hand. They knew about the Pope and the gray sickness? That Kase? Young Master Jimon found it almost unbelievable, as even the Demon King was unaware of these developments. They were more formidable than the Demon King.

Young Master Jimon began to regret his alliance with the Order of the God of Chaos. Following Count Lupe’s disappearance, Dioriel had descended into chaos. Terosa, a subordinate of the Demon King, seized this opportunity to attempt to conquer the Dioriel territory. Witnessing this, Young Master Jimon suspected they were responsible for his uncle's death, especially since Count Lupe had not sided with the Demon King.

It was at that moment the Order of the God of Chaos appeared. They presented Young Master Jimon with Count Lupe’s personal belongings and clothing, asserting that the Demon King's faction was responsible for his demise. If only I hadn't accepted their help. To safeguard Dioriel and counter the Demon King—or, more truthfully, to avenge Count Lupe, his only genuine kin amongst his rapacious relatives—Young Master Jimon had joined forces with the Order of the God of Chaos. They had seemed like the only force capable of truly defeating the current Demon King.

While his uncle might have had connections to the remnants of the previous Demon King’s regime, Young Master Jimon had no means to contact them. Furthermore, he saw no reason to ally with a group that had failed to protect his uncle and had merely hidden away. ...Gray sickness...

Then, approximately a month prior, after noticing an unusual surge in holy knight activity throughout the Demon World, Jimon began to sense that something was amiss. It was then that he learned of the so-called gray sickness. No, to be precise, the Order had ensured he gained this knowledge.

And then—

<What do you think?>

The Pope inquired with a gentle tone. <The gray sickness is a malady that demons dependent on gray mana would recognize all too readily, wouldn't you agree?>

Young Master Jimon found himself unable to voice his anger or utter a single word. Not a single soul in Dioriel territory will perish from the gray sickness. It wasn't that they wouldn't contract it. It was that they wouldn't die from it. Dioriel territory shall be the first to be saved by the chaotic powers.

With that declaration, the Pope then posed a question to Young Master Jimon: <Young Master, you harbor no thoughts of betrayal, do you?>

He smiled serenely as he spoke. <The moment you alert the Demon King, not only yourself but the entirety of Dioriel territory will be consumed by the gray sickness and perish.>

His words struck Jimon like a crushing hammer—the fool who had chosen the wrong faction and grasped a hand he never should have. Young Master Jimon. Even the Demon King is powerless against the gray sickness.

Pour—

“Ah.”

The gentle sound of tea being poured jolted Jimon back to his senses. He then realized he was drenched in a cold sweat, his breathing heavy and uneven. The head steward, who had been by his side since his childhood and was more of a grandfather than anyone else, offered him a cup brimming with warm tea.

Jimon took a sip. Once a comforting warmth spread through him—

<Young Master.>

The head steward wrote once more. <The second brother was the leader.>

The second brother? That simpleton? <A member of the Cat Tribe and a dragon were also present.>

......!

Young Master Jimon’s eyes widened dramatically, appearing as if they might burst from their sockets. Kase. Who exactly was this individual? <The second brother claims to have rescued Count Lupe.>

No—the second brother. Who was he? And how could someone like that conceal his presence so flawlessly? Young Master Jimon felt a shiver course through his entire body. It was a different kind of shock than what he had experienced when confronting the Pope of the Order of the God of Chaos.

Then came the subsequent message from the head steward.

<Purification of Chaos. It is possible, he says.>

“Ah.”

A sound escaped Young Master Jimon’s lips involuntarily.

Without conscious thought, he shoved a cookie into his mouth and then swallowed it down roughly.

It felt as though he needed to take some sort of action—any action at all.

Purification of Chaos is achievable?

The power of chaos, which the Pope had spoken of as the means to save Dioriel, was what he referred to as purification.

The Pope had stated that through this purification, he would gather all the gray sickness that had spread throughout Dioriel, transforming the city into the inaugural temple for the God of Chaos.

His throat began to burn.

Young Master Jimon gulped down tea, still scaldingly hot, as if it were cold water.

“Hah, haha—”

Laughter erupted from him.

The Demon King and the Order of the God of Chaos.

These two entities had placed such an immense burden upon him that his head felt on the verge of exploding.

To such an extent that even avenging his uncle, Count Lupe, had started to feel like an unattainable luxury.

And then, amidst all this turmoil, new individuals had emerged.

The ones who had rescued his uncle.

They had already dealt with the Order of the God of Chaos.

Furthermore, they had even drawn in the forces of the Demon King and infiltrated this very location.

“Wow—”

Young Master Jimon genuinely marveled.

“That’s… terrifying.”

It was truly frightening.

Neither the Order of the God of Chaos nor the Demon King’s faction could accurately gauge the full extent of Kase’s current power.

While they would certainly be cautious of him, they would never comprehend that the true threat was concealed behind him.

“Wow. Seriously.”

He could only express his awe.

The head steward wrote once more.

<Should we rescue them tonight?>

In response to this query, Young Master Jimon, now feeling significantly more at ease, picked at a cookie before scribbling his reply.

<Uncle chose them; the Demon King and the Order of the God of Chaos did not.>

In other words, it was not their place to save these individuals.

<What did they require?>

Jimon inquired, and the head steward provided his answer.

<The Pope’s whereabouts.>

Jimon nodded, then made his way to the desk and retrieved a small piece of parchment from a hidden crevice within a drawer.

The head steward accepted it with a solemn expression.

It depicted an interior map of Moraka Castle, alongside markers indicating the positions of the Order of the God of Chaos.

A short while later—

“I’ll be changing the bed linens.”

Several servants proceeded towards the annex.

Among them, a middle-aged woman discreetly pulled the parchment map from her clothing and presented it to Cale.

Grin.

As Cale surveyed the map, he casually remarked:

“He moves swiftly.”

These words were intended for Jimon.

And this observation would soon be relayed to Jimon via the middle-aged woman, and subsequently, the head steward.

Patting the freshly made sheets, Cale continued:

“It seems we can simply sleep soundly tonight. Agreed?”

That message as well—the one advising Young Master Jimon to remain put and sleep soundly for the night—would be conveyed to him.

*****

Tonight.

The Order of the God of Chaos intended to assault both Cale’s group and the Demon King’s contingent.

Chew chew.

Cale ingested a bite of steak while gazing out the window, which was now awash in the crimson hues of the setting sun.

Ever since the previous day, he had been eating well, sleeping soundly, and leading an exceptionally healthy existence.

Could this be the experience of living as an idle layabout?

“Human, why the pensive expression?”

Cale offered no response to Raon’s question, choosing instead to savor the present moment.

However, the atmosphere at the dining table was anything but tranquil.

“Mr. Kase.”

The manager from the New Business Department cast a brief glance at the second brother, who wore a bewildered expression, before directing his gaze toward Clopeh Sekka.

This evening, the three individuals from the Demon King’s side, whom Terosa had assigned to them, had extended an invitation for a shared meal.

The reason for this was quite apparent.

“What exactly did you discuss with Young Master Jimon yesterday?”

Clopeh Sekka elegantly consumed a piece of steak, then placed down his fork and knife.

Following this, he delicately dabbed the corner of his mouth.

The entire sequence of actions appeared graceful—far too practiced to be anything less.

“Wow.”

One of the demons reacted audibly.

It wasn’t the New Business Department manager, nor the middle-aged knight.

It was Mol, the commander of the Demon King’s Third Army, known as the Hand Behind the Back. Uttering a sound of admiration, he spoke:

“You truly resemble a nobleman. No matter how I observe you, you don’t strike me as a merchant.”

The instant his cool gaze fixed upon Clopeh—

Clopeh’s thoughts turned to Cale, who was blankly staring out the window, to Raon, hidden nearby under invisibility, and to On, Hong, and Sui Khan, who were dining comfortably in their upstairs room on the second floor.

Then, he opened his mouth.

“As expected, General Mol, you possess a keen perception.”

Mol, who had been masquerading as the rookie knight Rom, allowed the smile at the corner of his lips to widen.

“Indeed. Something felt amiss.”

His current mood was not particularly pleasant.

After quietly observing Moraka Castle and Kase over the preceding day and the current day, he had arrived at a singular conclusion.

“What precisely are you?”

A question was posed.

“Are you contemplating treachery against me at this very moment?”

The dining room became enveloped in a chilling atmosphere.

The manager of the New Business Department and the knight, who was middle-aged, could barely make a sound, their breaths catching in their throats.

Clopeh gracefully raised his wineglass nearby, addressing Mol.

“Count Lupe—my father—once stated this.”

His voice carried an almost preposterous level of refinement.

It was not the voice of a merchant, but rather that of someone born into high nobility, a person who had been meticulously raised with stringent etiquette, bearing, and grace from birth.

It was for this reason that the others now genuinely perceived him to be the true bloodline of Count Lupe, a highly ranked noble.

Gazing at Mol, Clopeh continued.

“Should I meet my demise, it will be the doing of the Demon King.”

Mol's eyebrows lifted infinitesimally.

As a smirk deepened at the corners of his mouth, Clopeh, mirroring the expression with a smile of his own, stated.

“Thus, I lured you to this very location, where the Order of the God of Chaos lies in wait. A personal vendetta of mine. My intention was for all of you to perish, after all.”

That was the precise instant—

“Ah, haha—”

Mol erupted into laughter.

Strangely, his laughter conveyed a sense of relief, almost as if he were content. His expression appeared clearer, more at ease.

While Mol had no qualms about betraying others, the thought of being betrayed himself was worse than death.

Observing this refreshingly candid laughter, Cale mused internally:

The confrontation tonight will not merely be a chaotic event. It is destined to devolve into an unseemly mudslinging match.

Utterly satisfactory.

Feigning intimidation under Mol’s oppressive aura, Cale chuckled inwardly.