Chapter 27: Political Currents and a Hero’s Welcome

“Ah, you foolish nephew of mine! No matter how profoundly ignorant you are of the world’s inner workings, there are still boundaries to who you should associate with! Do you have even the faintest conception of the sheer humiliation and tactical predicament I’ve been thrust into simply because your name was dragged alongside that low-life in such a loud article?!”

Simon quietly bit down on his lower lip. The booming, abrasive volume of Dalton’s voice caused a sharp, throbbing ache to pulse behind his temples.

Dalton surveyed Simon’s pale, fragile frame from head to toe, letting out a heavy, disdainful click of his tongue. He found it deeply pathetic that a grown man would look as though he were on the absolute verge of collapsing simply from being raised a voice at. Yet, witnessing his nephew squirming in helpless submission simultaneously stroked his ego, providing a strange, deeply twisted sense of personal satisfaction.

‘Hmph. Given that he was born a defective fool to begin with, I suppose I ought to show him a gesture of magnanimity.’

Praising himself internally for his supposedly benevolent nature, Dalton cleared his throat and continued.

“Pah, listen to me carefully. Allow me to articulate the exact extent of the predicament you’ve forced upon me—and precisely why you are strictly forbidden from associating with that lazy scoundrel. You are well aware that I am actively pursuing a seat in the regional council, are you not?”

“…Yes.”

For years, Dalton had been aggressively exhausting every available avenue to secure a position as a regional councilor. Traditionally, appointments to the council were determined through the internal deliberations of sitting members alongside the votes of influential local elites. Consequently, Dalton had been funneling immense fortunes and relentless effort into courting the favor of the established politicians.

“An ignorant child like you wouldn’t understand, but the internal dynamics of the council are exceptionally complex. It is fractured into two primary factions: those who align with the feudal Lord, and those who side with the Lord Regent. I am currently attempting to secure a solid foothold within the latter.”

The faction backing the true Lord was commonly referred to as the Lorain Faction, deriving its title from the ruling family’s surname. Conversely, the faction aligned with the Lord Regent operated under the banner of the Eutes Faction, named after the house of the temporary ruler.

Though Dalton had condescendingly assumed his nephew was completely oblivious to these matters, Simon actually possessed an exceptionally clear, highly accurate grasp of the regional political landscape. It was a natural consequence of his habitual newspaper reading during his long hours of seclusion.

‘At this exact juncture in time, both factions are locked in an almost perfect equilibrium.’

The late Lord had commanded immense, legendary reverence among the local populace, and his widow remained alive to this day. Though she was well past seventy years of age and rarely made public appearances, she still enjoyed overwhelming affection from the public. The mere fact that the current Lord maintained a loyal base of supporters despite never once showing his face in the territory was entirely fueled by the lingering prestige of the previous generation. Furthermore, the Eppen family—one of the three great noble houses of the region—stood firmly behind the Lorain Faction.

On the other side, the house of Eutes had managed to curry considerable public favor since its patriarch assumed the role of Lord Regent, yet their authority had not yet expanded beyond that boundary.

“Do you grasp the gravity of the situation now?”

Dalton put on a grand, haughty air as if he were explaining a profound state secret, completely unaware that Simon was already intimately familiar with every detail. More importantly, Simon possessed knowledge of future developments that Dalton could not possibly fathom.

In the near future, the political landscape would undergo a seismic shift. The head of the Eppen family would suffer a sudden, unexpected death. Shortly after, the persistent rumor regarding a high-born noble deeply immersed in black magic would be officially linked to none other than the late Lord’s widow, causing her public support to plummet off a cliff. Driven by these twin catastrophes, the Lorain Faction would suffer a rapid, irreversible collapse, allowing the Eutes Faction to seize absolute momentum. The Eutes Faction would eventually capture total control of the council and aggressively lobby to officially elevate the Lord Regent to the rank of the true Lord.

That was the absolute limit of the historical events Simon could recall. He had passed away right around the time the scandal broke, leaving him completely in the dark regarding whether the ruling house was truly replaced by Eutes, or whether the late Lord’s widow was genuinely the one practicing black magic.

Since Dalton was aligned with the Eutes Faction, he had—ironically enough—managed to anchor himself to the winning side of history, even if his position was merely at the very bottom of the hierarchy.

‘Still, what on earth does any of this have to do with Clint?’

While these political machinations were undeniably significant to those involved, the petty power struggles of noble houses and council factions were entirely irrelevant to Simon’s life. It was a distant game played high up in the clouds—something that had no business intersecting with an excessively wealthy hermit like himself, or a complete outsider like Clint.

“Listen to me closely, Simon. That lazy scoundrel is nothing more than a spy operating for the Lorain crowd.”

“Pardon?”

“He is a direct puppet employed by the Lorain Faction! He sneaks around behind our backs, gathering intelligence to feed directly to the opposing side!”

Dalton clenched his fists tightly, his whole body trembling with visceral disgust at the mere thought. Simon, however, found himself utterly bewildered. Clint? A political operative?

“…Are you quite certain there hasn’t been a profound misunderstanding? Mr. Sebaldo… really doesn’t strike me as that sort of person…”

As far as Simon had observed, Clint’s entire daily routine consisted of endlessly practicing card tricks, and whenever he grew bored of that, casually reading the detective novels Simon had purchased for him. His professional caseload was restricted entirely to chasing down missing house cats. In truth, the title of ‘detective’ was practically a decoration; he was just an extraordinarily relaxed, free-spirited slacker. It was utterly impossible to imagine such a man playing a covert role in a high-stakes noble political feud.

“Are you implying that I am standing here spouting complete nonsense?! Hah! I am your uncle!”

“I apologize, Uncle. It’s just… something feels deeply off about that claim… May I ask where you heard such a rumor?”

“I heard it directly from the mouth of Councilman Vance!”

Councilman Vance was a prominent politician with whom Dalton maintained a close personal connection. Naturally, Vance belonged to the Eutes Faction. In fact, he was the very same individual who had previously filed a report against Clint and had him dragged off to the municipal precinct.

“Is that the entire basis of the claim? Did he actually witness something… or is there concrete evidence…?”

While Dalton spoke with absolute conviction, Simon remained entirely skeptical.

‘So it’s literally just a hollow rumor? That’s practically equivalent to having no evidence whatsoever.’

The assertion that Clint was a covert operative for the Lorain Faction carried the exact same logical weight as the absurd rumor claiming he was secretly the leader of a bandit syndicate. Simon felt a sudden, deflating wave of disappointment. He had briefly hoped he was about to uncover a meaningful piece of Clint’s mysterious background.

“Regardless of the details, you are strictly forbidden from associating with that individual ever again. Given that you were ignorant of these facts until now, I shall generously grant you my forgiveness this once.”

“…….”

Simon deliberately withheld a verbal confirmation.

“Simon Grayan! When an elder lays down a directive, you answer properly!”

“However…”

To Simon, unsourced rumors were completely devoid of value. The only version of Clint that mattered was the man he had directly seen, experienced, and come to know with his own eyes. Summoning every drop of courage within his chest, he tightly clenched his hands against the bedsheets.

“…I deeply apologize, Uncle, but I cannot comply with your command.”

“Simon!”

“I intend to conduct my life precisely as I see fit. If it bothers you, feel free to tell those around you that your nephew is an obstinate, uncontrollable fool who refuses to listen to reason.”

“And how on earth does that make me look?! It is already embarrassing enough without the entire town knowing I can’t even maintain absolute authority over my own household!” Dalton roared at the top of his lungs.

Simon closed his mouth tightly, refusing to offer another word of argument. Observing his nephew’s silent, unyielding posture, Dalton realized with a surge of frustration that sheer intimidation would not break the boy’s sudden stubbornness. If he wanted to reclaim control, he had no choice but to play his ultimate trump card.

“If you insist on displaying such disgraceful defiance, then you leave me with no choice. Since you clearly hold zero respect for my authority… I shall wash my hands of your affairs entirely! Go ahead and manage everything according to your own whims from this day forth! Your business holdings, your estate management, all of it!”

Simon’s heart instantly skipped a beat, a wave of cold panic washing over him. He possessed absolutely no practical skill or administrative knowledge required to manage a vast estate. The moment Dalton officially stepped down, the entirety of his family’s enterprise would collapse into absolute chaos. While his private inheritance was more than vast enough to comfortably sustain his personal lifestyle until his final breath, the unbearable weight of guilt from ruining the precious legacy forged by his ancestors was something his fragile heart could never endure.

It was precisely why Simon had always been fundamentally dependent on Dalton’s presence. It was the sole reason he was perpetually forced into the position of a helpless subordinate whenever he stood before his uncle.

“U-Uncle… please, do not say such things. Yes? I… I was…”

Flustered into absolute submission, Simon was on the absolute verge of begging for forgiveness and swallowing his pride. Just as the words of surrender were about to spill from his lips, the bedroom door clicked open, and Rhett stepped inside.

“I deeply apologize for interrupting your discussion, Master Simon, but a distinguished guest has arrived at the estate,” the butler announced smoothly.

Having been interrupted right at the exact microsecond he was about to break Simon’s resistance, Dalton flared with intense irritation.

“A guest?! Who could possibly be visiting at this hour?! Tell them to wait!”

“With all due respect, sir… I believe you will want to receive this individual immediately. It is an official envoy dispatched directly by the Lord Regent.”

“What did you say?!”

Dalton’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. The Lord Regent was the absolute apex of the political ladder he had been desperately trying to climb for years. A personal envoy… sent directly to this estate?!

“Quickly! Bring them up at once! Do not keep them waiting for a single second!”

Completely forgetting the intense psychological power struggle he had just been waging against Simon, Dalton yelled out in a state of frantic, breathless excitement.

A short moment later, the official envoy dispatched by the Lord Regent entered the master suite, bearing a formal, wax-sealed letter written by Leon Eutes himself. The document expressed the Lord Regent’s profound personal gratitude toward Simon for the extraordinary courage he had displayed during the apprehension of Peter Matterson, formally extending an invitation for Simon to visit the Lord’s castle so he might hear the full narrative in greater detail.

“The noble Lord Eutes has personally extended an invitation to us! This is the absolute highest honor our house could ever achieve! Magnificent work, Simon! Hahaha!”

Dalton burst into a boisterous, ecstatic laugh. The sheer, shamelessly blatant speed with which his demeanor shifted from explosive fury to lavishing praise was almost embarrassing to witness. It was painfully obvious why he had suddenly spun the phrasing to include ‘us’—he fully intended to ride on his nephew’s coattails to secure a face-to-face audience with the Lord Regent himself.

Fully perceiving the transparent greed underlying the older man’s excitement, Rhett cast a sharp, subtle side-eye toward Dalton. Simon caught the butler’s look and offered him a faint, bitter smile.

‘The timing of this letter was an absolute miracle.’

Dalton was so utterly intoxicated by the prospect of meeting the Lord Regent that his mind would undoubtedly be consumed by the opportunity for the foreseeable future. Had the envoy not arrived at that exact microsecond, Simon would not only have been forced to swear an absolute oath never to see Clint again, but he would also have been forced to pathetically beg and plead on his knees just to appease his uncle’s explosive wrath.

Yet, as he watched Dalton prance around the room in absolute euphoria, a heavy, somber weight settled deep within Simon’s chest. Right now, more than anything else in the world, he felt an overwhelming, desperate longing to see Clint.

So, he went. Simon refused to hold himself back any longer.

A short while later, he found himself standing directly before the familiar timber door of Clint’s detective agency. He took a brief moment to smooth down his rumpled coat, his breath coming in shallow hitches from having rushed up the narrow staircase. Ever since the arrival of the invitation letter, Dalton had been thrown into a state of absolute, frantic chaos preparing for the upcoming audience at the castle. Between ordering custom formal attire and coordinating diplomatic etiquette, his attention had completely drifted away from his nephew. Exploiting that exact window of chaos, Simon had quietly slipped out of the estate to seek out Clint.

His body had received more than enough physical rest over the past few days. Now, it was time to seek solace for his soul.

Simon pushed the door open. The very second the barrier swung inward—

POP!

The sharp, sudden crack of a party popper echoed through the room.

“Whoa—!”

As Simon recoiled in sheer, startle-induced terror, Clint smoothly stepped into view. The detective was wearing a silly, brightly colored paper party hat and rhythmically tapping a tiny miniature drum hanging from his neck.

Drumroll—

“To the hero featured on the front page of every daily paper! The legendary Simon Grayan! Congratulations!”

‘Simon Grayan, The Regional Hero’ was the exact central headline ran by one of the major newspapers. Clint was playfully quoting the press to stage a dramatic welcome, though to the actual subject of the news, it felt suspiciously like a affectionate teasing.

Simon felt a deep blush flush across his cheeks, his eyebrows furrowing in embarrassed protest.

“What on earth is the meaning of this?”

“I am throwing you a proper celebration, of course.”

“Ugh, please…”

Witnessing Simon’s utterly mortified, thoroughly disgusted expression, Clint lost all restraint and burst into a loud, ringing laugh.

“That expression is truly a masterpiece. Ahaha!”

The clear, refreshing sound of his laughter echoed warmly through the cozy confines of the office. If you are happy, then I am happy, too. A gentle, infectious warmth bloomed within Simon’s chest, effortlessly washing away the lingering exhaustion of the day.

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