My Disciples Became Scoundrels - Chapter 23

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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A noble’s personal request—Chezare seemed taken aback as well, though he was clearly pleased about it.
“Well, I’ll be. Word’s already gotten around that we’re competent? So who exactly is the client? Some duke?”
“It’s a request from Herbert’s Marchioness. You did recover the bodies of the fallen from Bitan, didn’t you? The Marquis Herbert was among them.”
“Ah, I see. That explains it.”
Chezare’s expression dimmed slightly. Jenia reached over and examined the request letter.
“Noble requests are always good, but there’s nothing written about the actual job.”
“Herbert’s Marchioness said she would explain it in person. If you accept, I’ll send word to the estate.”
There was no reason to refuse. As we left with the job accepted, Jenia bounced along beside me, chattering away.
“This time we made a lot of money and got jewels too—that’s so nice! Master, what are you going to do with that Transcendence Stone?”
Jenia’s eyes gleamed with hunger. From beside her, Chezare spoke loudly enough for all to hear.
“Ah, my body’s been a bit weak lately. One Transcendence Stone and I’d be completely restored, I think…….”
“Your body’s weak, and that’s why you knocked five people flat on their backs the other day? Master, you’re perfectly healthy. Give me that stone.”
Both their eyes shone with greed. Dain pocketed the Transcendence Stone again and spoke.
“If you two are going to bicker over it, I’ll just eat it myself.”
The disciples looked disappointed, but their expressions shifted quickly. Chezare chuckled.
“Well, it’s good you’re looking after your health, Master. Your vigor’s been fading, after all.”
“Speaking to me like I’m some ancient relic. I won’t give you the stone, but let’s get something delicious to eat. How about beef?”
“Yes!”
My disciples had been following along splendidly this whole time, and money had come in, so I decided we’d treat ourselves well.
Then, after spending 1.5 million Bats at the restaurant, I found myself wondering if I should have just given them the Transcendence Stone.
* * *
The next day.
We stood before the grand gates of a luxurious mansion. It was the Herbert Marquis Family Estate.
I grasped the cord hanging from the gate. A clear bell tone rang out.
It had been a long time since I’d visited this estate. Before Balanus fell, I’d taken on a job for the Marquis Herbert.
While we waited for someone to answer, Jenia pressed herself against the door, peering inside. Chezare clicked his tongue.
“Hey, Jenia. It’s embarrassing—stand back a little.”
“Brother, how does the fountain work? What’s the principle that draws the water up? If you explain it, I’ll move.”
“……Just stay pressed against the door.”
Just then, someone approached from within. An elderly man in formal tailcoat.
We were led inside by the butler. But something felt off about the atmosphere.
As we stepped in, the interior looked shabbier than I remembered. The number of ornaments had noticeably decreased, and a chill hung in the air.
Seeing the butler’s frayed tailcoat, I wondered if they were in financial trouble.
The butler stopped before a certain door.
“Madam. Visitors from Balanus Domus.”
The door opened, and a woman seated on the sofa came into view.
The Marchioness. It had been a long time since I’d seen her face. I’d retained rather favorable memories of her.
The Marquis’s young son had once been rude to us. As nobles and the wealthy often are.
“Mother, these people are just mercenaries, aren’t they? Wouldn’t it be better to hire someone like Father—a Knight? These people aren’t impressive.”
I let it slide, figuring it was just a boy being a boy. Besides, we were hired help. Yet Herbert’s Marchioness rebuked her son sternly.
“A Knight’s oath does not prove a person’s worth. Do not divide the value of others so narrowly. Apologize for your rudeness.”
“But these people aren’t even nobles……!”
“You judge people by rank again.”
In the end, the boy apologized. The Marchioness offered her own apologies as well. Most would have dismissed such things.
At that time, fifteen years ago, Herbert’s Marchioness had been in her mid-twenties when she scolded her son so harshly.
Fifteen years had passed—she should have been well past forty—yet she looked barely into her mid-thirties.
She wore a black dress and a black veil draped over her. Mourning clothes.
“Sit, all of you.”
Her voice carried a commanding, icy tone. There was no warmth in it. As we settled onto the sofa, the Marchioness spoke.
“Are you disciples of Balanus? I never thought I’d hear that name spoken again.”
An unexpected hostility emanated from her.
I’d thought she’d summoned us as her benefactors.
My disciples sensed something too, their expressions beginning to darken.
“Because of you, this city was attacked, and many died. Yet your disciples lived through it so well.”
She slowly rose from her seat. A ghostly movement. A face drained of color. But her eyes burned with clarity.
“When this city was invaded, my daughter and my son came back as corpses. If Balanus had not been here, they would not have died.”
“…….”
“So I cannot understand why only you survived.”
Her husband had gone missing in Bitan and they hadn’t even found his body, while her daughter and son had returned as corpses.
She also seemed to believe that the invasion had occurred because of Balanus.
The room’s atmosphere grew heavier, and Chezare’s gaze turned fierce—as though he might lunge at the Marchioness and tear her apart at any moment.
Yet he didn’t act on it. He was holding himself back with visible restraint. Then, cutting through that violent silence, Jenia’s voice emerged.
“And?”
Her bold question made the Marchioness’s eyes narrow. Jenia spoke flatly, each word clipped and precise.
“Our presence caused the city to be invaded? The invaders’ true motives haven’t even been revealed, have they? And even if they were, we weren’t on the invaders’ side—so why are you blaming us?”
The Marchioness frowned. Jenia pressed on without hesitation.
“Neither I nor my Master killed your family. So why are you holding us accountable? Why did only your family die while we lived…?”
“Jenia.”
I called her name quietly, using my gaze to calm her.
Jenia glanced at me, then bowed her head obediently.
In the silence that fell, the Marchioness stared at me steadily.
“You at least have some sense. If you apologize, I’ll accept it.”
“There’s no reason for me to apologize, so I won’t.”
My disciples looked at me in surprise. The Marchioness wore a similar expression.
“Balanus didn’t kill your family, as Jenia said, and we ourselves are victims. We have no reason to endure such accusations, so we’ll take our leave.”
My disciples had already received more undeserved blame over fifteen years than anyone should bear.
Neither the Marchioness nor the King could insult us. And as their teacher, I especially couldn’t overlook this moment.
“The city wasn’t invaded because of us—it was saved from complete destruction thanks to us. I don’t expect gratitude for that. But.”
I looked directly at the Marchioness as I spoke.
“Please don’t hurt my family anymore. Just as you cherish your family, my family is precious to me.”
I saw something fracture in her eyes. I wondered how the word ‘family’ landed for her.
The Marchioness said nothing. I rose slowly from my seat.
“You said you had a commission for us, but it seems your purpose is merely to vent your anger. We’ll go now.”
I gestured for the children to leave, and both of them stood with relieved expressions on their faces. We were about to leave the room entirely when the Marchioness’s voice stopped us.
“I’m… sorry.”
The Marchioness sighed and wiped her face with a dry hand.
“You’re right. I took out my feelings on you needlessly. You’re victims too, in the end. I apologize. I called you here because I have a commission—I’d be grateful if you’d accept it.”
So the woman I remembered from long ago still existed somewhere in her. I stopped and looked at her.
“I’ll accept your apology. But I don’t accept every commission unconditionally—tell me what it is first.”
The Marchioness didn’t react with anger to my somewhat blunt response. She simply nodded and began speaking matter-of-factly.
“You found my husband’s corpse for us. The Herbert family has a tradition of placing a sword in the coffin when we bury our dead.”
Perhaps that tradition existed because the family was renowned for swordsmanship. The Marchioness continued, her posture rigidly upright.
“I want to place a sword in my husband’s coffin too—but not just any sword. The finest blade. He desperately wanted Master Zik’s Sword.”
Chezare, who had been standing at an angle, interjected abruptly.
“So you want us to obtain the sword?”
“Yes. But that Master only deals with those he deems worthy. Your level of skill seems high enough that the Master would likely agree, so I’d like to entrust this commission to you.”
“What’s the compensation?”
“I’ll give you 50 million Bats if you bring back the sword.”
Fifty million Bats. I’d received 30 million from the Administrative Bureau, but extra coin was never unwelcome.
I would need a substantial sum to commission the Information Guild to search for the children’s whereabouts.
“Yes, I understand. I’ll accept the commission.”
After receiving a partial advance, we left the estate. The moment we crossed the main gate, I saw the expressions on my disciples’ faces.
When they’d heard the Marchioness’s story, they’d been seething with anger. Now it had settled somewhat.
“You two endured that well, even though it must have frustrated you.”
“A 50-million-Bat venting session? We had to be patient,” Chezare said with a wry smile.
Jenia nodded in agreement.
“Besides, it was fun seeing inside a noble’s house. I wish I’d gotten a closer look at the fountain though.”
Still, my disciples’ mood seemed to have improved considerably. Jenia asked me a question.
“But will we actually be able to get Master Zik’s Sword? It sounds like it’ll be difficult.”
“Don’t worry. I know Master Zik. My own sword was a gift from him.”
Though I’d lost it during the invasion. Hearing this, Chezare’s eyes lit up just as Jenia’s did.
“Wow, seriously? Your Master got a sword from that guy? What’s his standard for handing out weapons?”
“His philosophy of weaponry, and your skill level.”
“Philosophy of weaponry? What does that matter? Just kill everyone and be done with it.”
That was the kind of remark that would make Zik grab a hammer and chase after him.
“Philosophy shows your spear where it should point. Understanding it will help you in battle.”
“Then I guess I need to study. Never done it before, but… teach me.”
I was moved by his willingness to persevere despite his reluctance. This was precisely when a teacher should step up.
“I’ll give you a lesson on attributes. Before we go meet Zik.”
I recalled another master once listening to my philosophy lecture and calling me a madman.
But Chezare would listen with genuine pleasure. Probably.
* * *
The sound of hammers striking metal rang out raucously from every direction—a clamor that had greeted us the moment we entered the town.
As we passed through streets lined with smithies, the calls of hawkers and the murmur of haggling drifted from all sides.
Jenia’s face was bright with the excitement of someone on an outing. She pointed toward an anvil and a furnace.
“Master, what’s that? How much does it cost? Can we take it apart? Will you buy it for me? I’m so curious about that one over there—it looks incredibly hot.”
“That one will hurt you if you disassemble it. Chezare, keep a firm hold on Jenia.”
I was worried she might bolt away at any moment. But looking at his expression, something was clearly off with Chezare too.
There was no light in Chezare’s eyes. His eye sockets were darker than usual. Jenia tapped him gently and asked.
“You’re broken. Master, how many hours did you lecture for?”
“All night.”
One night wasn’t quite enough, to be honest, but there was no choice. I had to cram it in intensively. Jenia turned to Chezare with a question.
“What did you hear in yesterday’s lecture?”
“…The Sierra Spear Technique originated in the Tuscany region a hundred years ago and spread throughout the continent. In that process, the spear technique divided into three schools…”
At those words, Jenia’s expression grew serious.
“I can sense intelligence between the words. Is that really you, Chezare?”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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