My Disciples Became Scoundrels - Chapter 3

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

The sight before me stopped me short. I’d assumed the fifteen years would have worn on him, left their mark—but I hadn’t expected this.
No. Steady. A disciple is a disciple, regardless. Even if mine is drooling down his beard.
“Chejare, it’s me. Your master, Dein. Do you remember?”
“Huh?”
Chejare stared at me with clouded eyes—dull, unfocused—then suddenly grabbed me hard and threw an arm around my shoulder.
“Oh, right. Course I know. How could I not recognize my own master?”
He grinned, showing his canines. After fifteen years, he still knew me. Chejare reeked of liquor as he spoke.
“Since we’ve met, we should have a drink. You’ll buy, right?”
Did he really recognize me? I needed to have a proper conversation. I hauled Chejare to his feet, supporting him.
“Come on, get up, Chejare. You’re quite drunk.”
“Drunk? No way. I’m fine. Come on, let’s go inside.”
He swayed toward the entrance of the Narwhal Inn, but the man I’d mistaken for Chejare blocked the doorway.
“You’ve got some nerve showing your face here! No entry until you pay what you owe!”
“Damn.”
He spat the curse thickly, then turned to me with a manic grin spread across his face.
“Master, pay off my tab, would you?”
Did he really recognize me? Something felt off, but I pulled out my purse anyway. The money I’d taken from the Sang-gwan manager’s room was more than enough. I addressed the man I’d mistaken for Chejare.
“How much is the debt?”
“Three million Bauts, sir.”
Had prices risen that much in fifteen years?
Three million Bauts was roughly a month’s wages for an ordinary person. I emptied what I had.
“This is all I have on me. I’ll bring the rest later.”
“Very well, sir.”
The innkeeper seemed grateful to get anything. Chejare looped an arm around me again, feigning familiarity.
“Damn, Master, you’re loaded.”
“Stop cursing.”
“All right, all right. Let’s go in and have a drink.”
In the middle of the day?
The reek of liquor hanging off him was unsettling. I let myself be dragged into the inn.
The first floor was set up as a combined restaurant and bar. Chejare dropped into an empty seat and called out to the proprietor.
“A large bottle of brandy. And stew.”
The innkeeper looked at Chejare like he was garbage. Still reeking of drink from before, and already ordering more. I tried to stop him.
“Chejare, no more drinking. You’re still nursing a hangover.”
“This is hair of the dog. Hair of the dog.”
But why was he speaking so casually to me?
No—that wasn’t the issue. First, I had to prove I was Dein. I showed him the necklace around my neck.
A necklace wrought from pearl and gold, shaped like an acorn and its leaves.
“Chejare, do you remember this? The Balanus Necklace.”
“Huh?”
Chejare glanced at it with bleary eyes, then immediately lost interest and started to doze off, drool sliding down his chin.
How had my disciple come to this?
Shortly after, the proprietor returned with the bottle and stew. Only then did Chejare’s head snap up.
“Oh man, I puked everything up. I’m starving.”
The moment the bowl reached him, he began eating ravenously. I’d thought him dog-like before, but now he resembled a pig more than anything.
His hands trembled as he wolfed down the stew. Did he have palsy?
Once he’d finished, Chejare immediately began pouring. His hands still shook—the liquor spilled—and he rushed the glass to his lips, desperate not to waste a drop.
“Ahh, sweet. So sweet.”
He drank with what looked like genuine bliss. Conversation would be impossible at this rate. I snatched the bottle away. His eyes flashed dangerously.
“What the hell?”
“Don’t curse at me.”
“Then give back the bottle.”
“Talk to me first.”
I leaned back as his hand reached for me. He glared, then, seeming annoyed, took a sip of what remained in his glass.
“What. What is there to say?”
“You still don’t believe I’m Dein, do you?”
“Obviously not.”
He laughed bitterly.
“Our master is dead. He died fifteen years ago. How does a dead man come back?”
“Look at my face. I may have grown younger, but it’s the same face, isn’t it?”
He stared at my face for a long moment, then ordered another bottle from the innkeeper. While waiting for it to arrive, he answered with a listless tone.
“You do look a bit alike, maybe? So what?”
“So what?”
“So what are you trying to say? Let’s say you’re my master. Then what?”
Then what. What was it I wanted to do after finding the children? No—what I wanted was clear enough.
“I’m going to find the children and rebuild Balanus Domus.”
What would a person who’d lost their family wish to do? Gather them again, rebuild their home. That’s what I wanted too.
In the meantime, the innkeeper brought another bottle. Chejare poured it into his glass and spoke.
“Ah, I see. Do your best then.”
“You have to come too, Chejare.”
“Why should I?”
“You’re part of Balanus too. Let’s go home.”
At those words, Chejare let out a short laugh and downed his drink in one go. Then, his gaze blurred with intoxication, he looked at me and spoke.
“Balanus? I forgot long ago. Fifteen years ago when it all fell apart and I became an orphan, I threw it all away as I wandered.”
……
“So reconstruction or whatever—do it alone if you want. I don’t care.”
As he reached for his drink again, I grabbed the bottle away from him. Chejare slammed his fist on the table with a bang and shouted.
“Damn it! Back off! You came this morning spouting nonsense and I’ve been humoring you, so why the hell won’t you stop pushing!”
“Chejare. Sit down.”
“Screw off.”
He spat on the floor and stood up from his seat.
“You buy me one drink and act like you’ve done me some favor? Forget it. I’m done drinking!”
Chejare roared and stormed up to the second floor. I tried to follow, but the innkeeper stopped me.
“I don’t know what your business is, but talk to that one after he’s sobered up. When he drinks, he’s absolutely unreasonable and won’t listen to anything.”
“…I understand.”
He said so and set a plate of stew down in front of me as well.
“I don’t know what your relationship is with that alcohol addict, but if you’re looking for a mercenary, find someone else. Most days he’s too drunk to have his wits about him.”
Alcohol addict. I remembered how Chejare’s hands were trembling just moments ago. Was that a symptom of alcohol addiction? I bit my lip and asked the innkeeper.
“Do you know Chejare well?”
“Well enough, I suppose. We’re from the same neighborhood, after all.”
“Could you tell me what happened to Chejare after Balanus fell?”
At my request, the innkeeper flopped down in the seat Chejare had vacated. He opened his mouth with a somewhat indifferent expression.
“The story of Balanus Domus’s collapse is well-known around here. Back then the children scattered to different places, and Chejare joined a Mercenary Group.”
Chejare became a mercenary? He was a child who feared fighting.
“His Mana manifested early, and he became quite famous as a skilled mercenary. He left this place and came back a few years ago, but…he’d become an alcohol addict by then.”
So that’s how he ended up this way.
I pressed my forehead. Everything felt hollow, yet I couldn’t say anything about the life Chejare had lived. How could I, who’d been absent for fifteen years, speak at all?
For now, it seemed I needed to wait until Chejare got his wits back. That wouldn’t happen anytime soon. I stood and spoke.
“Tell Chejare that when he sobers up, he should come find me at Balanus Domus. And tell him I’ll give him 500,000 Bauts if he does.”
I dangled the bait since he seemed pressed for money. My feet felt heavy as I turned to leave.
What had Chejare gone through in those fifteen years? How had he lived? The weight of my fifteen-year absence settled heavily on my shoulders.
* * *
“Damn. My head…”
Chejare stumbled as he sat up from the bed. By now, the sunset was streaming through the window.
Having slept deeply after drinking, he was hungry again. He scratched at his stomach and made his way down to the inn’s first floor. The innkeeper watched him with a look of disdain.
“You awake?”
“Yeah. Get me anything to eat.”
The moment he slumped into a seat, the innkeeper tossed him some bread and cheese. Chejare ate without complaint, stuffing the food into his mouth. The innkeeper spoke.
“Oh right, speaking of that person who came this morning.”
“This morning? Oh, that lunatic.”
That madman who’d shown up at dawn claiming he was Dein, saying he’d died and come back to life.
He’d encountered plenty of con artists, but never one with such a ridiculous angle. Though he wasn’t complaining—he’d gotten a few free drinks out of it.
“He said he’d be staying at Balanus Domus and that you should come find him once you’re in your right mind. Said he’d give you 500,000 Bauts if you did.”
“500,000 Bauts?”
It was a tempting sum, but Chejare’s brow furrowed. Open generosity was something to be suspicious of. He chewed the rough bread and spoke.
“He’s insane.”
Could he really be his master? No, it made no sense. Their faces did look somewhat similar, but dead people don’t come back to life. It was nonsense. The innkeeper spoke again.
“And he said he’s from Balanus Domus too? Don’t you realize you’re being conned?”
“Shut up.”
During his years as a mercenary, he had searched for the people of Balanus. He’d paid for information, even though it was all false leads. Yet he never gave up, and he found his family.
But after Chejare lost his entire fortune to someone claiming to be from Balanus, he’d grown somewhat indifferent. The loss cut deeper precisely because he’d believed so completely that the man was one of them.
That was around when he’d started depending on drink.
“Damn it, why do these con artists never stop appearing?”
“Did you swallow a rag? Anyway, I’m glad it doesn’t seem like I’ll fall for it again. It’s time to move on. That Domus collapsed fifteen years ago.”
Fifteen years. Yes, time had passed that way. Now he needed to forget Balanus entirely and live his own life.
But why couldn’t he stop thinking about that lunatic who’d shown up this morning? Was it because he’d heard the name Balanus after so long? While he was gnawing on bread, someone entered the inn.
“Hey, Chejare. You got your head on straight now?”
It was one of the mercenaries he’d crossed paths with. Chejare drank some water before answering.
“I’m always thinking straight. What do you want?”
“A big job just came in. Last night some ruffian showed up saying Sang-gwan got cleaned out.”
Sang-gwan. Balanus Domus. Now that he thought about it, hadn’t that man told him to come to Balanus Domus?
“The owner of Sang-gwan is rounding up mercenaries. The pay’s decent for a quick job.”
The mercenary grinned, lifting the corner of his mouth.
“Why don’t you come along? You could use the drinking money.”

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