Chapter 164
“So you’re Lloyd Frontera? My, my. Seeing you in person, it seems the rumors were quite wrong. Not a word about how handsome you are. Hohoho!”
……Here we go again.
Lloyd let out a soft sigh.
Then he looked up.
A luxurious reception room inside the Namaran Count’s mansion.
An old man—who looked suspiciously like Santa Claus—was walking toward them.
The Count of Namaran.
He approached, then happily clapped Javier’s shoulder.
“The journey wasn’t too rough, was it?”
“Not particularly.”
“Good, good. Come, sit here. Hoho. The more I look at you, the more handsome you get.”
The smile he directed at Javier grew even warmer.
Watching that, Lloyd couldn’t help but let out a bitter smile.
Ha.
How should he put this?
Should he step forward right now and say, “Actually, I’m Lloyd Frontera”?
He quietly shook his head.
‘That would feel even more pathetic.’
His left nostril and right nostril both trembled twice.
Thankfully (?) Siluria stepped in.
“Um, Father?”
“Hm?”
“Actually, this person here is…”
She pointed toward Lloyd with an awkward expression.
Finally, the Count’s gaze creaked toward him.
He tilted his head.
“This one? Ahh, he must be the young master’s escort knight? I heard the escort knight—Swordmaster Javier Asrahan—had a divine, statue-like face. Hmmm, judging by this fellow’s looks, he doesn’t seem to be Sir Asrahan.”
He turned to Javier.
“So you didn’t bring Sir Asrahan this time? If possible, I wanted to meet the kingdom’s rising Swordmaster. A shame. Truly a shame.”
The Count clicked his tongue regretfully.
And Lloyd tasted the bitterness of life.
Siluria’s face grew even more troubled.
“Um, Father. This person here is the Frontera heir.”
“Hm?”
“He is Lloyd Frontera…”
“……”
Everything in the room froze.
Three seconds of silence.
Then the Count’s white beard trembled.
“This one?”
“Yes.”
“Lloyd Frontera?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Then that one over there is?”
“Sir Javier Asrahan.”
“The Swordmaster from the rumors?”
“Yes.”
“Ahem! Hmph! Well… that one certainly looks more like a noble.”
“Father, please. Even if it’s undeniable that Sir Asrahan looks far more noble and refined than the Frontera heir—an indisputable fact—you shouldn’t say it out loud like that…”
……Forget the project.
Let’s just go home.
Lloyd felt the full force of appearance discrimination punch him right in the diaphragm.
But now was the time to stay shameless.
“An honor to meet you. I am Lloyd Frontera.”
He seized the opportunity to introduce himself.
The Count coughed awkwardly and laughed.
“Oh dear. Forgive my rudeness.”
“It’s fine. Not the first time.”
“Is that so? As expected.”
……What do you mean, as expected?!
Lloyd screamed internally.
This father-daughter duo kept hitting him with painful truths.
Yet strangely, he didn’t feel insulted.
Rather, seeing the Count’s kind smile stirred something else—
Pity.
Because Lloyd remembered the scene he saw on the way here.
‘He has no idea that malignant forces have already taken root in his city.’
Cannavaro.
The man who triggered the Namaran disaster in the original story.
And Lloyd had also witnessed something unexpected.
‘I didn’t expect him to be using that emblem…’
The Black Dragon-Headed Reaper.
The symbol found at the site where the Undead Mastodon was unearthed.
Likely used by the necromancer who created it.
And later, in the novel, adopted by the tyrant Alicia as her new royal emblem.
And Cannavaro was using it.
The implication was clear.
‘He must be deeply connected to the necromancer who buried the Undead Mastodon near our estate—or he might even be the same person.’
This wasn’t a coincidence.
Things were connecting.
Growing.
So this had to be investigated.
But for the moment—there was something to handle first.
Lloyd lifted his gaze and summoned a bright, businesslike smile.
He loaded the perfect line onto his tongue.
“Regardless, it’s an honor to meet you, Count. And it’s even more of an honor to assist in resolving the chronic issue plaguing your city.”
“Hm? What are you talking about?”
The Count tilted his head.
“Chronic issue? Is it perhaps that my daughter isn’t married yet?”
“No. I meant the cliff collapse.”
“The cliff?”
“Yes.”
“And what about marriage?”
“Oh, that…”
“So you didn’t come to accept our family’s proposal—you came to repair the cliff?”
“Yes.”
……Another misunderstanding added to the pile.
Lloyd forced a bitter smile.
“To be frank, your daughter is far too exceptional for someone like me. She’ll no doubt meet someone much more suitable.”
“Ahem. Still stings a bit.”
“My apologies. But if you think about it, sending your daughter to marry can be done anytime, whereas repairing a collapsing cliff becomes impossible if you wait too long.”
“That’s… true.”
“Indeed.”
“Your words flow like a river.”
“Thank you.”
“And shameless too.”
“I apologize.”
“So you’re here to take on the cliff restoration?”
“Precisely.”
Fortunately, the Count seemed to be a practical man.
He immediately dropped the marriage topic.
Then he asked seriously,
“I’ve heard of your achievements. In Cremo, and the new bridge in the capital. But I didn’t do nothing here. I hired reputable builders. They all failed. Yet you claim you can succeed?”
“Yes.”
Lloyd didn’t bother with long explanations.
He hit the core points clearly.
“I will oversee and manage the entire project. You will fund it and supply labor. If the construction fails or contains major defects, I will pay you the penalty fee stated in the contract.”
“Penalty fee?”
“Yes. Please look here.”
Lloyd pulled out a document.
The Count raised an eyebrow.
“What is this?”
“A project contract.”
Prepared the day before leaving Frontera.
Lloyd pointed to each key clause.
“As you can see, you delegate full construction authority and responsibility to me. I handle surveying, design, technical oversight, and general management. In return, upon successful completion, you pay the agreed construction fee.”
“Hmph… the amount is quite high.”
“Because it’s something only I can do.”
“Confident, aren’t you?”
“Stabilizing an entire city’s foundation—it’s a cheap investment.”
“What about this? ‘Long-term maintenance cost’?”
“Ah, that is for post-construction management.”
“I must pay this amount separately every quarter?”
“Yes. Even perfect construction requires ongoing maintenance.”
“Hmph… this seems like…”
The Count stroked his beard.
Then looked at Lloyd with suspicious eyes.
“You plan to raid my treasury for years to come? What greed!”
“It is merely fair compensation for my work. Hence the penalty clause.”
“Right, the penalty. Let’s see.”
The Count scanned the bottom.
Then nodded.
“This part is satisfying.”
“As it should be.”
“If the project fails or has critical defects, you’ll repay three times the construction cost. Are you sure about this?”
“It’s a contract.”
“And so you drafted these terms?”
“Because contracts establish mutual trust.”
Lloyd smiled.
A contract was a safeguard.
A proof of promise.
Without one, things became dangerous—especially for the worker.
His memories of Korea made that clear.
That time in Pohang…
He remembered well.
The labor. The offer of big pay. The mistake.
‘I didn’t sign a labor contract.’
The site foreman had said they were busy.
That they could write it later.
Lloyd agreed to avoid making a fuss.
A fatal mistake.
‘In the end, the money kept getting delayed and half of it was never paid.’
Excuses.
Lies.
Shouting.
Some supervisors got paid.
The rest got nothing.
Lloyd had dragged himself back to Seoul and struggled to survive for a month.
Barely paying his goshiwon rent.
Thus:
A contract must always be written. Even if the sky splits or the world ends tomorrow.
With that belief, Lloyd completed the project contract with the Count.
“Thank you. Then please prepare the budget, materials, and labor as stated.”
“How much?”
“I’ll finalize the plan and schedule first, then inform you.”
“Hoho. Thorough fellow.”
“I try.”
He bowed politely and left the reception room.
He unpacked in the guesthouse.
As soon as he finished, he looked at Javier.
“Hey.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“You’re getting quicker at this.”
“I always have been.”
Javier placed his towel and toothbrush neatly before answering.
“When you call me, it’s always for one of two things.”
“Which are?”
“A joke. Or a special task.”
“And now it feels like the latter?”
“Yes.”
He nodded solemnly.
“Your left nostril is not twitching.”
“Huh?”
Lloyd blinked.
Javier continued calmly,
“Did you not know? Every time you are about to make a pointless joke, your left nostril twitches. Without fail.”
“……”
“And it makes the nose hairs inside very noticeable.”
“That—that’s a lie.”
“Believe what you want. It’s the truth.”
“……”
A sudden, clean, center-mass insult.
But work first.
Lloyd steadied his crumbling mental state.
“Fine. Whatever. Let’s get to the job.”
“What job?”
“You know Cannavaro, right? The man at the soup kitchen.”
“You want me to investigate him?”
“How did you know?”
“I saw it. The emblem embroidered on his sleeve.”
“So I don’t need to explain why?”
“Correct. However…”
“What?”
“Frankly speaking, I dislike sneaking around investigating someone. It goes against my beliefs as a knight.”
Javier frowned slightly.
“But that emblem clearly ties him to the threat against our estate. So I will obey. Please remember that.”
“You hate doing it, but admit it’s necessary?”
“Yes.”
“Then go.”
“……”
He looked uneasy.
But offered no objection.
“I’ll return.”
He strapped on his sword and left.
Lloyd also went out alone, examining the cliffs and ground.
By the time he finished, the entire day had passed.
Night deepened.
Javier returned around midnight under unfamiliar constellations.
“Lloyd, I have something I must tell you.”
What had he discovered?
What could make him wear such a grave expression?
Javier’s eyes were deadly serious as he began to speak.