CHAPTER 225: COUNT AND ANDREW

"I didn’t forget, I know that for sure," Riven argued, but Noel waved his hands. "Yeah yeah, whatever you say."

Sophy watched them with a smile on her face. Seeing the two get along made her happy for some reason.

"Young masters, we are leaving the Ribest territory now," the coachman said.

"Alright, thank you," Noel replied.

Riven leaned into the chair, crossed his legs, and threw his hands behind his head. He looked at Noel. "We didn’t end up going to that dungeon."

"And whose fault is that? You know, I need to smash your head every once in a while, Riven," Noel said.

Riven gave a smile and then said nothing else.

[.....]

Inside a room, a man sat down on a long couch, and despite how long it was, his massive body managed to cover a third of it.

He was short, fat, and bald, as if life’s struggles had all chosen to take refuge in his life. He was dressed in a noble’s clothes; the seams held on desperately for their life.

The room wasn’t too big, and it had a fair smell of a scented candle. A small table stood between the couch and the second chair. It was evident that chair was not for the fat noble because for sure he wasn’t going to fit.

The door of the room swung open, and a foot came in first—black leather boots, heavy-looking and finely polished. Then followed the body, a tall muscular man.

He was shirtless, with only his boots on. Battle scars covered his toned body. His shiny piled hair flowed down to his back, and with every step, it swayed beautifully.

He gripped the dagger in his hand as he walked. The base of the dagger had a metal skull, beautifully crafted.

He walked to the opposite chair, exuding an air of confidence. He plopped down into the seat and then stabbed the dagger into the table.

Bam.

The noble flinched, and the man cracked a smile. He took a deep breath, taking in all the good scent.

"Dark wood scented candles, always my favorite. Lady Grasy does good work making these. Don’t you think so as well, Count Mike?" he spoke, pronouncing the names with heavy emphasis.

"Keep the small talk aside, Andrew. I need something done, and you are the man for it," Count Mike spoke.

"Of course you need something from me, you only visit when you do, you old bag of farts," Andrew said. He placed his hand under the table, as if there was a compartment there, and pulled out a large brown cigar.

"You only come when you need something done," Andrew said again, then blew at the cigar, releasing air hot enough to light it.

He placed it in his mouth, took a very long drag, and then blew the smoke into the air.

"The mix of the cigar and the candle is immaculate. You should try it, Count; it will rejuvenate this weak pathetic body of yours," he said, his words pissing off the count.

The count didn’t say anything though. He couldn’t, as he desperately needed the help of this person, so he swallowed his anger and looked Andrew right in the eye.

"So, what do you need my help for?" Andrew asked, taking another drag and blowing the smoke into the air.

"If you haven’t been living under a rock, I suppose you have already heard about what’s happening. The king has set a gala," Count Mike said.

"Of course I have heard about it, who hasn’t?" Andrew said, then leaned back, crossing his leg.

"The king was to award some knights for their good works and also announce the next golden set after the first.

It’s kind of a big deal everywhere, and people are eager to see this golden set," Andrew said and took another long drag.

"I’m guessing what you want from me has something to do with this gala, so I’m interested. What could you possibly want?" Andrew said.

"The number one and five of the first years at the Royal Academy are the sons of a baron, the Grave family. Someone that my family has had a lot of grudge against.

It was easy to do what I wanted to do when he was only a measly baron. Now that both his sons are going to be made into the golden set, and with the proceeds they get from the dungeon and mine, he’ll surely become a count," Count Mike said.

"And I’m guessing you don’t want that. So, you want me to kill the baron, right?" Andrew asked.

"No, not the baron. Both sons. I want you to kill them and take a recording crystal, get the recording of it, and hand it to me.

I’ll make sure their father sees it and watches how miserable his boys were before their death," the count said.

"Damn, isn’t that going a bit too far? Those boys have done nothing wrong to you," Andrew said.

"Your task is to do the job, Andrew," Count Mike said and pulled out a large pouch of gold coins, slamming it into the table.

Andrew looked at it, took a deep breath, and then spoke. "Fine, I’ll do what you asked. I’ll send some of my boys to handle the issue," Andrew said.

"Your boys? Why not go yourself?" Count Mike asked.

"Because I have things to do, and two kids, no matter their talent, are not going to make me leave here and start hunting.

Just tell me everything you know and my boys will be on it. There is no need to worry about anything. You can sit your fat ass down at home and wait until the good news comes," Andrew said. He took another drag and waited for the count to speak.

The count very much disliked how Andrew spoke to him, but there was really nothing he could do about it, so he took a deep breath to calm down.