COTBC 14

COTBC

Posted by Ali, Released on April 19, 2026

Chapter 14

Fwoom—!!!

Two fireballs spiraled through the air, intertwining like dancers before parting just in front of the wall; they scattered to either side, then, in mid-air, merged once more and returned to Isaac’s outstretched hand.

Hiss—!!!
Crack—!!!

This time, one of the fireballs extinguished, and in its place, an ice crystal formed.

Fwoom—!!!
Shliiiik—!!!

As the fireball hurtled forward, the ice crystal followed behind, arcing through the air in a graceful curve.

The fireball was the decoy.

The true attack was the ice crystal.

Just as the fire and ice were about to strike the wall, Isaac abruptly cut off the flow of mana.

The fireball vanished mid-air.

The ice crystal shattered as it slammed into the wall.

“Hoo…”

He wiped the sweat from his brow.

Ever since he had awakened his fifth mana circuit, Isaac had come to realize something: relying on a single school of magic was no longer enough.

When he killed Nears, his first kill, he had caught him completely off guard; the man had never faced a proper mage before.

His origins lay beyond the northern frontier, in the shamanic tribal villages beneath the White Serpent Mountains. There he had murdered the father who assaulted his mother, then been driven out by his tribe.

He had drifted into the slums of Bern, where every person he slaughtered had been a cutthroat no different than himself.

According to what Jonas once said in Isaac’s past life, the only reason Nears had survived so long was his intimate knowledge of the secret tunnels beneath Sewage Row and the terrain surrounding the forests near the White Serpents.

His reputation as a figure of terror had been built solely by hunting down weak domain-folk with obsessive cruelty, then displaying their mutilated corpses.

He hadn’t become infamous because he was strong enough to stand against House Goethe.

The fact that he had died so swiftly to Isaac’s magic made that clear.

The magic Isaac had wielded was rare in magical society, but with ice mana stones it qualified as fundamental magic.

Which only proved how ignorant Nears had been about dealing with mages.

But Isaac wasn’t refining and diversifying his magic for men like Nears.

His true concern lay with the enemies he had yet to face.

Mage-hunters, hired by those seeking the downfall of House Goethe.

Knights, stripped of their honor.

And the inquisitors created by the Old Faith, those who believed magic was a privilege reserved for clergy alone.

These were foes trained to exploit every weakness a mage possessed.

Somehow, Isaac had to prevent the Second Prince from dragging the Empire into the kingdom’s internal collapse. That was the only way to stave off catastrophe.

But if, by some chance, he failed—

Then the era of war that followed would be the worst time in history to be a mage.

So dire, in fact, that House Goethe would become the only safe haven left, a city-state that declared independence and guaranteed freedom for all mages.

Even with a second chance at life, Isaac knew he couldn’t protect everything.

But there were things he must protect.

And he would.

That was why he pushed his magic into new shapes, into endless permutations.

To be ready.

“Again.”

Isaac raised his hand.

Flames bloomed to life.

𝄞 𝄢 𝄞 𝄢 𝄞 𝄢

“Young Master, Young Master!”

Isaac opened his eyes late in the morning.

Even though the sun was up, the sky was overcast, and the wind blew so strongly that the windows rattled.

“Please wake up quickly.”

“Mmm, what is it?”

Hans and the nanny barged in almost simultaneously.

Hans placed a brass basin on the bedside table; then he pulled the curtains and revived the dying embers in the fireplace.

The nanny soaked a linen cloth in the basin water and wiped Isaac’s face, tidying up his disheveled hair.

Isaac, who had practiced magic until dawn, was still half-asleep.

“Please, wake up. What did you do last night to sleep so late again?”

“Just… reading a bit.”

Isaac murmured, half-opening his eyes.

“Hans, clothes.”

“Ah, yes.”

At the nanny’s words, Hans handed over a tunic.

The nanny dressed Isaac, who still couldn’t open his eyes properly.

“What’s the rush?”

“The Master has returned.”

“My father?”

“Yes. He invites you to join him and the young master for lunch.”

At the nanny’s reply, Isaac felt his heart race.

— I’ll go on ahead and wait. When you come to me, leave all your regrets behind.

The last memory Isaac had of his father was of an old and frail man. His blond hair had turned white, his cheeks were hollow, and the proud figure he once had was long gone; he was a worn-out, weary old man.

The Margrave tried to protect his dignity as the firstborn until the end.

He had personally taken up Valerich to end Isaac’s life, who had to remain buried underground until his death.

“Young Master! Please wake up!”

The anxious nanny urged him.

Of course, Isaac had long since awakened.

He was just wandering through the swamp of old memories.

How did he die again?

According to Jonas, the bishop of the Old Faith had poisoned him.

With what was called the “Saint’s Curse.”

Not wanting to show weakness, he had refused to see Isaac even at the very end.

“Young Master!”

“Stop nagging. I’m fully awake now.”

Isaac adjusted the tunic he had pulled over his underwear.

“I’ll change by myself, so you and Hans leave.”

At Isaac’s words, Hans and the nanny exchanged glances, bowed lightly, and left the room.

Isaac stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself.

Sometimes…

Whenever he missed his father, Isaac would look into the mirror, because his prematurely aged face resembled his father’s.

Isaac had ash-gray hair, not blond, and sharper features, but Goethe’s blood didn’t lie. Finding traces of his father in his own face, Isaac often felt both comforted and bitter.

Despite having such similar features…

…they had never once had an open-hearted conversation.

‘Someday, surely.’

Someday…

When the time came where he could finally lay down all burdens.

Isaac planned to act spoiled around his father just once.

Whenever that day would be.

𝄞 𝄢 𝄞 𝄢 𝄞 𝄢

“What kind of monster was it this time?”

“Not exactly a monster. It was a Schniman.”

“A Schniman?”

“A primal giant. The tribal folks have their own cultures, but Schniman are far more primitive. Think of them as beasts in the shape of men, towering creatures covered in white fur. They’ll eat anything, man or beast. Even their own kind.”

“Whoa.”

At Margrave’s explanation, Jonas’s mouth dropped open in awe.

A dinner from childhood so distant Isaac could barely remember it.

And his father in his younger years.

It was vastly different from Isaac’s memories.

A build more suited to a knight than a mage, dark blond hair and a trimmed beard, eyes that gleamed with fierce vitality. There was no trace of the aged father Isaac remembered; he looked as if he could pass for the master of any knightly house.

The Margrave was not as taciturn a man as Isaac had thought.

“If it’s a giant, then it must be really big! Is it bigger than you, Father?”

“Indeed. If a Schniman walked into this dining hall, its head would scrape the ceiling.”

Despite the endless stream of questions coming from Jonas, the Margrave answered each one without a hint of annoyance. Still, his face remained expressionless throughout. There was no warmth in his gaze, none of the affectionate smiles one might expect from a father speaking to his child. And though he had only just returned from more than a month of defending the fortress, there wasn’t a trace of fatigue or weariness in him.

“Father, look at this!”

Just as the conversation was winding down, Jonas suddenly pulled out a wooden figurine.

“A knight. Brave and bold.”

“Yep! His name’s Mut.”

“Mut?”

“I learned it in Old Tongue class. ‘Mut’ means ‘courage’ in the common language. That’s why I named him that.”

“Fitting name. I didn’t know you had such skill with your hands.”

The Margrave gave the figurine a quick glance, then returned it to Jonas.

“My brother made it for me! Isn’t it cool?”

“Isaac did?”

At Jonas’s words, the Margrave’s gaze shifted to Isaac.

“I see.”

That was the end of his comment. He turned his attention back to his meal.

Jonas kept chattering away until the meal was finished, but the Margrave offered nothing more than the occasional nod or perfunctory reply. He neither spoke more to his children, nor did he ask them anything in return.

The Margrave insisted on modest meals, claiming he had to consider the soldiers of the border. As such, dinner was never a long affair: a few slices of rye bread, a portion of venison, vegetable soup, and watered-down wine. It wasn’t the kind of meal that demanded much time.

“Let’s play, big brother!”

The moment the meal seemed to be drawing to a close, Jonas burst out, the words tumbling from his mouth before he lost the chance. He’d been stealing glances at Isaac throughout the meal, biding his time. For a boy of nine, he had shown remarkable restraint.

Isaac had locked himself away in his room every day except for early morning runs. Even when Jonas came knocking, he was almost always turned away at the door.

Isaac understood what Jonas wanted.

He knew it clearly.

But he couldn’t bring himself to answer right away.

His eyes kept drifting to Jonas’s small right hand, and, at the same time, like a ghost echoing in his ears, he could hear the boy’s agonized scream from a time not yet come. A scream torn from the throat of a child who had lost that very hand.

“I’m sorry, but…”

“Jonas. Let’s save that for a little later.”

Just as Isaac was about to speak, the Margrave interrupted him.

“I have business with Isaac. I’ll be in the study, come see me as soon as you’re done eating.”

The Margrave wiped his mouth with a napkin and rose from his seat. His plate, at some point, had been cleaned spotless.

“Sorry, Jonas.”

Isaac murmured the words as he watched his father’s back disappear from the dining hall.

“…Tch.”

Jonas pouted and turned away, lower lip jutting out in a sulky pout.

𝄞 𝄢 𝄞 𝄢 𝄞 𝄢

“Young Master, huff, huff, Young Master!”

Just as Isaac was about to leave the dining room after a short pause.

Bill rushed up to him urgently.

“Huff, what are you doing here at this hour? You’re always in your room. We’ve been searching everywhere.”

“Am I supposed to always wait for you in my room?”

Isaac looked toward Jonas walking away with the nanny.

The thorn-like bad memories lodged in his soul showed no signs of fading. Perhaps because the buried thorn had been touched again, Isaac’s nerves were fraying.

“Don’t speak like that. It’s just that this is an urgent matter.”

Bill’s face was pale, almost lead-colored.

“An urgent matter?”

“This isn’t a conversation to have here. This way.”

Bill glanced around and led Isaac toward a corner of the mansion’s backyard.

During lunchtime, unless there was a special banquet, the servants also rested, so the place was deserted.

“What’s going on?”

“Do you know anything about the Knight of Winterband?”

“Knight?”

“According to Nias’s lackeys, they have to regularly pay tribute to a Knight.”

“Tribute? What kind?”

“What else? A cut of the money made from the slave trade.”

“Why?”

“Because the Knight protected Nias’s operations in the sewers.”

“……………….”

Isaac’s face hardened.

“This morning we received a report. There was a corpse from our side at the entrance of Nias’s hideout. At first, we didn’t think much of it because knife fights happen there all the time. But, you know, for the sake of face and reputation, a retaliation seemed necessary. I mean, you know, since I became the boss…”

Bill’s words rambled without focus; he was that flustered.

“What are you trying to say?”

“So, Young Master, the dead guy… all his fingers except the left pinky were cut off.”

Bill fumbled with a pouch at his waist and pulled something out.

“This was placed on my bed this morning! All neatly arranged!”

What Bill pulled out was a bundle of human fingers; dirty, grimy, blackened fingers drained of blood.

“These are that dead guy’s fingers?”

“Without a doubt. Nine fingers, except the left pinky. And they left a message with one of the spies planted in the mansion. If we don’t prepare the tribute within two days, next time it’ll be my fingers flying off.”

Bill looked at Isaac with a pleading expression.

“Please, do something. I only became the boss because you forced me to. If I die like this, you won’t be safe either. At least help me with the tribute money. I couldn’t even sell the maids, and now they want a tribute?”

“Watch your mouth.”

Isaac glared at him.

The chilly gaze made Bill shrink back.

Even though Isaac was just a twelve-year-old boy, Bill had seen with his own eyes how Isaac casually took Nias’s life.

‘Damn it, what am I supposed to do?’

Bill, caught in a no-win situation, couldn’t even openly express his resentment.

“Were there any witnesses when that guy died?”

“There were, but it happened so fast no one saw clearly. One moment a knife flashed, and the guy was dead, fingers already cut off.”

“Did they see what the killer looked like?”

“They didn’t see that clearly either. Just that the person had a bandage wrapped around their head. Whether they were a leper wandering from somewhere, a wounded soldier, or a mercenary, we can’t tell.”

Bill’s face grew more and more desperate.

“I understand.”

“…”I understand’? Is that all?”

“Don’t worry. You won’t die.”

Isaac finished his words and headed towards his father’s study. This was an incident that was not included in what Jonas from his past life had mentioned.

Originally, Nias shouldn’t have died at this point.

And Bill wouldn’t have become the boss, either.

While Bill was trembling in fear, Isaac felt something entirely different.

It was disgust, and betrayal.

‘Winterband knight, huh?’

His teeth clenched instinctively.

“Please proceed with the military tribunal immediately. We must execute such scum to restore discipline.”

When Isaac reached his father’s private study, he heard a voice shouting inside.

There were armed guards standing at the entrance; they bowed their heads slightly to Isaac in greeting.

“You’re unusually impatient, Pyke.”

“This concerns military discipline! If they’re left unpunished after this, who would follow our orders?”

“Do you agree, Randolph?”