Bloodhound’s Regression Instinct

Chapter 90

As the crown prince made his entrance, the hall fell silent as if doused with water. The nobles, who had been cheering nearby, now sealed their lips and watched him intently.

“Vice-Captain!” bellowed Leon with a voice tinged with anger, prompting the vice-captain to step forward.

“It appears that Bruce Dwight, the eldest son of the Dwight family, has insulted Cruel Dwight, the third son. In response, Yan, a colleague from the Dragon Knight Project, has challenged him to a duel,” reported the vice-captain calmly, a flicker of interest crossing Leon’s eyes as he glanced at the awkwardly standing Yan.

A subtle smile seemed to play on Leon’s lips, but his voice remained stern. “Shouldn’t you have intervened? Are you saying you just stood by and watched as this unfolded in the banquet hall?”

The vice-captain replied without a hint of guilt, “The sanctity of a duel is a tradition established by our founding emperor, Bahamut Caballan. I have neither the right nor the reason to interfere.”

“Hmm,” Leon Caballan grunted, looking down at the fallen Bruce, who was being supported by his father, Count Dwight. Leon’s gaze held no concern or worry, merely assessing the physical condition.

Once he ascertained that Bruce had sustained no fatal injuries, Leon turned away. “Those responsible for this commotion, regardless of the outcome, have erred by causing a disturbance. Return to your quarters and reflect on your actions,” he instructed Bruce and Yan, who bowed their heads in acknowledgment.

The banquet hall remained steeped in silence until Leon departed. That’s when it happened.

“It’s been a while, Your Highness,” greeted a voice as someone entered the hall, addressing the departing Leon.

The voice was deep and resonant, carrying an air of authority. The nobles lifted their heads slightly and widened their eyes in surprise.

‘Duke Beowulf?’

‘Why is he here?’

‘The four dukes have never attended these banquets before…’

As one of the four dukes entered the room with a composed demeanor, the atmosphere in the hall shifted oddly. The nobles’ minds raced, trying to discern why the absolute ruler of the North had visited.

Their gazes settled on one person—Lorena Beowulf, her expression rigid.

‘Come to think of it, Duke Beowulf’s daughter also participated in the Dragon Knight Project.’

‘I had almost forgotten, given all the commotion caused by that Yan fellow.’

‘This Dragon Knight Project seems to be brewing something big.’

Leon greeted Duke Beowulf with a bright smile, “Duke Beowulf!”

“You look quite worn. I trust there haven’t been any troubles?”

Typically, the relationship between a high-ranking noble like a duke and the crown prince would be adversarial or, at the very least, uneasy. The crown prince would naturally be wary of the established power holders, and the duke would be cautious of the crown prince’s attempts to consolidate power.

However, between Duke Beowulf and Leon, there was no such tension. They conversed comfortably, like old friends catching up.

Bacchus Beowulf, noticing the frozen atmosphere of the banquet hall, let out a sly chuckle. “Your Highness, our presence seems to be hindering the guests’ enjoyment. Shall we step outside?”

“That sounds good. I hope your skills haven’t rusted over time?”

“At the very least, they haven’t rusted enough to disappoint Your Highness.”

With a hearty laugh, the two left the hall, and only then did the nobles exhale in relief.

Then, a nobleman cautiously ventured, “This royal council meeting… seems like it might lead to something… quite significant.”

The others nodded in agreement.

* * *

Cruel’s gaze was fixed on his brother, regardless of the crown prince’s presence. No, to be precise, it was directed towards his father.

“Are you alright? Can you walk?”

“…Yes.”

“You fool! Didn’t I tell you to be careful with your actions!”

“I’m sorry, Father.”

Though his father scolded his brother sharply, there was an undercurrent of concern and worry. Witnessing this, Cruel bit his lower lip hard, fearing tears might spill if he didn’t.

‘It’s always been like this. Just like I’ve managed so far, I shouldn’t care.’

He consoled himself, but his eyes reddened. The thought that a simple word of concern could have been offered weighed heavily on him, especially seeing Duke Beowulf, who had come personally to see his daughter.

Cruel’s head drooped low.

“Tsk.”

Yan watched Cruel with a look of displeasure. In the training grounds or during exams, Cruel had always put on a strong front, but now, to see him struggling to hold back tears over such a matter…

‘I don’t know what to say.’

Outwardly an adult, but still only eighteen years old. Having joined the training academy around twelve, it would be strange not to miss the warmth of family.

But how despairing it must be, with his father ignoring him and only caring for the brother who tormented him.

Yan approached Cruel and patted his shoulder.

“…What.”

Cruel muttered in annoyance.

Yan chuckled and slung an arm over his shoulder.

“You know that the crown prince’s order to reflect includes you too, right?”

“…I know.”

As Yan headed out of the banquet hall, Cruel quietly watched his back. Clenching his fist, he quickly ran to Yan’s side.

Then, with a voice that barely escaped his lips, he said, “Thank you.”

Yan looked at Cruel, who had sprinted to his side, with surprise. He hadn’t expected a thank-you from someone so prideful.

Cruel’s face twisted at Yan’s expression.

“What’s with that look?”

“No… It’s just unexpected.”

“What?”

“I didn’t think you had it in you to show gratitude.”

“You, you little…!”

As Cruel’s face turned beet red, Yan quickly left the banquet hall and ran towards the quarters.

“Hey! Aren’t you going to stop?!”

Cruel chased after Yan down the corridor. The nobles nearby frowned at the sight, but Cruel didn’t stop. As he ran, his face flushed with heat, but one corner of his mouth lifted slightly in a grin.

* * *

That Evening

Cruel was restless, pacing back and forth in his room, unable to settle down. His eyes kept drifting towards Yan, who lay nonchalantly on the sofa, seemingly at peace with the world.

Cruel couldn’t hold back any longer and yelled, “Hey!”

Yan glanced over lazily, which only unleashed a barrage of nagging from Cruel. “Aren’t you worried at all? The chief instructor warned us earlier, as if he was sharpening his blade.”

Yan flopped back onto the sofa with an air of indifference. “Hey!”

“Ah, stop being so noisy. You’re disturbing my rest,” Yan grumbled.

“…I can’t believe who I’m worrying about,” Cruel muttered, turning his head away in disgust and striding towards his own room.

Yan watched him go, a smirk playing on his lips. “So much worry for nothing.”

Despite the uproar at the banquet, the situation hadn’t escalated to the point where the chief instructor needed to bow his head in shame. The crown prince had stepped in, sorted everything out, and ordered self-reflection, effectively putting an end to the matter. Of course, the one-sided beating Bruce received in the duel would be talked about for some time.

As Yan shook his head, dismissing his thoughts, the chief instructor stormed into the dormitory, his face twisted in anger.

Yan rose to greet him. “You’re back?”

“You’ve caused quite the spectacle,” the chief instructor glared at him, his expression suggesting he wouldn’t let this go without a proper explanation.

“How could I ignore it when a comrade-in-arms was being insulted? I simply paid it back immediately,” Yan replied with disarming nonchalance.

The chief instructor snorted. “You? Since when are you so full of camaraderie?”

After a mocking laugh, the chief instructor grabbed Yan by the collar and brought his face close. “Why have you been acting out so much lately?”

Yan possessed a talent that the chief instructor had personally acknowledged, making him a hidden dagger, a hound that tore apart enemies obstructing his goals. But now, it seemed increasingly impossible to use him for that purpose. Unordered actions and attracting too much attention had started to make him a topic of conversation among the nobles. A known dagger loses its lethality.

The banquet incident was no different. ‘I told you to stay quiet, and you spectacularly ignored that.’

Naturally, the chief instructor was displeased.

Yan twisted his mouth in defiance. If he had been as powerless as before, he would have been groveling on the ground, begging for forgiveness.

But not anymore.

‘There’s no need to bend anymore.’

He had mastered the breath of the divine dragon, acquired the dragon-slaying sword Ascalon, realized the true power of Momon, and unlike his previous life, he had also gained magical powers.

The only thing he lacked from the chief instructor was the mark etched near his neck.

‘If I keep following orders without question, I’ll end up being dragged around like a slave, unable to gather any information.’

He had already demonstrated his abilities sufficiently to make the chief instructor drool with anticipation.

It was time to make him offer the carrot instead.

With his thoughts concluded, Yan lifted his head.

Then, with a lifted corner of his mouth, he answered the chief instructor’s question.

“Can I ever truly please you, Instructor?”

The chief instructor’s brow furrowed at Yan’s completely changed attitude. Before the second exam, Yan would have prostrated himself on the ground, but now he was talking back as if his guts had spilled out.

The chief instructor scrutinized Yan, who did not tremble or cower under his gaze but met it with a defiant smile.

After a long stare, the chief instructor turned on his heel without a word and retreated to his bedroom.

Yan let out a sigh of relief. If the chief instructor had decided to flip out, it would have been exhausting.

‘I think I get it now.’

This confirmed a hypothesis that had been forming in Yan’s mind: the chief instructor’s seemingly mad behavior had been intentional all along.

* * *

In the quiet of his chamber, the chief instructor recalled Yan’s defiant stance and let out a hollow laugh. Leaning against the balustrade, he gazed out at the moon, shining so brightly it seemed to command the sky.

“I hate to admit it, but I’m reminded of ‘him’ for some reason,” he mused, thinking of the one who had bestowed upon him a debt of gratitude too vast to ever repay.

The insolent gaze, the maturity that belied his age, and the way he valued his comrades—all these traits brought a distant look to the chief instructor’s eyes.

He reached for a bottle of liquor nearby.

Pop!

Removing the cork, he brought the bottle to his lips and took a hearty swig, a faint smile gracing his features.

“Now that I think about it, even his face bears a slight resemblance.”

Mid-drink, the chief instructor shook his head vigorously.

“What am I even saying?”

Surely, he couldn’t miss the traces of ‘him’ if they were there.

* * *

As the night deepened and gave way to dawn, a significant day arrived.

It was the day of the Imperial Council, presided over by the Emperor himself.