Chapter 14: The wisdom of the people is boundless!

The Inquisition Tribunal left Alan and Marianne in the Lower City, but then notified the House of Laval to pick them up.

‘Why didn’t the Tribunal just send us home directly? Isn’t it too much trouble to go around in such a big circle?’ Alan couldn’t help but complain.

Of course, complaining aside, Alan was well aware of the reason for the Tribunal’s unnecessary trouble.

The Inquisition Tribunal was the Church’s sharpest sword, representing the Church’s stance.

If the Tribunal’s carriage appeared in the Upper District, many busybodies would add fuel to the fire and twist it into the Church provoking the Royal Family.

Rumors were like that—speakers might be careless, but listeners take it to heart.

The kingdom was absolutely not at peace these days.

Various political forces were on edge, and the Inquisition Tribunal would rather take a detour than stir up trouble.

“The butler probably won’t be here for a while yet.” Alan stretched, his bones letting out a soft crack. He looked around the still-bustling Civic Square and suggested, “Want to take a stroll around here?”

Marianne gently shook her head, her black hair brushing against her slightly pale cheeks in the breeze.

She lifted her crimson eyes to look at Alan. Her gaze was unnervingly clear.

“I don’t want our ‘date’ to be recorded by a group of people the whole time.”

Date?

Alan nearly choked on his own saliva.

‘Is just walking around considered a date?’

‘Don’t underestimate dates, Marianne!’

‘Dates are things that are sweet enough to make your heart itch!’

‘Especially your Yuri date with Livia!’

Just thinking about the scene of those two beautiful girls leaning happily together made Alan feel his sinful soul was being purified.

The innocent budding feelings of young girls—not born from ugly human desires, but from pure love!

Pure Yuri is the true thing I seek!

What? You say Yuri couples who know each other’s depths aren’t considered pure?

As a fundamentalist Yuri enthusiast, I only wish to say—

All impure Yuri relationships should be burned with heavenly fire against LGBT!!!!

Please don’t misunderstand, everyone. I’m not a Yuri fan.

I’m just a gentleman protecting humanity’s pure feelings (far-off gaze).

Feeling a bit guilty, Alan glanced at Marianne.

The little maid’s cheeks seemed to have been tinged with a faint blush by the word ‘date.’

That earlier morbid fanaticism had strangely vanished. Now she looked obedient, gentle, even a bit shy like a young girl.

Combined with her neat maid uniform, she seemed pitifully adorable.

Alan’s heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t a flutter of love, but a sudden realization that in this medieval society, the legal system was terribly flawed.

Most people didn’t even have basic human rights. Compared to that, child labor was hardly a serious issue.

Marianne was a year younger than him, and mentally even further behind.

For this kid to have to endure life’s trials at such a young age was truly remarkable.

Thinking about how he had reincarnated so many times, each time living in poverty and never even holding a proper job (mostly because his reputation was too bad for anyone to hire him), while Marianne had crawled her way up at House Laval since she was small and managed to become Head Maid through sheer ability…

Thinking like that, Marianne was far superior to him, a worthless Young Master.

“Well… Marianne,” Alan scratched his head, trying to show some masterly concern. “Is there anywhere you want to go? Or anything you want?”

Marianne tilted her head slightly, her red eyes hesitating briefly. Her long eyelashes fluttered like little fans.

Then, in a matter-of-fact tone, she said clearly, “The only place I want to be is by your side. That is what I want.”

…Huh?

The smile on Alan’s face froze.

‘What kind of answer is that?’

‘What good could come from following a Villain Young Master like him?’

‘Does Marianne really think that, or is she being sarcastic?’

‘Women are completely incomprehensible.’

Come to think of it, Livia, that battle maniac who was nothing like a normal young lady—Alan could actually understand what she was thinking.

‘Could it be that he and Livia were soulmates?’

‘No way!!!’

Just then, a cool, refreshing scent mixed with the sweet and sour of fruit and ice drifted over.

Alan’s eyes lit up. He followed the smell.

At the edge of the square, in front of a simple wooden cart stall, a vendor was hawking loudly: “Iced fruit vinegar water! Iced watermelon juice! Cools you down and quenches your thirst! A refreshing summer treat!”

In the sweltering early summer afternoon, it was heavenly!

Alan subconsciously patted the pockets of the plain clothes the Tribunal had “kindly provided.”

Empty! Not a single coin!

Alan’s face instantly fell.

He had just bragged about buying something for Marianne, and now he was immediately slapped in the face!

What a loss of face as a master!

No way! A Villain’s dignity must not be lost!

Alan’s eyes rolled. His genius Villainous mind quickly came up with a good idea, and his signature sly smile crept back onto his face.

“Marianne,” he lowered his voice mysteriously, “do you believe I can get that iced drink for free?”

Marianne looked at him suspiciously. “Are you… planning to bully that vendor again with your noble status?” The tone carried a hint of disapproval.

“Tsk! You don’t believe in your Young Master’s wisdom!” Alan looked wounded. “Watch this! I’ll show you what true Villain Charm really is!”

He straightened his back and strutted toward the iced drink stall with a swagger.

Marianne stood there and sighed helplessly, but her eyes followed Alan’s back intently.

She saw Alan walk up to the vendor and ask something (probably “Do you know who I am?”), and the vendor shook his head blankly.

Marianne’s heart tightened. Oh no, the Young Master wasn’t about to resort to his old tricks and start his traditional bully act, was he?

But then, the next development surprised her.

Alan didn’t put on any noble airs. Instead, he leaned in and whispered to the vendor.

At first, the vendor looked suspicious and wary of this well-dressed Young Master who had come to chat him up.

But before long, Marianne saw the vendor’s eyes light up as if he had struck gold!

He even fumbled frantically and pulled out a crumpled little notebook and a half-stick of charcoal from his pocket, listening to Alan talk while quickly scribbling down notes, his hand shaking with excitement.

The two chatted more and more amicably, until finally they hugged each other warmly like long-lost brothers and shook hands solemnly, as if they had reached some monumental agreement.

Then, Alan actually came back triumphantly with two iced drinks!

“Here, yours.”

Alan handed a cup of clear-looking fruit vinegar water to Marianne, then took a blissful sip of his own cold watermelon juice. The contented expression on his face was as if he were drinking nectar.

Marianne took the cup. It was cold in her hand.

She cautiously took a sip. The sweet-and-sour taste, mixed with the stimulating cold of the ice, instantly dispelled the heat in her throat. She couldn’t help but squint her eyes in comfort.

“It’s good.”

“Of course!” Alan was practically puffing out his chest. “See? Now you understand the greatness of my Villain persona, right?”

“Setting aside why you’re so obsessed with being a Villain,” Marianne looked at his smug little expression and couldn’t help asking, “Honestly, what exactly did you say to him?”

She was genuinely curious how Alan had gotten free iced drinks with just a few words.

“Hehe, trade secret!” Alan flashed a mysterious smile, then felt that not explaining would make him seem cheap, so he lowered his voice.

“Simply put, I gave him a chance to change his fate! I told him a few new iced drink recipes, like sorbet and ice cream, and how to make things more refined to sell to the nobles in the Upper District.”

“I agreed to be his partner, fifty-fifty split! He gives me free drinks as a preliminary investment to show his sincerity and ability. Isn’t that perfectly reasonable?”

Marianne’s eyes widened in surprise. “Where did you learn all this?”

In her memory, the Young Master only knew how to eat, drink, have fun, and bully people.

Alan pointed at the sky with an air of profound wisdom and lowered his voice. “From a mysterious, unknowable realm…”

That mysterious realm was the short video platform Alan had scrolled through before his reincarnation.

“Mmm, I see.” Marianne nodded, her eyes full of trust, without a shred of doubt.

Alan: ‘Hey! You’re supposed to complain! Being this cooperative makes me feel no sense of accomplishment!’

The two found a bench under a tree and sat down, enjoying a rare moment of coolness and peace.

Alan slurped his watermelon juice while replaying the “business negotiation” with the vendor in his mind.

That vendor was clearly a greenhorn who had just arrived in the Royal Capital, full of enthusiasm to start a business, but completely unaware of the murky depths of the capital’s waters.

He didn’t even know the name of Alan de Laval, and he dared to casually discuss cooperation with a noble?

When Alan gave his family’s location and asked the vendor to come by later for detailed discussions, the guy didn’t show the slightest caution and happily agreed.

Naive! Lovable! But also dangerous.

No noble was a good person. Alan knew that better than anyone.

His father, Bernard—where did the wealth he accumulated come from out of thin air?

The total amount of wealth in society was limited. If some people’s wealth increased, naturally others’ wealth decreased.

Wasteful nobles had no idea how to make the pie bigger.

Alan’s cooperation with the vendor was also some kind of experiment.

Without a noble’s protection, just the tax collectors, gangsters, and thugs of the Royal Capital would be enough to give the vendor a rough time.

However, Alan wasn’t helping the vendor start his business out of kindness, nor did he really want to get rich selling iced drinks (though it was tempting to think about).

What he was really interested in was a piece of information the vendor had inadvertently let slip—the “treasure” he used to make ice was a “white crystal” he had accidentally dug up while expanding his ice cellar. When soaked in water, it made the water freezing cold.

Alan nearly jumped up on the spot.

Natural saltpeter!

This guy had accidentally discovered the saltpeter ice-making method! Truly, the people were infinitely wise!

Saltpeter was perfect for making gunpowder!

Alan still needed time to produce mature black powder, and in this era, even if he could make a firearm, he couldn’t defeat an inhabited crest bearer on the battlefield.

But the future was unknown. The situation could change at any moment. Alan had a feeling that he would need saltpeter sooner or later.

So he quickly fooled the vendor, saying that the “white crystal’s” ability to make ice was a trade secret, and he must not tell anyone else. If he did, he wouldn’t get rich.

‘No way! I can’t let others know about such a good thing as saltpeter!’

Better safe than sorry. What if one day he really ended up butting heads with that idiot Crown Prince Charles or the whole kingdom?

How could he do that without some hard power in his hands?

Alan happily made his plans, feeling that the prospects for his Villain career were bright.

“Young Master! Miss Marianne! Sorry to keep you waiting!” A familiar and warm voice came.

Alan looked up to see the Laval family carriage parked steadily by the roadside.

The kindly old butler, Jean Leclerc, walked quickly over with a relieved smile on his face.

“Butler!” Alan immediately stood up with a genuine smile. “Finally! I missed you!”

“Oh, Young Master, you flatter me!” The butler quickly waved his hand and carefully looked Alan over.

“Seeing you in good spirits, my heart is finally at ease! The Master has been talking about you every day at home, too!”

“Has everything been okay at home these past few days?” Alan asked.

“Thanks to your good fortune!” The butler’s face broke into a broad smile. “In the days you were away, our House Laval finally held our heads high!”

“The noble circles are all talking about our house being attacked by heretics. The Master, riding the tailwind of the Inquisition Tribunal’s ‘visit’ to our home, managed to recover quite a few old debts and long-overdue payments!”

Alan raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of which, what exactly is the story with our family’s debt? I remember we were doing pretty well a few years ago. How did we suddenly almost go bankrupt?”

The butler’s smile faded a bit. He lowered his voice. “Young Master… this is a long story. When the Master returns this evening, let him explain it to you himself.”

“Alright.” Alan nodded and didn’t press further. He turned around and naturally reached out his hand to Marianne. “Marianne, it’s time to go home.”

Home.

That word, like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, rippled through Marianne’s heart.

That House Laval she had once only wanted to run away from, full of painful memories, now, in her heart, had strangely transformed into a place that made her feel unbearably safe, even a place she yearned to return to.

She looked at Alan’s outstretched hand. Without a moment’s hesitation, with a kind of devout relief, she gently placed her own hand in his.

Alan’s palm was warm and dry, with a strength unique to a young man.

Marianne’s cool, slender fingers were lightly held by him. A strange warmth instantly spread from her fingertips to her whole body, dispelling the last traces of chill the Inquisition Tribunal had left behind.

“Mmm,” Marianne looked up and gave Alan a gentle, serene smile. “Let’s go home, Young Master.”

Just as Alan and Marianne got into the carriage and headed for the “home” that had taken on a new meaning for Marianne, the atmosphere at the iced drink stall in City Square was completely different.

Several men dressed in plain clothes but obviously out of place loitered around the vendor who was still immersed in dreams of his “business empire.”

“Tell us! What did that noble Young Master say to you?” the lead man said with a stern face and a harsh tone.

If Alan were there, he would be pleasantly surprised to find that the stern man was the Inquisitor who had interrogated him.

The vendor was startled by the commotion, but remembering Alan’s parting advice—”Someone might come around later to pry into our trade secret. Don’t be scared. Just clam up and don’t say a word!”—he immediately straightened his back and warily looked at these “uninvited guests.”

“Who are you? What do you want? Let me tell you! The City Hall is right next to me! In broad daylight, are you trying to rob me or steal my trade secret? I’ll go call the guards right now!”

The Inquisitor’s mouth twitched violently.

Robbery? Trade secrets? What the hell was all this?

He suppressed his anger and pulled out a small, unremarkable skull badge from his pocket, flashing it in front of the vendor. “Look carefully! Inquisition Tribunal! I’m asking you a question. Just answer honestly!”

He thought flashing his authority would make the vendor’s legs go weak and spill everything.

But instead, the vendor leaned in to look at the badge closely, frowned even harder, and looked confused and disgusted.

“Inquisition… Tribunal? What’s that? Never heard of it! Is it a new scam ring? I’m warning you, don’t try to fool me! If you don’t leave, I really will call the guards!”

And with that, he actually started yelling, “Guards! Guards! Someone’s causing trouble here!”

The Inquisitor and his colleagues behind him turned green in the face.

They, the fearsome Inquisition Tribunal, had just been mistaken for scam artists by a vendor?! And he was going to call the guards?!

“You!” The Inquisitor shook with rage. “Do you have any idea…”

“I don’t know anything! All I know is if you keep pestering me, I’m going to the City Hall to file a complaint!” The vendor craned his neck, stubborn and unyielding.

The scene that followed was a complete farce.

The Inquisitor asked about east, and the vendor rambled about west, insisting they were villains trying to steal his trade secret and stubbornly refusing to say what Alan had told him.

The Inquisitor couldn’t just tie up the vendor in public (that would be way too embarrassing), so his head throbbed with frustration.

In the end, the patrol guards attracted by the vendor’s noise came to the rescue.

Under the guards’ “friendly” questioning, the vendor reluctantly spilled the beans about Alan teaching him new iced drink recipes and their partnership.

When the Inquisitor heard it all, he turned to stone.

Selling iced drinks?! Business partnership?!

He had wasted precious time, been mistaken for a scam artist, and nearly needed the guards to mediate… all for this?!

“You… why didn’t you say so earlier?!” The Inquisitor felt his blood pressure skyrocket.

The vendor retorted, “That noble Young Master said it’s a trade secret! You can’t just tell anyone! For all I know, you’re spies sent by his competitors!”

Inquisitor: …

His vision went dark. He nearly fainted from anger right there.

Alan de Laval—why did every random person he talked to have to be such a piece of work?

The vendor wasn’t trying to make it hard for the Inquisition Tribunal. He was simply a one-track mind; he did exactly as Alan said.

But it was that personality that misled the Inquisitor and made him waste time arguing.

He remembered Archbishop Lucien’s earnest warning: “Never treat him like a normal brat. He’s a fox smarter than you think. He will definitely set traps for you.”

So… this was the trap?!

A trap dug with a business plan, one that made him, the Inquisitor, lose all face!

He had… been tricked by the same person twice?!

Alan de Laval! You little bastard! Just you wait!

The Inquisitor let out a soundless roar in his heart, his fists clenching and cracking.