Chapter 117: Dog

"Just the... second son of a viscount!"

"Someone who can’t even inherit the title!"

"Get out of here! There's no place for you!"

"This idiot, he doesn't even know how to fight back? Haha..."

Shaking visions.

Mocking shadows.

A kicked-over water bucket.

Soles caked with filth.

Pain, rage, numbness...

And blood.

Like a nightmare.

Like darkness.

He once thought it would never end.

He once thought he was already used to it.

Until—

"Why don’t you fight back?"

Golden hair gleamed.

Eyes sharp and defiant.

Like the sun.

"They're bullying you like this, so why don’t you hit back?"

"Because... I’m just the viscount’s second son."

"A viscount? Ah, I see. I get it. Then... if I gave you a higher status, would you dare to fight back?"

A higher status?

Of course I would.

It’s not like I can’t beat them. I just...

"Hm, I see now. I understand. In that case..."

The blond-haired man extended his hand.

"Do you want to become my dog?"

"A dog?"

"That’s right. A dog.

I’m not very smart, and I’ve got a bad temper. There are always people who act nice to my face but stab me in the back, always whispering and judging me.

That’s why ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) I need a dog. A dog who’ll bite wherever I point without ever questioning my orders."

"What do I get out of it?"

"Benefits?"

The blond-haired man seemed to smile.

"The benefit is—from then on, if someone wants to beat the dog, they’ll have to answer to the owner."

"So. Will you do it, Eamon Biandy?"

...

...

"That dream again?"

In a dim, decrepit wooden cabin, Eamon jolted awake on a bed riddled with holes in its wooden planks.

Through the gaps in the wooden walls, a few shafts of dusty light filtered in. On his scruffy, bearded face lingered a look of exhaustion and disarray.

"Am I... still holding out hope for that kind of thing?"

He rose and walked to the wall.

He stared at a portrait of the blond-haired man hanging there. His eyes momentarily dazed—then abruptly ignited with a fire that seemed ready to burn everything to ash.

"No!"

"I threw those thoughts away long ago!"

"All I have now is hate!"

"I hate you, Muen Campbell!"

He threw a punch at the tattered portrait, already marred with knife marks and scratches. With a loud bang, the whole shack shook slightly.

Dust rained down like a storm, drowning him.

He awkwardly withdrew his hand.

Knock knock.

A knock came from outside the door.

Eamon instantly went on alert. He crept carefully to the door along the wall and pressed his ear against it.

"Who is it?"

"It’s me." The voice was familiar.

Eamon let out a breath of relief.

He opened the door. A skinny, monkey-faced boy came into view.

"I did everything you asked me to!"

The monkey-face blurted the moment he saw Eamon.

"You did?"

Eamon’s eyes lit up. "Quick, quick—show me the results!"

"Right here."

The monkey-face pulled out a square magic device.

With a light press, a projection-like image unfolded in front of Eamon.

Though the footage was shaky and slightly blurry due to angle and lighting, it was clearly from martial arts class.

Eamon leaned in, staring desperately at the scene unfolding.

When he saw Muen being accused and surrounded by others, he clapped and laughed in delight.

"Yes, just like that—tear off his mask, beat him back into what he really is. Change? He’s still that same arrogant, obnoxious young master!

Haha, look at his face—just like a kid who got his candy stolen, pathetic!"

But as he spoke, his expression began to collapse into sorrow. His brows drooped weakly, like a stray dog soaked in the rain.

"No... no, that’s not Young Master Muen. That’s not Young Master Muen.

If it really were him, he’d definitely—definitely—definitely tell me to break the legs of anyone who dared speak like that! He would never tolerate this.

That’s not Young Master Muen!"

His rage reignited, and he suddenly smashed the magic device.

"Agh! My Shadow Projector!"

Monkey-face looked heartbroken at the shattered fragments on the ground.

That thing wasn’t cheap. It cost him 8,000 Emirs.

He gritted his teeth and glared at Eamon.

"Whatever. I did what you asked. Now pay up!"

"Did what? Muen Campbell came out of it just fine, didn’t he?"

"I did my best! Do you know how dangerous it was to secretly provoke those people? If I’d been caught, I’d be dead! Even the student council president showed up near the end—and I think she might’ve seen me!"

"That’s your problem!"

"My problem? This whole plan of yours was messed up from the start!

Listen—I’ll be real with you. If I weren’t deep in gambling debt right now, there’s no way I would’ve taken a job this dangerous!

You want Muen Campbell’s reputation in ruins? You want his true nature exposed? If this were the old him, I wouldn’t need to stir anything up. His name was already trash!

But now? Everyone says he’s changed. Whispering some rumors and stirring the pot only gets you so far. Taking it any further? Impossible!

You know what he did afterward? He used his status as the duke’s son to make those people back off. I thought they’d be skinned alive—but he just made them apologize!

That’s right, just apologize!

Those people were shaking like quail at the time, and all Muen Campbell made them do was bow their heads and spout some moral nonsense—then he let them go.

And afterward? Every single one of them cried their eyes out, like they wanted to worship him for being so merciful!

So tell me—how am I supposed to keep this up?"

"Bull... bullshit!"

Eamon’s face turned beet red as he roared:

"The person you’re talking about isn’t Young Master Muen at all!"

"You got a screw loose or something? One second it’s Muen Campbell, the next it’s ‘Young Master Muen’?!"

Monkey-face shouted back:

"Anyway, pay up, or I’ll tell everyone where you’re hiding! The student council and those people are all looking for you!"

"I..."

Eamon suddenly looked defeated. He reached into his coat and fumbled for a while before pulling out a wad of bills.

Monkey-face snatched the cash and counted it. His face immediately darkened.

"Only thirty thousand? Didn’t we agree on two hundred thousand?"

"I... this is all I have."

"You’re the son of a noble—can’t even cough up two hundred thousand?"

"My family thinks I got on Muen Campbell’s bad side and was cast off, so..."

Eamon’s lips trembled.

"They cut me off."

"Shit!"

Monkey-face grabbed Eamon by the collar.

"No money? Then go get some! Aren’t you—"

But halfway through, he suddenly froze.

Only then did he really see just how pitiful this man—once mildly famous at the Academy—had become.

"Damn."

He shoved Eamon hard to the floor and spat on him.

"The so-called Wolf of Campbell—without Campbell, you’re just a dog."

With that, he stuffed the money into his coat and walked away without looking back.

Eamon hung his head in despair, letting the spit slide down his face.

Time ticked by, and he remained still like a statue.

And then—light was suddenly blocked.

A figure cloaked in black appeared before him.

"Eamon Biandy."

"Who are you?"

Eamon looked up, barely able to make out the figure beneath the billowing robe—it was a woman.

"Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is this: I know you’ve wanted to take revenge on Muen Campbell for abandoning you. But you never had the courage."

The black-robed figure set down a vial of magic potion in front of him, her voice low and tempting:

"And I... can help you."