As dawn's first light swept over Beining Town, the night's bloody battle had long ended. Even the corpses of the fallen had been cleared, leaving no trace of combat around the inn—as if the previous night's carnage had existed only in imagination.
Inside the inn, guards were bandaging each other, excitedly recounting the previous night's clashes. In several reinforced rooms, Manny and Shust were interrogating captured family members.
As the only direct-line family member in the operation, Raoul received "special attention." Manny had been questioning him for over two hours. The crushing defeat had drained his will, and what little resolve remained had been worn away by Shust's display of various torture tools.
"Number of family members, combat ranks of core members, stronghold locations, communication methods with House Zarok..."
Manny jotted furiously in a notebook, firing off questions at breakneck speed. Each question demanded an answer within three seconds; otherwise, Shust—standing behind Raoul—would use his strange dagger to make a tiny incision on the disgraced noble.
The cuts were as small as mosquito bites, but Shust targeted the most sensitive areas: around the eyes, ears, armpits, groin. Combined with the dagger's reagents, Shust destroyed Raoul's will without causing significant physical harm, making him answer every question truthfully.
Rick watched the entire interrogation in silence, noting Shust's knife placement and technique. He also noticed that despite Manny asking hundreds of questions, she was actually repeating the same queries in different forms.
As a warrior, Rick understood Shust's methods, but Manny's approach confused him. He bit back his questions, knowing she would explain later.
The interrogation continued for another hour until Manny's notebook was full.
"Enough." Manny closed the notebook, signaling Shust to stop. Raoul was mentally broken.
"Lucky bastard. I was just getting started!" Shust laughed, slapping Raoul's swollen cheek. "If I'd interrogated you, it wouldn't be so gentle. Thank god you're still in one piece. Hahaha..."
Under Raoul's fearful gaze, Shust slung an arm around Rick's shoulder and left cheerfully.
In the lobby, the innkeeper had prepared breakfast. At the table, Balzac—fresh from his own interrogation—was washing bloodied hands, the stench of blood spoiling the appetite.
"Dammit, did you visit a slaughterhouse? The whole place reeks," Rick grumbled, eyeing the fragrant bread and Balzac's dripping blood.
"Blame him—he taught me everything." Balzac pointed at Shust, apologizing with a grin. "I was nervous at first... accidentally killed two."
"Looks like letting you practice on trash was the right call. Get anything useful?" Shust sat down grandly, pouring himself a glass of wine without ceremony.
"Here you go." Balzac snatched a stack of papers from a pale clerk and slapped them on the table.
Rick reached for the documents, but Manny grabbed them first. Flashing an apologetic smile, she placed two pieces of bread on his plate. "Eat first. I'll summarize this, then explain in detail."
"O...kay." Rick knew he was clueless about anything besides fighting, so he quietly ate while watching Manny scan the papers and her notebook at incredible speed. Reading that fast... She and Love really are geniuses. He smiled wryly. I've only read a tenth of that psychology book. No talent for studying, huh.
Perhaps mindful of last night's battle, the innkeeper served a hearty breakfast. The victorious team ate heartily. When fresh black tea arrived, Manny dabbed her mouth with a napkin and closed the last page of the report.
"I've pieced together the situation. House Zarok's intel is vague since we didn't capture core members, but House Ferdinand's details are confirmed."
Manny marked several sections with red lines and handed copies to Shust and Rick. "Ferdinand has 23 core members. Excluding captured Raoul, 22 remain: 8 females, 14 males, including Patriarch Ferdinand."
"Why does the patriarch only have a surname?" Rick frowned at the list.
"A noble custom. Upon inheriting the title, the patriarch abandons their given name and uses the family surname alone. For them, the surname is both first and last name." Shust sipped his scarlet wine. "But there's an exception—like Lant's Spirit Lance family. Their first patriarch chose a title over a personal name, so descendants keep their birth names."
"Complicated rules." Rick scratched his head, thinking of himself. As a noble, he could found a family. Use "Rick" as the surname? Not fitting. Maybe pick a title like the Spirit Lance family.
"You're distracted." Manny tapped her teacup with a spoon, jolting Rick back.
"Hehe, sorry." Rick grinned sheepishly.
"Back to business." Manny scanned the table. "Our opponents outmatch us strategically. In Kester City, we'll be in the open while they lurk in the shadows. With House Zarok's unclear intel, our prospects are grim."
Shust lit a cigarette and sneered, "Just a dozen pampered nobles. Don't worry—I'll eliminate them one by one before they can act."
Rick looked between Shust and Manny, finally grasping Arthur's true intent in sending them: Manny to draw attention in the open, Shust to wield his ace assassin skills in the shadows. This duo alone could dismantle a band of self-serving noble heirs. His role? A second-rate bodyguard for Manny—and perhaps a student.
"Don't underestimate these old nobles who've ruled Kester for nearly a century." Manny wrote interrogation notes on paper and passed them to Shust. "Patriarch Ferdinand survived His Majesty's decapitation strike but is mortally wounded. Now, Hawk Ferdinand— the original first son—commands the family. I suspect many know that name."
"Hawk Ferdinand... Heh, I forgot he's a top 100 fighter on the Strongest on Earth Black List—an elite in competitive combat." Balzac rubbed his stubble.
"Strongest on Earth? Black List?" Rick looked around, confused.
"An aristocratic entertainment show." Shust scoffed. "Just a frivolous competitive game—something pretentious young nobles concocted. Real power? Hardly."
"Don't dismiss it. The moves are flashy. Making top 100 requires skill." Balzac slung an arm around Rick's neck. "Basically, it's a rule-restricted fighting game for nobles—popular in their circles. Rarely lethal due to rules and referees."
"Then... how strong is Hawk?" Rick asked the key question.
"Never seen his true power, so hard to say." Shust offered a rare honest opinion. "Hawk has only one loss in 30 southwest region matches across the three Forest Domain cities. Balzac might not last three moves against him under rules."
"True." Balzac nodded nonchalantly.
"Then he's formidable..." Rick realized. Comparing to Balzac's proven strength, Hawk's superiority was clear.
"Hmph. Real combat differs from sport. I'll teach him that soon enough." Shust habitually interlaced his long fingers. At this gesture, Rick knew Hawk—now bearing the surname Ferdinand—had made Shust's kill list.
After breakfast, Manny and the others had roughly formulated a plan, but with so much implicit communication, Rick—who'd been listening—remained utterly confused, failing to grasp the plan's specifics by the end.
Sulking as he boarded the carriage to leave Beining Town, Rick spent the journey pondering Manny's every move. He seemed to grasp something, yet it felt like a veil obscured his vision, preventing him from seeing her true intentions.
Alone in the carriage with Manny, she didn't rush to explain, wanting Rick to think for himself. To make him outstanding beyond combat, she first needed to teach him to habitually reflect—a process she'd already begun.
Suddenly, Rick looked up, serious. "I think I understand why you did what you did during the interrogation."
"Oh? Tell me." Manny inwardly rejoiced but maintained her calm demeanor.
"It aligns with the psychology I just read." Rick paused to choose words. "Shust used non-lethal but nerve-stimulating methods to break the target's will. Repeating questions in reverse creates inertia, making them unconsciously reveal truthful deep thoughts. Comparing answers identifies real intel."
"Exactly!" Manny was thrilled. After just one day with the psychology book, Rick had applied it to deduce the interrogation's tactics. Perhaps he wasn't as dull as he seemed—just an unpolished gem lacking education and common sense to apply his mind.
Unaware of Manny's intellectual appraisal, Rick frowned. "I get the interrogation, but the plans we discussed at breakfast confused me. Like ordering Balzac to chain tortured prisoners behind the carriage while sending Shust away with Raoul..." He rubbed his brow, leaning back. "Is chaining mutilated men a show of force? Sending Shust with Raoul to uncover more Ferdinand secrets? That's as far as I can guess, but your motives must be deeper."
"The motive is simple: let them know what we want them to know, and make them ignore what we don't." Manny offered the cryptic hint.
"Know what they want, ignore what we hide?" Rick's eyes glazed over. "That's no answer! It's giving me a headache!"
"You'll understand. If I spoon-feed answers, you'll forget. Value the process to appreciate the result." Manny smiled at his plight. "But overthinking leads to dead ends. I'll teach you common sense on the road."
"Common sense?" Rick gaped.
"Yep." Manny tossed him a tome thicker than the psychology book. "World history, insect classifications, special abilities, social flaws, power dynamics, daily details, noble lineages and histories..."
Manny reeled off a long list of topics, covering politics, daily life, entomology, and countless other subjects. Rick's head spun just from hearing the categories before even looking at the content.
"You can't mean I have to read all this?" Rick's face drained of color.
"Precisely." Manny crossed her arms, nodding gravely. "But... I haven't finished the psychology book yet."
"Split your time—switch between this and psychology. Prolonged focus on one subject lowers efficiency. Alternating works best. And in your spare time, practice writing. You can read but not write, and no true master is illiterate."
"But... but..."
"No 'buts.' This is the mission His Majesty gave me. You must impress him next time, or I fail as your teacher. Once you master this common sense, finish psychology, and study noble family histories, you'll understand my not-so-complex plan."
Looking at Manny's serious expression and the two kilogram tomes in his hands, Rick finally grasped that maybe not being born into royalty was a blessing. He now understood why Anna loathed Palace Saint-Rosel's courses.
"One success is just the start of a lifetime of hardship," he sighed philosophically, yanking at his collar before diving into miserable studying.
The journey from Beining Town to Kester City took a full week. The convoy didn't rest properly, traveling day and night to feign urgency.
In that week, Rick never left his moving insect carriage except for necessities, immersing himself in books and forcing his reluctant mind to absorb profound knowledge.
Beyond reading, his Insect Master-level senses detected several groups tailing the convoy. Once, when he hinted at this to Balzac, the latter smiled enigmatically.
Previously, Rick wouldn't have understood, but having read the psychology chapter on reading expressions, he now deciphered Balzac's smile: I know we're being watched—it's part of the plan.
A single smile conveying such complexity was unimaginable to Rick before. This mirrored the psychology book's claim that only 30% of human communication is verbal; 70% relies on expressions, eye contact, and gestures.
Telepathy is indeed convenient... But what exactly is Manny up to? Still can't see through her.
Inside the carriage, Rick rapped his recently more agile head and went back to gnawing on his books.
As he swam through a sea of knowledge, the convoy silently approached Kester City, where undercurrents surged.
On a hill near Kester City, a man in a sumptuous black trench coat stood gazing into the distance, coldly watching the convoy inch along the sprawling trade road toward the bustling city.
"Arthur's lackeys have finally arrived!" The man seemed to restrain turbulent emotions, crushing a pebble he'd been fiddling with in his palm.
"Hawk, are you planning—" A young man behind him began, but Hawk spun around, glaring, from the hill's edge.
"Edward, have you forgotten my name?" Hawk's tone was ice-cold, sending a chill down Edward's spine.
"S-sorry, force of habit." Edward bowed slightly, switching to a respectful tone. "Lord Ferdinand, shall we ambush them before they enter the city?"
At the honorific, Hawk's frosty expression thawed. He sneered at the convoy below. "They think chaining family trash behind their carriages will intimidate us? That we'll hesitate to attack for fear of collateral damage?"
"Then..." Edward looked to Hawk questioningly.
"No, I never planned an attack." Hawk turned dashingly, flinging his coat, as Edward gaped. "I'm just here to see those family strays."
"Seeing their helpless faces tells me how crushing their defeat was. These Arthur lackeys are strong—I won't clash here. Only in Kester City can we pick off these outsiders one by one."
Edward, the fifth Ferdinand son second only to Hawk, shrugged noncommittally. "Not all are outsiders. The new Sheriff is from Kester."
"From Kester?" Hawk laughed sharply. "You forget—pariahs aren't human. Don't call that vile wretch a Kester native. He's just a pitying insect of Kester City."