Chapter 41: A Lecher? Confirmed!

Carlos-Wilkin New Energy Company

From the name alone, one could already guess the nature of this company.

And from that little square of newsprint, Marlon had immediately noticed one crucial word—patent. If there was a patent, then naturally, there had to be a patent office, didn’t there?

The patent Carlos-Wilkin had registered bore an official title: Runic Energy Conversion Device. Supposedly, this invention could take the raw energy stored inside a magic crystal and convert it into a stable, usable power source at a twenty-percent efficiency rate.

Marlon frowned, sifting through his memory. If he wasn’t mistaken, Musa Mein had once mentioned that before his father died, he had modified a blood-red runic array to achieve a conversion efficiency of around fifteen percent.

“Looks like this Carlos-Wilkin really does have some skill after all.”

Marlon absently rubbed the sparse, bristly whiskers that had grown on his chin without him noticing. Then, turning to Adela, he gave an order:

“Adela, later on, please take this newspaper to Musa Mein. Have him look at it.”

“Yes, young master Marlon.”

Adela, dressed in her usual black Gothic-style maid uniform, nodded naturally, as if this were the most ordinary of tasks.

But just as she agreed, Marlon suddenly changed his mind. Rising from his chair, he reached for the paper already in her hands.

“Forget it. I’ll go myself. It’s not that far anyway.”

Several days ago, with the aid of the Master Claw Druid and three hundred laborers, the “treehouse” Marlon had designed was finally completed.

Unable to wait, Marlon had immediately moved his household into this new low-carbon, eco-friendly residence he had christened Blossom Courtyard. Built mostly from natural materials, the house didn’t need to be left empty for three months to air out toxic fumes like ordinary modern homes.

However, Musa Mein—now bound to Marlon through a mutual Yorahan contract as a business partner—still remained at the orphanage. He was immersed in a new experiment, one he had begun at Marlon’s suggestion.

Marlon’s so-called suggestion had been a simple but ambitious question: could Musa devise a way to make recordings captured by surveillance crystal orbs editable, like film reels? To allow insertions of dubbing, subtitles, background music, and other enhancements?

After signing their mutually beneficial contract, Marlon had been frank: without the ability to edit recordings, Musa’s invention—the Dimensional Projection Shard—would have little practical value in the short term.

After all, crystal orbs had existed for decades. If they could only be used for raw surveillance, why were they still mostly restricted to military use?

Unedited “films” would be nothing more than raw nature documentaries—tigers mating, monkeys brawling—tedious and quickly tiresome. Even Man and Nature needed a narrator’s deep, resonant voice and stirring background music to keep audiences engaged. Without editing, any novelty would fade fast.

This wasn’t the audience’s fault—it was simply human nature. Like canned luncheon meat: the first taste seemed delicious, but eat it for three or five meals in a row, and you’d long for simple, plain food again. A month straight? Gods above, one would pray to escape from that hell of processed meat!

But enough digressions. At the moment, Marlon had only one thought in his mind: to check on Musa Mein’s progress at the orphanage.

He had already invested nearly ten thousand lants into buying custom research equipment for Musa. To make sure his investment didn’t go up in smoke, he needed to confirm that Musa was alive, well, and making the most of it.

For more than a week, Marlon had deliberately avoided disturbing Musa in order not to hinder his research. But he still cared—he had sent Adela to deliver meals daily, ensuring Musa ate well. This arrangement suited Adela too, since it gave her the chance to visit her father, Trist Rem, the paladin reborn as an old saintly warrior.

Ever since Marlon had given her this duty, Adela’s smiles had noticeably brightened, and her affection toward him had risen sharply. Marlon suspected it was because she had seen her father thriving in his noble, hopeful profession as a paladin.

But now, Adela’s expression was different.

“Young master Marlon, you must not go to the orphanage!” she said firmly, her tone suddenly resolute, almost commanding.

“Why not?” Marlon asked, surprised. He couldn’t imagine what would make Adela so insistent.

“Because Miss Amy is still napping. Only once she wakes up, and only if she accompanies you, will I allow you to go!”

To prove her determination, Adela tucked the newspaper—with its ominous red circles—behind her back, out of his reach.

At her words, Marlon finally understood.

She wasn’t being unreasonable. She was worried. The dark assassin Xionado, who had tried to kill Inspector Bernard during the riots—and nearly succeeded in killing Marlon himself—might strike again.

Marlon frowned, slightly annoyed. There are a thousand days for a thief, but not a thousand days for a guard. Am I supposed to live in fear forever?

“Adela, do you really think I’m still that weak? I’ve already mastered two psychic spells. I’m not the defenseless boy I was before!”

Indeed, Marlon had studied the Van Helsing Psychic Scroll in earnest these past weeks. From it, he had gained two new abilities: Killer’s Instinct and Mind Shock.

Well… those were his own names. Originally, they had been the novice skills of a zero-circle psion: “Hostility Sense” and “Psionic Flash.” But in Marlon’s hands, they had evolved.

Killer’s Instinct allowed him to sense anyone harboring murderous intent within three paces of him.

Mind Shock could, if unleashed suddenly, even make the mighty druid master Conchita Bowden reel in darkness for a second or two.

On top of that, ever since the assassination attempt, Marlon had made it a habit to carry a crystal-powered pneumatic nail gun gifted to him by his vampire banker friend, Sols.

In short, he was no longer the naive fool he had once been. Why couldn’t Adela see that he had grown?

Besides… if he dragged little fox-girl Amy everywhere, people would soon whisper he was a lolicon.

“Enough, Adela. Give me the newspaper.”

Irritated, Marlon reached out to snatch the paper back.

“No! Ensuring my master’s safety is my most important duty!”

Adela was just as stubborn. She twisted her body, hiding the paper behind her back, and even stepped backward in retreat.

That left Marlon with no choice but to lean forward, practically enveloping her in a half-embrace as he tried to grab the newspaper and stop her from retreating.

Perhaps it was the awkward footing, or perhaps her racing heart at his closeness, but Adela suddenly stumbled, losing her balance.

“Ah!” she cried, tumbling backward toward the wooden floor.

Marlon instinctively lunged to catch her, forgetting his forward-leaning posture. The result was inevitable.

With a thud, Adela fell onto the floor, her Gothic maid skirt in disarray, her graceful figure revealed in dangerous glimpses of springtime light.

And Marlon—oh, heavens—caught himself with one hand on the floor… and the other squarely pressing against the soft, yielding swell of her chest.

No way!

Scenes like this were supposed to exist only in Japanese anime!

The deep line of her cleavage, the softness beneath his palm—it wasn’t his first accidental touch, but… no! This was an accident! An accident!

Marlon’s mind short-circuited as he stared down at Adela’s wide, shocked eyes, her cheeks flushing crimson.

He opened his mouth to explain, to insist he wasn’t a lecher, when the situation grew worse—far worse.

The door swung open.

There, framed in the doorway, stood the red-haired queen Ivna, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Damn it all!

Now she would surely brand him a pervert beyond redemption!

Previous chapter | TOC | Next chapter