Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 51: The Messenger of Vengeance
Although nearly every official of the Patent Bureau had rushed out to witness their own Director’s “Honorable Duel” against the Deputy Inspector of the Metropolitan Police, the confirmation process for Marlon’s patent went surprisingly quickly. After all, those same officials seldom handled real work. Their usual duties consisted of “supervision and guidance” — or, more accurately, standing around pretending to be important.
“Mr. Marlon,” said the clerk who had received him, straightening his collar with a respectful smile. “It’ll take two days to confirm that your patent doesn’t overlap with any existing ones. You can send someone to collect the certificate then. Or—” He leaned forward slightly, voice lowering to a confidential tone. “If you’re too busy, I could deliver it to you personally!”
The man, eager to please, escorted Marlon and his two companions all the way to the bureau gates — an unusual level of courtesy. For him, this was an opportunity not to be wasted. Building ties with a man close to the mayor — and one of the city’s rising elites — was no small thing.
Marlon paused thoughtfully. He had planned to return in person, but seeing the man’s eagerness, he smiled and replied, “Then I’ll trouble you for that, Mr. Jepps. And if there’s ever anything you need from me — anything at all — just ask. If it’s within my power, I’ll see it done.”
The clerk’s name was Clifford Jepps — a name Marlon made sure to remember.
Marlon’s acceptance of this obsequious gesture wasn’t mere politeness. It was strategy. By allowing Jepps to feel that they were on the same side — “one of us,” so to speak — he ensured the man would keep an eye on things within the Patent Bureau. If any news or unexpected developments arose, Jepps would likely inform him right away.
A small favor, a little money spent — in exchange for a nail quietly driven into the wall of bureaucracy. A prudent investment indeed.
Besides, with plans underway to help Musa Mein establish the new research institute, Marlon suspected he’d be dealing with the Patent Bureau quite often in the future. And having a friendly insider always smoothed the way, didn’t it?
In this world — not Earth, and certainly not China — such “grey transactions” weren’t hidden behind polite euphemisms. Offering help in exchange for help was as open and accepted as breathing.
Marlon’s words made Clifford Jepps beam like a sunflower in full bloom. He bowed repeatedly, promising that there would be no trouble at all — that the patent certificate would be personally delivered to Marlon’s hands the moment it was ready.
As for Musa Mein, whose name appeared first on the document and thus legally designated him the primary patent holder, Jepps hardly paid him any mind.
Alisa Ulysses?
The clerk had noticed that curious name on the patent application. He almost snorted aloud. You think I’ve never read mythology?
Alisa Ulysses — that was the name of a long-fallen goddess of vengeance from the Quinne pantheon, a divine progeny once known in the Dark Ages as “The Envoy of Retribution.” Obviously, it was a pseudonym.
Indeed, Musa Mein hadn’t used his real name. He’d registered the patent under that mythical alias — Alisa Ulysses.
The reason for this false name was simple, but Jepps misunderstood completely. To him, it looked like a cunning ploy by Marlon — a way to steal ownership later. After all, if the primary inventor’s name was patently fake, a simple lawsuit to the arbitration court would guarantee the rights fell neatly into the hands of the co-inventor, Mr. Marlon.
Since the passage of the Patent Rights Act, such cases had become common. One could fill entire cabinets with precedents.
Of course, Jepps’ assumptions were entirely wrong. But neither Marlon nor the quiet Musa Mein intended to explain the real story behind the false “Envoy of Retribution.”
At last, after politely fending off the overly cheerful clerk, Marlon realized something odd: despite all the time that had passed, Inspector Bernard still hadn’t arrived with the carriage. By now, he should have long finished his business and collected the necessary equipment.
“How strange,” Marlon murmured. “Uncle Bernard isn’t the type to dawdle. Did something unexpected happen?”
A restless impatience began to creep in. He really needed to buy a steam car soon. The steam motorcycle he’d bought through Yvna’s connections was still new, but lately… he didn’t dare ride it. With the number of assassination attempts against him, every corner might conceal a dagger — hardly ideal conditions for a pleasant drive.
The thought of danger made little Amy, the young fox girl beside him, tighten her grip around his hand. When Marlon glanced down, she was looking up at him with pleading eyes, her small face drawn with worry.
He didn’t need to ask. She wanted him to go check on Inspector Bernard — to make sure he was all right.
He sighed softly. “All right,” he said, giving her a faint smile. “We’ll go see.”
Following her wish, Marlon turned toward the nearest steam bus stop.
But before they could even reach it, a police car screeched to a halt right beside them, brakes hissing like a beast’s snarl.
The door swung open, and out jumped a burly man built like a gorilla — massive shoulders, arms like steel cables — landing with a heavy thud. He immediately started talking in a booming, cheerful voice before Marlon could even get a word in.
“Hey, little Marlon! Inspector Bernard’s been appointed as the Honorable Duel Arbiter, so he sent me to give you all a lift! He says not to worry about the land grant — the mayor’s already approved it. Three hundred lant acres, right beside the retirement home! But hey, I’d suggest you stop by the duel before heading back. You’re almost of age, right? I bet it won’t be long before someone challenges you to one! Hah! A talented, wealthy young man like you — not too bad-looking, either — that’s exactly the kind of guy who ends up in an Honorable Duel… oh, right! I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Fourth-Class Police Lieutenant Faustine Egarl!”
Marlon blinked. The man’s chatter washed over him like a storm. He barely caught the name — Faustine something — but one sentence stuck crystal clear in his mind:
“A talented, wealthy young man like you — not too bad-looking, either — that’s exactly the kind of guy who ends up in an Honorable Duel…”
What?! Was this some kind of sick joke?!
Who in their right mind wanted to fight in one of those ridiculous duels?!
Originally, Marlon had thought the duel between the Patent Bureau Director and the Deputy Inspector of Police had absolutely nothing to do with him. But now… it didn’t seem so distant after all.
Those two were important figures — and even they had ended up drawing pistols before an audience. Did that mean… refusing an Honorable Duel wasn’t an option?
As he pondered this unsettling thought, his imagination betrayed him. In his mind’s eye, a scene from a Western film took shape:
A few years in the future, the adult Marlon stands atop a dueling platform, dressed like some gaudy peacock, a steam pistol gleaming in his hand. Across from him, several meters away, stands a grim-faced opponent, equally poised to fire.
Bang!
The pistol roars — and misses.
Bang!
Another shot — this time from the opponent. Marlon looks down in disbelief at the crimson stain blooming on his chest, then collapses backward, eyes wide with regret as darkness swallows him.
The End.
Wait—WHAT?! Who the hell ends their life like that?!
The mental image made Marlon shiver violently. He turned to Faustine with an urgent expression. “I-Is it possible,” he stammered, “to refuse an Honorable Duel?!”
“Refuse?” Faustine Egarl blinked at him, utterly baffled, as though Marlon had just asked if the sun could stop rising. “Refuse an Honorable Duel? Little Marlon, are you crazy? You can’t refuse! If you do, you have to completely give up your right to pursue the lady in question—or pay half your fortune as compensation! And worse—” His eyes widened, voice dropping to a tragic whisper. “You’d lose all face. You’d never be able to show yourself in high society again!”