Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 53: The Inspector’s Authority
“Uncle Bernard, I’m not here to make a scene.”
Marlon blurted out his explanation before Bernard’s thunderous anger could explode any further. The man’s temper was famous across the entire district, and right now, it looked as if he were about to breathe fire. Marlon’s hands shot up in a placating gesture, his voice trembling slightly. How could anyone think he had nothing better to do than to come and join the crowd?
“Not here to make a scene? Then what in the blazes are you doing here?!”
Bernard’s voice was sharp enough to cut glass. His irritation didn’t come from the idea that Marlon shouldn’t be there—it was because the police chief remembered too well what had happened on the night of the riots: that assassination attempt, the shadowed figure that nearly took Marlon’s life.
Now, the city square was overflowing with people—an undulating sea of bodies, the noise swelling like a living thing. If that cursed assassin, Xionado, was hiding somewhere in that mass of faces, wouldn’t that mean Marlon was in danger again?
And if Marlon was in danger, that also meant his sweet little Amy—Bernard’s beloved daughter —might be in danger too. That thought alone made Bernard’s blood boil hotter.
“It’s like this, Uncle Bernard,” Marlon rushed to say, words tumbling over one another. “I heard that those two distinguished gentlemen over there are about to have an honorable duel. Inspector Elgar mentioned that such duels end only with death…”
He trailed off for a breath, noticing how Bernard’s face was turning a deeper shade of red, and decided he’d better get to the point before the man exploded.
“Yes, an honorable duel to the death,” Bernard interrupted with a snarl. “And what the hell does that have to do with you, you brat?”
As expected, Bernard cut him off before he could even finish.
Marlon quickly straightened his back and dove straight into his prepared pitch. “Uncle Bernard, this morning I went to the Patent Office to register a new invention. It can project a person’s soul into a specially processed crystal. Inside that crystal exists a virtual world—a perfect reflection of reality—where people can fight, duel, do whatever they like… without any true harm or death. So I came here to suggest that those two gentlemen choose this civilized, bloodless method of honorable combat, instead of turning what should be a noble tradition into a farce for public entertainment.”
Yes, that was exactly what he said—and he’d rehearsed the entire speech in his head long before arriving.
In truth, his real motive had nothing to do with preserving anyone’s dignity. What he really wanted was for everyone within earshot to hear him.
Because damn it, if he didn’t change this barbaric tradition now, what would happen if someone challenged him to one of these so-called “honorable duels” someday? According to Inspector Elgar, there was about a one percent chance of getting your head blown off—and once that happened, there was no resurrection. True, irreversible death.
That thought alone made his skin crawl.
So yes—this savage, outdated ritual had to change. It needed to evolve into something refined, elegant… a noble duel conducted within a virtual world. Like playing King of Fighters or Street Fighter, except with real stakes and real honor.
“You brat, are you serious? You’re not just pulling my leg, are you?”
Bernard’s expression finally shifted—from fury to a blend of curiosity and disbelief. He’d heard vague things about Musa–Main’s “inner projection crystal,” but never had a clear grasp of how it actually worked.
As for Marlon’s new patent application, Bernard hadn’t asked a single question. Just as Marlon had never asked Bernard about that mysterious Delft fellow—his true identity, his connections, his past.
“You’re saying this… film projection patent of yours can really transfer a person’s soul into the crystal’s fictional world—and even if they die in there, they don’t die for real?” Bernard asked again, his tone cautious now.
“A thousand percent sure!” Marlon declared, chest puffed with conviction. “I’ve died in there more times than I can count!”
His words were full of confidence, but his face carried a trace of tragic melancholy. After all, who wouldn’t be traumatized after experiencing dozens of painfully realistic deaths, even in virtual form?
Bernard stared at him for a moment, brow furrowed in thought. He wasn’t a man easily swayed, but he also wasn’t unreasonable. He didn’t fully understand Marlon’s motives for running into this mess, but he couldn’t see any immediate harm either.
After a brief hesitation, he finally nodded. “Fine, you stay right here. Don’t move a muscle. I’ll go talk to the duelists.”
Marlon immediately put on his best obedient face, nodding rapidly like a child promising to behave. He knew Bernard well—this was partly the police chief’s way of asserting authority in public.
And Bernard—well, he had many virtues. His only flaw was that, in front of a crowd, he liked to look like the stern, commanding guardian figure.
Marlon wasn’t about to challenge that.
Satisfied with Marlon’s attitude, Bernard turned on his heel and strode back toward the dueling grounds. The crowd murmured as he approached the two flamboyant men—both puffed up like peacocks preparing to fight.
The chief leaned in, speaking to each of them in low, persuasive tones.
Their reactions were nearly identical: first surprise, then unmistakable relief.
After all, even those who stepped proudly into a duel couldn’t help but feel a chill when they thought about that dreaded one-percent death rate. No matter how honorable the act, death was still death.
And these two weren’t just any men—they were important men, the kind who valued their lives far more than their pride.
Marlon couldn’t help smirking inwardly. He had every reason to believe these two were just a pair of aging fools—”old cucumbers pretending to be young”—who had gotten carried away in a fit of jealousy over some woman.
Sure enough, after Bernard’s mediation, the two duelists reluctantly approached each other again. Though their glares could have curdled milk, at least they weren’t shooting at each other anymore. Together with Bernard, they walked toward Marlon.
“Brat,” Bernard began, “let me introduce you. This is Mr. Carlton Bennison, Director of the City Patent Office.” He gestured to the man with the full beard, before turning to the other. “And this is Mr. Isolde Arvey, Deputy Chief of the City Police.”
Marlon straightened, offering a polite bow. “Good day, gentlemen! I must say, I deeply admire your classical spirit of honor in arranging such a noble duel.”
His tone dripped with sincerity—but inside, he was calling them both idiots.
Still, his words had their intended effect. Both men visibly softened, their pride swelling at the flattery. To them, Marlon now looked like a fine, well-mannered young gentleman—refined, intelligent, and oh-so-agreeable.
“Young Marlon, you’re quite the interesting lad. I like you already,” said Deputy Chief Isolde Arvey, his brown hair gleaming in the sunlight.
“Don’t listen to this old brute!” scoffed the bearded Bennison, not missing a beat. “He’s all honeyed words and hidden daggers. Once I’ve finished my honorable business with him, I’ll have you over for afternoon tea. My charming daughter Vivienne is quite fond of your fairy tales, you know. I think you’d get along splendidly!”
Marlon, ever quick to read a room, noticed the tension between them start to climb again. Before their rivalry could flare up once more, he slipped smoothly into the role of a salesman, his tone warm and persuasive.
“Gentlemen, please, hear me out. I truly admire your courage and noble spirit—but when I think of that one-percent chance of absolute death, I can’t help but feel deeply concerned for your safety. Two men of such refinement and valor shouldn’t have to risk their lives for honor’s sake. That’s why I’ve come—to offer you both a new invention, one designed specifically for honorable duels…”
And with that, the square grew still. The murmuring crowd leaned in, curious.
For the first time, Marlon felt that his words might actually spark something greater—a change that would transform their barbaric tradition into something truly worthy of the word honor.