Chapter 48.2.2: Father and Son
Armored Dragon Calendar Year 418 – Claude, Age 13
[Claude POV]
Claude's fingers traced the parchment's edge as he absorbed each line of the intelligence report. His pen scratched notes onto the blank paper beside him.
The rhythmic tapping of the pen against the wooden table punctuated his thoughts. A habit that had emerged from countless strategy sessions across fragments of memory.
"This network expansion is promising," Claude said, setting down the document.
"But what's causing the intelligence gap in the Upper Central Continent? Our information flow has essentially stopped there."
His subordinate shifted uncomfortably. "We lack sufficient personnel, sir."
"I thought we'd established connections with the Asura Kingdom. Recruitment shouldn't be this difficult."
Claude's brow furrowed as he considered the logistics. The Arbalest organization had grown considerably, but apparently not enough.
"The issue is infiltration, sir. Too many nobles have planted spies within our ranks."
"We can't distinguish between genuine recruits and enemy agents."
Claude suppressed a sigh. The nobility system in this world remained frustratingly opaque.
Unlike the clear Baron-Viscount-Count progression of feudal systems he remembered from other timelines, these kingdoms operated on bloodline purity. A concept that made political maneuvering unnecessarily complex.
"The Great Nobles..." Claude muttered, then caught himself.
"Right, these kingdoms don't follow traditional ranking systems. What an irritating way to structure power."
Beyond the four Greyrat branch families who served as regional lords, the political landscape remained largely mysterious. Even his fragmented knowledge from alternate timelines provided little insight into the deeper machinations of Asura's nobility.
When Sauros would eventually meet his end, these same nobles would play their part, yet their true motivations remained opaque.
"Forgive me, sir, but the Asura Kingdom harbors extensive slave trading operations. Many of our potential contacts are compromised by these networks."
"Trust is... difficult to establish."
"Why not simply eliminate the slave traders? That's how I recruited most of our current members." Claude shrugged. "Including you." His tone carried the casual cruelty that had become his trademark, a calculated coldness that masked genuine concern for those under his protection.
The man's face tightened with remembered pain. "Sir, I cannot express enough gratitude for extracting me from that hell."
"However, as the Arbalest gains notoriety, we cannot openly move against slaving operations connected to Great Nobles and the Asuran Royal Family. They're watching us from every direction, restricting our operational freedom."
Claude nodded slowly. Recognition brought power, but also shackles.
"Fame has its price. Very well, continue coordinating with the Adventurers' Guild, local militias, and volunteer organizations. Work through existing networks rather than creating new ones."
"Understood, sir."
As his subordinate departed, Claude remained seated for a moment longer. Incomplete knowledge pressed against his temples, fragments of memory from timelines where different strategies had succeeded or failed catastrophically.
He rose and exited the room, the familiar ache of uncertainty gnawing at him. Despite all his accumulated knowledge, he was still navigating blind through a maze of political complexities.
Walking through the inn's corridors, Claude's attention was drawn to raised voices from the direction of the Adventurers' Guild Hall.
He recognized Paul's distinctive tone, strained and angry, carrying the edge of desperation that had become increasingly common since the teleportation disaster.
Family reunions, Claude thought grimly.
Memory fragments came unbidden—scenes of different Pauls in different timelines, some broken by loss, others consumed by guilt.
In one particularly vivid recollection, Paul had died still believing his family hated him. The thought sat uneasily with him.
He paused outside the Guild Hall. Close enough to hear the escalating argument but far enough to avoid being noticed.
Paul's accusations about Rudeus's priorities during their journey, and Rudeus's defensive justifications, unfolded exactly as Claude had witnessed in fragmented visions.
Should I intervene... The question plagued him constantly.
How much guidance was too much, how many "natural" conversations should he disrupt, to prevent greater tragedies down the line...?
But family dynamics were delicate things. Sometimes the explosion was necessary for the healing to begin.
Claude turned away from the Guild Hall and made his way toward the inn's dining area instead.
There would be time for intervention if things went too far.
For now, father and son needed to confront their accumulated resentments.
The inn's dining hall buzzed with afternoon activity, but Claude's attention focused immediately on a small figure with golden hair peering around the corner. Clearly trying to catch glimpses of some commotion without being noticed.
A faint smile crossed Claude's lips. Moving with practiced stealth, he approached from behind until he could confirm his suspicions.
Without warning, he scooped up the little girl in a firm embrace.
"Kyaaa, no! A pervert!"
"Help!"
Norn's terrified shriek cut through the dining hall's chatter like a blade. Patrons turned toward the sound, creating a clear line of sight to the source of disturbance, where Paul Greyrat was currently being pummeled by his eldest son.
Paul's head snapped up at his daughter's cry. His protective instincts overriding whatever conflict had been occupying him.
"What the hell are you doing to my daughter!"
The man struggled to his feet despite Rudeus's continued assault, drawing his sword with desperate fury.
"Such harsh words from my little princess," Claude said, effortlessly evading Paul's wild charge while maintaining his hold on the squirming child. "Calling me a pervert really wounds my feelings."
He pressed his cheek against Norn's in an exaggerated display of affection, easily sidestepping Paul's increasingly frantic attacks.
The older swordsman's movements were sloppy, compromised by alcohol and emotional turmoil.
Norn's eyes flew open mid-struggle, terror melting into joy as she recognized her captor.
"Claude!" She threw her small arms around his neck, tears streaming down her face.
Paul, however, saw only a stranger manhandling his daughter. His protective rage reached a breaking point as he raised his sword with lethal intent.
"Get away from her!" Paul's voice cracked with desperation as he launched himself forward.
Claude assessed the situation with calculating eyes. The crowded dining hall, panicked civilians, an enraged swordsman with a drawn blade, collateral damage was inevitable unless he acted decisively.
"What's wrong with this old man..." Claude muttered, noting Paul's obvious inability to recognize him. "Has he gone deaf and blind..."
Without his weapon box, Claude couldn't rely on his usual arsenal of enchanted tools. Barrier spells might protect him, but they wouldn't stop Paul from endangering bystanders.
"Time Square."
Claude raised his free hand, palm extended toward the charging swordsman. The spell took hold immediately, his perception of time stretching like taffy while his body moved at accelerated speed.
Around him, the world slowed to a crawl. Paul's sword seemed to hang motionless in the air.
Droplets of spilled ale suspended like amber pearls.
This wasn't true time manipulation. Claude lacked the raw power of Kuro, the Miko of Time and Space.
Instead, his spell accelerated his own temporal frame, allowing him to move freely while everyone else remained locked in sluggish motion.
In the stretched seconds of accelerated time, Claude positioned himself behind Paul, grabbed the man's neck in a precise grip, and drove him face-first into the floor with controlled force. Thud.
The spell released.
To everyone watching, Claude had simply vanished and reappeared atop the sprawled Paul in less than a blink.
The older swordsman lay pinned and dazed, his sword clattering harmlessly across the wooden floor.
"Damn you..." Paul groaned, struggling weakly against Claude's hold.
"Relax, old man. It's me, Claude."
Paul's eyes widened with recognition, anger melting into bitter embarrassment.
The realization of his own powerlessness, being easily subdued while drunk and emotional, proved too much, and he lost consciousness, whether from the impact or the shame.
"How pathetic." Claude stood and brushed off his clothes. Norn remained in his arms, though her tears had been replaced by indignant fury.
"Don't bully my dad!" she declared.
Landing a tiny fist against Claude's chest with all the force her five-year-old frame could muster.
"Ouch," Claude said with exaggerated pain, though his expression remained fond. "Such a fierce little warrior."
[Rudeus POV]
The 'Dawn of the Door Inn', where Paul had been staying, was marginally larger than typical roadside establishments. Though that distinction hardly mattered now.
We'd relocated to the Adventurers' Guild Hall in Millishion, a circular space dominated by a massive wooden table, surrounded by ten chairs.
I occupied one seat while Paul sat directly across from me, his presence radiating tension despite the daylight hour.
Every seat was filled with Paul's companions, the same people, I'd "knocked out" during our earlier altercation.
A healing mage among their group had treated their injuries, but their hostile glares made their feelings toward me abundantly clear.
The confrontation outside the Guild had been straightforward enough. Seeing suspicious figures lurking near the entrance, I'd acted with Ruijerd and Eris's assistance to neutralize what I'd assumed were potential threats.
Only afterward did I discover these were Paul's allies.
Ruijerd and Eris had tactfully withdrawn, leaving me alone with Paul and his assembled party. Their absence felt like abandonment, though I understood the wisdom of letting father and son resolve their differences privately.
My attention kept drifting to the woman positioned behind Paul.
A striking female warrior, with short chestnut-colored hair that curled outward, in a deliberately tousled style.
Her pouty lips and overall bearing gave her an undeniably charming appearance, but what truly commanded attention was her figure.
Large breasts, a narrow waist, and curved hips were barely concealed by what could generously be called "bikini armor", leather straps and metal plates that covered essential areas while leaving vast expanses of skin exposed. She couldn't be older than her late teens.
This was undoubtedly Vera, the woman Paul had mentioned earlier.
Her choice of armor wasn't entirely unusual in this world. With healing magic readily available for minor wounds, many fighters prioritized mobility over protection.
Still... it was distracting.
Something definitely happened with me and Paul here, but I don't quite remember...
The door burst open, and Claude strode in, carrying a still-tearful Norn in his arms.
Behind him, several Arbalest operatives carried Paul's unconscious form back to the room.
"I found a little princess in trouble," Claude announced, gently setting Norn down beside Paul's prone form. "And your father decided to test whether my reflexes have gotten rusty. Spoiler: they haven't."
"What did you do to him..." I asked, though I already suspected the answer.
"Time Square. Non-lethal application." Claude's expression softened slightly as he looked at Norn. "He'll wake up with a headache and hopefully a clearer head. Princess, could you help wake your father? Use that water bottle there."
Norn hesitated, torn between her anger at Claude for "bullying" her father and her obvious affection for her former playmate from Buena Village.
"It's okay," Claude said gently. "He's just sleeping. A little water will help."
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