The Villainous Male Supporting Character Courts Death Every Day : Chapter 25

“One thousand gold coins!” The Duke looked up from the document in his hand, stunned.

“Yes, Your Grace. Seven hundred gold was donated to the Music Association, and three hundred gold covered the various expenses for smoothing things over.” Kyle bowed respectfully as he answered.

Originally, he had given Zabert an IOU for 565 gold, but the figure 565 was rather clever. In truth, the threat mattered more than the number itself. If Zabert had any brains at all, he would have rounded it up to 600 gold.

However, Zabert was far more than merely clever. Especially when donations from across the nation poured into the association like snowflakes, the old gentleman found himself flush with funds and struck by sudden inspiration. He directly pushed the Duke’s donation up to 700 gold, while loudly proclaiming his gratitude and busily sending people to deliver thank-you letters and receipts. Toward Kyle, he displayed nothing but submission.

The old gentleman probably felt that encountering Kyle was truly a stroke of good fortune. As for Kyle, he was quite satisfied with Zabert’s shrewdness. As for the other 300 gold he requested from the Duke, the itemized accounts were crystal clear and complete in every detail.

The Duke rubbed his brow. The northern borderlands affair had grown into a massive movement, and as Grand Duke, he would have had to donate sooner or later. That Kyle could seize this opportunity showed sharp instincts, taking advantage of the situation to kill two birds with one stone.

He had no idea this was entirely Kyle’s scheme. He merely thought the figure happened to be just right, not exceeding the royal family yet not falling below the other marquises, neither too much nor too little. He had no grounds to complain.

If you subtracted the donation, the actual cost of suppressing the scandal should be 300 gold. That was still a considerable sum, enough to buy two houses in the suburbs.

The Duke flipped through the itemized accounts. 200 gold to open doors and build connections, 100 gold for follow-up tracking and maintenance. Every entry was clearly listed, from official channels to private ones, each one hitting the mark. It was thorough and meticulous.

To silence the wagging tongues, this money could not be spared. Though it was painful to part with, was it not also a kind of investment…

He raised his eyes to study Kyle, tapping his fingers on the dossier. After a moment of thought, he asked: “When does the association need it by?”

“The association has already agreed to release the news first; the money can be made up later.” Kyle lowered his eyes and added lightly: “This is the Duke’s first time cooperating with the arts circle, so it would be best to make the payment as soon as possible.”

The Duke’s brow furrowed deeply. He summoned the chief accountant, and after much back and forth, he finally managed to scrape together 800 gold for Kyle to use.

“Cover the rest yourself for now. Be clever about it, and do a good job.” The Duke rubbed his temples, his voice heavy with suppressed irritation and weariness.

Kyle feigned hesitation. He did not want the Duke to think he had spare funds. But the Duke merely waved his hand irritably: “Enough. Have them issue you an IOU, and come back to request the rest in installments.”

Kyle had no choice but to accept the order and withdraw. The Duke leaned back into his chair, sinking into the upholstery, and let out a deep sigh.

The royal family casually tossed out 1,000 gold as a political statement, but he was paying in real, hard cash. Yet if this could open doors into the arts circle and give him control over public discourse, then the expense was worth it. He just did not know whether that boy Kyle could be trusted.

Whether in terms of competence… or loyalty…

~~~~~~~

The Duke’s financial situation seemed to be getting even tighter. Walking slowly out of the Duke’s manor, Kyle thought to himself. No matter how tight things were, squeezing out the funds was not impossible. What was the meaning of being short 200 gold? Was it a test? Or was he being strung along? Did the Duke want to see how he would manage to fill the gap, waiting to catch him in a mistake?

Kyle’s lowered eyes flickered slightly, and he smiled coldly without a sound. No matter which it was, he would gladly play along.

The Music Association’s accounts were soaring upward, so he was not short of money for the moment. He just had to be careful going forward. He could not let the Duke set his sights on the young master.

Kyle stopped in his tracks, standing in the garden with a relaxed expression, as if appreciating the scenery, as if watching a good show unfold.

The carriage waiting at the main gate stood quietly. He stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze cool, yet the smile at the corner of his lips gradually spread.

He still had to keep his appointment with the Minister of Commerce. Although he already had the money now, there was no longer any need to pay the customary bribe.

Now he held the latest news from the war front, which meant he held market secrets. What goods to stockpile, what industries to invest in, all followed the intelligence from his northern borderlands contacts and this chain of news that was half true and half false. To the Ministry of Commerce, this was far more useful than bribe money.

Kyle smiled. Now his position with the Ministry of Commerce had flipped. The one who needed something from the other was now the Ministry of Commerce, not him.

A servant walked up and whispered to him. Kyle’s eyes darkened, and he smiled coldly: “In that case, let us grant her wish.”

He casually snapped off a fresh rose from the bushes, admiring the sap flowing from its green stem. Kyle’s voice was very soft, yet it hid a fierce ruthlessness like the howling wind: “Send flowers and an invitation. I await her favorable reply.”

~~~~~~~~~

Milo strolled leisurely down the corridor, his blond hair fluffy and disheveled, still wearing a silk sleeping shirt. Having more or less accepted that he was now a salted fish, he had decided to embrace the decay to the fullest.

He casually pushed open a door, walked in without ceremony, lifted the bedding, opened the cabinets, and rummaged about freely.

The room’s owner received word and rushed over in haste. It was a captain of the guard, still beaded with sweat from sword practice, his face dripping. Seeing the young master rummaging with great enthusiasm, there was no way to intervene. He turned to seek help from Allen and Mark, who were waiting at the door. But one of them had his head lowered, and the other was looking up at the ceiling, studying the cracks in the brick wall, both pretending not to see.

It turned out that a few days earlier, Kyle had noticed Milo beginning to show signs of heavy drinking and promptly cut off the alcohol supply. Every bottle in the wine cellar had vanished without a trace.

But who was Young Master Milo? With the wine cellar gone, would he not simply go looking? He searched the kitchen, rummaged through the storehouses, turned over every servant’s room, and even left no room in the knight’s quarters untouched.

The young master was banned from drinking, but no one else was. Naturally, there were fresh discoveries every day. Especially from the knight’s quarters, where three to five bottles were confiscated daily. He came empty-handed every day and left with a full load.

Everyone in the villa lived in fear, having to hide their belongings well, even digging holes to bury bottles in the ground, digging one up to drink in the dead of night when no one could see, careful not to let others spot them lest it provoke public outrage.

With fewer gatherings for drinking, there were fewer brawls, disturbances, and people slacking off. Charles was quite pleased with the disciplinary effect Milo had unintentionally created, and his mood was excellent.

Allen, however, was not doing well at all. Although the young master had appointed Mark as his personal attendant, the young master was no fool. For anything important, he still turned to Allen to handle it. Allen was the proper, official attendant. Naturally, all the hatred for the alcohol raids was directed entirely at him.

From fellow servants to guard knights, everyone glared at him with eyes so resentful they glowed green, making him shiver. The young master too glared at him when searching for wine, and glared at him when he could not find any. When Kyle the steward returned in the evening and saw a drunken Young Master Milo, he glared holes right through him.

Allen stared at the winding cracks in the ceiling, like his own battered heart. Steward Kyle, please come back soon.

“What is this?” Milo lifted a small raw ore pendant. The thumb-sized stone was pale gray-blue, its edges still bearing jagged ridges. Its surface was covered with tiny crystals that glinted, like shards of ice barely visible beneath accumulated snow, or like frost flowers left by wind and snow. Though the craftsmanship was rough, it was quite distinctive.

“This is a donation gift from the Music Association, quite unique. They say it is ore from the snowfields. If the young master likes it, it is yours.” The captain of the guard could not wait to see this great god depart and introduced it with a face full of smiles. Seeing the young master’s puzzlement, he explained everything clearly: how Snowblown had spoken up for the northern borderlands, how the nationwide donation craze had swept the country, and so on.

Milo blinked upon hearing this, understanding dawning on him. He accepted the raw ore pendant without the slightest hesitation, along with two bottles of wine, and strode away to the captain’s wails of despair.

Back in his room, Milo plopped down on the floor, opened a bottle, and took a sip, only to choke and cough from the burn. He opened another bottle, scrunching up his little face at the sourness, then slumped backward to lie flat on the ground. After lying quietly for a moment, he picked up the raw ore pendant and gazed at it in the window light.

The ore seemed to be a corner crudely broken from a mineral vein. In the sunlight, it glowed with a pale blue halo, carrying a chill, translucent and mottled, as if one could glimpse the wind and snow howling across the distant northern borderlands.

His golden eyes half-lidded, his thoughts drifted far away.

War was the key event in the original story. At first, it was merely an unnoticed disturbance, spreading sporadically from north to south. It was not until the enemy broke through the entire northern defense line and marched south that Orsay began to enter a state of war readiness. After that came one defeat after another, the army crumbling, the enemy’s iron cavalry unstoppable, pressing straight toward the royal capital.

The final battle to defend the royal capital was Kyle’s turning point. From a fugitive of the Duke’s manor, he became Sir Ashfield. From there, the winds rose and clouds surged, and he began his magnificent climb to power, cutting down all opposition without mercy.

How much time was left? Half a year? A year? Because the original story did not mention a specific timeline, he could only infer from scattered clues.

Milo stared blankly, lost in thought, when he suddenly felt something tugging at his hair. He looked up and saw a golden parrot with a brilliantly colored crest standing on the carpet, pecking at his hair.

Milo poked it with his finger. It flapped about a few times, foolish and dim-witted, then waddled away as if strolling down a main street. Milo raised an eyebrow: “You stupid creature…”

This Xuanli golden parrot, ever since Mark had caught it that day, had been kept in Milo’s room because it could no longer fly. Milo was certain Mark must have broken it, but Kyle said that golden parrots were artificially bred ornamental specimens that were never meant to fly in the first place.

But he had clearly seen it fly out of the flower house.

Poking the parrot’s plump rump with his finger, Milo muttered in dissatisfaction: “So this is how you just eat and wait to die, huh.”

~~~~~~

Kyle was truly angry now.

The alcohol Milo had scavenged from the servants’ quarters was of unknown origin and questionable quality. Moreover, mixing different types of alcohol was even more harmful to the body. He had warned Allen repeatedly, yet it kept happening.

Allen had grievances he could not voice, so wronged he was nearly in tears.

Kyle swept his gaze across the room, and everyone fell silent as if cold. He said in a cold voice: “From this day forward, all alcohol in the manor is to be registered and surrendered for unified management. Anyone found hiding alcohol will have it destroyed on the spot, and the person involved will be dismissed and investigated.”

His words fell like a stone hammer. No one dared make a sound.

Kyle glanced at Milo, collapsed drunk on the bed, and his face grew even darker: “This concerns the young master’s health and safety. Anyone who neglects their duty will be charged with endangerment. Household servants will be sent to prison to await trial. Knights will be shown no mercy under military law.”

The captains of the guard and various managers all turned pale, nodding and agreeing. With the weight of the young master’s safety bearing down on them, who dared say another word?

In the crowd, Allen kept his head bowed respectfully, yet his heart burned with warmth. Steward Kyle had finally stepped forward, turning those sharp spears onto himself. At last, Allen could breathe a sigh of relief.

What Allen did not expect was that once he began managing the alcohol registry, those green-glowing resentful eyes gradually shifted to fawning and flattery. Even the proud and fierce men of the knight’s quarters began to nod and bow to him, for no one wanted to stand night watch in the long cold hours without even a mouthful of warming alcohol.

At first Allen trembled with fear, certain he would become the target of everyone’s resentment. To his surprise, he found people secretly slipping him small gifts, others volunteering to help with his duties, and his standing in the manor rising accordingly. But all of that is a story for another time.