The Villainous Male Supporting Character Courts Death Every Day : Chapter 30

At the Music Association headquarters, Sophie strode in with fierce determination, her footsteps hammering against the wooden floor in rapid succession.

She threw open the meeting room door and slammed her palm on the table, her eyes sharp enough to swallow someone whole. “Are you out of your mind? Sending that foolish woman to the Northern Territories?”

Inside the meeting room, Kyle sat at the head of the long table, with Zabert and several officers seated on either side. They all stared at Sophie with wide eyes, then quickly turned back to look at Kyle in awkward silence, cold sweat trickling down their backs.

Kyle continued reading his financial report, calmly waving his hand to signal the meeting’s end. The attendees rose one by one and filed out.

Sophie watched them leave and shut the door, seeming to calm down. She took a deep breath. “I admit, I suggested having nobles from the capital accompany the expedition. It would better demonstrate the empire’s resolve, better justify all those donations, and make for a better spectacle…”

She lowered her voice, almost trembling. “But there are so many nobles in the capital. We clearly had better choices. Why did it have to be her?”

“Is that so?” Kyle flipped through his documents without looking up, speaking flatly. “I would argue there is no better choice in the entire capital than her.”

“You mean she’s the easiest to fool?” Sophie’s voice rose sharply. “Tricking a naive young lady like that, what dignity does the Association have left?”

“Dignity?” Kyle looked up, his eyes dark as night, his tone suddenly cold. “Sophie, where do you think your dignity comes from?”

Sophie froze, instantly breathless, as if an invisible hand were gripping her throat, her face turning deathly pale.

Kyle studied her, his expression severe, his dark eyes deep, yet flashing with a momentary sharp crack.

He had once thought this girl was like him, crawling out of the mud and abyss with dark desires and determination. But now, all he saw was a panicked, trembling soul with no anger or hatred left.

Lowering his gaze, Kyle closed the file with a motion as clean as a sword sliding into its sheath, carrying a cold finality that seemed to seal the entire room shut with a single cut.

He stood and threw on his overcoat. The sound of the hem slicing through the air rang out sharply in the silence.

“What gives the Association its value? What brings it profit?” Kyle’s footsteps were cold, each word falling like a hammer on an anvil. “As the Association’s general manager, you should understand this better than anyone.”

Sophie suddenly realized something, her whole body feeling as if drenched in ice water. She collapsed into her seat, her chest heaving violently, unable to speak for a long time.

The Association had made a fortune off the Northern Territories conflict, whether in money, influence, reputation, or future growth prospects.

Yet all of this depended on a delicate balance.

The royal family did not directly allocate funds or dispatch troops, instead channeling support through civilian donations, precisely because they did not want to escalate the nature of the Northern Territories conflict. An unspoken truth was that the Northern Territories had never been treated as part of Orsay’s sovereign territory, but rather as a buffer zone for border conflicts.

The Northern Territories bordered neighboring lands. Nominally, borders were drawn and governance was shared. In reality, the empire deliberately kept its distance and never involved itself deeply.

The Five Domains of the Northern Territories were nothing more than five major tribes. Beyond these five, there were countless smaller clans and offshoots, too numerous to count. They had fought generation after generation, yet also intermarried and lived mixed together. The ethnic situation was complex and endlessly troubled.

The empire was unwilling to get involved in tribal conflicts. At worst, they would simply replace one group of outsiders, then negotiate with the new chieftain, grant titles, and divide land.

No matter how grand the turmoil in the Northern Territories became, it had to remain a regional conflict controlled by local lords, so the empire could avoid issues of geopolitical diplomacy, internal regional balance, and military mobilization.

The so-called donations and support were designed to be flexible. If the Northern Territories won, credit went to the Orsay royal family for their benevolence and virtue. If they lost, the blame fell on the Northern Territories themselves, mud that could not hold up a wall.

At the end of the day, whether the Northern Territories conflict could be resolved was not their concern. But escalation of the conflict was absolutely forbidden. This was the empire’s stance, and it was the Association’s stance as well.

If the conflict escalated into a nationwide mobilization, with all resources flowing through official channels, the Association would have no profit to speak of. Not to mention, most of Kyle’s income came from the merchant guild. Large-scale war preparations would do him more harm than good.

The Northern Territories turmoil was a stage, built for the powerful to perform on and for the masses to cheer for. A noble heading to the war zone was an inspiring gesture, the climax everyone was waiting for. If they could bring back news of victory, it would be the perfect finale to a grand feast. But if someone actually died, that would be no fun at all.

An imperial noble dying at the hands of outsiders would be an event concerning the empire’s dignity, shaking the capital itself. The Association would inevitably face backlash from public opinion.

But if it were an idealistic young heiress, that would be a different story.

In the name of kindness and charity, everything could be wrapped up more neatly. It could even be packaged into another story. With the Laurentis family’s connections to the arts and literary circles, no matter the outcome, it would become a “beautiful tale” passed down through the ages.

“If you feel guilty, you needn’t. She knows exactly what she’s doing, far better than you do.” Kyle strode away like a gust of wind sweeping through the night. “The one who needs to wake up is you.”

The door closed behind him like armor locking into place, cold and forbidding, like an unquestionable chill, like the heavy stamp of a seal marking the end.

Sophie lay gasping on the table, her whole body soaked in cold sweat, as if she had just woken from a nightmare, suddenly aware, her entire body ice cold.

What had she been doing all this time?

At first, she wanted revenge against her father. She wanted to crush those nobles, mock them, play them like puppets in the palm of her hand. But after that brief rush of satisfaction, what had she gained?

She thought she could command the wind and summon the rain, manipulate the whirlpool. But when she suddenly looked back, she found herself trapped inside that very whirlpool, unable to move.

—

Kyle walked out of the Association. The merchant Layne was already waiting by the carriage and stepped forward to greet him.

Kyle waved his hand, signaling they should talk in the carriage. His time was tight. Every time he came out, everything had to be handled quickly. He could not afford to delay the young master.

But it was not only Layne who got in. Andre, the servant assigned to Valke, also climbed aboard. Kyle frowned and rubbed his temple in exasperation. “Alright, what’s Valke done now?”

Valke was the perfect snowfield warrior. From intelligence reports, he was also a military talent. He carried too many weighty elements in him: the pureblooded son of a lord and tribal chieftain, a Snowry warrior with blood on his hands, the Snowfield Wolf whose name struck fear across the Northern Territories…

But in the capital, what Kyle valued most was his handsome, exotic face, combining nobility, arrogance, and wildness in a way that perfectly hit the aesthetic tastes of Orsay’s nobility. He was the perfect propaganda machine.

Kyle had assumed a young warrior could be pacified with fine wine and women. Unfortunately, Valke was not buying it. He kept hounding Kyle about the counteroffensive progress like a debt collector, taking Kyle’s support for granted without ever considering who had pulled him up in the first place.

“At a party, he almost got into a fight with a few young masters. But no matter, everyone found his exotic wildness quite charming. They were all delighted.” Layne was the picture of gentle refinement, yet he handed over a stack of reimbursement forms, receipts for networking and greasing palms.

Kyle sighed, but his hand moved swiftly to sign the papers. After all, the man was his fundraising star now. He had to indulge him.

Valke was impervious to reason, his mind fixed solely on the battlefield. Talking to him about political strategy was a waste of time. He had dominated the battlefield, and being confined to the capital was like caging a wild beast. It was understandable that he was restless and uneasy.

Kyle suddenly remembered the young master’s white mouse experiment. He rubbed his fingertips together, a soft light flashing in his eyes, and sighed. “I should find something for him to do, before he causes more trouble.”

“That is precisely what we wished to discuss with you.” Layne’s eyes lit up. He raised his hand and opened his palm. In it lay a raw ore pendant, one of the Association’s donation gifts.

This gray-blue raw ore, unique to the Northern Territories, was an important economic resource for the region. The tribes would polish it into ornaments, pendants, and talismans, giving it symbolic meaning in their culture. But to the outside world, it was nothing more than cheap, substandard iron ore, worth less than a cup of fine red tea.

Its gray-blue aesthetic, regional character, cultural symbolism, and low economic value made it the perfect choice for a commemorative gift for the Northern Territories campaign. It had taken the capital by storm. Nearly everyone had one. It had become a fashion trend.

“This snowfield ore has a coarse texture. It is not only impure but also brittle. It can only be smelted into low-quality crude iron. It has always been treated as a secondary material, but in truth, no one has ever tried to develop or study it.” Layne held up the pendant, displaying the ore’s cold gleam in the sunlight. “But when Andre was polishing it, he accidentally discovered that its interior is far harder than the crude iron on its surface.”

“That’s right, it has been underestimated!” Andre cut in eagerly, his voice unable to hide his excitement. “I tried low-temperature smelting and found that at low temperatures, instead of becoming brittle, it actually grew tougher. Ordinary iron would have shattered long ago, but this stuff held up. I ran pressure tests, and it even outperformed ordinary iron ore in impact resistance.”

Kyle’s gaze shifted, watching him in silence.

“I analyzed its composition. Its crystal structure is complex, so it does not decompose easily at high temperatures, making it difficult to refine.” Andre rambled on, speaking rapidly. “But that is precisely its value! An ore that can withstand both high and low temperatures, once properly melted, would become a metal stronger than steel!”

“It is not low quality. It is too tough. Our technology simply has not caught up, so we have been wasting it.” The red-haired young man grew more agitated, his gestures flying about as if pouring out molten fire from within his body. “We should try special firing techniques, or special fluxes. We can truly unlock its beauty and strength!”

“This is no ordinary iron! It is strong as steel, cold as ice! The wrong temperature and it shatters. But when the heat is right, it melts like snow and hardens into steel, unbreakable!” Andre’s voice suddenly rose, his eyes blazing with an almost fanatical light. “It is ice iron! Ice iron forged by snow and fire!”

For a moment, the carriage fell silent. Only Andre’s heavy breathing sounded unusually loud in the air.

Kyle raised an eyebrow at the young red-haired madman, lost in thought.

He had transferred Andre back to the city because he had a degree in metallurgy and experience with ores. He had assigned him to keep an eye on Valke and to supervise the quality inspection of the donation trinkets. And this kid had actually thrown the commemorative gifts into the fire to melt them.

Kyle picked up the ore and examined it closely. This rough thing was extremely cheap. If they could be the first to develop its value, the returns would be immeasurable.

After a moment of deliberation, Kyle asked, “How certain are you?”

“Certain? You are still talking about certainty? This is a miracle of snow and fire…” Andre’s eyes widened in disbelief before Layne cut him off in time.

“If we are talking certainty, no one can pin it down.” Layne’s gaze was steady, his tone calm, explaining with a faint smile. “But we have already asked scholars for a preliminary assessment, and they have confirmed there is room for advancement. It may take time, but the direction is correct.”

As if remembering something, Layne added at the right moment, “We can invite Mr. Valke to participate, implying it is related to weapons development. That should help him settle down and avoid causing trouble.”

He paused, lowered his voice, and finally got to the point. “This is not a small transaction. It is a long-term investment. Currently, we have a near-monopoly on relations with the Northern Territories, sir. Do not miss this opportunity.”

Kyle lowered his head, turning the raw ore over in his hand. In the sunlight, it glowed with a cold blue sheen, its edges rough, its icy touch seeping into his fingertips like a blade that had not yet awakened.

He did not speak immediately, only gazing in silence.

What rose in his mind were rows of armored soldiers, roaring war chariots, and long swords forged from ice iron.

If this could truly be refined, then the Northern Territories would no longer be a barren land, but an important resource region. Its strategic and economic value would be unlike anything before.

A spark, difficult to put into words, surged through his blood. He seemed to see golden hair drifting in the sunlight, shining brilliantly, intertwining with the cold gleam of ice iron into light. In the bottomless black abyss, wildfire spread across the plain.

The pocket watch turned in his palm. Kyle lowered his eyelids, his expression unreadable.

“Then let’s try.”

His voice was light, like sealing wax melting, falling onto a seal that could not be spoken of.