My Wife Waited in the Wheat Fields

PR: BlessedCursed

[Summary for those who skipped: The Young Master of the Nimrud Family named Aman lusts after Tyria, Elric stomps on him, tells the piece of shit to his face to send people after him just so that he can beat them up.]

By the time he had finished his dirty work at the tailor’s, Elric felt frustrated.

His mind had refused to listen to him after all.

All because Aman Nimrud had barged in, Tyria’s explanation of their past relationship, and his own reaction in that moment.

‘I hate it.’

He hated the thought of Aman Nimrud entertaining a future with Tyria.

No, it wasn’t just that thought. It created a feeling that filled his entire being, a feeling that told him that he would hate to have anyone else in the world next to her.

It was unpleasant.

It felt like he had a lump in his throat.

And it made Elric feel terribly ashamed.

‘…How selfish.’

He chided himself.

Who was he to feel this way after being the one to leave her alone in the first place?

If she wanted someone else, he would bless their union.

And he should apologize to her for all the years she had wasted on him.

How could he be so selfish as to not want to do that?

“Milord, would you like some tea to warm you insides?”

As she spoke first, negative feelings began to swell up inside of him.

When he turned his head, green eyes bearing the color of spring sprouts captivated his sight.

A thought flashed through his mind.

If only someone could make her happy,

‘If only I could…’

But he knew he couldn’t.

Elric shuddered at the thought.

“Is there a problem?”

“Ah, it’s nothing.”

Elric blurted out, feeling feverish.

He needed to change the subject.

He needed to get away from his thoughts.

“So do we have any other plans?”

Yes, this would be good.

“The banquet is still two days away, and I thought you might have some business to take care of in the capital… or something.”

Thankfully, Tyria responded.

“There’s nothing major left.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Normally, we’d be in contact with other nobles, but the Portmans are a newer family, having just been accepted into noble society, so we don’t have any ties yet.”

Tyria turned her head toward the royal castle in the distance.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to make some connections at this banquet.”

At those words, Elric felt a stabbing sensation in his gut.

-”Go ahead. Rack your brain as hard as you can to think of a way to repay this insult. I will await your response with pleasure.”

He remembered what he had done at the tailor’s.

It was certainly a connection, although not one made with an ally, but with an enemy.

A crooked, awkward smile tugged at the corners of Elric’s mouth, and Tyria asked.

“…Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.”

Had I made an enemy out of impulsiveness?

No, that Young Master Nimrud had been too insolent for that.

He just couldn’t stand the sight of a venereal, disease-ridden beast that had its eyes on Tyria.

To put up with that for the sake of the family’s future was unthinkable to Elric.

He pushed his anxieties aside and arrived back at the manor to find Aldio back from his early morning outing.

“Ah, I hope your outing went well.”

Aldio smiled brightly.

But his tone sounded troubled.

Elric looked puzzled.

“They said that my clothes would be delivered by tomorrow noon, so why does your expression look like that?”

“W-Well, it’s because…”

Aldio looked at Elric and Tyria.

“…They said that the bed couldn’t be shipped today.”

Elric felt a sinking feeling of despair in his gut.

“What does that mean?”

“I was hoping to get something small, but it’s the time of year, and I’ve heard that a lot of provincial nobles are coming up to the capital and looking for new furniture, so…”

Aldio words trailed off and he dropped his head into his hands.

Elric looked at Tyria blankly.

She looked at Aldio with a questioning look on her face.

“…I guess we’ll have to share the same bed again today.”

This was dangerous.

He instinctively knew that, for today, it would be dangerous.

He didn’t know why it was dangerous, but he instinctively knew that he would have a harder time sleeping tonight than any night before.

Elric looked to Aldio to rescue him, but he only looked away.

It was at that moment.

“Come inside and eat!”

A maid broke the silence.

Aldio scurried away like a shadow.

Leaving Elric screaming on the inside.

The name of the most powerful family in the kingdom of Ferdinand was actually the name of an earl.

It was a strange thing.

Normally, it would have been the royal family’s name, or the name of a great duke or marquis who held the real power in the kingdom.

However, such an oddity was not unheard of.

The Earl named Dalton Nimrud proved it.

He had the wealth to run a large estate worthy of a duke, the power to maneuver through his many connections within and outside the kingdom, and an ambition of his own.

Dalton Nimrud was a man of great power, having more than even the King of Ferdinand.

But he would be lying if he said he didn’t have a weakness.

No, he had a weakness that everyone knew about.

“…Baron Portman?”

“Y-Yes…”

In the executive office of the Nimrud family’s mansion on 1st Avenue Château.

In the center of the room, where ornate decorations bathed the room in light, Dalton bowed his head and looked at the man on his knees.

It was Aman Nimrud, his son.

“He’s not even a baron. If I remember correctly, he’s a de facto lord who never finished the succession process.”

There was a hint of anger in his voice.

“And you’re saying you got your ass handed to you by a bastard like that?”

Dalton’s eyes flared with anger.

Aman’s body shrank even further.

“…What an ugly sight.”

Clicking his tongue, Dalton thought about the Portmans.

‘Here we go again.’

Dalton’s frown deepened.

His mind flashed back to a few years ago, when Portman’s partriarch was still alive.

‘Hoven Portman, I didn’t like him much either.’

He’d approached him with interest, a rising nobleman who’d just driven out the Wyverns who’d held his territory for over a hundred years.

His idea had been that a vassal of his caliber was always welcome.

Hoven Portman, however, was aware of his intentions and had rejected Dalton outright.

-”I am grateful for the favor, but it seems undeserved. I’m just a country bumpkin who runs a small estate and a shop.”

He had humbled himself politely, but it was easy to see that he just didn’t like the idea of being beneath anyone.

That was his nature.

But how dare he refuse a Nimrud in Ferdinand.

That was the epitome of the kind of man he didn’t like.

Dalton’s frown deepened at the memory.

“Like father, like son…”

“F-Father?”

“Get out of my sight. You disgust me.”

Aman swallowed hard, then turned on his heels and walked away.

Dalton sighed.

“He’s still too childish.”

It was useless.

The incident had happened at the dressmaker’s shop on First Avenue, the busiest thoroughfare for aristocrats.

There was no way word wouldn’t get out that Aman had been felled by Elric Portman.

It was a bad picture for the family.

The face of the family was at the mercy of an insignificant worm who wasn’t even a baronet, and for the sake of his dignity, he now had to clean up the mess.

Dalton quickly left the manor.

‘What’s done is done.’

However, he wouldn’t make it easy for others to learn about what had happened.

One could be disrespectful, but they had to show that they could take full responsibility for their behavior.

He arrived in an alleyway in the middle of nowhere, far off the beaten path.

A man in robes with a sheathed sword stood in front of a ramshackle wooden door.

He recognized Dalton and stepped aside from the door.

Dalton walked inside

“…You shouldn’t come here so often.”

A man’s voice rang out in a sullen tone.

Dalton tensed up.

He was not one to be pushed around by a little display of power, but with this man, he needed to be careful.

“Things have changed a bit.”

“Changed in what way? Is it about what your son’s been up to?”

So it was something he already knew about.

Dalton’s brow furrowed.

The robed man smirked and waved his hand.

“Well, since you’ve helping me, I’ll do this favor once. I know I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

He rose from his seat.

Dalton took a short, deep breath before turning to him.

“…Can you handle it?”

“Let’s just make sure we’re clear.”

“About what?”

“We don’t do any jobs other than killing. This guy who allegedly hurt your son, is he worth killing?”

His tone was chilling, bordering on full of killing intent.

There was a tension in the air, but Dalton wasn’t the kind of man to show his weaknesses.

“As long as you don’t leave proof that the killing was connected to me.”

“So you’re asking for a clean aftermath, that’s pretty smart. And we should also spread the rumor that the guy who harassed your son has met his death. That should do the trick, no?”

He blurted out something that bordered on sarcasm, but then shrugged.

It was an affirmation of sorts.

“Good luck with that.”

And then Dalton added a few word.

“I trust that you all, the Grim Reapers of the West, can do this with your eyes closed.”

The man smirked at that.

“Thank you for using us, the Moonlings, again today, Noble Lord.”

They were the Moonlings, a group of assassins who had killed some of the most powerful men in the Western Warzone.