ISEKAI? More like I See Crap!
Chapter 232: The Walk of Authority ( 232 )

Chapter 232: The Walk of Authority ( 232 )

The elder butler gave a final nod to his master, then slowly turned.

His calm gaze swept across the other butlers lining the walls of the chamber.

Then...

He glared sharply.

"How utterly stupid of you," he said sternly.

A heavy silence fell over the room.

"Do you not understand the concept of politeness?" His voice was low and sharp—like a dagger being drawn in a quiet room.

"Do you think ’invitation’ means barking orders and stomping your feet like children denied sweets?"

Not a single servant dared to move.

The elder butler stepped forward.

"Where was your sincerity? Your grace? Your ability to read a room?"

He stopped in front of the young butler who had first shouted at Kisha.

"Is your brain in your knee, not your skull?"

The younger butler flinched, bowing his head so low that his forehead nearly touched the floor.

The elder butler looked around the room again.

"You shame your station. You shame your uniforms. And worse—"

His voice dropped to a deadly softness.

"You almost cost this house everything."

No one dared to speak.

Even Lord Gurman, sitting behind him, remained silent.

He simply looked away—knowing full well that when the head butler was angry, not even a viscount dared to raise his voice.

Hansim, still calm and composed, turned slightly and extended his gloved palm toward Lord Gurman.

"So, my lord—" he said plainly.

"...Funding."

Gurman blinked and looked at him.

"Hmm?"

Hansim didn’t blink.

He just raised his eyebrows slightly and wiggled his fingers once, slowly.

"Money."

A moment of silence followed.

Lord Gurman sighed, reached into his sleeve, and pulled out a pouch filled with gold-etched coins.

"Fine."

He tossed it toward Hansim with a half-hearted flick.

"But make it look like I’m generous, not desperate."

Hansim caught the pouch in one hand.

He didn’t even check inside.

"Of course, my lord," he said softly, giving a small, respectful nod.

"We’re not desperate. We’re... delightfully thoughtful."

"Bring guards with you," Lord Gurman said, leaning back.

Hansim halted mid-step.

Then he turned slightly, over his shoulder.

"I’m sorry, my lord," he said softly, respectfully, but with absolute authority.

"Bringing more... inconvenience will only make matters worse."

He paused briefly, then adjusted his cuffs.

"Besides. You know this well," his eyes narrowed.

"I am not... a weakling."

The room froze in silence.

Gurman’s lips parted slightly.

Then he saw Hansim’s eyes—the same calm, unreadable eyes that had once stared down a rampaging band of bandits into tears.

The same eyes that had quietly disarmed a drunken baron with just a teaspoon.

Gurman swallowed hard.

"Er... okay," he muttered.

Hansim turned away again.

As he departed with silent steps, not a single soul in the room dared to breathe until the door clicked shut softly behind him.

Inside Gurman’s mind...

Damn...

He’s still terrifying as hell.

His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest, trying to keep his face composed—but his thoughts raced.

He’s served this household since my father’s time. Since we were just minor barons scraping for influence from merchant scraps.

And now... Viscount. Title, lands, wealth...

All of it... had been achieved with him silently watching from the shadows.

He swallowed.

He never boasts. Never yells. But when he stares at you...

It’s like your soul owes him something.

He gazed toward the door Hansim had just left through.

And not only that—he’s strong. Not just trained. Truly strong.

I saw him once—back when I was a child. When three thugs tried to rob the old manor...

He didn’t even draw a weapon.

He just walked toward them, and they ran screaming.

Gurman shivered slightly.

Strict. Cold. Precise.

Terrifying as hell.

Hansim rode at a steady pace, his posture straight atop a sleek, dark-coated horse.

The trail curved gently through the hills outside Macia, the late morning sun filtering down through the thick green canopy above. Leaves rustled softly, casting dappled shadows of gold and green across the path.

He glanced to the side.

Far across the gentle slopes, he saw the homes and farmland that dotted the outer region—quiet beastkin villages, thatched roofs, small barns, and smoke rising gently from chimneys in the distance.

Children ran through fields, chasing wind chimes tied to sticks.

Farmers waved casually as they spotted him, dressed in noble colors. Hansim gave a faint nod in return.

He didn’t speak, but he took everything in—the scent of the woods, the chirping of forest birds, the earthy smell of tilled soil, and the distant curved horns of a bull-beastkin hauling a plow.

It was peaceful here.

Different from the noise and politics of noble halls.

No yelling. No pride-fueled nonsense. Just life.

Hansim inhaled the fresh forest air—clean, crisp, untouched.

His eyes narrowed slightly in thought.

This human... Hazuki...

If he really lives here, among these people, then perhaps...

He’s not what the nobles believe him to be.

As Hansim approached the town gate of Macia, the two guards standing watch immediately straightened, shoulders stiff, eyes wide.

One of them—an older fox beastkin—nearly dropped the clipboard he was holding.

"A-Ah... good... good day... Sir Hansim!"

Hansim halted just short of the gate.

He simply looked at them, expressionless.

The younger guard beside him gulped, tail bristling.

The older one struggled to regain his composure.

"D-Do you... um... need to see the captain, sir?"

Hansim’s voice was calm and cool.

"Hmm... No. Just do your work."

"Y-Yes, sir!!" both guards replied in unison.

Hansim nodded once.

His horse continued forward, hooves clopping gently on the stone road as he passed through the gate.

The guards held their breath until he was well out of earshot.

The younger whispered, "Was that... Hansim?"

"Y-Yeah..." the older one muttered, wiping his brow.

"Damn, his aura is scary."

Hansim dismounted quietly in front of the Town Overseer’s Office, tying the reins with practiced ease.

The overseer, a badger beastkin with glasses too small for his snout, stepped out of the front door holding a scroll.

"Oh! Hansim. Good day."

Hansim gave a slight bow, ever-polite.

"Good day. I’ll leave the horse here for now."

"Of course, of course. Be careful out there."

The overseer gave a small chuckle.

"You sure you don’t want to check in with Guild Master Braham or Deputy Gikan first?"

Hansim gave a rare, soft smile.

"Perhaps after this."

He turned, cloak lightly fluttering, and began walking down the main path.

No guards.

No heralds.

Just slow, purposeful steps.

( End Of Chapter )