The Son-In-Law Of A Prestigious Household Wants A Divorce

With the corners of his mouth lifted, Isaac stared at Rancelon, whose face was radiant with ecstasy. Isaac drew a long, measured breath.

It disgusted him that he had to breathe the same air as the creature standing before him—yet the scene also confirmed his conviction.

‘This village is beyond saving.’

And the man before him—Rancelon—stood at the very center of its doom.

While Transcendents and humans fought over the “cake” called the world, he simply laughed and said that smashing it to pieces would make everyone happy.

That sentiment was so childishly pure it sent a deeper chill down Isaac’s spine.

A nature twisted toward primitive destruction—wasn’t that the very image of a true, Primitive Transcendent?

Vile.

What horrified him wasn’t their craving for ruin, but the fact that they believed that craving was the one true path.

Even so, he couldn’t expose the truth just yet. To enter the land of the Primitive Transcendents, these people were still useful.

“We’re heading for the Primitive Lands.”

Rihanna cut off Rancelon’s jubilant rambling with a voice as cold as ice.

“From there, we’ll cross over into the human realm.”

At her words, Rancelon broke into a grin so wide it looked painful, cheering as though he had waited for this moment all his life. He was bright as a child—bright, and grotesque, for all that brightness pointed only toward chaos and destruction.

“Oh, then you needn’t worry at all,” he said, smiling serenely—as though he had nothing left to hide.

It was not joy but worship.

A prayer to ruin.

“I’ll make sure everything is ready for a smooth journey.”

That such gentle words could feel so revolting struck Isaac anew.

****

The next day:

The village was eerily still.

The peddlers were said to leave as soon as the stars vanished at dawn. Perhaps because of that, not a soul could be felt.

The first wave of merchants had long since departed, and Isaac had expected the second wave—the ones who’d arrived with Nameless—to still be around. Yet the entire settlement lay silent as death. It was as if those merchants had slunk away and vanished.

The reason soon became clear.

“Everything’s ready!”

At the village square—the place where they had first shared a meal—people now stood in neat rows.

Their garb was unfamiliar, the look of merchants… yet their faces were hauntingly familiar:

The one who had carried dishes.

The one who had shown them the barn.

The one who had patrolled the streets.

They were all villagers.

“……”

Isaac inhaled slowly, a chill creeping down his spine. It wasn’t hard to imagine what Rancelon had done with the townsfolk in just a single night.

Rihanna’s face, as she looked at the villagers standing so calmly, had hardened to stone.

But only Isaac sensed her dimming emotions. Rancelon, oblivious to her simmering wrath, trotted over with a smile.

“We’re disguised as merchants—nothing to worry about.”

“…Fine.”

Rihanna kept her words brief.

The group from the North, who had stayed in the barn, joined them. Their wrists were bound loosely with rope—as “sacrifices” for some ritual—but they could slip free at any moment if they wished.

“Isaac! Isaac! Over here!”

Just before departure, Sharen beckoned Isaac in a hushed voice. When he followed her to the village gate, he found Nureumdol and Nameless waiting.

“I‑I saw it!”

Trembling, Nureumdol flailed as though unsure what to do with his hands.

“I was crouching down, and I felt someone coming! When I looked up, the villagers at the gate were b‑burying the peddlers’ bodies!”

“……”

Nameless listened with her arms folded, Isaac’s expression growing ever darker.

“Over there! That way!”

In his urgency, Nureumdol practically rolled as he led them on.

Fresh, damp earth had been thrown over something only moments ago. Even Isaac’s ordinary sense of smell picked up the thick scent of blood beneath the foul village odor.

“Urgh—”

Sharen was already pinching her nose shut. They must have tried to smother the blood‑reek with an absurd amount of herbs—only to make the stench even fouler.

A tangled feeling welled up inside Isaac.

And it wasn’t simply because the victims here had been one‑sided prey.

‘How… exactly am I reacting to the deaths of Transcendents?’

To him, Transcendents were plunderers—enemies who deserved to die. Yet here he was, standing before their graves, weighed down by emotions he’d never expected to feel.

‘Complicated.’

He half‑thought of just walking away.

Even so—at the very least, a fragment of courtesy.

“……”

Eyes closed, he bowed his head in silent prayer.

A brief stillness. A wordless requiem—believing that to be the bare minimum he could offer—he turned around and found the moon‑like eyes beneath Nameless’s straw hat quietly observing him.

“……”

“Something wrong?”

“No, just surprised.”

“Surprised?”

“It’s the first time in my life I’ve seen a human close his eyes before a Transcendent’s grave.”

He didn’t bother to answer. It was a knot of feelings too hard to put into words. Apparently, the two of them shared something of the same mood.

*****

“If the weather holds, it should take us about two weeks to reach the Primitive Lands,” Rancelon had said.

True to his word, they had marched for days without a single village or town in sight. Only a dim, barren land, whipped by dust storms and prowled by grotesque beasts.

Walking through it, Isaac realized one thing.

‘Now I see why the merchants treat this like a pilgrimage.’

It was, quite literally, a road of penance. Traveling from one settlement to the next required sheer nerve. Just as its name—the Abyss Realm—implied, the terrain scraped away at a traveler’s spirit.

“I’m tired of word games,” Sharen grumbled from Nureumdol’s shoulders.

Thankfully, the big fellow soaked up all her complaints; otherwise Isaac would have been stuck hearing them all day.

“Th‑There’s something coming from the right!”

At the very front, a bat‑eared Transcendent skittered back in alarm.

By now it was routine: Rihanna and Isaac stepped forward, weapons drawn.

The monsters looked like giant moles with wolfish packs, kicking up dirt as they charged. In the ever‑gloomy Abyss Realm, you might not notice them until they were right on top of you.

“How many?” Rihanna asked.

“T‑Twenty to thirty!”

“Mid‑sized pack.”

She nodded, hefting her greatsword and moving up. Isaac followed, hand resting on the hilt of his longsword—when Nameless, who’d been watching, clicked her tongue and strode over.

“Tsk. What did I tell you?”

“……”

“Draw it first. Relying on battō‑jutsu every time will get you killed.”

“……”

“Come on—draw. And handle it alone. Thirty dirt‑moles aren’t worth—”

“Are you my master now?” Isaac muttered.

“Call me a substitute instructor.” She even mimicked his late master’s tone on purpose. After a few days together, Isaac had learned something else about Nameless:

She was far more irreverent than she looked.

“Go on! Fight! After everything No. 10 entrusted to his pupil, are you really hesitating over this?”

“Haa…”

With her shove at his back, Isaac stepped out, twin blades drawn. Rihanna, who had been staring, quietly fell back to give him room.

“Do your best,” she said—short and sincere.

Isaac plunged forward. The mole‑wolves, each as big as a man, toppled one by one beneath his sweeping blades.

‘I’m used to reading a swordsman’s moves,’ he thought. But beasts have more variables—and those variables can become his weakness.

“Don’t assume your enemy knows the same textbook answers you do!”

“....”

“That’s your flaw!”

Nameless shouted from behind.

Isaac agreed more than he cared to admit.

He would predict a rational sword path and move to counter—only to falter the moment an opponent charged in some brutish, unexpected way.

Strong against the strong.

Yet weak against the weak.

For a fighter like Isaac, who treated battle as a game of wits, that was a fatal flaw—the same weakness he had felt at the Bolten Massacre.

“Remember, analyze, adjust? If your blades never clash in the first place, what’s the point of all that?”

And another thing—

‘My body feels heavy.’

In the mana‑starved Abyss Realm, even he—who normally fought without mana—felt sluggish and short of breath. Rancelon hadn’t been exaggerating when he said only the strongest survived this realm.

“Such a fine servant,” Rancelon cooed nearby, rubbing his hands as he flattered Rihanna. “See how neatly he culls the beasts.”

When Isaac finished off the last of the mole‑wolves and came back, Nameless greeted him.

“Thinking too much again, weren’t you? Most swordsmen get hot‑headed; you’re too cold.”

“……”

It was the habit of his years as a silent sword: analyze every sword you faced. That instinct bled into live combat.

“Let yourself go a little—sometimes you need emotion.”

“…I appreciate the lesson,” he said, “but if Grandmaster hears you’ve been ‘corrupting’ his pupil, I doubt she’ll be pleased.”

Isaac could already picture his master grumbling for days—no amount of liquor would placate her. Nameless merely curved her lips.

“Which is exactly why I’m teaching you more.”

…Yes. She was far more irreverent than he had imagined.

*****

When the silver clock‑star rose, night had come and the march halted. Tents went up; people gathered around the fire for sentry duty and a quick meal.

“No! That’s not it—take one away!”

“Like this?”

“Why are you removing two, you dummy? Isaac, you’re hopeless!”

“……”

Isaac played the hand‑signal game Sharen had taught him—and found himself called an idiot by a child. His lips sealed into a flat line while Silverna cackled nearby.

“……”

Quietly, Rihanna approached, greatsword slung over her back. Catching her look, Isaac rose at once.

Daytime was for monsters.

Nighttime had its own schedule:

Sparring.

Every night he crossed blades with Rihanna.

Current score: 31 bouts, 0 wins, 31 losses.

Not once had he prevailed. Some Transcendents even claimed this wasn’t training but tormenting a human slave.

As Isaac followed her out, Nameless called after him.

“Yesterday you got steam‑rolled when strength met strength. Don’t avoid a power clash just because of that.”

“…Yes, ma’am.”

“She already knows every card in your deck. Don’t hold back your killing aura—use it, get used to it.”

Unlike the Grandmaster, Nameless told him to unleash his aura freely. It felt strange, but he nodded. Cold fact: she understood killing aura better than his master ever could—she had lived among the Primitive Transcendents, after all.

“Isaac Logan.”

A deep voice halted him—Uldiran, seated by the fire with his wife’s arm hooked through his own.

“Forget tricks. Helmut isn’t a one you beat with fancy footwork.”

“…Understood.”

“They will crush you with sheer force. Think hard on how you’ll withstand that.”

“Thank you for the advice.” Isaac bowed.

For days now, Uldiran had offered pointers on Isaac’s nightly duels.

“Helping him again?” Seleny and Silverna teased, watching Isaac’s back.

“Help? Not even close!” Uldiran huffed—yet his eyes lingered on the young swordsman, a bittersweet smile on his lips. “He just reminds me of my own youth, that’s all.”

“……”

“Yes, only that.”

Who was Uldiran? A man who had spent his whole life challenging Arandel. Perhaps that was why, in Isaac’s nightly challenges against Rihanna, he kept seeing a reflection of himself.

“You were never as handsome as Isaac, Father,” Silverna quipped.

…Raising daughters is utterly thankless.

– – The End of The Chapter ––

[TL: Join Patreon to support the translation and to read up to 5 chapters ahead of the release: /readingpia

Join our Discord server for regular updates and have fun with other community members: invite/SqWtJpPtm9 ]