For Sale: Male Lead, Obsession Included - Chapter 65
Thump!
As Feyden kicked hard against the side of his horse, Walnut, it immediately sprinted at full speed.
Neigh!
“Ahh!”
Estira’s face, which had been relaxed and smiling just moments ago, drained of color at the tremendous speed she’d never experienced in the past month.
“Ahh! Feyden! S-slow down!”
Despite her desperate plea, Feyden simply snorted and pushed the horse to go even faster.
“Hyah!”
He had no intention of slowing down until she apologized.
Feyden’s brown hair whipped violently in the sharp wind, revealing his handsome forehead and straight eyebrows.
“I’m sorry! It’s all my fault!”
Estira shouted, curling herself into a ball. The corner of Feyden’s mouth curled up in a sly grin.
“Are you really sorry?”
“Yes! Really!”
His gaze fell on Estira’s face, half-pressed against his chest. Her eyes were tightly shut, and her lips were clenched together. Seeing her like that made him want to tease her even more.
Over the past month, Feyden had observed Estira closely. She was full of energy, easily amused, and always quick to laugh, much like a typical teenage girl. It made him wonder if being followed was really her fault at all.
He had initially labeled her as a “suspicious employer” or someone with a “shady past” and had drawn a line between them. But lately, even Feyden noticed that the boundary he had set was becoming blurry.
Feyden, who had been burned too many times by others, found it difficult to trust people. Yet, in just one month, Estira’s unfiltered innocence had disarmed him, to the point where he now found himself joking around with her without reservation.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he felt comfortable laughing like this in front of someone other than Truu.
The simple journey he’d shared with Estira over the past month had softened him more than he cared to admit.
Waking up together, eating together, laughing over trivial conversations—perhaps deep down, Feyden had always longed for such peaceful moments.
After all, from a young age, he had to leave behind his childhood to venture into the harsh world, learning betrayal and the value of money before anything else, all for Truu’s sake.
Maybe that’s why. Whenever he looked at Estira, something within him—his long-lost conscience—would resurface, making him uncomfortable.
“Are you listening to me, Feyden?”
Estira’s sharp voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
He considered teasing her some more but decided against it when he saw her small hands gripping the reins so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. He gradually slowed down, realizing he might actually upset her if he kept going.
He had already made that mistake once before—teasing her too much and ending up being ignored for two whole days.
Once Feyden slowed the horse, Estira finally relaxed the tension in her body. He gently knocked her on the back of the head.
“Don’t mess around, or I might just leave you behind.”
“…What are you saying? If anyone’s getting left behind, it’ll be you.”
Estira, clearly upset, wriggled, saying she wanted to get down and ride with Ariel. Just as she started to squirm, Feyden grabbed her head with his large hand and directed her to look forward.
“Potato, we’ve arrived.”
After a long week of travel, they had finally reached the fifth estate—the Ragnar Duchy.
* * *
The duchy was a unique land where various races lived together, and it was especially famous for the swords crafted by the resident dwarves. This village in particular was often called “The Blacksmith’s Village.”
The official name was Steel Village, a place known for its developed iron mines. Unlike the previous villages they had visited, the towering stone walls here were significantly different.
The walls were reinforced using dwarven construction techniques, sturdy enough to serve as the empire’s last line of defense.
Thanks to Ariel, the group swiftly passed through the identity check and entered the duchy.
Even the armor worn by the gate guards was a testament to the fact that this was where the empire’s best blacksmiths resided.
Everywhere you looked—iron. From the well-forged iron goods to the weapons for sale, the village was bustling with shops.
It seemed iron was so common that even an old man’s walking stick was made of it.
‘No wonder the duke is so wealthy.’
Iron was everywhere, and the air was thick with its scent. I looked around, my head spinning with all the sights, when I suddenly realized something unusual—Feyden, who had been sitting behind me, was strangely silent.
‘By now, he’d usually have some sarcastic comment to make.’
I twisted my body halfway around to look at him, and then I understood why he hadn’t said a word.
Feyden’s brown eyes sparkled like stars as he stared, unable to tear his gaze away.
I followed his line of sight and saw a blacksmith’s stall filled with all sorts of swords.
‘Oh, right. He is a mercenary after all.’
Despite his constant bickering and teasing, Feyden’s excitement over the weapons reminded me that he was still very much a swordsman.
“Let’s get down and take a look, shall we?”
