30 Years After Reincarnating, It Turns Out This World Was A Rofan?! novel Chapter 101

Despite Ihan’s visibly sour expression, the marquis only seemed to find it all the more amusing, grinning with genuine enjoyment.

That was just how serious he was.

“I want you to be my son.”

This wasn’t some offhand offer to adopt him as a ward, like Revi; he was proposing for Ihan to take on the name of [Tristan]—to be given a name with centuries of history. In other words, he was offering Ihan the qualifications to be his successor.

“This isn’t just about qualifications either. I have no children of my own, and none among the collateral branches are sharp enough to carry on the full legacy of Tristan. The closest might have been Vale, but he gave up his rights to the inheritance when he joined the knights’ order. So, if you accept, you’d become first in line, heir to the Tristan marquisate! Such an opportunity doesn’t come twice.”

It was a rare and tempting offer that would sway nearly anyone, even those indifferent to wealth or power.

But for Ihan...

“No, really, thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“.......”

“Just so you don’t think I’m playing hard to get—I genuinely don’t want it.”

“Do you think you’re dismissing Tristan too lightly?”

“It’s not that. I just find the whole idea of calling you ‘Dad’ rather nauseating.”

“...You know, that hurts more than it should. Even nobles have feelings, can’t you be a little gentler?”

“This is me being gentle. If I weren’t, you’d probably be choking on it right about now.”

“...Harsh.”

The marquis’s expression drooped, disappointed.

The marquis’s offer had been no joke; he hadn’t made it lightly.

‘A real shame. I didn’t expect it to be easy, but...’

If Ihan had accepted, the marquis would have earnestly adopted him as his own. The senior members of the family would’ve been dumbstruck to hear it—a complete outsider who once threatened their estate given the name of Tristan.

But the marquis thought his decision made perfect sense.

‘If anyone could handle this family, it’d be him...’

While Tristan held a noble title, it didn’t have any of the legendary [Mystique] that other noble lines possessed. The original Tristan patriarch supposedly wielded the “Demon Bow,” an artifact of mystique, but its legacy had long since faded. As a result, Tristan had faced dozens of crises over the centuries.

Time and time again, unworthy heirs without skill or mystique caused internal strife, often spurring infighting between family factions. Even the marquis himself once left briefly, only to return and find the family divided by civil war among the elders.

‘All that’s truly important to Tristan is the name and strength to protect it.’

If an heir could carry both the family name and the overwhelming force to command respect, then the marquis believed they’d be enough to uphold the legacy.

Bloodline, as many nobles claimed to value, was irrelevant—nobles’ bloodlines had thinned too much to hold meaning.

‘And if bloodline purists make trouble, I’ll just have him marry one of the women from the collateral branch.’

Tristan’s bloodlines were genetically strong; every child born into the family bore the signature red hair, whether from the mother or the father’s side. If blood was the only issue, that could be easily solved.

Others might be shocked to hear the marquis’s reasoning, but he would have calmly explained, ‘It’s worth it.’

‘...This one’s a gem, a diamond in the rough.’

For now, he could still best Ihan. But as time went on... perhaps even by tomorrow, would that still hold true?

‘Just yesterday, his aura was wild. But today? It’s already stabilized—this rate of growth is astonishing.’

And so, he couldn’t help but look forward to it.

Maybe... just maybe, this young knight could reach it.

The heights that young fighters and prodigies dreamed of, the realm of [Aura Users]—a level that the marquis himself had once given up on as a distant fantasy.

And though Ihan wasn’t his son, the marquis yearned to see him attain that level, to witness it from the closest vantage point.

He knew some might call it vicarious pride, but what of it? Watching the youth grow was one of life’s privileges.

‘I’m genuinely excited.’

Yes, for now, just planting the seed was enough.

Though...

‘Having him nearby would be quite entertaining...’

The desire to have Ihan as a son wasn’t purely to see him flourish. There was something about this young man that felt like he’d never be boring to be around.

Yes, it was a shame, but even so, he couldn’t help but smile as he watched Ihan.

“Well, it’s a pity. So, then, would you at least consider teaching our knights that floating technique? I’d compensate you handsomely.”

“Ah, there it is—the real agenda! No way. Why would I teach my technique to an order that isn’t even my own?”

“Is that so? Hmm. Just thinking out loud here, but the damages to the door, walls, marble floors, statues... add up to about three thousand gold coins. And considering some of the broken items were dwarven-made, repair costs might rise. Should I track down the culprit and make them pay?”

“.......”

“Should I?”

“...Ever thought about learning a way to walk without leaving footprints? There’s this thing called ‘Stepping Lightly’...”

“Hahaha!”

Look at him. Just watching him was amusing.

The marquis chuckled, wondering if this was what it would be like to have a mischievous son. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

“What a pain of an old man...”

Ihan sighed, feeling utterly drained.

He’d rather spar or fight with a sword than endure a conversation with a wily politician—it was mentally exhausting and frustrating. He was just about ready to collapse from mental fatigue.

As he rubbed his face to dispel the weariness, he muttered, “So, you guys skipping out on the end-of-term ceremony too?”

At the sound, a faint rustle echoed nearby—a movement so subtle that an ordinary person would never have noticed it. But not Ihan.

“That habit of lurking? You’ll get into serious trouble if you get caught doing that one day.”

It was a gentle warning, almost like a teacher’s advice.

“...Perhaps, but if it weren’t for you, no one would ever know we were here.”

From the shadows stepped two familiar figures. Ihan, finishing his face rub, saw them both clearly:

Roen and Jack.

The two smirked at him, and Jack scratched his cheek sheepishly.

“We thought we hid pretty well this time...”

“Yeah, you did. You’re getting better at hiding than you are at swordsmanship. Planning a career change to assassin?”

“...No, it just seems I’m naturally good at hiding, so I improve even without trying.”