Reincarnation of a Hunter Chapter 44.1 - The Ducal Succession War

 

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The first day of the Ducal Succession War dawned.

 

A silence hung over the Venetian Lord’s Manor once again. It wasn’t that there were no people; rather, everyone was as quiet as a mouse.

 

We walked down the quiet corridor and entered a large conference room.

 

Since no one had arrived yet, I took a seat at the prepared table and waited.

 

Count Kioja, who had come with me, was biting his nails, seemingly nervous. He really is so different from his appearance.

 

“Count Kioja, please don’t be nervous and try to relax.”

 

“Do you have any idea what kind of tests they might use for the exam?”

 

“They’ll probably choose events favorable to Vincent.”

 

“Huh? What kind…”

 

“There will be problems that require using your head.”

 

“Ahh.”

 

Count Kioja’s expression became one of despair. 

 

The image his appearance projected, that he disliked using his head, had now become entirely useless, except for that one fact.

 

He’s weaker than he looks.

 

“Count Marseille, Vincent is good with numbers.”

 

“I know. So, please calm down. You wouldn’t want to die of a heart attack for no reason.”

 

“Haha.”

 

He laughed weakly and slumped. He really seems to have no confidence in using his head.

 

A little while later…

 

People began to trickle in one by one, and the third and fourth sons also took their seats with their assistants.

 

They sat far apart from each other and did not exchange greetings.

 

After waiting a bit longer, a servant abruptly opened the door and shouted loudly.

 

“The Lord is entering. Please rise from your seats.”

 

The attendees rose with a rumble. I also stood up from my seat and looked toward the door.

 

The person who soon entered was an old man with a square jaw, a solid build, and an appearance identical to that of Count Kioja.

 

‘How can they look so exactly alike? They’re like two peas in a pod.’

 

Even their height was similar, and even their habit of cracking their knuckles was the same. It was a moment where the power of genes was felt.

 

Duke Veneto cleared his throat and began to speak.

 

“Ahem, ahem. I know everyone is tired from preparing for the title succession war. I will present the first problem right away, so let’s finish quickly and rest.”

 

‘A problem? A quiz?’

 

“The first problem is a calculation.”

 

‘Math? Damn it. I’ve forgotten so much.’

 

I hadn’t been bad at math in my past life, but too much time had passed.

 

Without a moment to sigh, a servant following the Duke came forward holding a long metal pipe.

 

Everyone was staring intently at that pipe.

 

A tense moment. There were even people holding their breath as they waited.

 

‘What’s the problem?’

 

The bewildered gazes of people, including me, naturally returned to Duke Veneto.

 

As if savoring the attention, the Duke slowly opened his mouth.

 

“If the diameter of this pipe is 1 foot, and its length is 10 feet, what is the surface area of the pipe—”

 

‘What, this is easy.’

 

I cut off the Duke and answered quickly.

 

“31.4 square feet”

 

“…to five decimal places—”

 

“31.41592”

 

It’s the pi value learned in elementary school.

 

It’s that thing everyone who received compulsory education in Korea knows about. Textbooks usually only show it up to 3.14, but many students unnecessarily memorized more digits, and I was one of them.

 

‘I was lucky. I never thought they would want a simple answer.’

 

If they had demanded the process of calculating pi, I would have undoubtedly lost. 

 

No matter how slow mathematical development might be in this world due to magic, the dark mage Amar must have had a cultured knowledge of mathematics.

 

Anyway, the moment I gave the answer, the gazes of everyone gathered in the room turned to me.

 

But I only stared at the Duke’s face. I was waiting for the victory judgment.

 

“Umm…”

 

Duke Veneto was just groaning. He must have naturally assumed Vincent and Amar would provide the answer. They are the ones talented in mathematics.

 

Finally, the Duke, having no choice, looks at me and opens his mouth.

 

“Who are you?”

 

“I am Eric Marseille, participating as an aide to Count Matteo Kioja.”

 

“Did you calculate that in such a short moment? Impressive.”

 

I just shrugged my shoulders without answering.

 

“Anyway, this problem was just a practice question.”

 

Ah, this old man!

 

From the very beginning, if any son other than Vincent happened to get the answer right, he planned to smoothly move on to another problem.

 

Sighs of relief could be heard from various places, and the face of Count Kioja sitting next to me froze stiff.

 

He really looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

 

Before I could even offer him words of comfort, this time a servant came out holding a piece of paper.

 

‘Are you trying to make me lose my mind by rushing through this?’

 

But this doesn’t apply to me.

 

Soon, on the paper the servant unfolded, a single rectangle was drawn.

 

“This field is 300 yards wide and 400 yards long. So, the length of the diagonal is—”

 

Once again, I stated the answer before the question was even fully asked.

 

It’s easy, and it’s not even a word problem but a short-answer question, so there’s no need to hesitate.

 

“500 yards.”

 

It’s the Pythagorean theorem learned in middle school.

 

Vincent, who seemed to be trying to calculate something, stopped and looked at me with a defeated expression.

 

Then, Duke Veneto said to me sarcastically,

 

“Are you an apostle of the god of mathematics?”

 

He’s mocking me.

 

There is no god of mathematics.

 

“Is this another practice problem?”

 

I’m mocking him too.

 

After hearing this, he can’t possibly keep pushing it.

 

Duke Veneto looked at Count Kioja with an expression like he’d eaten something bitter, then soon declared the victory.

 

“The winner of the first succession battle is Matteo (Count Kioja’s name).”

 

But the oblivious Count Kioja suddenly stood up and thanked the Duke.

 

“Father! Thank you!”

 

The Duke, still unable to smooth his expression, didn’t even reply and tried to leave the room with an excuse.

 

“I’m not feeling well, so I’ll take my leave now. Everyone, see you tomorrow morning.”

 

“Father! What’s wrong? Are you unwell?”

 

Count Kioja clung tightly.

 

“No, you brat. Let go.”

 

“I’ll support you.”

 

“You brat, it’s hard to walk, isn’t it?”

 

“Lean on me, come on.”

 

“Where does this little guy get all this strength?”

 

“You and father are the same height, though.”

 

Watching the two’s banter made me laugh spontaneously. It was even funnier because the father and son looked so much like twins.