Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Losing the Country (1)
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The guards' breastplates bore the black dragon emblem of the Crebon Empire.
It was the moment I truly felt the kingdom had fallen.
I'd heard the royal army had disbanded, but seeing it with my own eyes twisted something inside me.
It felt like the enemy had taken over the inner quarters.
Hearing about it and witnessing it firsthand were worlds apart.
Still, I couldn't just strike down everyone in sight.
Swallowing my discomfort, I passed through the gates.
Their stares didn't matter; I could fool them by walking slowly.
The city bustled with all sorts of people.
The sights naturally brought back memories of my past life.
Naturally, everything from the buildings to the people differed vastly from the Central Plains.
I lingered, watching passersby while waiting for the three slowpokes.
They eyed me just as curiously.
My outfit was just that unusual.
The trio finally showed up when I was so bored with people-watching that I was on the verge of rage.
"Did we keep you waiting long? It took some time passing the checkpoint."
Freddy broke into a sweat, reading my expression.
"I waited so long I started missing your grubby faces. First things first, let's hit a clothing shop. Not a single person passes without gawking at me."
We headed into the city streets.
We reached our lodgings three hours later.
The restaurant was a rowdy cacophony.
The small hall rang with the nonstop chatter of drunken louts.
It was late evening, so the useless jokes from those who'd had a few drinks kept coming.
We'd stashed our gear in the room and come down to the first-floor dining area.
It had been ages since I'd cut my hair and donned Valencia Continent attire, so it felt off.
The suit I wore hugged my frame, unlike my usual loose martial robes, but it was a high-class piece.
Maybe because it matched my old tastes as crown prince, I hadn't fancied adventurer garb and picked this instead. It was surprisingly comfortable and aristocratic—right up my alley.
I'd styled my hair neatly like the locals. With my good looks, anything suited me.
And yet, I wore a deeply dissatisfied scowl.
The food on the table was downright pathetic.
They expect me to eat this?
I stabbed at the bread with my fork. It looked tough, and it was—hard as rock.
Having lived as a beggar in the past, I was picky about food, clothes, and sleep.
Those memories made it painful.
I set down the fork I'd been pounding the rock with and asked,
"Are we short on funds?"
"Yes... Your clothes were pricey, Lord Jenes, and we didn't have much to start with, so we can't afford anything fancy."
Chess tore off a piece of bread as he spoke.
"Dip it in the soup—it's tastier than it looks."
I nodded and scooped some crumbs onto my plate.
Even the world's greatest went hungry without coin.
Damn it all.
I shoved the crumbly bread into my mouth and scanned the diners.
The layout differed from an inn, but since it doubled as lodging and eatery, the vibe was similar overall.
Plus, the topics from the booze-loosened tongues of the men were eerily like those in the martial world. People were people everywhere.
That's when a sudden crash rang out.
Bang!
Every eye snapped to the source of the noise.
Men in uniforms stormed into the restaurant. They'd kicked the door so hard it hung half-torn, swinging drunkenly.
"What're you staring at, you bastards? Show's over!"
The leader bellowed, glaring around wildly.
A black dragon was embroidered on the left side of their chests.
Crebon Empire soldiers.
They swaggered in and claimed the central table.
The lively buzz froze like ice at their arrival.
"Fuck. The stench of those Francia scum is everywhere."
"Let's just endure it for tonight. Nowhere else has seats."
The rundown inn we were crashing at sat in a deep alley corner—cheap as dirt, shabby to match.
Hence, most patrons were Francia folk.
"What's 'Francia' mean?"
I'd guessed it already but asked Allen, who was nose-deep in his plate.
He snorted in fury and whispered back.
"It's what the empire bastards call us when they're mocking and looking down on us."
Just as I thought.
"Hey! Take our order!"
A shrill voice barked from their table.
With everyone else murmuring quietly, their rowdiness grated even more.
"We should hold back..."
Freddy eyed me anxiously.
I'd planned to, unless pushed.
Killing them would just be venting.
Besides, I had business tomorrow, leaving the trio here.
I'd sensed watchful eyes while shopping for clothes.
Raven scouts, no doubt.
They were probably nearby.
The Raven Knights were all Expert-level, I heard—under the governor, the most promising order in Francia now.
Made me curious about their caliber.
"Kahaha! For real?"
"Yeah! I grabbed that Francia punk by the scruff and yelled, and the bastard shook like a leaf—"
Their voices shattered my thoughts, twitching my brow. Those pricks again.
Time to shuck some corn.
"Shall we head up?"
Chess gauged my face and half-stood.
With booze in them, the imperials' antics worsened.
Folks had cleared out around them, leaving it empty.
"Puhaha, filthy lowborns. I had a hilarious story recently too. Caught a thief the other day, see."
"Um..."
A server approached their chatting group, plates in hand.
"Excuse me."
She bowed and set the food down. The excited storyteller's face hardened as he glared at her.
"Hey, we didn't order bacon sausage."
"Oh, sorry. Must've been a mix-up. I'll take it away."
The stiff-faced server moved to clear it, but he slapped her hand and stood.
"You trying to scam us?"
"N-No, that's not—"
As the flustered server stammered, a middle-aged man—the innkeeper—rushed over, bowing low.
"My apologies. Our mistake. The bacon sausage is on the house—please forgive us."
"Hah, you think we're beggars? No freebies. Scammers get punished."
The man smirked coldly and seized the server's wrist.
"You lot only learn when it hurts. Let it slide, and you'll try it again."
Ridiculous.
No mix-up with the bacon sausage.
He'd yelled it loud—everyone heard.
Innkeeper and server knew it too.
Yet they bowed anyway.
Not from guilt, but weakness.
"W-Wait!"
The wrist-trapped server cried out desperately.
As the imperial twisted her arm, I grabbed his wrist.
"What?"
His insolent gaze met mine.
I crushed and twisted his forearm. A crunch of bone, then a shriek pierced the hall.
"Arrrgh!"
I stared down impassively at the kneeled man clutching his mangled arm.
I still gripped his wrist.
"Like this for punishment?"
"You fucking—!"
The seated ones leaped up, swords drawn.
I flung the groaning man's wrist aside and jerked my chin at the battered door.
"Follow me out."
Moonlight filtered softly into the alley.
Shadowed faces emerged into it.
"I'll take that bastard's throat."
The broken-armed one trailed, grinding his teeth. The others spat threats.
"Make him beg and scream for mercy."
"Disgusting Francia dog. Daring to touch Crebon soldiers?"
I snorted at them.
"Chatty bunch, gripping swords."
I was barehanded.
"Time for a beating. This'll hurt—a lot."
I clenched my right fist, knuckles cracking.
"You—!"
One charged; the two beside him followed.
Swords gleamed, slicing the dark.
Yawns-inducing slowness to me.
I twisted aside, deflecting a blade, and stepped in.
I was already inside his guard.
His eyes bulged like he'd seen a ghost. My fist filled his vision.
Crack!
It smashed his face; he spun like a waterwheel and hit the dirt.
I flowed onward.
A white arc slashed past my shadow.
My fist buried in the sword-swinging man's gut.
"Guurk!"
I seized his collapsing head and slammed it down.
Thud!
He flopped unconscious, limbs splayed frog-like.
A bold shout came from behind.
"Haaap!"
I spun, dodged the falling sword, and whipped my leg using the pivot.
The lash-like kick cracked his face.
Snap!
He bounced off the ground like a skipped stone.
"..."
Their throat-cutter stood dumbfounded, honey-mouthed mute.
I approached.
"U-Uwaa!"
Pale-faced, he fled.
I blocked him.
"Where to?"
"M-Mercy! Forgive me this once—"
Gone was his bravado; he knelt, pleading.
I kindly diagnosed him.
"Won't kill you—lucky. Consciousness in a week, bedridden three years. After? No normal life. Trust me; I'm an expert there. Your pals will keep you company."
I'd room them together.
Killing was clean, but it'd drag innocents into the manhunt.
Better half-kill them, clear culprit.
I was seasoned at this.
A wretched scream echoed over the sleeping city.
* * *
"Mr. Parfe!"
Nertels City's guard post buzzed early morning.
Half-bald middle-aged Wilson dashed down the hall.
"What's the racket?"
Parfe gripped the doorknob.
Seeing Wilson sprint in soured his mood before entering the office.
Wilson panted,
"Last night, our off-duty men got ambushed. Found at dawn—serious injuries, now in the ward."
"What madman touches imperial soldiers!"
Headache from the report looming, Parfe bellowed.
"Suspect identified, but unconfirmed."
"Arrested?"
"No, not yet..."
"Then what have you been doing?!"
Parfe roared again; Wilson wiped sweat from his bald pate and hurried on.
"Something fishy, so I reported first before moving."
Parfe gestured irritably: spill it.
"The suspect didn't flee. Still at the inn."
"What?"
Parfe's brows twisted savagely.
Beat imperials and not run? Unusual.
"And despite the dumpy inn, he's got three attendants. Could be high-ranking, so we held off."
Parfe stroked his chin at Wilson's words.
Plausible.
Nertels teemed with folk descending from Juraden Kingdom or ascending from Francia.
Bad luck meant even the rich slummed it sometimes.
Occasionally, undercover VIPs on missions.
Judging by shabby digs was foolish.
He'd seen similar twice in his guard tenure.
This smelled.
Smelled like high connections.
Parfe smoothed his scowl, lips curling wide.