Chapter 31
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 31
It was pointless to debate who was in worse shape, but if one had to choose, it was the bastard hanging before him. His limp, twitching body suggested he wouldn't last much longer.
The subordinate conducting the torture nodded, confirming the man was on the verge of death.
The man with the snake tattoo licked his lips and flicked a finger. The underling who had opened the iron door for him hurried over and bowed his head. The tattooed man stroked the man’s hair as if petting a dog and gave his command.
“Bring the dogs.”
“The hunting dogs, you mean?”
“Yes. Once they get a taste of human flesh, they won’t eat anything else.”
“Should I release them right away—ugh!”
The man with the snake tattoo yanked hard on the hair he had been stroking. He leaned in close to his subordinate’s contorted face and whispered.
“We have to get the Chairman’s permission. If we feed them without his approval and something goes wrong, can you take responsibility?”
“Yes, sir!”
“We need to be smart about this. Smart.”
The man with the snake tattoo shook his head and left the torture chamber.
Outside, a surprisingly magnificent corridor stretched out before him, seemingly without end.
The floor was paved with marble, a luxury that had been the exclusive domain of the nobility until half a century ago. The walls were adorned with paintings depicting famous scenes from mythology. Above, a chandelier of natural crystal hung from the ceiling, and along both sides of the corridor stood a line of porcelain vases imported from the East.
The man with the snake tattoo, second-in-command of the Beta Mercenaries, was on his way to see his superior—the leader of the mercenary corps, the man he called Chairman.
“Where is the Chairman?”
“He went into his office and has not yet come out.”
He smiled, strolling leisurely down the corridor.
The feel of marble under his feet was always pleasant. It was no wonder the nobles were so fond of it.
The world was changing.
This was an era where a commoner with money was better than some penniless noble. The day when wealth trumped status had finally arrived.
This job, he’d been told, was a direct order from the King of Luxen. If they handled this well and earned the King’s trust, what was that if not the birth of a new nobility? Keeping pace with the rapidly changing times, they planned to shed the vulgar name “Beta Mercenaries” and rebrand as the “Beta Group” next month.
In any case, to achieve that, they had to handle this job perfectly.
Killing someone affiliated with Reinhardt was a bit unsettling, but according to the mercenary corps’ intelligence team, the armed forces within the marquisate numbered three hundred at most.
It was surprising that a mere noble family possessed a secret force of three hundred, but in the world of mercenaries, a force that small wasn't even large enough to be called a proper corps.
“Chairman!”
As he opened the heavy wooden door, a gaudy, eclectic room that was a mishmash of clashing tastes was revealed. The Chairman was sitting on a sofa facing the window. Only his feet were visible below the high back of the sofa.
“God, they’re tough. They’re both completely broken, but they won’t talk.”
“…”
“The dogs are starving and going crazy… Should we feed them?”
The Chairman did not answer.
“My apologies, Chairman. But what can I do if they won’t talk? Besides, you said it was fine even if they died.”
“…”
“…Chairman?”
“…”
The silence turned ominous.
The man’s perpetually relaxed expression turned cold in an instant. He shot to his feet and stalked toward the Chairman.
“…!”
There was no need to call out again. A dark blade was embedded in his forehead.
An eerie chill shot down his spine to the tips of his toes.
The Chairman had been butchered. It was strange that there was so little blood for someone who had been so thoroughly hacked apart, but that wasn’t important right now.
“Aaargh!”
The moment a death scream echoed from somewhere outside, the man viciously pulled the knife from the Chairman’s forehead and burst out of the office.
“You sons of bitches!”
At his furious roar, mercenaries appeared from all corners.
But the Chairman’s death and the scream were only the beginning.
The clang of steel, the screams, and the gush of blood descended upon the Beta Mercenaries’ headquarters like a sudden downpour, sweeping everything away.
* * *
On a hill dotted with patches of dry grass.
“We have a report from the Search Team,” Simon informed Oscar, who stood staring down at the Beta Mercenaries’ headquarters.
“They’ve found the mercenary leader. He was already dead.”
Oscar’s dry laugh swirled through the air like a withered wind. Simon licked his lips and continued.
“And they’ve found the leader and deputy leader of Intelligence Team 3-2.”
“Their condition.”
“They say recovery will be impossible.”
Before Simon could finish, Oscar started down the hill. The Combat Team that had been surrounding him moved like silent shadows.
The wind whipped violently through his hair. His jet-black hair, dark as a moonless night, fell across his face, obscuring his vision. The hand that swept it back was tense with force.
Conventional wisdom in siege warfare held that an attacking force needed to be three times the size of the defending force to stand a chance. But that only applied when the capabilities of both sides were similar.
As the infiltrated Search Team launched a surprise attack from within, the Combat Team outside simultaneously smashed through the main base with overwhelming force. The mercenary corps was thrown into utter chaos.
“Uwaaaargh!”
The closer they got to the headquarters, the thicker the stench of blood and slaughter became. At some point, Simon, who was following beside Oscar, glanced back. The men who had been trailing them like shadows took up positions in front of and behind Oscar, forming a protective detail.
Oscar, who had remained expressionless the entire time, broke into a sardonic smile the moment he set foot inside the mercenary corps’ entrance. The vulgar, gaudy entryway reeked of blood-soaked money.
As Oscar passed through the shattered gate, the Search Team waiting inside approached as if they had been expecting him.
The very air inside the headquarters thrummed with the Wolves' rage. Tasting the metallic tang of slaughter, he followed the Search Team down a flight of stairs, where a magnificent corridor, like a transplanted section of the royal palace, came into view.
The corridor, resplendent with crystal, marble, and porcelain vases from the East, was now packed with mercenaries brandishing swords. Seeing this, Simon immediately turned to Oscar.
He was about to suggest that Oscar step back, but Oscar simply swept his hair back with a cruel expression. Simon said nothing and tightened the buckle on his leather glove.
Just then, one of the mercenaries let out an exaggerated laugh.
“Fuck, is this a ballroom? Look at him—a shirt, a jacket, dress shoes.”
At that, the mercenaries erupted in raucous laughter.
But the Wolves did not laugh.
In an instant, their silence overwhelmed the mercenaries’ laughter. A frost-like stillness settled where the laughter had been, and it was the mercenaries who could not bear it.
“Kill them all!”
In that moment, the stalemate shattered.
“Kill them!”
“Uwaaaaaaaah!”
Shouts meant to overcome fear shook the delicate crystal chandelier.
The Wolves took a step forward.
And then, a one-sided slaughter began.
Moving a step ahead of Oscar, the Wolves swung their fists at mercenaries charging with gleaming swords. With sickening crunches, bones shattered and brains spilled out.
In the melee, swords were turned against their owners, slitting their own throats. As crimson blood sprayed like fountains, the Wolves in their black suits continued their calm butchery, and Oscar walked the path they cleared.
“Dieeee!”
From within the carnage, a mercenary with eyes steeped in madness and fear charged at him. Seeing that look, Oscar felt the inner demon he had kept precariously caged stroll out into the open.
He unleashed all his malice, hostility, and killing intent without reservation. His lean, solid muscles moved with astonishing flexibility, generating explosive power.
Dodging the charging mercenary, Oscar grabbed the man’s head and, with overwhelming strength, slammed it into the wall.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack-thwack-thwack.
After bashing the man’s head against the wall until he stopped breathing, Oscar tossed the body aside. The mercenaries who had been swarming him faltered, backing away. But then another charged, and Oscar instantly seized his head with one hand.
Mana condensed and then exploded. The head he was holding burst apart.
As the mercenaries who witnessed it turned deathly pale, Oscar advanced at a leisurely pace, killing the obstacles in his path one by one.
There was no mercy, no forgiveness.
The stage of slaughter unfolded with Oscar at its center. With calm breaths and a placid expression, he crushed and pulverized everything that blocked his way.
When the Combat and Search Teams, having finished clearing their sections, rejoined the fray, the slaughter became a massacre. The elite of the much-vaunted mercenary corps fell helplessly, and the corridor that had rivaled a great estate became a tomb in the blink of an eye.
Oscar’s steps came to a halt at the end of the corridor, before an iron door.
He took a few deep, slow breaths, then pulled out a cigarette and lit it. A metallic silence descended as he took several drags. After a moment, as the Search Team opened the door for him, he tossed the cigarette into a pool of blood.
Beyond the door was not a room.
It was a slaughterhouse, everything from floor to ceiling made of iron.
Oscar stood in the doorway, his gaze fixed on the Wolf tied to a chair. As Simon and the Combat Team entered behind him and subdued the men inside, Oscar strode through a puddle of filth and blood.
They shouldn't have said recovery was impossible. They should have said he no longer looked human.