Chapter 160
Chapter 160
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 160
Chapter Title: Rage in the Border Village
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“This is all because of those filthy beastkin bastards!”
“How else could so many people fall sick overnight?”
A group of grimy people, as if they hadn’t washed properly in ages, huddled around a single fire in a barn-like shed, raising their voices.
Their eyes blazed with murderous intent, and their hands gripped worn sickles and pitchforks, arms twitching as if ready to swing at any moment.
“My husband’s been bedridden for three days now. He’s on the verge of dying for real!”
“What about my son and daughter? Whatever they eat just comes right back up, and their bodies are burning up! Those little ones crying ‘Daddy, it hurts… it hurts,’ it’s like flames are raging inside me, burning me alive. I can’t take it anymore!”
In the Chavide borderlands, near the barren desert where these tough folks had grown up strong yet prided themselves on kind hearts, the villagers now seemed consumed only by malice and rage.
*It’s all because of those beastkin.*
Tim, the oldest among the village children and the youngest among the adults, seethed inwardly.
It was all the fault of Chavide’s beastkin.
Monsters born not with human souls but tainted with beastly ones, emerging as beastkin instead.
Fierce, savage, powerful, yet slaves to their instincts, vicious beyond measure.
Of course they’d bare their fangs at humans eventually.
What else could explain it?
“At least we’ve figured out that boiling the water for drinking and washing helps a bit. But what good is that?”
“Even using beast dung for fuel and scraping moss to dry and burn, can we boil water every single day? Can we even keep up with that kindling?”
“We can’t even drink from running streams or bathe anymore. What kind of hell is this? Fine, boil the drinking water, but boiling water for washing too? We’d have to tear down this barn and it still wouldn’t be enough!”
Those who lingered too long in the desert’s runoff water or gulped it down straight—six or seven out of ten caught the plague by bad luck.
The odds were high you wouldn’t get it from one or two sips or washes, but fear had long kept everyone away from deep water.
And this plague didn’t kill instantly. Dizziness and fever at first, then vomiting and diarrhea, eventually blood pouring from both ends.
Keep feeding them thin soup steadily, and you could cling to life somehow.
In this harsh land where one person’s labor was vital, each patient devoured time and effort, crushing shoulders with their weight.
Washing endless laundry and soiled bedding every day, burning it—that was work, time, money.
A disease where the sick drained the living to survive, turning families against each other in hatred.
At first, no one knew where it started. Only after trekking days to neighboring villages, then the next, did they realize it was a widespread epidemic.
And only upon reaching a larger village did they learn: the beastkin slaves they all shared stayed perfectly fine without boiling their water.
“I checked everywhere. Every village drawing water from springs split off from Chavide—no one untouched by this plague.”
“People sicken and wither drinking water from beastkin habitats, yet the beastkin themselves are fine? It’s not about stamina. Even strapping young men fall ill, but that scrawny, decrepit rat beastkin stays healthy?”
So they thought: unite the villages, gather whoever had any strength left, arm them with sickles, pitchforks, axes, and intimidate the beastkin. Something had to give.
No, even if no medicine came of it, just a chance to vent this rage would suffice.
Because returning home meant only the stench of death and family members sprawled like rotting corpses.
It was slowly killing the bodies and minds of those still healthy.
“Let’s go. I heard a rumor in the big village: beastkin children’s blood is the cure!”
“Even without that, we have to go! I want to drag those beasts here and make them kneel and apologize to my daughter and son. I can’t hold back anymore!”
Tim felt a strange daze watching these villagers—who had once united to clear land, build their homes, and live in harmony in this barren borderland—now desperate to kill and lash out.
Swept up in the whirlwind of rage and hatred, yet memories of their old gentle, good-natured selves surfaced, bringing resignation and sorrow that those days were gone forever.
Just as Tim’s nose stung and he wiped it with a ragged, filthy sleeve—
“Kruger caravan? Anyone there?”
Everyone’s heads snapped toward the barn door at the voice from outside.
“Caravan?”
“Not the regular peddler who passes through... who is it?”
The air, thick with imminent rage, cooled slightly.
Seeing suspicion and wariness replace murder in their eyes, Tim jumped up.
“I’ll go first. Elders.”
Tim flung open the barn door, hoping to let out the stifling air heavy with pent-up fury.
Perhaps from the dim barn too long—under the bright midday sun, the Kruger caravan man standing before the large wagon dazzled his eyes.
“What do you want...? We’ve got nothing to sell or buy. No time to even twist ropes to sell right now.”
Children here did weaving hay into ropes instead of harsh field work or chopping wood, but with all the water-loving kids sick, they lacked even ropes to sell—let alone to hang those beastkin.
The caravan man eyed Tim’s lifeless gaze, then gave an awkward smile.
“The plague’s hit here too?”
Tim’s chest tightened instantly. The man wasn’t at fault, but paired with their plight, that smile twisted his heart.
“Yes. So we’ve got no money to buy, nothing to sell—leave!”
As Tim yelled, hands trembling, the man scratched his head and pulled something from the wagon behind him.
“I get it, no room for calm with all this anger. It’ll all be fine now.”
A limp cloth pouch bulging with round things, its surface bumpy.
Tim stared at it, then spoke.
“Why are you offering this? What is it?”
The man smiled slowly at Tim’s question.
“It’s the plague cure made by the Kruger family this time. It’ll all be fine now.”
* * *
“So, what’s this rumor?”
[The rumor that First Princess Seria actually has magic talent.]
Thanks to Zero stocking up generously, I still had some of those soft slime pickles left. I speared one with a fork and popped it into my mouth.
Soft and chewy, and since they use different fruit juices by region, the flavor was a bit different from last time.
Delicious.
“Give me the details.”
[The latest buzz is that during tea time, some lady nearly tumbled down the stairs after slipping, but Seria stopped her midair with a hand gesture instead of grabbing her. Then she looked shocked herself and shushed it as a secret.]
Ah, isn’t that too cliché, Seria?
“Probably scripted from the rumor’s start to its spread.”
Even with a trait awakened, wielding magic in all its facets takes long study.
So she likely awakened something more versatile like mana control instead.
*With the saint statue I gave her.*
I giggled while chewing the chewy slime pickle.
“Any other rumors?”
[Bits and pieces, but mostly Seria’s good deeds or trash-talk on other royals, Boss. Normally, imperial family info doesn’t spread easy—too scary.]
“It’s too obvious. Because she’s young?”
[Isn’t Seria older than you, Boss?]
Oh, right? Well, she’s younger than Kang Suho but older than Adelrian, I suppose.
I added casually,
“It’s childish thinking.”
My innocent remark drew a snicker from Paiyan beyond the siren.
[Well, if you say so, Boss. Oh, speaking of which. The young lady said something funny.]
“What?”
[Something about you seducing Princess Feya and Princess Seria with that face of yours?]
I’d just sipped tea to wash down the sweet-tangy slime in my mouth when Paiyan’s words made me choke.
Gadia would never say that!
“Cut the nonsense. What’s Bervert up to lately?”
Whether hearing my coughing, Leaf slipped out with a handkerchief and vanished; Luna refilled my half-empty teacup and vanished; then Rachel emerged, downed the rest of my slime pickles in one go, and vanished.
Kane, watching it all, shook his head once and retreated to his room.
Why does this piss me off so much?
[Just an early-teens academy student. To borrow your words, Boss, the young lady’s coaxing failed. Doppelganger potion failed. Even seducing you failed.]
So he’s been quiet lately, Paiyan continued.
[Thanks to that, my influence is spreading quietly in the academy. It’s practically a village-sized place, and naturally, there are more staff than students.]
Bervert, being nobility, had focused on students and professors to build his image.
With that personality, how often had he properly mingled with commoners?
Paiyan exploited that gap. Started in areas Bervert ignored, now quietly expanding among students.
[So it’s time to pick a path, Boss.]
I stared blankly at the bowl with only brine left, then took another bitter sip of tea.
“How to deal with Bervert?”
[Exactly. The most fun part, Boss!]
Always knew her Ruby days of backstabbing newbies showed her true colors.
I smirked and drawled,
“There’s the peaceful way... and the not-so-peaceful way.”
Crush his influence, monitor him covertly, keep him from any mischief until near graduation.
Naturally, Bervert would fade out in the church.
A modest result, but pretty safe and peaceful.
Or aggressively pressure and provoke, draw more church power into play, then expose him as an evil god cultist at the critical moment.
With Bervert’s personality, feeling ignored or pride wounded—like when he tried trapping Gadia, one of the empire’s three great ducal heirs—would surely escalate massively.
Problem: high chance of casualties, and Paiyan could get exposed to the evil god cult.
[So? One’s the saintly hero route, the other’s the villainous fiend route...]
At my simple rundown, Paiyan purred lazily,
[Are you the hero, Boss... or the villain?]
At that sugary voice, I just grinned.
Me? I’ve always been set on it from the start.