Chapter 75
Chapter 75
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 74
Chapter Title: Why Confirmation Kills Are Crucial
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With the existence of the Eight Trigrams Furnace revealed, the undercover knights' objectives underwent a major shift.
"We'll leave the inspections to the other knights. Let's start tracking down the Eight Trigrams Furnace and the hero remnants."
Of course, inspections to confirm slave liberations and the lords' deviations were important too.
But everything has its priorities.
[As His Majesty's Shield, we shall execute the traitorous bands and uphold the order of the Providence Kingdom.]
Around Rex were arrayed the top superhumans led by Duke and Peter, making it easy to overlook, but the original heroes were all superhumans of at least mid-tier baron level.
To commoners or ordinary lords, they were disaster-class entities.
The capital region was safe enough, but the provinces were naturally more vulnerable to them.
And if those types bolstered their forces with elixirs, it could lead to the birth of equally headache-inducing traitorous bands.
As a result, Duke and Jane—codename 'Butler' and 'Young Lady'—had their mission changed to exterminating the traitorous bands.
Of course, this high-level(?) rationale wasn't Duke's true motive.
'Perfect timing. I'd already gotten my fill of the slave system busts.'
The reason he'd changed the undercover knights' mission.
It was because the black dragon mafia incident had already given him his dopamine hit from that content.
Hunting down hero remnants was an uncharted mission, so it was only natural for Duke to pick that one.
For reference, missions like this were usually the purview of intelligence agencies.
Specifically, the secret guards under those agencies.
In contrast, Duke technically belonged to the Honor Guard—a defensively oriented one focused on protecting his liege, at that.
In other words, Duke's rebel-hunting was technically overstepping his authority.
Power is defined by how far one can push boundaries, and especially in the early days of a nation, such precedents could dictate future influence, making it a sensitive issue.
Normally, in such cases, the intelligence agency director would protest or express regret to Duke.
But in the Providence Kingdom, that didn't happen.
[Understood, sir. We'll provide support from the rear.]
"My thanks, Duchess Sneria."
It was because the intelligence director had no lust for power, and Duke's military authority was so overwhelming that any checks were meaningless.
Thus, Duke's petty oversteps didn't become problematic precedents.
However, there was one person uniquely displeased with the situation.
"Ari."
"Yes, my lord."
"Wasn't Duke supposed to be my shield?"
"The best defense is a good offense, as they say. And a shield makes for a fine weapon too."
"That's not really..."
Rex started to argue but gave up upon seeing her outfit.
What could he say to someone who still hadn't stepped down as combat head maid even after becoming queen...
Rex resigned himself and readjusted the workload disrupted by Duke's deviation.
Naturally, the vacant undercover knight duties were reassigned.
"Me? Going undercover again?"
"It's been less than two days since you returned? No. It'll make for good training."
"My disguises are... Ah, it's not undercover—it's official notification followed by inspection, so it's fine? Damn... I didn't say anything."
The perfect candidates were, of course, the three company commanders.
Tracking down the traitorous bands and searching for the Eight Trigrams Furnace.
Codename Evil Young Lady pegged the black market as the place most likely to hold clues.
"The heroes are sure to buy the Eight Trigrams Furnace. So they must be aiming for an underground auction."
Jane, drawing on her vigilante experience, planned to trace the heroes and the furnace through the black markets.
(While also cracking down on them in my official capacity, of course.)
She abandoned this approach after just one month.
"Aaaargh! What are these cockroaches? Kill one and two more pop up! Zero yields!"
Progress was so nonexistent that even Jane ditched her young lady persona.
And rightly so—this mission dwarfed her vigilante days in scope.
Back then, she'd only needed to scour a single marquisate, and under the mafia coalition's order, the markets had been easy to navigate.
But now, the targets spanned the entire Providence Kingdom, with unregulated black markets scattered haphazardly.
The difficulty was on another level.
"And last time! I hit a suspicious spot with shady goods, and it turned out to be some weird erotic comics club!!"
Occasionally, raids led to embarrassing mishaps.
Black markets didn't always deal in slaves, after all.
As she tore at her hair, Dominic cautiously offered her tea to calm her down.
Along with an envelope sealed in red wax.
"Hm? What's this, or rather, what might this be?"
"Traces of the heroes. And the location of the Eight Trigrams Furnace."
"How in the world did you find it!?"
"Alchemists who can handle an Eight Trigrams Furnace aren't common. Naturally, the heroes would've recruited or kidnapped one. So I picked candidates and asked Hell Agency to investigate."
"..."
The elf young lady glared at the butler with betrayal in her eyes.
"Why didn't you tell me beforehand?"
"You didn't ask."
"Die!"
She hurled her parasol like a javelin.
The butler tilted his head slightly to dodge.
"I won't forgive you!"
Though she swung her parasol furiously, a smile played on her lips.
Even amid this grave mission, she cherished this routine.
She preferred a nameless swordsman with no gaps over a flawless knight—and this butler who evoked those days.
Even if his past was that of the continent's worst serpent, who had plunged it into chaos—he was the swordsman who'd been endlessly kind to her.
'The past is just the past, anyway.'
She simply buried it.
It didn't take her long to grasp the feelings of someone forced to confront their past.
The southernmost tip of the Providence Kingdom.
This lake-bound region had developed a sea-like ecosystem due to its overwhelming size, and was conveniently called the coastal area.
It was perhaps inevitable that the liveliest port city in that coastal zone hosted the grandest black market.
'So they somehow fished that scrap heap out of the lake? Wait, lake or sea?'
After securing the Primordial Spark, Duke had casually rolled the now-specialized Eight Trigrams Furnace off a mountaintop.
Let it shatter or get scavenged—he didn't care.
But he'd bet on it breaking, given the sage Pater's training peak was a cliff straight out of a wuxia novel.
85-degree incline, at least 1km elevation.
Not some Korean bluff, but a looooong drop that screamed certain destruction.
Yet here it was.
'It didn't break and actually made it to the lake?'
How the hell?
How had it not shattered en route, and what physics let that iron hunk roll all the way here to get dredged up?
Duke finally understood the villain's rage in wuxia tales upon hearing the protagonist survived their cliff toss and search parties found nothing.
Though the "protagonist" here was a cauldron, but still.
'Damn that old coot. Made one hell of a sturdy pot.'
With that thought, Duke—as Dominic—explained the underground auction rules to the young lady.
"First rule: no removing masks during the auction, and no identifying anyone aloud even if you can. Second..."
"A question."
"Speak."
"We're planning to take everyone here down anyway. Why bother following the rules?"
"Young lady. Securing the Eight Trigrams Furnace and the kidnapped alchemist comes first. Arresting them is secondary, so we follow auction rules until then."
"Oh dear. How shortsighted of me. My apologies."
The Lilibel young lady nodded, absorbing the detailed rules.
But while he said that, Dominic had his own reason for sticking to the rules.
'Always wanted to try a proper infiltration like this.'
Duke's underground auctions had always devolved into rampages.
Rampage to steal what he needed in the Empire days.
Rampage at pre-Rex auctions.
Rampage at his first encounter with Jane.
Dominic, who'd rampaged without compromise so far, wanted to experience black market rules this once.
It seemed more atmospheric.
Thus, the pair donned their masks and headed to the underground auction.
Dominic chose a Doberman mask, Lilibel a butterfly one, and they presented their invites to the entrance guards.
"I hear they have wine you can only get here."
"Confirmed, customer 149. How many companions?"
"One."
"Understood. Here's tag 149.1. Please don't lose it."
The Hell Agency-forged invites were swapped for two tags.
Tags in hand, they proceeded inside.
The auction hall was a repurposed indoor theater, now closed.
As number 149 suggested, it was already filled with customers up to 148 when they entered.
With companions, it easily topped several hundred.
When customer 182 arrived, the entrance locked.
'Hm?'
Just before the auction began, Dominic's gaze lingered on customer 182.
'Choker and bandages... sunglasses? Quite the unique fashion.'
Precisely, on their companion, 182.2.
Customer 182.2 wore bandages mummy-style instead of a silver mask, plus sunglasses, and a robe hid their build and gender.
From under 182.2's robe emanated a hierarchy far stronger than 182's—5th rank.
'Not master-servant... hired help?'
As he pondered, the auction started.
They'd fight over the furnace anyway, so Dominic quickly lost interest.
Soon, the awaited Eight Trigrams Furnace appeared.
It looked battered from its saltwater ordeal, with rust on the bronze base.
But the gold lid and walls bore only scratches, unchanged from what he remembered.
"And now, lot 20! This is an alchemy furnace forged with the Empire's lost techniques! Bigger than standard models, it has immense collectible value!"
From the auctioneer's tone, they didn't know it was the Eight Trigrams Furnace.
"Comes with a slave who knows how to use it, so starting bid is a modest 50 gold!"
Otherwise, no way they'd start so low.
At Dominic's glance, Lilibel nodded and raised her paddle.
"500!"
The response was immediate.
- "Burning 500 on that scrap? Some clueless young lady."
Those ignorant of its value stirred,
- "Is it?"
- "Looks like it."
- "Tch. Bummer."
- "Still playable though?"
And those in the know for other reasons.
"500! 500! Going higher!?"
"600!"
"Then I'll bid 700."
As prearranged, Lilibel upped in 100s.
At 900, the opponent folded as the bids escalated exponentially.
"Sold to you, customer! Prepayment of 450 gold, please."
Underground auctions required half upfront, half on exit.
This compromise arose after auctioneers once absconded with goods, getting smashed by a superhuman, and later a superhuman fleeing with items.
Butterfly-masked Lilibel nodded and reached into her deceptively light pouch.
And then,
"Why should I?"
She smashed her parasol into the unguarded guard's temple.
"Everyone in this auction house is under arrest!"
At her shout, knights stormed in.
Dominic and she could handle the heroes, but rounding up everyone needed extra hands.
The masked customers panicked at the sudden knights, reacting variably.
Most, superhumans themselves, resisted—but stood no chance against the handpicked force.
"I'll handle the heroes!"
As planned, heroes were Dominic and Lilibel's.
"No one leaves this place!"
"Get out of my way! Do you know who I am! I am...!"
"Shut it! This is by royal decree!"
"What? From His Majesty?"
The auction devolved into chaos, masks cuffing one by one.
Amid it, one group remained leisurely: about five led by 182.
Among them, 182.2—the bandaged sunglass mummy—flashed hands from under the robe.
The mummy sign-languaged their employer with bandaged hands.
Dominic read it from afar.
[That woman. Can I?]
182, lion mask, nodded.
With permission, the mummy leaped at Lilibel.
Aiming for the young lady's head as she homered resisting heroes, the fist swung.
But warned by Dominic, she ducked just before impact.
Twisting her body, she drove her heel into the mummy's exposed side.
But the rebound was unexpected.
Ting!
The familiar sensation and sound from her heel.
Subtly different from plate armor, unforgettable.
Lilibel's pupils shook.
Only then did she spot the crimson fur peeking through the bandages on the mummy's hand.
"No... It can't be..."
The mummy sign-languaged in response to her reaction.
[What do you mean no.]
Finishing, the mummy shed sunglasses and bandages.
Revealed: black-scaled tiger beastkin Camilla, sign-languaging.
[Didn't miss me?]
Jane's past she'd wanted to erase returned, scarred face and all.
And Dominic, watching from afar...
'Damn. Should've snapped her neck back then, not just twisted.'
Was live-experiencing a wuxia final boss's anguish.