Dawn of Vengeance
The next morning, as a cool breeze scattered the dew glistening on the leaves in the Deharm Mansion courtyard, Head Butler Habid took his position before the statue of the late family head, his well-polished shoes leading the way.
"Hmph."
Straightening his back rigidly, Habid gripped the collar of his tailcoat with both hands, brushing it off with precise elegance before surveying the assembly. Less than thirty minutes had passed since the muster order, yet all twenty-one mansion servants had gathered promptly—a sight that pleased him. But this was no time for fond thoughts of those he had trained. With a sharp gaze, Habid scanned each face sternly and spoke gravely.
"You’ve all assembled on time, without delay. This gathering is for one purpose: to find the insolent wretch who defiled the late family head."
Defiled the late family head? The servants exchanged puzzled glances, and Habid watched the scene for a moment before continuing.
"I don’t know which vile scoundrel it was… but one of you urinated on the statue of the previous lord."
Urinated? Shock rippled through some, disbelief across others' faces. Not everyone stirred at the revelation, though. Maltaro, the young dark-skinned servant, was a prime example—rubbing his sleepy eyes and yawning without a care.
That brat again.
Habid had long disliked Maltaro’s insolent attitude. For a servant in the esteemed Deharm Viscount household, the lack of dignity was beyond excessive. He wasn’t asking for greatness—just basic decorum—and yet this damned fool was far too free-spirited. Time to give him a sharp reprimand and knock some sense into him.
With a displeased scowl, Habid nodded toward Maltaro.
"You, Maltaro."
Suddenly singled out, Maltaro pointed at himself in surprise.
"Me?"
"Is there another servant here named Maltaro?"
"Well, no, but… anyway, what’s on your mind, sir?"
"Indeed. Who do you think the culprit is?"
"Asking me out of the blue who did it…"
Scratching his cheek hesitantly, Maltaro suddenly noticed all eyes on him. Flustered, he waved his hands and stepped back.
"It wasn’t me! Why the hell would I pee on the late lord’s statue? I’m not insane!"
"But don’t you occasionally drink during the week—when it’s not the weekend? You’re the only servant who does, Maltaro."
"Come on. The master himself allowed a little drink after work hours. And even drunk, I’ve never lost my senses that badly."
"You sure you didn’t black out?"
"No way! I swear on the God of Light—I’m innocent. Believe me, sir!"
"Hmph."
Habid wanted to press harder, but he couldn’t interrogate someone who’d sworn on the God of Light. It risked being seen as blasphemy. Clicking his tongue, he scanned the others.
"If not Maltaro, then one of you others is the culprit. Speak up. Confess now, and I’ll leniently settle for cutting off one finger."
No one would confess to that. As all held their breath, blinking innocently, veins bulged on Habid’s forehead like a grid.
"Fine. It’s clear one of you is guilty, but no one will confess. I have no choice, then. I’ll request the dispatch of an inquisitor from the nearby diocese shortly."
Murmurs erupted at the mention of an inquisitor. Was defiling a statue grave enough to warrant that? Everyone wondered.
"Wait, sir," Maltaro chimed in, sharing the doubt. "The nearby diocese—isn’t that the cathedral where the bishop resides? Even you aren’t family. How can a mere commoner request an inquisitor?"
"Well said, Maltaro. What I said wasn’t my will—it was the master’s."
"The master’s?"
"Yes. Lord Theorad Deharm ordered me to find the culprit at any cost and delegated some family authority to me. The gracious bishop knows the Deharm Viscount’s prestige and will gladly send an inquisitor."
With that, no one could argue. As Maltaro fell silent, Habid thrust forward his gloved hand, burning with resolve.
"Lies are darkness in the heart, a direct denial of the God of Light! If the culprit is here, hear this: I’ll rip out your twisted soul and force the truth from you!"
Habid’s roar made a woman in the center flinch involuntarily. Her name was Rebera—the servant who had witnessed Theorad making his elven slave crawl naked in the courtyard.
N-No way… did the master have the elf slave do it…?
It was just a hunch, but if someone peed on the statue, the elf was the only one who came to mind.
No, it couldn’t be.
She didn’t want to believe it personally, but if an inquisitor grilled her, fear might make her spill what she’d seen…
*
Riding in the carriage toward the market district, I savored the beautiful wooden buildings and felt a rare peace of mind.
Good. Perfect.
I’d slipped out before the Elf woke, so she wasn’t with me now. That alone brought infinite bliss. The breeze through the window was refreshing, lifting my spirits, while children’s playful noises, noblewomen doing laundry, and merchants hawking wares created an idyllic scene that soothed body and soul.
This place never changes. The whole city buzzes with life.
Pelgaroin County, in the empire’s heartland, was truly livable. The count’s standing army kept crime low, far from monster territories, no mishaps. Ringed by tall mountains, it became a natural fortress in crises, safe from petty noble squabbles—attackers would lose in any local war. Trade boomed as the imperial road passed through, merchants trading exotics everywhere—a common sight.
No shadows on residents’ faces in such a haven. They were all so kind-hearted. Not bias, but Pelgaroin County deserved the title of the empire’s best place to live—
"Snore… grrr…"
A snore shattered my reverie. Glancing aside, I saw a knight in battered armor sleeping awkwardly. His unkempt black beard and loosely belted waist annoyed me. But I couldn’t complain. This was Baynen Brokena, the Deharm family’s sole retainer knight. Originally two, but one left after Father’s death, honoring their bond. Now Baynen alone claimed the role.
Should I recruit another knight…?
Entrusting protection to this guy felt uneasy. As I pondered seriously, the carriage jolted to a halt.
The coachman opened the door, bowing deeply.
"We’ve arrived, my lord."
"Thank you. You’ve worked hard."
Stepping out with a curt thanks, I caught the coachman eyeing Baynen.
"Shall I wake the knight, sir?"
"Let him sleep. He’s here for show anyway."
Baynen would just crack lame jokes. Better to leave him.
"You wait here too."
"Y-Yes, sir."
I entered the shop. First, walls of weapons; second, a wide dirt lot visible through the window, scarred by burns and explosion debris. Right place.
"Welc—" The owner at the counter perked up on seeing me, eyes widening.
"Lord Theorad!"
His bored face lit up. He rushed over, grabbing my hand.
"Thank you so much from before."
"From before?"
"You sent five pigs to celebrate my sister’s wedding! It saved face with relatives. She was thrilled."
A bit flustered, I replied.
"Just what anyone should do. You faithfully supplied weapons during the emperor’s orc subjugation eight years ago—through our family."
"Yes, and unlike other nobles, you charged fair fees. That’s why I’m thriving now."
"Thank my father, not me."
"Thanks to both. You personally cared for my sister’s event. What noble bothers with a merchant’s family? You’re truly generous, my lord."
Just duty, yet the flattery was thick. Clearing my throat awkwardly,
"Enough reminiscing. I’m here for weapons, not chat."
"Understood. What kind?"
"Heard you got good stuff from the duchy lately. Want to see its power."
"From the duchy? The great beast hunter, perhaps?"
"Exactly."
He blinked, fetching a small silk-wrapped box from the display.
"Wait here."
He placed it in the lot’s center, returning with a slate bearing two buttons.
"The duchy made a gem. Press the top…"
Click.
The box became a sandbag instantly.
"Auto-camouflage magic blends with terrain. Bottom button…"
Click.
Flash! BOOM—! Earth flipped, flames roared skyward. Gusts rattled windows. I flinched; he grinned smugly.
"Devastates surroundings. Called a beast hunter, but this Alkaera cloth says otherwise."
"Alkaera cloth?"
"Perfectly hides mana. Even the Archmage of the Magic Realm couldn’t detect one covered in it."
"The Black Tower Lord?"
"Yes. Proof it’s a war weapon. Pricey for mass production, but a dozen in battle would shatter morale and formations."
"So…"
I swallowed.
"Remote detonation from afar, undetectable?"
"Yep, that’s the gist."
"Hypothetically… if a mage steps on it?"
"A mediocre one dies on the spot. Even advanced? Mana exhaustion. Body mitigates some shock, but limits exist."
Mana-exhausted mages waste away three to seven days, foodless. Elves too. Exile her then—peaceful life awaits. Hope gleaming, I smirked at him.
"I’ll take it. Include the demo in the price. One more like that."
"Y-Yes. But… what for? Actual beast hunt?"
"Beast hunt…"
Heh. Chuckling, I puffed up proudly.
"Call it devil hunting, if you will."