Chapter 811: A Peaceful Passing
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 811: A Peaceful Passing
The salon owner’s hand froze. The flattery he had been about to spin died in his throat. His guard swallowed hard, and the attendant’s legs began to tremble violently.
As the atmosphere shifted, the surrounding crowd quickly backed away.
Spies? From the South? Who said that? The Knight of Demonic Charm? The one who ended the civil war? The Demon Slayer?
The weight of a word always depended on whose mouth it came from, and Encrid was currently one of the most influential figures in Naurilia.
The salon owner, his face contorted in a miserable, aggrieved expression, stammered, "...Pardon?"
Encrid concluded the man wasn't a spy. No matter how superb an actor one was, it was impossible to hide the instinctive, split-second reactions that slipped out unbidden—especially for an untrained civilian.
"One wrong word and I’ll crush your skull," Rem threatened from beside him.
Noble Killer. Noble Head Collector. The two monikers flashed through the salon owner’s mind. Unconsciously, his hand gripped the handle of his sword stick.
Though he had cultivated relationships with countless nobles over the years, not a single one stepped forward to help him now. In moments of crisis, one could only rely on oneself.
The owner shut his mouth and carefully chose his words. Although the owner of the Calderan Ruins salon was a former merchant who had purchased the title of Associate Viscount, he was a veteran who knew better than to use such a petty title to defy a knight.
"I wouldn't draw that if I were you. You’ll die," the Frok admonished from the side.
Luagarne meant it as gentle advice, but to the listener, it sounded like an outright death threat. The Frok’s raspy voice was terrifying in its own right, and her uniquely slick skin gleamed under the lamplight. Froks were a warrior race; it was only natural to fear them. Though, in truth, no one was quite as terrifying as Rem.
The salon owner’s mind raced.
Is this the end? Did I fall out of favor with the royal family? Is that why they’re doing this? But to send a knight for something like this? It makes no sense.
His hands shook violently, and soon his jaw began to chatter.
"N-n-n-no, it’s not like that."
"S-s-s-sure looks like it," Rem mocked, mimicking his stutter. Half of it was pure teasing; the other half was out of genuine distaste, knowing the man’s past deeds were far from clean.
This man had built his way up through illicit means—at least, according to the information provided by the kingdom. However, he currently supported a large household of dependents, many of whom were from the slums. While his intention was to raise exceptionally intelligent or talented children to serve him, it was still a good deed in its own right. Meanwhile, he kept a close eye on the royal family’s mood, made donations to the Holy Church, and contributed significant funds toward establishing national educational institutions.
At least, that was the report from Krais.
"Since he’s paid that many krona, we should leave him be. His 'illegal activities' amounted to nothing more than selling Eastern artifacts at a premium, and his past involvement with shady crowds is all behind him now."
The owner didn't know it—and indeed, believing he had just escaped death by a hair, it felt like a mere coincidence—but he had survived for a reason. One of the reasons he was spared was the sheer effort he poured into running the salon. Krais highly valued that dedication.
"Live honestly," Rem said.
The owner nodded frantically. Silence descended upon the salon.
"What terrifying people," murmured a lady wearing a dress that clung tightly to her waist but billowed out at the sleeves and thighs.
"Shh!" The pot-bellied noble beside her hastily pressed an index finger to his lips. He desperately wanted to avoid the disaster of having this group of grim reapers turn back toward them over a careless remark.
"It seems we’ve ruined the mood," Encrid said, his gaze sweeping over the noble and the lady before sliding away. He rose from his seat.
"I’ll be watching you," Rem added, grabbing his liquor bottle and throwing one last warning to the salon owner before turning to leave.
Once they stepped outside, Encrid asked Sinar, "Are you going to keep following us?"
"I can't miss an opportunity to spend time together in the dead of night."
How she could say that with such shameless confidence was beyond him, especially since they weren't even alone—Luagarne and Rem were right there with them.
Encrid let it go and kept moving. The night sky was clear and the temperature pleasant, making it a fine night for a walk. The chirping of nocturnal insects echoed from all directions. Since they had planned to visit the remaining two salons tonight, they would have to quicken their pace if they didn't want to stay up until dawn.
What was the next salon after the Calderan Ruins? Heaven’s Plaza?
Apparently, several devout priests and the local Holy Church in Nauril had repeatedly protested, demanding a name change, but the salon had stubbornly held its ground.
‘To pursue pleasure is human nature.’
The owner of Heaven’s Plaza reportedly justified the name with this phrase, claiming to be a believer in the gods as well. And that claim wasn't entirely false. After all, the salon had been established by one of the religious sects that had spread from the South.
The deity they worshiped was the Goddess of Pleasure and Enjoyment.
Here, "enjoyment" carried a double meaning. One was the act of possessing pleasure, and the other was a literal reference to the aromatic oils they sold. The most precious of those oils, used in place of perfume, were said to cost as much as a high-grade potion from the Holy Church.
Since it was a salon established by a southern sect, it was impossible not to view it with suspicion.
Lost in thought, Encrid suddenly stopped walking. He raised his hand and pinched his thumb and index finger together. Between them, he caught a slender needle that had been aimed directly at his eye.
The motion was so blindingly fast that an ordinary person wouldn't have even registered it. Immediately after, an assassination attempt unfolded—or rather, a series of utterly futile efforts.
"These bastards are unbelievable," Rem muttered.
Even if he couldn't use his sorcery power as he once had, Rem was still Rem. He delivered a back-kick straight to the head of the assailant targeting his rear. Pivoting on his right foot, he simply twisted his hips and flicked his leg out. It looked like a casual tap, but it carried enough force to shatter a skull.
The assailant was no amateur; he instinctively thrust his forehead forward to absorb the blow. It was useless.
Crack.
With a single kick, the man’s neck snapped backward. He collapsed, dead instantly. No one survived a broken neck.
Rem spun the liquor bottle in his hand, a smirk playing on his lips. "What? Just because I don't have a weapon, do I look like an easy target?"
The ambush was brief. Every single attacker was killed in a single blow the moment they struck.
"I cannot fight yet, fiancé," Sinar said, feigning weakness, though none of the assailants had even targeted her.
They mostly went for Encrid, who effortlessly deflected the attacks. He was relaxed enough to ensure his clothes wouldn't get ruined in the process. Since they were on their way to a salon, it was only proper to wear neat attire. Moreover, his task tonight was to capture everyone’s attention—not by causing an accident, but purely through his sheer presence.
There were six assassins in total. Luagarne captured one of them. When the assassin lunged with a dagger, she blocked the blade with her palm and shattered his nose with a headbutt.
"Urgh."
Groaning, the man sprawled on the ground and swallowed a poison pill hidden in his mouth. Soon, dark blood began to trickle from the corners of his lips.
Luagarne watched the process intently, her large eyes rolling. Sniffing the scent of his blood, she remarked, "It seems they used quite an expensive poison."
This implied that the forces backing these assassins possessed considerable resources. They were no mere amateur information guild or common assassins.
The ambush itself had been clumsy, far below the level required to target a knight. Searching the bodies, they found handkerchiefs bearing a crest: several vertical lines crossed by a single horizontal line.
"Is this some sort of anti-royalist mark?"
Sowing discord—it was an excellent method to breed mutual distrust. It was a scheme to create a fictitious organization, making the King and the nobility doubt one another. Even if they knew it was a trap, they were bound to fall for it.
The royal family has grown in power.
That power ultimately led to the strengthening of royal authority. Consequently, the nobility realized that the Crown’s power could strike them down at any moment. Meanwhile, the fortunes of a few noble families close to the royalty flourished—starting with the Duke of Okto, Marquis Vaisar, Marcus, and Andrew.
The noble society could turn its back on the royal family at any moment. They felt threatened even when the Crown did nothing. It was a tower ready to collapse at the slightest provocation. Everything, from the very foundation, was far too fragile.
Krais had argued that they should prevent these issues by turning the nobles against one another.
But what would I do? Encrid wondered. I would gather everyone and demand answers. I would confront them head-on.
But is that the answer?
Was that the most ideal solution? No. It was just what his intuition told him. Then what? Beat them all into submission?
That sounds like the worst option.
Encrid paused to reflect. Just now, he had been thinking too much like Rem.
"Your eyes look unpleasant," Rem said, catching his gaze as they walked.
"It’s nothing."
Encrid didn't dwell on it. Knowing it was beyond his control, he simply did what needed to be done. He arrived at the second salon and let Rem loose.
"Booze!"
It was a riot caused by a group that already drew all eyes.
"The stench of rotten potatoes is overwhelming," Sinar remarked as she located the drugs secretly circulating inside the salon and burned them.
"To think fire could be so beautiful." The elf, who had once feared demons and fire, was now thoroughly engrossed in playing with flames.
"What is the meaning of this outrage!"
The bishop who served the Goddess of Pleasure and Enjoyment—and the owner of the salon—emerged. His half-undone trousers practically screamed what he had been up to moments ago. Of the three salons, this was said to be the smallest but the wildest.
"That place isn't a salon. It’s a red-light district. Shut it down," Krais had said flatly.
No matter how much they claimed to only strike those holding shields, a shield was bound to get a little dented in the process.
"Prevent the corruption of the salons, Sir," Krais had said in a solemn tone before they left, prompting Rem to smack him on the back of the head.
"Ow! That hurts, Rem! That hand is meant for splitting monsters! You shouldn't use it to hit people!"
"You sure talk a lot for someone about to get split. Let me show you how I split monsters on you."
Krais had fled, looking around for anyone to save him. "Captain! Commander! Lord!"
It was a familiar sight. Encrid had stepped in to stop them at a reasonable point and decided to grant Krais’s wish. And so, the expedition to "prevent the corruption of the salons" had been formed.
"How dare you!"
"If you have a complaint, come to the Border Guard. I did this alone," Encrid said as he cleared out the salon, burning the hidden drugs before stepping outside.
"I will absolutely hold the royal family accountable for this!" the salon owner shrieked, perhaps still under the influence of the drugs.
At those words, Rem, who had been turning away, walked back and rested a hand on the man's shoulder. The moment that lightly placed hand pinned his body, the owner’s thrashing instantly ceased.
"Really?" Rem asked.
Had the drugs worn off in that brief moment? The man's agitation cooled as rapidly as it had flared. Or perhaps the chilling presence of Rem had instantly extinguished his heat.
"Well... on second thought, I don't think that would be wise."
"Right?" Rem’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight. "Next."
Encrid led them to the third salon. They continued to draw attention as they moved.
* * *
After the midnight commotion subsided, Encrid spent two more days before meeting Krais again. Krais was in the middle of taking off a dress and removing makeup. He was transitioning from the elegant lady they had met at the salon on the first day back into Krais of the Mad Knights.
"Enjoy yourself?" Rem asked with a chuckle.
"Extremely. This is turning out to be a much bigger deal than I thought."
The southern spies were scattered in a cell network, but in reality, several guilds had allied to orchestrate the plot. While some had been tricked into joining, none were ignorant of the fact that their actions went against the interests of the royal family.
"His Highness will move immediately."
And with that, the Mad Knights’ job was done. They were knights, after all—forces of destruction. There was no need for them to take further action. Even this outing had merely been a demonstration of their close ties with the royal family, undertaken at Krais’s request.
Encrid’s gaze shifted to Krais. Big-Eyes was not one to take risks. "I’m surprised you stepped forward yourself."
"Ah, of course, I had Sachsen protect me the entire time. In return, I gifted him a rare item I recently acquired."
No wonder Sachsen had been nowhere to be seen.
Encrid spent the next three days eating and resting well. Just as he was about to leave, Krang sent messengers several times to hold him back. Marcus also urged him to stay.
"My father is on his deathbed."
It was around the time when the covert operatives of the Royal Guard were wiping out the southern spy network. However, the spies’ operation had to be considered a success.
"If the royal family’s power grows any further, what will become of us?"
Several nobles openly voiced their anxiety. It was in the midst of this tension that Marquis Vaisar passed away.
When someone died, a power vacuum was bound to form. Moreover, rumors were rampant that the Marquis had not designated a legitimate successor.
It had been three days since Encrid turned the salons upside down in the dead of night. A state funeral was held. Kin Vaisar stood vigil, dressed in a plain, pitch-black dress. Marcus stepped forward as the successor and the representative of the family.
The atmosphere among some of the nobility was freezing. This was likely because several noble-owned businesses had been destroyed during the purge of the southern spy network, and they were wary of the royal family’s growing power.
"That discontent won't be easily quieted," Krais remarked as the funeral proceeded.
The Duke of Okto approached Encrid. "Have you been well, Sir?" the Duke asked. Encrid nodded to the weary-looking man.
"His Highness has a favor to ask of you."
It was a message delivered by none other than the Duke himself. Encrid was about to ask what the favor was, but Krang was faster.
"Since everyone is gathered here, I have something to say."
Krang spoke, capturing everyone’s attention. Everyone gathered in the great hall looked toward him.
At that moment, Encrid recalled what Marcus had told him. He had said the Marquis wore a broad smile right before he passed. That smile was not the face of a man worried about what would happen after his death.
He had also mentioned that the Marquis had held a private audience with Krang just before breathing his last.