Chapter 20
Chapter 20
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: Ald of the Backstreets
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The backstreets.
In other words, those who lived in the shadows.
They inevitably had to feed off the nutrients of the sunlit world to survive.
Of course, their existence persisted only with the tacit approval of those in the light. Poverty might be beyond even the king's reach, but gangsters could be wiped out by the lord at any time.
Just look at Korea—they'd declared war on crime and eradicated the parasites deeply embedded across the nation. So in a medieval fantasy world far smaller than Korea, where the lord's authority was far stronger?
If the lord had the will, they could be exterminated in no time.
The reason they weren't? Simple.
It was far more profitable to keep them around than to eliminate them.
"—Full house."
"Sorry, four of a kind."
The organization that had been parasitizing Sorren Barony was one such survivor. It was an outfit created by Baron Sorren to handle the shady business he couldn't reveal or publicize to others.
Of course, there were downsides: if the baron said die, you'd have to fake it convincingly, and you'd have to hand over a hefty chunk of your earnings as tribute... Even so, it was a position worthy of being called nobility in the underworld.
What of it?
They truly had a noble backing them.
However.
"What do you think's gonna happen to our outfit?"
"What do you mean? We're fucked."
"Shit, how does the boss change overnight? Aren't nobles supposed to be absolute beings with blue blood? So what the hell was that guy who was screwing us over all this time?"
Recently, their patron, Baron Sorren, had fallen from power. He'd gotten too greedy, crossed the line, and had his title stripped by a knight from the duchy—losing his life in the process.
Thanks to that, their organization was like a candle in a storm. The kind where you held your breath, not knowing when it might flicker out.
They weren't holed up in some dingy building playing poker in broad daylight for nothing. This was supposed to be prime time for patrolling the streets and collecting tribute...
"Damn these noble bastards."
"Hey, hey—!"
"What? No one's around to—"
And at that moment.
The man getting elbowed repeatedly by his comrade spotted a green-haired boy who had quietly opened the door and stepped in. He was somewhere between boy and young man—his face still held a hint of youthful innocence, not quite fully matured.
The gang members scowled at the boy, who wore a flat cap pulled low to hide his face. Dressed like that, he looked like he could be wandering the nearby streets looking for work.
"What the hell? Who are you, barging in here?"
"—Ald. He's here, right?"
"What? Who the fuck are you calling so casually?"
The gang member rose, face twisted in fury at the audacity of the boy uttering their boss's name so freely. He leaned in close, locking eyes in a battle of nerves—a basic skill everyone in the back alleys mastered, where being underestimated could get you killed.
A normal person might have shrunk back in fear, but the boy met his gaze without flinching, merely furrowing his brow slightly.
And then.
Slap—!
"Wha—huh—?"
As his comrade crumpled from a single slap to the cheek, the gang member fumbled awkwardly for his dagger. Meanwhile, the boy rotated his wrist with a casual twirl and fixed his eyes on the remaining man.
"—When a stranger shows up calling your boss by name so casually, wouldn't the normal assumption be that something's up?"
"......Who the hell are you?"
"What does it matter if you know?"
With that, the boy waved his hand dismissively.
"Go fetch him. Now."
"Y-yes, sir!"
The gang member bolted inside, glancing back at the boy who sat in a chair as naturally as if he owned the place.
And shortly after.
"—Who the hell are you?"
The gang member returned with dozens of comrades in tow.
"No one's supposed to show up today. You messing with us?"
"Ah, damn."
This is getting annoying...
Enri thought as he eyed the approaching gang members.
The ones who met his gaze yelled and charged forward.
Still seated, Enri casually stomped the floor, shoving the table in front of him toward them.
"Gah—!?"
"Hey, wait—don't push it!"
"Crazy bastard!"
The flying table slammed into the gang members' shins, tripping the front-runners. Those behind stumbled over the fallen ones.
Enri slowly rose as others bypassed the pile-up and rushed him.
"Dieee—!"
The first to reach him swung a curved sword downward. The blade was crusted with unwashed blood clots, making Enri grimace instinctively. Grazed by that, I'd catch something nasty. With that thought, he sidestepped the swing and threw a light punch.
Thud-thud-thud! The sound of his fist impacting waterlogged leather echoed once, and the lead gang member collapsed unconscious. But Enri couldn't relax yet—the place was swarming with enemies.
He blocked an incoming iron pipe with the unconscious man's body while kicking the curved sword into his grasp. The sweat-soaked hilt felt disgustingly sticky.
"Rope! Toss a rope!"
"Surround him and attack!"
So noisy...
Enri swung the curved sword at the chattering gang members. The neglected blade was dull, flecked with rust, but it didn't matter.
A curved sword wasn't meant for sharpness—it cleaved with weight. Combined with a knight's superhuman strength, it didn't cut foes; it tore them apart. Enri did just that.
"Gaaahhh—!"
As the man's arm ripped clean off at the shoulder amid screams, Enri grabbed an incoming dagger to neutralize it, kicked away a staff, leaped off a table to dodge a crushing tackle...
The gang members realized something was wrong. There were far more downed than standing now. And their opponent didn't even look tired.
"Th-this guy's..."
"No way... a knight?"
"Why would a knight come to a dump like this...?"
As more began to vaguely grasp Enri's identity, he picked up a suitable weapon from the floor and beckoned lightly.
But the gang members, morale in the gutter, couldn't move. Shrugging, Enri advanced.
If they wouldn't come, he'd go to them.
Realizing escape was impossible, the gang members raised their weapons in desperate resolve.
"Uwaaaah—!"
As they rushed him en masse, Enri suddenly thought.
Ah, I could go for some sugar.
Maybe from that dessert he'd tasted recently after so long.
His whole body craved sugar intensely.
A sensation he'd often felt as a modern man, but rare since taking this body—a strangely nostalgic feeling.
Moved by the longing, Enri quickened his steps.
Creeeak—
The old wooden stairs groaned in protest.
How badly neglected... Enri clicked his tongue as he climbed.
At the deepest part of the building, hidden away, the sound of a fountain pen scratching leaked out. Enri opened the door and entered.
"—I said knock first... Who are you?"
"A guest."
Enri dropped into the chair before him. Ignoring the man entirely, he spent the time wiping bloodstains from his clothes.
After enjoying a brief moment of leisure, Enri belatedly quipped apologetically.
"Ah, sorry. Blood doesn't come off easy if you let it set."
"......What the hell are you? Where are my men?"
"It's fine, it's fine. No one cares if a few societal trash die."
The man's face twitched slightly. That meant the guy before him had taken down every last subordinate downstairs.
With no one left to protect him, the boss of sighed and leaned back in his chair.
"—Fine. So? What's your business?"
"Nothing much... I hold some debts owed to me by your former lord."
"Lord? Who're you talking about?"
"Baron Sorren. Ah, but he's dead now, so just Sorren, I guess."
"......You."
Enri pulled a double ledger (copy) from his pocket, handed over by Eve.
"This one's yours, right? Man, your lord had guts. Handing his slush fund off to a back-alley punk like—"
"—."
The next instant.
Enri was hurled out of the room.
Blasted by tremendous energy, he was flung all the way to the first floor but rolled into a landing stance and let out a hollow laugh.
"Haha... So that's how it is?"
"This is all I have for you."
Creeeak—
On the second-floor hallway.
Ald, the boss of , descended the stairs, cane raised as he spoke.
"Die."