Chapter 22
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: Beautiful Night
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"No helping it. For the time being, I'll take over your duties."
"You sure you'll be fine handling it alone with that old body of yours? Not gonna get stabbed out of nowhere, are ya?"
"Want me to show you if I'm fine?"
Thwack. A fist crashed down on my head.
"Argh!!"
Fuck, felt like my skull was splitting open.
Of course, I'd tried to dodge. Just couldn't.
His morals might be trash, but this old geezer was still an advanced knight.
At least in this kingdom, he was someone who could fart and make waves—
one of the top five in the family, no less.
"Anyway, I'll make up some excuse for the young lady.
Once I say it's a secret errand from His Grace, she won't pry too much."
"And if she does?"
"We're fucked."
Kain chuckled, then his face turned serious in an instant.
Looked like he'd stepped in some troublesome shit.
"But here's the thing."
"What now?"
"There's one problem."
He stared right at my face, twirling his index finger in circles over his own.
"That mug of yours. It's pretty famous, ain't it?"
"......Famous my ass."
I grumbled, but I couldn't argue.
Roughly since the peach fuzz started sprouting,
I'd been stirring up trouble all over the place with this old man.
And then there was the half-burned face.
Hence the nickname 'Kaintrea's Monstrosity.'
This standout look was so distinctive, anyone could spot it at a glance. That was the issue.
"Walk in like that, and word'll spread like wildfire, right?"
"......"
"Then His Grace's secret cleanup goes down the drain. Tail-cutting op fails too."
Kain's words made perfect sense.
My face was basically a walking warning sign.
The mansion's dog being loose meant Kaintrea's will was at play.
"Fair point... So what do we do?"
"Why ask me?"
"Fuck, help me out here."
Kain burst out laughing and slapped my back,
then got up and rummaged through the cabinet in the corner.
"Simplest and surest way."
Clatter. He pulled out a bottle of mysterious black liquid
and a dingy rag that looked scavenged from who-knows-where.
"What's this?"
"Can't you tell? Hair dye and a mask."
Kain popped the lid and approached me.
A rotten soy sauce stench wafted from the bottle.
"Ugh, smells like shit... This ain't spoiled?"
"Shut up and stick your head out. You think slum rats spritz perfume?"
Splash. Cold liquid poured over my head.
"Gah! Got in my eyes, you crazy old bastard...!"
"Hold still. Gotta rub it in good."
Kain started scrubbing my hair like he was washing rice.
My scalp felt like it might peel off from his rough hands, but I meekly bowed my head.
"Why black of all colors?"
"You picky little shit, complaining about hair color now?"
"No... Black ain't common here. Won't it stand out more?"
Kain snorted at my question.
"That's the point, idiot."
"......?"
"Black hair's rare—only those far-off eastern folk have it."
Kain carefully worked the dye into my hair as he continued.
"Crude disguise like this, gotta fake a different race too."
"......Ah."
"Some nameless mercenary from across the continent. That vibe."
Made sense.
An exotic look draws curiosity but also keeps people at arm's length.
No one would match Kaintrea's Monstrosity with an eastern stranger.
"Alright. That's good enough."
After scrubbing forever, Kain tossed me a towel.
I roughly dried off and checked the mirror—
a drenched rat with pitch-black hair glared back.
"Hmm......"
Unfamiliar. Just changing hair color alters the vibe this much?
Contrasting my pale skin, it looked somehow more sinister and sharp.
"Either way, can't hide those good looks."
"Bullshit."
He flung the cloth over my face.
I grabbed it without a word
and tied it tight, covering from under my eyes to my jaw, fully hiding the burned left cheek.
Checked the mirror again.
Jet-black hair. Black mask over half the face.
Worn leather vest and baggy pants.
"Don't I just look like a bandit now?"
"Yep, convincingly so."
Kain nodded, satisfied.
"Remember. From now on, you're no one to Kaintrea."
"Got it. One slip and I'm dead."
"Watch your voice, every damn gesture."
"Quit nagging."
I waved him off casually and headed to the window.
"Hold up."
Thud. Kain tossed something my way.
I caught it reflexively—
"What's this?"
"Travel money. Make it last. And..."
Flick. Kain lit the tobacco in his mouth.
Acrid smoke rose,
"......Don't die."
His eyes, visible through the haze, were deeper than usual, sunken.
"...Creepy. Why the sudden sentiment?"
"Just a bad feeling."
"Fuck, jinxing me to drop dead."
I stepped on the windowsill and leaped out.
Whoosh.
No hesitation, I threw myself into the night.
Chilly air slapped my cheeks,
and vast darkness swallowed me whole.
.....
I opened the pouch he'd given me—
"......Jeez."
Ten silver coins inside.
"Make it last? Stingy old fuck."
Enough for a drink and a roll in the hay, then gone.
But bitterly,
it was plenty to buy or sell a life here.
That harsh value gap soured my face on its own,
and I walked the familiar shit-stinking alleys of the slums.
"Hoo......"
Every breath felt like rotting my lungs.
Rotten food and mold stench.
Piss reek from random street dumps.
And the vile cocktail of cheap perfume, semen, and blood.
15 years ago or now, the air here was still heavy and sticky.
"Just once... please, just once..."
"Piss off, retard! No money? Beat it!"
At alley corners, limbless veterans wallowed in mud,
"Mister, cheap for you. Three silvers... no, two."
"Fuck off, crazy bitch."
while bony whores clung to passing men's pant legs.
Guys grinning vacantly, eyes glazed.
One gutted in the corner, dying from a knife, while another rifled his pockets.
Rat pups gnawing corpses mixed with drunks' roars—a hellscape.
This place was the kingdom's hemorrhoid. Pus-oozing and festering,
but no one treats it, just hides it in their underwear.
'......But something's off.'
I narrowed my eyes under the mask.
Familiar hell, yet weirdly out of place.
The guys slumped in every corner looked wrong.
Not just drunk—soulless corpses staring blankly at nothing,
or twisting grotesquely, cackling.
"Obvious... Paradise Dust."
The damn drug the duke mentioned,
proof it'd sunk deep into the bottom ranks.
Powder that erases hunger and pain.
The shittier reality, the sweeter the high—spread like wildfire.
I straightened my clothes and moved on.
Destination: heart of District 8, the infamous 'Night Stroll' speakeasy.
To dig info, hit where loose tongues gather.
Especially brain-rotted junkies—spill for a drink.
Squelch, squelch.
My steps through shit-mud split the silent slum night.
"Home sweet home, you fuckers."
The stray pup trucked off by dogcatchers was back home.
.....
Creeeak.
The rickety wooden door screamed open.
Heat, noise, and foul booze stench hit at once.
"Welcome."
A burly thug blocked the way as the door swung.
Muscled arms scarred with knife marks—
standard slum bouncer.
"...Solo?"
"Yeah. Solo."
I rasped a gravelly reply, clearing my throat forcibly.
He eyed my odd black hair and mask, frowning slightly,
but stepped aside soon enough.
"Corner seat's open. Go on in."
"Righto, thanks for the hassle."
I flicked a silver into his chest pocket and entered.
His eyes bulged as he snatched it—hilarious.
Money's king, after all.
Inside was chaos.
Guys chugging cheap rum, bellowing.
Corner fuckers rolling with girls.
Table gamblers.
But something else caught my eye.
'......Holy shit.'
Back room, half-hidden by red curtains.
Crude sofas and tables inside,
naked girls pouring drinks right beside customers.
15 years ago, right before becoming Kaintrea's dog—
the system I'd introduced to survive this underbelly.
Crude knockoff of mine, of course.
"Oughta charge royalties."
I chuckled dryly and took the corner table.
Then a young waitress approached, baby-faced.
"Order...?"
Scared eyes.
Mask and shady getup must've creeped her out.
I replied with a sleazy drawl.
"Booze. Strongest you've got, a bottle."
"Y-yes. Snacks...?"
"Nah."
I shot my hand out,
grabbing the fleeing girl's ass tight.
"Kyaa!"
Damn, firm and bouncy.
"Instead, why don't you sit with me a bit?"
"Th-that's..."
"Generous tip. Whaddya say?"
I jingled the pouch with nine silvers left.
Her eyes wavered.
"......One sec. After I bring the booze..."
"Good girl. Hurry up. Big bro's thirsty."
I squeezed her ass once more and let go.
She bolted to the counter like fleeing.
Nearby guys snickered at me,
but I ignored 'em, scanning the room.
Air was murky.
Not just smoke.
'Too many glazed-eye fuckers.'
Back rooms, dim corners.
Guys snorting tiny papers instead of drinks.
And beside them, always—
tattooed weirdos standing guard.
'Bingo.'
Found the fuckers.
What bullshit on a moonlit night. Thanks to you pricks.
I smirked under the mask, tapping my dagger hilt.
Just get 'em talking now.
As I rose—
"H-here... big bro."
The girl I'd called returned,
tray with cheap rum and glass, hesitant.
"Oh, quick one."
I patted the seat beside me fast.
"Sit. Let's drink together?"
"O-okay..."
She sat cautiously.
Baby face, blushing cheeks.
Innocent look, but in this joint, she knew the score.
I poured pretend-drinks, arm naturally around her shoulders.
Hand slid down,
groping soft tits over thin rags.
"Eep!"
"Damn, heavy. Grown nice."
I grinned, savoring the handful.
Ah, this is it.
Home's embrace is warm, indeed.
"Name? Where ya from? Age?"
"......Anne. Twenty-five..."
"Twenty-five? Prime time."
Right? Perfect age.
Looks way younger too.
Twenty? Hell, high schooler believable.
Anne, huh. Rings a bell,
face vaguely familiar too...
"Eh, whatever. Common name."
Sluuurp.
"Hnn......"
Boobs first for now.
I winked through the mask.
"Don't worry, Anne. Big bro'll boost your sales tonight."
"Th-thank you..."
She melted into my arms, relieved.
One hand kneading her tits,
other chugging rum, side-eyeing the dealers.
Right: soft melons. Left: booze.
Sights: prey to gut.
'......Heaven, fuck yeah.'
No doubt,
a beautiful night.