Chapter 23
Chapter 23
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Hunt the Weak First. (1)
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"What is this?!"
Liam's face turned ghastly pale with shock. He shook his head, as if refusing to accept the reality that he had dropped his sword.
"This, this...!"
"From now on, use a real sword."
I stabbed the wooden sword I was holding into the ground.
"And show me a different swordsmanship style each day."
Leaning against it, I asked leisurely.
"How about it?"
Liam's face twisted unpleasantly. That was probably the kind of expression he had wanted to see from me.
I savored it with delight.
'Feels damn good.'
Crushing others with overwhelming force. It was an exhilarating sensation.
'At this level, it's worth trying.'
I clenched my fist with a smile. My hand itched to grip something other than this wooden sword.
❖ ❖ ❖
The next day.
After finishing breakfast in the dining hall, I returned to the office. As I picked up the first document,
"Young Master."
Philip approached me with a worried tone.
"Is your stomach all right?"
"What?"
"You usually don't eat much in the morning because your stomach bothers you. Lately, you've been eating more heartily, so I was wondering if you're okay."
There was something off about Philip's use of "more heartily." My recent eating habits were practically possessed.
"Not really."
I replied curtly and then asked casually.
"Is Max struggling?"
"N-No way!"
Philip jumped up from his spot.
"Of course not, absolutely not. How could he complain when you're enjoying your meals!"
He shook his head repeatedly, emphasizing that it was absolutely not the case.
"Max is not struggling at all. Absolutely, positively not."
"......"
"Please don't doubt his loyalty. You know how devoted he is to you, Young Master."
"Of course, I know."
I hid my awkward expression.
'I was just asking.'
Ever since I got my hands on Requiem, he had become markedly more deferential. He had always been polite before, but now it was different.
'Like he's completely surrendered deep down inside?'
Philip had no connection to swordsmanship or martial prowess. But his instincts were sharp, so he must have noticed something had changed about me.
Either way, it was a welcome change. I had no intention of keeping anyone around whom I couldn't control.
"Next document?"
"Here it is."
After that, I focused on the paperwork without much talk. But inwardly, I was thinking about Max.
More precisely, about the emptiness inside me that Max couldn't fill.
'It'll burst someday.'
It was an instinctive premonition.
This wave that now lapped gently would one day become an unstoppable tsunami.
My control was merely suppressing Requiem temporarily. No matter how hard I tried, perfectly controlling such a powerful sword was impossible.
The overflowing emptiness would eventually breach the dam that was me and come pouring out.
'I need to find a way to release it.'
Like installing a faucet to let a little water trickle out steadily.
That way, I might harness Requiem's immense power while stably maintaining my sense of self.
"Hmm......"
I stopped stamping and began tapping my chin.
"......"
Tension crept onto Philip's face. He knew this habit of mine emerged when I was concentrating.
More precisely, when I was concentrating on something bad.
"Philip."
"Yes."
"What did you do with the slaves you brought last time?"
Philip answered immediately without relaxing.
"As you instructed, I released them all."
"All of them?"
"Yes. There's not a single slave left in 'that place' now."
"Good. Well done."
Philip eased up a bit at my praise.
"Where have the slaves been coming from until now?"
But the moment I asked sharply,
"-!"
Embarrassment flashed across Philip's face. He looked mortified, as if his secret had been exposed, and wiped sweat from his forehead.
"Come on."
Urged by me, he finally opened his mouth.
"Well, you see. I bought them from a slave trader."
"How did you connect with those guys?"
Philip's eyes trembled violently.
"Y-Young Master."
Misinterpreting my intent, he stammered excuses.
"Don't worry. I hid my identity thoroughly when meeting them. They have no idea I'm a Kindriel Family butler."
"Yeah, yeah."
I replied half-heartedly and asked again.
"So, how do you meet those guys?"
Philip blinked stupidly. Resting my chin on my hand, I asked in a biting tone.
"Did I ask something I shouldn't? I'm just curious."
*'So why are you curious about that?'*
He looked like he wanted to say it, but managed only with his eyes, not daring to speak.
"Explain in detail."
He rolled his eyes and finally spilled the details.
"I made contact with them in Cader Territory. Usually, I send a messenger bird to express interest in buying..."
"Hmm."
I nodded occasionally, focusing on his explanation. It matched mostly with what I knew.
"I see."
When Philip finished, I tapped my cheek with my fingers while resting my chin.
Philip glanced at me cautiously.
"Y-Young Master. If you need more slaves, I can go get them. No need for you to bother going all the way there..."
I half-listened to Philip as I stamped the last document in my hand.
"That's all?"
"...Yes, it is."
Philip kept shooting anxious looks, but I ignored him. As I stood up, he hurried after me.
"Back to your room today as well?"
In the past, I would have said,
"No."
Today was different. My unexpected response drained the color from Philip's face.
"Pardon? Then where to...?"
"Bring my coat."
I beckoned with a grin.
"Keep a good eye on the castle."
With that refreshing smile from my perspective—which sent chills down Philip's spine.
❖ ❖ ❖
A bird with blue feathers sliced through the sky. A white note was tightly tied to its leg.
The bird flew straight into a building's window.
*Whistle.*
Moritz, standing by the window, whistled. The bird landed lightly on his outstretched arm.
Moritz untied the messenger bird's note from its leg. A sharp smile crossed his lips as he read it.
"As expected."
He stepped into the hallway and knocked on the next door.
"Hey, Noah. Order's in."
"Coming."
The man who opened the door was a fresh-faced youth in his twenties.
"Where to?"
"Alley 7."
"Ah, there."
Noah's eyes gleamed slyly.
"The one who ordered five last time?"
"Yeah."
"How many this time?"
"Five again."
Noah widened his eyes in mock surprise.
"Wow. Prime customer. Any specific requests?"
"Just any five."
"Got it. I'll head out now."
Noah, already prepared, stood by the door. As he gripped the handle, Moritz asked.
"You know who the client is, right?"
"Of course."
Noah grinned ear to ear.
"Way too obvious."
Moritz smirked back, as if he'd expected as much.
"Yeah. So don't piss them off. Treat 'em nice."
"You bet. Catering to their whims is my specialty."
A secretive smile passed between them.
"I'll be off then."
Noah bowed and headed downstairs. He passed the guarding colleagues and went inside.
"Five. Age and gender don't matter."
Speaking to the small window in the wall, the adjacent door slid open.
"Come in."
A man with a long knife scar across his face beckoned grimly. Noah swallowed hard as he looked at him.
*'Bruno of the Bloodied Halberd.'*
Bruno's name was well-known in the underworld. His massive halberd had red-stained blades—not originally that color, they said.
*'Because blood never dries from it for a day.'*
Noah shuddered, recalling the rumors.
"Five, confirmed."
Bruno growled in a raspy voice.
Beside him stood three male slaves and two females. No visible wounds, limbs intact.
But they all looked pallid, as if mentally shattered.
"No smiles? You look like you're at a funeral?"
Bruno snarled, and the slaves straightened up.
"I pick up trash with nowhere to go, feed you, clothe you, house you—be grateful. Now I'm even hooking you up with new owners, huh?"
Bruno berated the slaves in a savage tone.
"Ungrateful lot."
As he glared, they bowed their heads in unison.
"Thank you......"
"Truly thankful......"
Their meals were thin gruel with scant solids. Clothes were scavenged from the streets. At night, they crammed into a tiny room, unable to move.
*'Grateful in this situation?'*
Noah clicked his tongue inwardly.
He wasn't exactly clean himself, but this guy was a monster beyond compare.
He supplied the shop's "merchandise." Kidnapping lost children, runaways, fleeing prostitutes to turn into slaves.
Counting the slaves he'd produced this way would take more than ten fingers.
*'Not my business, though. I just get paid.'*
Noah scanned the slaves with a businesslike expression.
To him, they were no longer human. Just products.
"Confirmed."
"Go."
"Farewell."
Noah politely bowed and led the slaves out. He loaded them onto the cart, finished up, then climbed into the driver's seat with the coachman.
"To Cader."
The cart rattled along the road, and Noah leaned back, lost in thought.
'Really steady buyer.'
The client always wore a gray robe, so Noah didn't know his name or face.
But from the aged voice and speech, he seemed middle-aged.
'Sucker.'
He always paid whatever Noah asked, no questions on price. No haggling or close inspections.
He acted like he was there against his will, rushing the deal with reluctance.
'Profitable for me.'
Noah had padded the prices, skimming profits. Some went to the coachman for silence, the rest to his own pocket.
Through repeated deals, he'd pieced together the client's identity.
*'Definitely a servant of some noble.'*
Refined speech unlike back-alley thugs. A hint of disdain toward Noah, with a touch of arrogance.
*'Wearing fine clothes too.'*
The robe wasn't cheap. Glimpses of cuffs, neatly pressed pants peeking from below, luxurious shoes.
Anyone would guess at this point.
*'Just a bit more digging and I'd know who.'*
Noah smacked his lips regretfully.