Chapter 3
Chapter 3
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Grasping the Weak Point and Shaking It
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"We've arrived."
The carriage came to a stop, and the coachman knocked on the carriage window.
I smoothed my hair one more time before hopping out of the carriage.
"Young Master. Until when..."
The coachman turned toward me, his eyes widening.
"Y-Young Master?"
"Why."
"Your h-hair..."
He started to point at me with his finger but realized it was rude and hurriedly pulled his hand back.
"S-Sorry."
The coachman's trembling eyes reflected my head. More precisely, the wheat-colored wig made of hair.
"Does it not suit me?"
I brushed my hair back once to check if the wig was slipping.
*Hmm, it's secured well.*
Then I looked at my reflection in the carriage window.
Abel's face bore a striking resemblance to Diego's. His thick, straight brows exuded a masculine air, and his sharp features formed a perfect harmony.
I'd thought he was some adopted kid given his twisted personality.
"Blood can't lie, after all."
The sharp glint in his eyes carried a subtle killing intent that was no joke. It was a face that intimidated people in a way different from his father's.
On top of that, his natural hair was blue, practically the symbol of the Kindriel Family. No one seeing it would fail to recognize my identity.
But.
"This should do the trick."
Covering my face with a commonplace wheat-colored wig had diluted the vibe considerably.
Now standing before the carriage was a tall, lithe young man with a sharp demeanor. With the changed hair color, it was hard to picture Abel at first glance.
"N-No, not at all. How could it not suit you?"
The coachman stole glances at my eyes, sweat beading down his face.
"What hair wouldn't suit the Young Master's noble features? I was just a bit startled..."
The coachman's face had turned ashen. His eyes were practically screaming.
*Hiding even your identity? Where are you off to?*
He was dying to know why I'd donned the wig but too scared to ask outright.
I dusted off my clothes once and said.
"Head back now. I'll make my own way home."
"But..."
He started to protest but wilted the moment I shot him a look.
"Yes, understood."
"Tell the butler whatever's appropriate."
"Yes."
He was the coachman who drove me every time I headed out, so he knew exactly what to say to the butler.
Truth be told, even if he reported today's events, it wouldn't matter. The one who'd prepared this wig was none other than Philip.
Without a backward glance, I turned and started walking.
Cader—the territory bordering Ovest Territory, the empire's westernmost frontier.
Thanks to Ovest Territory holding the line against monsters on the front lines, folks here enjoyed a comfortable life free from such worries.
And if you ventured deep into the alleys, you'd see that comfort twisted into something else entirely.
"Hey, handsome, wanna drop by for a bit?"
"Sis'll take real good care of you. Come on over."
Even in broad daylight before sunset, every alley corner teemed with prostitutes.
Their eyes glazed over from cheap drugs, clothes disheveled with bare skin shamelessly on display.
"Sigh."
I kept my head down and hurried through the alley.
Those women stirred no excitement in me, not even a flicker of lust. Just a sigh.
*An environment where jobs like this are bound to pop up.*
The Ovest Knight Order was infamous for its iron discipline. Slack off even a little or fall short on skill, and you'd get trampled by monsters and carted out.
That's why the Ovest Knight Order held the infamous triple crown: highest training volume, lowest pay, and highest mortality rate in the empire.
In that kind of setup, the knights desperately needed an outlet for their pent-up urges. Naturally, brothels sprouted like weeds in Cader, right up against Ovest Territory.
'Diego knew all about it but turned a blind eye.'
He understood that clamping down too hard might spark a mass exodus from the knights.
'You can't expect duty alone to make men endure everything.'
Clicking my tongue, I quickened my pace when a sultry voice brushed my ear.
"Honey, first time here?"
"......"
Third one already. A prostitute hitting on me.
I ignored her completely and slipped past.
'They really can't tell with just a wig?'
Abel used to haunt Cader's pleasure districts like they were his backyard. He'd roughly handle the prettier, high-end ones.
So normally, the prostitutes clammed up like clams at the sight of him and did everything to stay off his radar.
But this was a dingy back alley, not one of Abel's usual spots.
"No need to worry. I'll handle everything, 'kay?"
That's why they didn't recognize me and threw themselves at me, figuring I was some fresh-faced hick new to Cader.
The unusually dim light here didn't help with spotting faces either.
'Should've just put the wig on after getting here.'
Irritation bubbled up, but dealing with them sounded like a hassle. Better to blow past this place quick.
Without a word, I picked up speed. Whistles and catcalls swelled around me.
"You came here knowing full well, right? Why play coy?"
"First time's the hardest. Second's a breeze."
One of them reached out with a pout.
"Feeling shy?"
The moment her garish red nails grazed my arm,
"Scram."
I smacked her hand away without mercy.
"Hng."
She clutched her wrist and let out a coy laugh, assuming I'd overreacted from nerves. Her smile deepened.
"Honey, don't be like that..."
"I said scram."
The instant she met my chilling tone and flashing eyes, her own widened.
"N-No way?"
Her lips moved in stunned disbelief.
"Ah—"
I clapped a hand over her mouth. No way was she saying that name here.
"......"
She blinked rapidly. Soon her face drained to a sickly blue.
"M-Mmph..."
She squeezed her eyes shut and ducked her head, bracing like she expected a slap, teeth gritted.
'Looks like she knows my reputation.'
I released my grip on her face.
"Watch your mouth."
The chattering women fell instantly silent. An eerie hush crept through the air.
I gave the top of her head a quick glance and kept walking. No one else tried to grab me after that.
A thoroughly satisfying quiet enveloped me.
At the alley's end stood a small wooden door. Utterly ordinary, with no sign or marking anywhere.
'Looks like I found the right spot.'
Cader had a few such unassuming-yet-not doors scattered around. Without knowing the locations and tells, good luck finding them.
Of course, the Abel from the original story had no clue about this place at this point. But *I* did.
I grasped the doorknob and turned it, revealing the interior of a plain tavern.
"So now at the border..."
"Lord Diego..."
The tavern was quiet save for the occasional murmur of conversation. Everyone nursed a drink while chatting—no rowdy drunks hollering.
People gave the newcomer—me—a single glance before dismissing me entirely.
A perfect, synchronized ignore job. Proof positive I'd hit the right mark.
'Time to get started.'
I strolled casually up to the bartender.
Two barkeeps manned the bar. I addressed the one with a red tie pinned to his chest.
"'Dawn's Pupil.'"
"Base?"
"Cold."
"Glass?"
"Sweet."
A cryptic back-and-forth. But the bartender didn't bat an eye, just nodded.
"Got it."
The other bartender—the one with a yellow band across his chest—stood up.
"This way, please."
I followed his lead through a side door. The room was cramped, with another door directly opposite where I'd entered.
No furniture whatsoever. Just a curtain hanging on the wall.
*Jingle.*
I fished a gold coin from my pocket and flicked it to him. He snatched it deftly and bowed.
"Head on down."
He drew back the curtain, revealing stairs leading downward.
"You know the rules."
He held out a simple white mask.
"Of course."
I took it with casual ease and slipped it on. It covered half my face.
Now all that showed of my face were my lips and chin. And through the eye slits, a cold blue-violet gaze.
"Enjoy your time."
The bartender bowed politely. I gave a silent nod and approached the stairs.
They'd been well-maintained—no creaks from the wood as I descended. After a narrow, steep drop, voices hit me.
"All in!"
"No! Just one more square!"
"Calling it here?"
The clamor of multiple people, mingled with the clink of chips, washed over me.
Tables dotted the dimly lit space. Uniformed dealers stood at each, running games.
Patrons were deep into card games or ones with other tools.
Gambling, to be exact.
From the top of the stairs, I overlooked it all and let out a soft whistle.
"Bigger than I thought."
In a territory rife with illicit dealings, this was where the biggest money changed hands.
An illegal gambling den.
The only legal ones were in the capital—and everyone knew the imperial family secretly ran those.
Everything else operated in the shadows like this: labyrinthine entrances hidden in taverns scattered across the territory, accessible only after reciting convoluted codes.
Originally, trusted dealers would guide select patrons—gamblers being trustworthy folk—and codes spread strictly by word of mouth through networks.
But me? I already had the cheat sheet.
"The original story's cheat sheet, that is."
I smirked and ambled through the den.
Who could've guessed a space this vast lurked underground? Whoever built it deserved props.
I wandered leisurely, pretending to mull over which game to try. But the eyes behind my mask methodically scanned the players.
'Where are you? Off duty today—you've gotta be here.'
Everyone gambled in masks, making identities near impossible to pin down.
Even if you recognized someone, the rule was to play dumb.
Farmer, street thug, fat-pursed merchant, lord's son—didn't matter.
All equal here in the illegal gambling den.
"Chips, please."
And even a knight of the lord was just another gambler.
"—!"
I spotted a man approaching a dealer, and my eyes gleamed.