The Polar Night Dagger (2)
Darkness.
Pitch-black, suffocating darkness.
Nothing could be seen. No matter how dark a night became, once one's eyes adjusted, it was usually possible to at least discern faint silhouettes. Yet here, there was nothing at all. It was as if this unnatural void had devoured every stray particle of light.
"Aaaargh!"
"Gah! Urgh!"
Screams erupted from the blackness.
Crunch! Thud!
The sounds of parting flesh and spurting blood struck with an eerie, maddening horror. With sight completely stolen, hearing grew unbearably sharp.
Crunch. Squelch.
"Ghhk..."
As the dying groans echoed clearly in the void, someone remembered the old urban legend whispered through District 48—the story of a monster that devoured humans within the dark.
"T-The Dark Ghost..."
The terror known as the Dark Ghost.
Hmm.
Without even realizing it, Ziel had assumed the mantle of the Dark Ghost.
All ten men had collapsed. To Ziel's eyes, the scene was plain as day: the thugs of the Robson syndicate lay sprawled across the cobblestones, bearing only minor wounds. He had merely tested the capabilities of the Polar Night Dagger, selectively stabbing or slashing non-vital areas like arms and legs. The screams had stopped simply because Ziel had channeled mana into his fingertips to strike their vocal cords, rendering them completely mute.
Thus, Ziel remained utterly calm. While those robbed of their sight trembled in mortal dread, the only complication was that Gilbert happened to be among them.
"B-Boss? Booooss? Are you all right?"
Gilbert had never experienced darkness like this either. Although night-adaptation training was mandatory for assassins and Crows alike, this was on an entirely different level. It was an absolute void devoid of even a speck of light, making him wonder if this was what the bottom of an abyss felt like.
"B-Boss?"
"I am fine."
Though he answered flatly, Ziel was actually brooding over a dilemma.
How on earth do I let the light back out?
He tried settling his breathing technique and attempted to channel mana into the blade again, but there was no sign of the light returning.
"A-Are you truly all right?"
"Yes."
Ziel tilted his head, watching Gilbert tremble in dread.
Is it actually better this way?
Deciding to take advantage of the situation, he grabbed the thug closest to him and tapped the man's throat once more to restore his voice.
"Answer my questions."
"D-Dark Ghost... Dark Ghost..."
"You mentioned that earlier. Dark Ghost. Is that an alias for King Robson?"
At Ziel's baffling question, a voice choked with pure hysteria spilled out. "The Dark Ghost... the ghost story..."
The man seemed to have lost his mind from fear.
Is it the boss of another syndicate?
Laboring under his misunderstanding, Ziel gathered mana at his fingertips and jabbed the thug near the upper thigh.
"Aaaargh!"
Excruciating agony surged up the thigh and radiated throughout the man's entire body. It was a textbook interrogation technique—one Ziel often employed against targets playing dumb or keeping their mouths shut—and it proved remarkably effective at snapping a mind broken by terror back to reality.
"Hic!"
"Tell me King Robson's location. Do so, and I will let you go."
Gilbert had claimed these men were fiercely loyal, so Ziel was already preparing his next method.
"G-Go to District 47! Under the s-small bridge on the eastern outskirts of District 47..."
"What does King Robson look like?"
"I-I don't know! Low-level grunts like us never get to see him..."
The thug spilled everything without hesitation, rendering Ziel's contingency plans pointless. His wits had returned, but neither the smothering darkness nor his terror had dissipated.
An unexpectedly useful effect.
Ziel did not understand fear—save for one. The fear of starvation. That was the only fear he had recalled after reclaiming his sense of self. All other forms of terror had been thoroughly purged from him during his years in the Organization. As such, he was only now beginning to realize what an effective tool and weapon fear could be.
"Will I find King Robson if I go there?"
"T-That's the entrance! I don't know anything beyond that! I've never been allowed inside..."
Ziel jabbed the thug's throat once more, silencing him.
"Let us go."
"W-Where are you? I can't see a single thing!"
Ziel suddenly grew curious. While striking a simple flame was easy enough, would the Polar Night Dagger absorb that as well?
Chrrk.
Clack.
Just as he expected. A spark flashed, but the moment a tiny flame caught, it was instantly sucked into the dagger. As an added effect, the faint pattern etched across the blade brightened ever so slightly.
If I move like this, it will absorb all surrounding light.
In a narrow alleyway like this, it might not matter, but out on a main thoroughfare, it would draw unwanted attention. From a distance, it would look as though light itself was vanishing into a void. As convenient and useful as the dagger was, carrying it around without knowing how to turn it off would prove troublesome.
As Ziel drew the dagger closer to examine it, he paused.
Ah.
At the very base of the hilt, there was a small section that depressed like a switch.
Click.
The moment he pressed it—
"...!"
The lantern flickered back to life, and faint visibility returned to the black alley.
However, because bright light had abruptly erupted from absolute nothingness...
"M-My eyes!"
Poor Gilbert clutched his face and collapsed to his knees. Though his vision would return shortly, the sudden shock was immense.
Watching him, Ziel had a thought.
This could be used offensively.
By channeling the breathing technique while holding the dagger, he could swallow all ambient light to plunge the area into total darkness. Then, by releasing that stored light in an instant, an opponent would suffer a shock equivalent to a flash of lightning detonating right before their eyes.
A worthwhile application discovered.
Another's agony was someone else's enlightenment.
Ziel hauled Gilbert back to his feet as the Crow's vision began to clear. "Stand up. We are moving."
"M-My eyes! I can't see! Sob..."
"Strictly speaking, your sight will return shortly. It is more accurate to say that you cannot see right now."
"Y-You're so cold!"
With that, the two vanished from the alleyway.
Truth be told, Gilbert had gotten off easy. At least he had been able to sob and scream. The remaining ten men had endured the onslaught with wide-open eyes, unable to utter so much as a whimper.
Blinded.
Muted.
Trapped in paralyzing terror, unable to move a muscle.
The Dark Ghost... It's the Dark Ghost...
The Dark Ghost was real...
Someone save me, my voice won't come out!
The urban legend of the Dark Ghost, once dismissed as mere folklore, had become living reality right before their eyes—accompanied by the sharp, pungent stench of urine spreading across the alley floor.
"Ugh, I'm still seeing afterimages. Boss, are you really okay?"
"I am fine."
"As expected of the Boss... Wow, honestly, I've never experienced darkness like that. Even during Crow training, it was never that pitch-black. Boss, can you use magic by any chance?"
If it was his Boss, it was entirely possible. He was a being whose limits could not be seen.
Could it be a secret art?
If so, that might explain this unfathomable might. Mystics and esoteric practitioners were enigmatic beings whose powers remained veiled in secrecy.
Just as Ziel was about to answer—
"Over there. Movement."
The pair had already arrived in District 47. Right on cue, beneath a small bridge on the eastern outskirts, Ziel spotted people stirring near a concealed door.
"Boss, judging by what that grunt said earlier, the low-level guys don't even know what King Robson looks like. Should we grab them and interrogate them?"
They had located the hideout, but neither knew which one was King Robson.
Yet Ziel stated with total certainty, "That man is King Robson."
He pointed toward one of the five individuals emerging from the doorway.
"You mean the huge brute?"
"No. The small man in the very back."
"He looks like an ordinary henchman, though?"
"He does not appear that way to my eyes."
And it was true. With the dagger tucked away and the Breathing of the Polar Night circulating through his senses, Ziel saw what others could not.
His mana flow is the strongest.
The most diminutive man of the group possessed by far the most potent current of mana.
"Come on, no way. Would a guy like that really be the 'King'? I mean, sure, you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but—"
"I judged him by appearances. You simply lack the eyes to see it."
"...Yes, Boss." Gilbert conceded swiftly, his competitive fire reigniting. "Then this time, I'll show you what I'm truly made of!"
I looked pathetic back there, but this time will be different!
"I'll take out the four in front quickly and drag King Robson right to your feet, Boss!"
His resolute declaration was shattered instantly.
"No. I have a better idea."
"What is it?"
"Stay here."
Ziel melted into the shadows. Gilbert felt a wave of bewilderment and disappointment wash over him.
He still doesn't trust me!
In truth, that was not the case at all.
A moment later.
Wait, the light again...?
Not far off, the five Robson syndics had been moving under the cover of night with a single torch. Suddenly, their torch flickered out.
"Holy shit."
Darkness descended over the group.
It was an astounding sight. From a short distance away, Gilbert could still make out the faint silhouette of his own hands against the night. Yet over where the syndicate men stood, it had turned into an abyss of absolute, impenetrable void. A defined sphere of space had been dyed entirely in pitch-black nothingness.
I-Is he... is he really an esoteric practitioner?!
Gilbert chalked up another misunderstanding for the books.
Meanwhile, inside the sphere of darkness:
The torch had not merely gone out; its light had vanished into total nullity.
"...Everyone, stay calm."
While the subordinates panicked, one man kept his composure. The slight-built man Ziel had singled out halted in his tracks and steadied his companions.
"K-King..."
"Do not move. Circulate your mana calmly."
Yet despite his command, the darkness remained impenetrable.
What is the meaning of this?
An enemy ambush? Some sinister spell? Or perhaps...
The Dark Ghost?
The moment that thought crossed his mind—
"Answer my questions, and I will depart."
"...!"
Right behind him. A sensation of cold metal pressed against the nape of his neck—a presence he had failed to sense in the slightest.
Even more chilling was the voice. A calm, heavy tone that felt entirely out of place in such supernatural gloom, making it all the more terrifying.
Once more, the legend surfaced in his mind.
The ghost story of District 48.
The Dark Ghost truly exists?!
Every soul living past District 40 knew the tale of the Dark Ghost.
Gulp.
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed dryly.
King Robson. Head of the Robson Family and the undisputed ruler respected across the slums. Never in his life had he felt this kind of suffocating tension.
They say the Dark Ghost demands light—a life—from within the darkness.
Must one of them be sacrificed for the rest to escape this void alive?
"I heard there is a black market held once a month."
Yet the entity's question was remarkably practical.
"I was told you know its location. Where is it? Tell me the coordinates and how to gain entry."
King Robson did not hesitate for a second.
"This month's black market is being held in District 13. The vineyard annex operated by House Ospelt. If you give the password 'Cord of Darkness' to the sentries guarding the entrance, they will let you in."
"You tell no lie."
"Indeed. I speak no lies..."
At that moment—
"Aargh!"
"Guh!"
The torch abruptly reappeared, blazing back to life, and everyone clutched at their eyes in agony. King Robson shut his eyes reflexively, but mortal reflexes were no match for the speed of light.
"Stay calm! Keep your eyes closed, count to ten, and open them slowly."
Robson steadied his men. Sure enough, once they counted to ten and opened their eyes as instructed, the searing pain subsided. Though stubborn afterimages lingered, they could clearly discern their surroundings once more.
My back is drenched in sweat.
Robson struggled to maintain an aura of absolute composure, but he could not stop his hands from trembling minutely.
Absolute blackness. A world stripped of sight. A total, suffocating isolation like sinking to the bottom of the abyssal deep.
So this was true terror.
"...Boss, what was that just now?"
"The Dark Ghost," King Robson answered without hesitation.
"T-The Dark Ghost..."
"The urban legend of District 48 was real."
It had to be the Dark Ghost. There was simply no other explanation.
"Could it have been magic?"
"If it were, the magic artifact I carry would have reacted. It was definitely not magic."
An entity said to drag people into the shadows without leaving a single trace behind.
"We merely survived an encounter with the Dark Ghost."
Why the Dark Ghost sought the black market remained a mystery.
"C-Could the Dark Ghost's target be at the black market? Is that why it demanded the location...?"
The legend of the Dark Ghost was so deeply ingrained in the capital's underbelly that it instilled an insidious dread of the unknown—like the monster beneath the bed from childhood stories, layered with visceral apprehension.
And so, King Robson made his decision.
"We are skipping this black market."
"K-King! The price we paid just to secure information on this session was—"
"Do you wish to be dragged into the dark by the Dark Ghost?"
"..."
Silence was the only reply.
Black Sky, the legendary assassination syndicate. Though it had collapsed, rumors claimed its leaked gear and artifacts would surface on the market once again. Their goal had been to acquire those items, but...
"None of it is worth more than our lives. We are heading back."
"Understood."
Every member of the family nodded in agreement. The terror of the Dark Ghost was simply that profound. Having experienced that pure, lightless abyss firsthand, even high-ranking executives shivered, and King Robson himself had been shaken to his core.
As King Robson and his men retreated, Ziel slipped back to Gilbert's side.
"I have acquired the information. We are moving. District 13."
For some reason, Gilbert was looking at him with eyes brimming with even deeper reverence than before.
"Boss... I swear my absolute loyalty to you."
"Very well. Let us go."
"Yes, sir!"
Betrayal, already unthinkable, had now become utterly out of the question.
I would rather die than taste that darkness ever again!
Gilbert renewed his vow once more: he would follow his Boss until the day he died.
Meanwhile, just as back in the alley of District 45...
They mentioned this 'Dark Ghost' as well. I should look into what that is later.
Thus, another chapter in the legend of the Dark Ghost began to take shape.