The Legend of the Dark Ghost

The ability to read between the lines of spoken and written words is typically acquired through long years of social experience.

In that regard, Ziel had no idea whether Berhal’s parting question had been a lighthearted joke or if it was tied to the matter of inviting the knight order. To him, asking whether he knew a weakness was simply a separate, literal question. And so he had merely nodded, bringing their brief meeting to an end.

"Boss, do you... do you really know House Kundel's weakness?" Gilbert stammered the moment they stepped out into the hallway from the dean's office.

"Yes. I do."

"I knew it! To hold even the great House Kundel firmly in your grasp!"

"In my grasp?"

"Meaning you can order them around at your beck and call!"

"Mm."

It was not entirely incorrect. In exchange for handing over the dagger belonging to the Black Blade, Ziel had received everything he had asked for. The Polar Night Dagger, which had served him brilliantly during his recent nocturnal foray, was an immense boon in itself.

Then again, does it only respond to my breathing?

According to the academy records, the weapon had been cataloged as nothing more than an ordinary antique dagger. Ziel had taken it purely because of the name 'Polar Night.' He had never anticipated it would harbor such supernatural properties.

If the opportunity arises, I should look for other artifacts crafted by Azneel.

"Whatever that weakness is, it must be astronomical," Gilbert whispered in awe, his mind racing. "To think you could mobilize the notoriously stubborn, heavy-seated knights of Kundel... Could it be a hidden slush fund? A catastrophic political scandal? What on earth could it be? It has to be something monumental!"

Their security was riddled with gaps.

Ziel's actual assessment would have sorely betrayed Gilbert's grandiose imagination. Yet in Ziel's eyes, there was no greater vulnerability than that. The headcount of the sentries. The overall patrol routes. To him, the sprawling estate of a grand lord had seemed only marginally better defended than Sophen. Had he set his mind to it, he could have infiltrated the manor and pressed a blade to the patriarch's throat at any moment.

Technically speaking, that was indeed a fatal weakness. It simply was not the kind of weakness Gilbert envisioned.

Just how far does the Boss's reach truly extend? Gilbert thought, his chest swelling with profound reverence. Once again, he pledged his heart. "I will dedicate my utmost loyalty to you, Boss."

"..."

"Boss?"

Had the flattery been too blatant? Ziel did not offer a reply.

Wait, that wasn't flattery. I genuinely meant every word...

Ziel had stopped walking, his gaze lingering on the closed door of the dean's office they had just exited. After a brief pause, he turned to Gilbert. "Go ahead to the quarters first. I will return shortly. There is some unfinished business I need to attend to."

"May I accompany you, Boss?"

"No."

"...Understood."

A cold, ruthless superior. A harsh master! Yet Gilbert took it as another trial designed to test his mettle.

It must be a critical operation far too sensitive for someone of my meager standing to touch! There were still countless days ahead to prove his worth. It was far too early to feel discouraged. "Then I shall take my leave, Boss."

"Ah. Gilbert."

Gilbert spun around on his heel at once, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Did you call for me, sir?"

Did he realize he needs me after all?

"Once you finish compiling the student analyses I requested earlier, conduct a thorough survey of the training ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠grounds. I will inspect them later."

"...Yes, sir."

The moment Gilbert's footsteps faded down the corridor, Ziel smoothly engaged the Breathing of the Polar Night. The faint murmurs he had caught earlier instantly magnified, sharp and distinct, carrying straight from the dean's office behind him.

"You pursued House Siren throughout the entire vacation?"

"Yes."

"And why on earth would you do that?"

"They injured my subordinate."

Berhal pressed a weary hand against his forehead. No matter that Rocus was his own flesh and blood, the boy was recklessly headstrong. "Do you not know what kind of clan House Siren is?"

"Are you scolding me?" Rocus let out a low, dry chuckle. Berhal's facial muscles twitched in irritation.

"What in the world are you plotting right now?"

"I already told you. House Siren endangered the students, and above all, they laid a hand on my subordinate."

"Even so, your opponent is one of the grandest noble houses in the empire!"

"So I should just turn a blind eye? Your attitude is far more baffling to me."

"...You are the head of the Personnel Bureau. Leave such matters to the Imperial Palace. If you have gathered evidence, submit it to them—"

"And if the Palace uses that information to pit House Siren against Kundel and Rihardt in a bloody proxy war, what then? Have you considered that possibility?"

A fierce debate—or rather, a heated domestic dispute—raged behind the heavy mahogany doors. To Ziel, observing a quarrel between father and son was an entirely novel experience. At the same time, it confirmed that Rocus had indeed been relentlessly hunting House Siren.

The investigator I saw during the Exchange Event, Lena... she was looking into them, wasn't she?

At the time, House Siren had vehemently denied all allegations, allowing the matter to quietly fizzle out under bureaucratic compromise. That was likely why Rocus had chosen to take matters into his own hands.

Perhaps this is also connected to the anomaly during the survival practical.

A high-grade Ruinbark, a beast that should have remained cordoned off within the fifth-year zone, had inexplicably drifted into the first-years' sector. Had Ziel not been present, the first-year class would have been utterly annihilated. Counting the incident where they hired Gilbert—who was now Ziel's assistant—House Siren had meddled three separate times.

Since House Siren could no longer be left unchecked, Ziel focused intently on the conversation.

"You are an Esoteric Practitioner," Berhal warned, his voice low and strained. "If you make a move, the entire political board will tremble."

"That is precisely what I intend."

"Do you honestly believe House Siren won't try to eliminate you?"

"If I feared that, I wouldn't have lifted a finger in the first place. My justification is more than sufficient."

"...A justification that they tried to harm students? Or is it really that they dared touch your subordinate?"

"Does the difference matter?"

A flint sparked, followed by a soft, sharp intake of breath. The faint, bitter aroma of pipe tobacco drifted faintly through the doorframe.

"I am merely doing the work you refuse to do, Dean," Rocus said coolly.

"..."

"Don't you find it strange? You should be the one taking the most aggressive stance to check House Siren's overreach, yet..."

"I am the Dean of the Sword School."

"Yes, I suppose you are. But I will act. You haven't changed one bit. Clinging to your precious justifications and public dignity will only lead you... to repeating the exact same mistake."

Even Ziel found himself slightly curious. What could have happened between this father and son in the past?

The conversation is over.

Slipping soundlessly down the corridor, an intriguing idea began to take shape in Ziel's mind.

It might be effective to feed the information to both Rocus and House Kundel simultaneously.

Back during his days in the underworld, such roundabout considerations would have been pointless. He would have simply slaughtered the patriarch of House Siren, butchered every assassin they harbored, and slipped away into the night without leaving a trace. But Ziel was living a different life now.

I should only step in directly when the outcome is guaranteed.

Rocus was an Esoteric Practitioner. House Kundel was a grand ducal lineage. Both possessed more than enough martial might to crush their enemies.

Passing the intel to both sides will suffice.

He could watch how they reacted from the shadows. Provided, of course, that it was delivered entirely anonymously. Both Kundel and Rocus had ample motive to act, and information was always most devastating when placed in the hands of those hungry for retribution.

Suddenly, a realization struck Ziel.

Is this... what people refer to as pulling strings from behind the scenes?

His thoughts drifted back to the previous evening, when he had tracked down the covert auction in the underbelly of the capital.

The Dark Ghost, was it?

A phantom born of the slums below District 40—an urban legend whispered among the desperate and destitute. It seemed like the perfect alias to put to good use.

At that very moment, within the capital, one aristocratic manor was gripped by profound tension.

"Have you still not identified the cause?"

"...We have no excuses, my lord."

"Do you genuinely believe that makes any sense? A sudden, catastrophic explosion detonating from the merchandise itself? For no discernible reason? And on top of that, not a single one of the survivors stationed there remembers a damned thing?"

The eldest son of House Siren, Lemal Siren, tapped the heavy base of his staff rhythmically against the stone floor. Thump. Thump.

The four mages kneeling before him flinched violently at each strike. They knew with terrifying certainty that should Lemal unleash his craft, they would be erased from existence in a fraction of a second. Five ornate stars etched into the shaft of his staff faintly shimmered with latent power.

Five stars—the undeniable insignia of a 5th-circle mage. A master of the arcane standing merely one tier below the apex of the 6th circle.

"So, I personally carved out the magical engravings from the flesh of those miserable wretches," Lemal said smoothly, his tone terrifyingly even. "And for the other two... I bypassed the engraving and shattered their mana cores entirely."

"...!"

Suffocating dread clamped around the kneeling mages' chests. Lemal was a cold, unforgiving monster whose cruelty knew no bounds. It was his ambition that had driven House Siren to secretly foster an independent assassin corps in the first place.

Yet the catastrophic explosion at the black market had shattered those grand ambitions in an instant.

"Tens of millions of cells in raw losses. The training of our assassin cadre indefinitely suspended. And it will take a considerable amount of time before another black market can be established under our influence. But if you wish to know what the greatest casualty is..."

"..."

Stepping forward, Lemal offered a sickening, radiant smile. "It is my mood. My pride has been grievously wounded. And that, gentlemen, is an immeasurable loss. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Y-Yes, absolutely, my lord!"

"Indeed. Therefore, devote every shred of your pathetic intellect to uncovering the cause. Interrogate every single rat who set foot inside that auction. Every last one. Every patron there has either taken our coin or holds dirt they cannot afford to see exposed. Squeeze them, and they will sing."

It was certain. The culprit had been one of the attendees, not an insider.

"Comb through the surveillance records captured by the Eye of Askal once more."

"W-We will see to it at once, my lord!"

"Because if you fail to bring me answers by the deadline..."

Thud!

The moment the butt of Lemal's staff slammed into the marble tile, the four mages simultaneously gasped, clawing desperately at their throats.

"Khk!"

"Hrk...!"

The atmospheric pressure plummeted. The surrounding oxygen was methodically torn from the air around them, leaving a localized vacuum. Their lungs burned, their chests spasmed, and their vision rapidly tunneled into gray.

Just as their eyes rolled back toward unconsciousness—

Thud!

Lemal tapped the staff once more.

"Haaaah! Hah... hah!"

"Cough! Gack!"

The mages collapsed in a pathetic heap, violently gulping down air. Absolute terror mingled with sickening relief on their pale faces.

"All four of you will die. Find out who did it."

"Y-Yes, my lord!"

"Begone. You had best return quickly with real results."

The mages scrambled out of the study, the heavy doors clicking shut behind them. The moment he was alone, Lemal hurled his staff violently across the room.

"Worthless curs."

The fall of Black Sky had been House Siren's golden opportunity. Because they lacked vast ancestral territories, they had perpetually been forced into third place behind House Kundel and House Rihardt, despite their peerless magical prowess. In an aristocratic hierarchy where land was paramount, a clan whose roots were planted firmly in the capital could never claim the title of Grand Lord.

To think I'd stumble over an unseen pebble here of all places...

His grand design had been immaculate: use esoteric sorcery to brainwash lethal assassins, equip them with bespoke magical armaments, and ruthlessly purge the leadership of Kundel and Rihardt. With their rivals dismantled, House Siren would stand undisputed at the zenith of the empire.

Everything had been progressing seamlessly—until that incomprehensible explosion at the underground auction.

Who could have pulled this off?

The Osfelt family, who owned the vineyard above, and the imperial investigators sniffing around the blast site could easily be pacified through bribes and political pressure. But appeasement did not solve the real crisis.

Financial losses? Staggering, yes, but not enough to cripple a house of Siren's stature.

The true catastrophe lay elsewhere.

"...It had to be someone capable of cracking that vault. It had to be."

The reinforced vault that should never have yielded had been breached, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and its sole occupant plundered. House Siren's ancient heirloom. An artifact whose very existence was known only to the clan's inner circle.

In truth, it had become an 'heirloom' only out of sheer helplessness. The object contained a power so horrifyingly corruptive that even the most celebrated archmages in Siren's history could not safely harness it. It had sat untouched for centuries, forgotten by the world.

The Heart of the Necromancer King.

A reservoir of boundless, primordial mana so profoundly tainted that a single misstep would permanently poison the core of anyone who touched it. Lemal had only brought it to the black market to secure liquid capital. Since it was an unusable relic anyway, he had intended to dangle it as bait, generating massive hype to fleece some obscenely wealthy, ignorant fool of their fortunes to fund his assassin syndicate.

"Haaaah..."

Lemal exhaled heavily, forcibly steadying his frayed nerves.

No one can utilize that monstrous thing anyway. The moment they attempt to resell it or seek an appraisal, their tail will be exposed. Until then...

For now, he had to keep his head down. No one outside would immediately connect the clandestine market to House Siren.

"There is no way they could know."

He muttered the words like a rhythmic mantra, reassuring himself over and over. He would bide his time, wait for the dust to settle, and strike again. When that day came, both Kundel and Rihardt would finally realize just how gravely they had underestimated House Siren.

"Good."

Having rationalized the disaster, a faint, twisted smirk returned to Lemal's lips. Only then did his chest loosen. And by dusk, fortune seemed to favor him.

"Lord Lemal! Lord Lemal!"

One of the mages who had been threatened earlier burst into the study, out of breath.

"I take it you found something?"

"Yes, my lord!" The man's face was flushed with urgency. Lemal picked up his staff from the desk and nodded.

"Speak."

"By a stroke of sheer fortune, we discovered that two of the registered attendees were replaced by entirely different individuals just before the auction began!"

"Fortune, you say?"

"Since we had no immediate leads, we began questioning each attendee one by one. And the very second man on our list—King Robson—cracked instantly!"

King Robson. The undisputed ruler of the capital's lower slums. A formidable brute who had shown considerable interest in acquiring Black Sky's leftover contraband.

Hearing that they had secured a concrete lead immediately improved Lemal's temper. "It was not mere fortune, but the fruit of your diligent effort to fulfill my command."

"Heh, thank you, my lord!" Scratching the back of his neck, the mage leaned forward eagerly. "As it turns out... King Robson experienced an extraordinary incident moments before he was set to depart for the black market."

"What kind of incident?"

"He claims that his surroundings were suddenly swallowed by impenetrable darkness, blinding everyone present. And then..." The mage swallowed dryly, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "Prepare yourself, Lord Lemal. He swears that the urban legend of the slums—the Dark Ghost—manifested before him."

"The... Dark Ghost?"

Born and raised in the opulent upper quarters of nobility, Lemal had never heard the coarse folklore of the slums. Is it an epithet? An alias? Could it be an elite operative operating beneath the radar of high society?

"I had never heard of it either, but the slum-dwellers claim it is an unidentified specter that drags living souls down into pure pitch-black darkness!"

"...A specter?"

"Yes! A legendary ghost story passed down among the beggars!"

"A ghost? A nursery tale?"

"I swear it, my lord! King Robson crawled up from the slums himself, so the moment the Dark Ghost cornered him, he completely lost his nerve and surrendered his entry token without a fight—"

Thud!

"Ghk! Khhhk!"

Lemal brought his staff down with shuddering force. Hazy ripples of raw mana bled into the air, manifesting visually under the sheer weight of his fury.

"A ghost? A fairy tale? Do you dare insult my intelligence with such drivel?"

"I-I merely reported what I was told—"

"So you swallowed that absurd mockery whole and thought to present it to me as a report?!"

"Hrk... Khaaah!"

The mage's breath caught in his throat as his vision blotted with spots. Death was inches away.

"Are you telling me that a ruthless syndicate boss like King Robson was terrified by a childish bedtime story?!"

"S-Spare me... Lord Lemal..."

Lemal's rage was volcanic. The fallout from the black market was catastrophic enough. If his father, the patriarch, discovered that the clan's ultimate heirloom had been stolen under his watch, his position as the legitimate heir would be irrevocably jeopardized.

And under such crushing pressure, this fool brought him tales of ghosts?

"M-Mercy, Lord Lemal... Please..."

Thud!

Tapping his staff once more to release the pressure, Lemal barked toward the antechamber. "Guards! Bind this idiot's mana and throw him into the dungeons. I will carve out his engraving with my own hands before the week is out."

"L-Lord Lemal! I was wrong! Please give me another chance! I will bring real answers next time, I swear—!"

The desperate pleas faded down the corridor as the heavy doors slammed shut once more. Lemal slumped back into his armchair, massaging his throbbing temples.

A ghost. A slum legend.

"The Dark Ghost?" An incredulous laugh escaped his lips. Rumors and urban myths always spiraled into ridiculous exaggerations. "King Robson used his head, that's all."

The underworld boss had undoubtedly leaked or sold his admission token to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a third party and fabricated a supernatural encounter to cover his tracks. But dealing with a slum gangster was a minor task compared to the mountain of problems before him.

"Haaah..."

The Dark Ghost. The name elicited another snort of contempt. "Utter nonsense."

He dismissed it entirely. Yet late that very night—

"Lord Lemal! We found a common thread!"

Another breathless mage rushed into the study, tumbling over his own words. "It's the Dark Ghost! The entire slum district is crawling with rumors! They say the Dark Ghost has returned! King Robson was threatened, and multiple enforcers from the Robson Family swear on their lives they saw it with their own eyes!"

Lemal's brow twitched violently. "King Robson?"

"Yes!"

"The Dark Ghost?"

"Yes, my lord! Exactly as I said!"

Lemal let out a slow, poisonous sigh. Just when he thought he had rid himself of this absurdity.

"Guards. Lock this one up as well."

"Understood, Lord Lemal."

"L-Lord Lemal?! Lock me up?! Why?!"

"I shall carve out your engraving alongside the fool from this afternoon."

"Lord Lemal! Lord Lemaaaal—!"

The pathetic wailing was dragged away into the dark. Yet as silence settled over the study once more, Lemal found himself forced to reconsider.

"The Dark Ghost, is it...?"

Could such an entity truly exist in the literal sense? Or...

Is someone utilizing that folklore to intentionally sabotage our operations?

It warranted an investigation. Snapping his fingers sharply, a presence peeled away from the shadows cast across the far wall.

"I have an assignment for you."

"Speak your command."

The figure's hollow, unfocused eyes stared into the empty air. He was one of the prime specimens House Siren had secretly extracted during the fall of Black Sky. A man without a name. From their very induction, the assassins of Black Sky were stripped of identity and treated as non-existent ghosts. Lemal had personally bestowed a name upon him: Sigrim.

"Sigrim. Infiltrate the slums and investigate this 'Dark Ghost.' Discover who or what it is, when it appeared, and what it schemes."

"Understood."

"Kill anyone who interferes. Leave no trace behind. If you locate an individual of value, bring them back alive. Sever their limbs if necessary; they only need a tongue to speak."

"Understood."

"If your identity or House Siren's involvement risks being exposed, terminate your own life immediately."

"Understood."

Even when faced with suicidal commands, Sigrim answered without the slightest flicker of hesitation. Once again, Lemal felt a thrill of genuine admiration.

Is this the terrifying depth of Black Sky's mental conditioning?

It was an arcane art of brainwashing that even House Siren had yet to fully decipher. Sigrim had already been thoroughly conditioned when they acquired him—indoctrinated to the point where even his breathing followed strict programming. And the anchor that commanded such absolute subservience—

Without this, I could never have controlled so many lethal hounds.

Lemal's gaze dropped to the deep black gemstone embedded into the pommel of his staff. The very nucleus of Black Sky's authority. As long as this relic remained in his possession, every conditioned hound of that fallen syndicate was bound to obey his word alone.

So long as I hold this, I cannot fall.

It was also the sole reason Lemal was desperately hunting for the 'Phantom.' If he could capture that legendary monster and pry the syndicate's true indoctrination methods from his mind...

I will command the Phantom himself, seize the leadership of my clan, and ascend to the very pinnacle of this empire.

Even the imperial throne would have no choice but to bow before him. Imagining that glorious future, a predatory grin spread across Lemal's face.

"Go."

Sigrim melted soundlessly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠back into the gloom. He was the most accomplished killer they had managed to salvage from the wreckage of the syndicate.

I have high expectations for you.

It would have been perfection incarnate had they secured the Phantom back then, but the mythic assassin had vanished without a trace during the empire's assault.

"One day, I will have the Phantom as well..."

If he could bend the Phantom to his will, House Siren would become a force unrivaled across the continent. Even the emperor would tremble in his golden seat. Enraptured by the vision of standing atop that terrifying dynasty, Lemal let out a low, triumphant laugh that echoed through the empty hall.