Chapter 49: This Won't End Quietly (1)
Chapter 49: This Won't End Quietly (1)
“Hahaha. As someone without a son of my own, I’m almost envious. I’d even like to try raising him myself.”
“Are you serious?”
“Hmm?”
“No, it’s nothing.”
Baron Schneider hurriedly glossed over his words.
For a split second, he had been tempted.
However, setting aside the look his son was giving him—a look that clearly said, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me’—he couldn't possibly do something so cruel to Count Parmas, the Margrave of the East.
“Ahem, well, first I must offer my thanks. Young Master Patrick, thanks to you, my daughter is safe. As a father, I express my deepest gratitude.”
“It was nothing. But about that assailant…”
“Ah, you mean the son of Baron Malcolm?”
“I don’t know his family, but was he always like that?”
“There are many young nobles in the East who adore my daughter. You could say it’s practically all of them.”
‘Count me out,’ Patrick wanted to say, but Count Parmas’s pride in his daughter was immense.
The expression on his face, as if it were only natural for any man to be captivated by his daughter, was filled with absolute sincerity.
“But no matter how charming my daughter is, no one has ever dared to do something like this. Do you know why?”
“Because you have guarded the Young Lady so thoroughly, Count.”
“Hahaha. Correct. When one possesses a treasure, is it not only natural to guard it strictly?”
“……”
Yes, yes. Your daughter is very beautiful. In your eyes, at least.
“However, while the young master of House Malcolm did adore my daughter, this is a first. In fact, according to witnesses, Baron Malcolm’s son was usually quite passive—he didn't even have the nerve to speak to her.”
“But he suddenly pulled a stunt like this?”
“Indeed. It’s as if he became a completely different person overnight.”
The Count continued with a grave expression.
“As someone who faced him directly, you would know, but Malcolm’s son was definitely not in a normal state. Neither in body nor mind.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Especially that black aura radiating from his body. Anyone who knows anything would understand what that signifies.”
The people gathered in the banquet hall had already seen the black aura erupting from Baron Malcolm’s son.
There wasn't a single person there who didn't know what it meant.
“A Dark Mage was pulling the strings from behind. I’m certain of it.”
“You mean those cursed wretches still exist?”
As Baron Schneider lamented, Count Parmas let out a heavy sigh.
“Uprooting them is never as easy as it sounds. They are merely hiding in the shadows; they haven't been wiped out.”
Dark Mages.
They referred to the humans who fought on the side of the Demon Clan during the war hundreds of years ago.
By forming contracts with demons and receiving power directly from them, a Dark Mage could gain immense strength quickly. However, their personality would turn wicked, and they would eventually be reborn as beings that could hardly be called human.
After winning the war against the Demon Clan, humanity hunted down those Dark Mages like rats, but even after hundreds of years, they still existed.
Whenever a mass casualty event occurred, a plague broke out, or a high-ranking noble died from a curse, Dark Mages were almost always behind it.
“I don’t know how a Dark Mage approached the young master of House Malcolm, but it seems they used his feelings for my daughter to play some kind of trick.”
“Digging into a person’s weaknesses to manipulate them… that certainly sounds like something a Dark Mage would do.”
“Indeed. Well, of course, nothing is confirmed yet. The culprit is currently locked in the dungeon, so we’ll have to conduct a detailed investigation through a mage later to be sure.”
At that moment, Patrick interjected.
“Is the culprit in the castle dungeon right now?”
“He is. Why? Are you curious?”
“No. It’s nothing special.”
The Count continued to chat with Baron Schneider about various things after that, but Patrick let it go in one ear and out the other.
The castle dungeon, huh… I should go check it out before the mage arrives.
Patrick also had something he wanted to confirm with that Malcolm kid.
* * *
The castle dungeon of House Parmas.
The jailer guarding the place was nodding off, bored with his dawn shift.
“Hey. Wake up.”
“Mmm… Ah. I almost fell asleep.”
“Tsk, tsk. How can you sleep when there’s a prisoner the Count is personally concerned about inside?”
“Ah, I said I’m sorry.”
“Stay sharp. A jailer shouldn't let even a single mouse pass through… Huh? Who’s there?”
“What? What is it?”
The jailer panicked, hurriedly leveling his spear and taking a stance. But…
“Keke, fooled you.”
“You little bastard…”
“Well, you’re wide awake now, aren't you?”
“Ugh, you scared the life out of me!”
Behind the grumbling soldier, another presence whispered softly.
“My thoughts exactly…”
There was someone who had been startled, thinking that an nameless dungeon guard had actually detected his presence.
It was Patrick.
Patrick, who had been quietly infiltrating the dungeon for his business, had been shocked when the guard shouted while pointing exactly in his direction.
Then again, even those bald monks of Shaolin couldn't find me when I snuck into the Thunder Prison. How could these guys?
Why did he sneak into the Shaolin Thunder Prison, you ask?
Let’s just say there was someone there who desperately needed a beating.
Having skillfully slipped inside while hidden in the darkness, Patrick found the culprit collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily.
“There are no other prisoners. I can check this quietly.”
“Grrr… Grrr… Ugh…”
At the sound of Patrick’s voice, the young master of House Malcolm, who had been groaning on the floor, let out a sound like a growling beast.
The fact that he was doing this even with a shattered jaw meant he still had some fighting spirit left.
Though, in truth, it was an emotion closer to pure hatred than fighting spirit.
“I wasn't quite sure earlier, so let’s just check one thing.”
Patrick grabbed the man’s wrist and injected his Ki into him. And then…
“As I thought…”
Patrick’s expression hardened coldly.
He had been somewhat certain.
But confirming it directly like this brought up a different set of emotions.
“It’s Demonic Energy. It’s exactly the same as what those Demonic Cult bastards use.”
This was the real reason Patrick had to step in.
It wasn't just for the money.
* * *
In the Jianghu where Patrick used to live, the powers were largely divided into three factions.
Orthodox, Unorthodox, and Demonic.
The Orthodox Faction were the ones who swung their swords while shouting, “Die, you evil villains!” at the Unorthodox Faction.
The Unorthodox Faction were the ones who swung their swords while shouting, “Die, you hypocritical bastards!”
And the Demonic Cult…
“The Heavenly Demon descends, and Ten Thousand Demons Look Up! Kill all who deny the name of the Heavenly Demon!”
“Shut up! The Blood Demon descends, long live the Sura! Kill all the apostates!”
Those guys even fought among themselves.
Why?
To understand that, you had to look at their history.
Originally, the Demonic Cult was said to be a sect of martial artists who worshipped fire, known as the Ming Cult.
Before the concept of Jianghu was even established, they helped the founding emperor of the Ming Dynasty, Zhu Yuanzhang, in both shadow and light, spreading their influence far and wide. Their prosperity was such that there were even rumors they might be designated as the state religion.
It was from this Ming Cult that two extraordinary figures emerged.
The Heavenly Demon and the Blood Demon.
Two talents so exceptional that it was rare to see even one in an era had appeared in the same organization at the same time.
Furthermore, they were both candidates for the position of Young Cult Leader, vying for the succession.
In such a case, the existence of a genius is not necessarily a benefit to an organization.
For one, the two of them were simply too strong.
Even if they had been born as the sons of nameless peasants without the background of the Ming Cult, they were monsters who would have grown on their own to become Grandmasters and leave their names in the history of the Martial World.
The two naturally clashed, and that conflict eventually escalated into an internal war.
As a result, the Ming Cult split in two: one became the Heavenly Demon Cult, and the other became the Bloody Asura Cult.
These two organizations both claimed to be the legitimate successors and fought each other to the death.
For hundreds of years.
Because their internal strife was so intense, they didn't engage much with the outside world.
But every once in a long while…
A martial artist who trained in Demonic Arts from either the Demonic Cult or the Blood Cult—commonly known as a Demon Warrior—would emerge into the Jianghu of the Central Plains, and a bloodbath would follow.
Usually, the Demon Warriors who appeared in the Central Plains were those who had caused so much trouble that even the Demonic or Blood Cults couldn't handle them, leading to their exile or escape.
In other words, they were people who had completely lost their minds.
And every time it happened, the Jianghu of the Central Plains would tremble at the strength of these Demon Warriors.
Though they numbered less than a hundredth of the Orthodox or Unorthodox Factions, the power they possessed was staggering.
There were three instances in the history of the Martial World where the Orthodox and Unorthodox Factions formed an alliance, and in all three cases, it was to oppose the Demon Warriors of the Demonic or Blood Cults.
That was how strong and dangerous Demon Warriors were.
And Patrick had faced such a Demon Warrior in his past life.
He was a lunatic who captured a hundred young boys on the night of a waning moon to bathe in their blood.
Patrick had seen it with his own eyes.
A Demon Warrior soaking in a pool of blood, wearing an ecstatic expression as if drunk on fine wine.
The scene of that massacre was so horrific that even his good-natured Master had spat out curses.
It was so cruel and savage that one had to wonder how a human could do such a thing to another human.
Most of the processes for training in Demonic Arts were like that.
Absorbing the internal energy of others, drinking blood, or plundering the essence of women—it was mostly that sort of thing.
Despite the horrific nature of these methods, Demon Warriors never ceased to appear.
Because it was a path that allowed one to grasp power that quickly and surely.
Back then, Patrick had eventually taken that Demon Warrior’s head, but he had to exchange over a thousand blows to do it.
Considering that Patrick’s martial prowess at the time was enough to easily suppress the leaders of the Nine Great Sects within a hundred moves, the strength of that Demon Warrior was truly appalling.
And now, the Demonic Energy of such a being…
“Why has it appeared here?”
Patrick’s expression grew serious.
He had vaguely sensed the presence of Demonic Energy from the moment he first saw this man in the banquet hall. But seeing it again like this, he could feel its presence even more clearly.
Could it be that the Demonic Cult or the Blood Cult existed here as well?
“Hmm, wait… This is a bit different.”
Patrick’s expression changed again as he investigated the man’s internals.
In the process of checking where and how the Demonic Energy was situated in the body, he realized that the energy was not in the Dantian, but concentrated near the heart.
This was not the way of a Demon Warrior.
Whether it was Demonic Energy or regular Ki, it was common sense for a martial artist to concentrate their energy in the Dantian.
This was an absolute truth that never changed, whether it was a Peerless Divine Art or a third-rate martial art from the streets.
Demon Warriors were no exception.
Thinking about it, our Founding Patriarch, who came up with the idea of splitting that vital Dantian in two, was the real lunatic.
In any case, this wasn't the Demonic Art of a Demon Warrior. If so…
“It means those guys called Dark Mages handle Demonic Energy. This might be a bit of a headache.”
Just how dangerous were these Dark Mages?
Since being reborn in this world, Patrick had never felt a significant threat.
His fight with the King Ogre was the only time he felt endangered, but that was when he was still inexperienced; if they fought again now, he could take it down with ease.
But if the power of the Dark Mages was not inferior to the Demon Warriors he remembered…
“This won't end quietly.”
Patrick’s face hardened into a very serious expression.
He had stepped in thinking he would just do a small favor to gain some credit, but it seemed highly likely that it wouldn't end so simply.