Chapter 194
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 194
Chapter Title: Does That Bastard Have a Conscience?
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***
The Demon God War.
The worst catastrophe ever unleashed by black wizards who exploited the chaos right after World War II, gathering the death and despair overflowing across the world.
Even though Rimon had suffered massive injuries and barely managed to slay the Demon God in a mutually devastating strike, the Demon God resurrected from death and turned Europe into a wasteland.
All Europeans despaired.
They believed no one could stop the Demon God now that Rimon, the last Sword Master, had fallen.
But the witches of the 27th magical lineage blocked the Demon God at the London Great Barrier, giving them hope.
Thanks to that, Rimon dragged his half-dead body back, defeated the Demon God once more, circled the Earth 37 times in pursuit, and finally finished off the fleeing bastard for good.
The whole world erupted in cheers that day, and the Europeans, who had suffered direct from the Demon God, turned it into a commemorative festival.
That was Walpurgis Night.
A four-day extravaganza considered the greatest event not just in the British Empire, but across all of Europe.
"Innkeeper, another beer here!"
"Help yourself—I'm busy drinking too! Don't you know it's Walpurgis Night? Everything's self-serve tonight, self-serve!"
For these four days, all regular labor was banned in Europe after sunset.
All restaurant food was free, and regardless of age or gender, chaos reigned everywhere with people playing, eating, drinking, and chattering.
It was a rule established to recreate the joy of the Europeans cheering on the day the Demon God fell.
Thanks to that, London was overflowing with crowds from streets to restaurants to parks.
"Welcome, Sir Alfred."
"Ah, my thanks for the warm welcome, Countess Rose."
"Thank you for gracing us with your presence."
"Hahaha, you're putting gold on my face, Countess."
And the Cerpent Earl family was no different.
There were three differences, though.
One was that, unlike elsewhere, it maintained decorum and order.
Another was that everyone was dressed in tuxedos, uniforms, gowns—lavish attire.
The last was that every guest was a face frequently seen in newspapers, on TV, or online.
"Who in London would refuse an invitation to the Cerpent Earl family's ball on Walpurgis Night?"
"You're too kind to call our modest family event such a grand affair."
"Still as humble as ever, Countess Rose. Anyway, I'll go enjoy the party now—see you later."
His hearty laugh was short-lived.
The man in military uniform called Alfred cut the pleasantries and headed into the ballroom.
It might seem rude at first glance, but Rose gave a wry smile.
She knew it was Alfred's way of not holding up the host for too long.
"Good evening, Countess."
"Honored to be invited here..."
"...and to greet you like this..."
But Rose's smile faded quickly.
It was Walpurgis Night.
There were plenty of guests invited to the earl's estate, and not all were as considerate of her.
Especially after dealing with those clinging to impress her or chat longer, fatigue inevitably built up.
Yet she never showed it.
She greeted each with her usual polite demeanor and perfect smile.
"Hey, Countess. What're you doing?"
Perhaps her efforts paid off—right as she finished the line of guests.
Rose turned around.
She stared at the cocky-eyed young man leaning against the doorframe—Rimon—before replying.
"As you can see, greeting guests."
"So why're you doing it yourself? That's what servants are for, right?"
"I believe having someone else greet those who accepted my family's invitation would be rude."
Rimon frowned at her answer.
Arms crossed, looking displeased, he tossed out a question.
"Fine, go ahead and play the dutiful Azure Dragon Clan princess if you want. But you okay with that?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Your face looks like shit already."
"...I have no idea what you mean."
Though inwardly startled, Rose replied calmly with her usual composed expression.
Rimon narrowed his eyes at her and spoke lowly.
"If you insist, I won't stop you. But take it easy. What if you push too hard and collapse?"
"That won't happen."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. So don't worry about me—focus on preparing for the performance later."
"Well, if the Countess insists."
Rimon let out a smirk.
He pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the ballroom.
Watching his back, Rose unconsciously wore a complicated expression.
'...What an incomprehensible man.'
Her condition was indeed poor from recent sleep deprivation.
She'd used psychics to perfectly adjust her complexion and even applied light makeup just in case.
Yet somehow, that man saw right through it all and called her out.
She couldn't fathom how.
'He seems to be hiding something more...'
Snapping out of her fatigue-forgotten thoughts, Rose shook her head.
Investigating the 27th lineage witch murders, she already knew Rimon wasn't ordinary.
But that was it.
Whether he was a high-level player hiding his identity, a wizard, or a legendary magic knight.
As princess of the Azure Dragon Clan, with countless elite experts and knights under her, he wasn't worth her attention.
Unless he was an absolute like a monarch or grand witch who could change the world alone.
With that, Rose dismissed her thoughts of Rimon.
Moments later, the one she'd most anticipated yet least wanted to greet appeared.
"Hohoho. Thanks for inviting me again this year, Countess Rose."
"The pleasure is mine. Thank you for coming, Duke Carl."
Opulent robes enveloping his body.
A long staff embedded with a crystal orb.
Even his shoes and accessories.
The old man arrived decked in top-grade items, looking less like a guest and more like a magic corps general storming in.
Rose smiled at Magic Lord Carl.
All while convinced she couldn't enjoy tonight's ball.
"Talk about a tense atmosphere."
Watching the ballroom with arms crossed, Rimon murmured lowly, sensing the subtle air.
Julia, sipping juice beside him, picked up.
"Of course it's tense. It's Walpurgis Night."
"That an excuse?"
"The chaos outside recreates the post-Demon God War festival, but this ball recreates the European Conference."
"So why bother recreating something so pointless? If it's a festival, just have fun."
"The high and mighty must have their reasons."
"Reasons my ass—it's just their lofty pride not wanting to mingle with commoners."
Rimon scoffed.
After the Demon God fell, he'd witnessed the European Conference as an observer—top reps from devastated nations staking their countries' survival.
How much of a shitshow it was? This "noble" ball felt like pure pretense to him.
Julia, unaware of that, gave a wry smile at his words.
"It's a bit ritualistic, sure, but this ball's important. They say Europe's major issues get decided here."
"I know."
Rimon replied indifferently.
The attendees alone were the British Empire and Europe's top elites.
Factor in the host being the Cerpent Earl family of the Azure Dragon Clan, and a single joke here could sway international politics.
They had that much wealth and authority.
'Though tonight, even that's not going smoothly.'
The issue was that the Azure Dragon Clan no longer monopolized influence in Europe.
Just look at the crowd around Carl.
Numerically, more were with Rose.
But at a party in the Cerpent estate, drawing that much attention showed Carl's pull.
'...What's with this vibe, though?'
Rimon narrowed his eyes.
He'd attended countless parties as an absolute in the past.
He could spot the nerve war between Rose and Carl instantly.
Their groups pretending to chat amiably while eyeing each other.
Nothing odd there.
It was expected since Carl decided to attend.
But the Sword Master's sharp senses caught a strange dissonance in the tension.
'Feels like they're waiting for something...?'
As he frowned at Carl occasionally glancing at Rose with a sly smile.
Lucas appeared in the ballroom.
In uniform instead of armor, he teleported in and urgently approached Rose.
"Princess, I have urgent news."
"...What is it?"
"Right now in central London..."
The party was ongoing, eyes everywhere.
Sensing something off from his disregard, Rose's face hardened.
As Rimon raised a brow overhearing Lucas's whisper to her.
"Hah, what nonsense is this!"
A blatant exclamation drawing all eyes spread through the room.
"What happened?"
"Everyone, stay calm and listen."
As if that wasn't enough, the old man tapped his staff for attention.
Carl, with a gravely serious face, shared the report his guildmate had just rushed in with—nearly simultaneous to Lucas's.
"The Twilight Hour has begun in central London."
"That's impossible...!"
"Is that really true?"
The ballroom buzzed with shock and disbelief.
It was only natural.
Sunset had long passed into evening.
Far too late for the Twilight Hour.
The outlandish claim even drew suspicious glares at Carl.
But those didn't last.
"Fog!"
"My God, it's real...?!"
They couldn't hide their agitation at the thick fog—denser than clouds—swirling outside the windows.
"Everyone, please stay calm. It's just fog."
Amid it, Rose acted composed.
No bell tolls aside, this fog lacked any magical aura, proving no Twilight Hour.
But only a few realized that.
Most couldn't hide their anxiety at the surging fog.
As far as they knew, such thick fog only came with the Twilight Hour.
That made Rimon suspicious too.
'Hmm, no magical aura.'
'But too suspicious for natural fog.'
'Spirit work? No, even high spirits couldn't manage this.'
'Last option: skill? But no lord-level player could pull this off solo...'
Rimon paused.
In the chaos, he frowned at Carl leisurely stroking his beard.
Then it hit him.
This ball with all London's top figures.
Not a single high-level player from Makers Guild was present.
'...That damn bastard?'