Slum District 2
"Frederiksen Count... He was poking around everywhere for a while, but now he's finally gone quiet."
Whoosh—the acrid smoke rose and faded away.
It hadn't been long since the mercenaries who'd turned the entire slum upside down had gone into hiding.
"It's not certain yet, is it?"
"No, it is. He's either tired of chasing false leads or realized there's no point digging further. I never expected that former Executor lunatic to cause a scene at the Cherbito semifinals..."
That had caught even Pierre Darsen off guard.
Until then, the count had been acting passively, but suddenly he'd started combing through the slums like he'd kicked a hornet's nest.
No matter how you looked at it, the timing pointed to that incident.
The fact that he'd sent men right after the finals ended was proof enough.
Or maybe he'd been waiting for Cherbito to wrap up from the start.
"And using artifacts to hide their mana, no less."
The retainers of the Frederiksen family all knew it well.
Hiding appearances and presence wasn't enough to fool them.
The slum alleys were crawling with homeless scavengers, who quickly became their eyes and ears.
That was why they'd kept shifting branch locations for a while.
But now it was over.
With them seemingly giving up, Pierre lounged back in relief.
"So it wasn't a deal with those guys after all."
"Watch your mouth."
"But...!"
"If the boss says drop it, we drop it. We shut up and follow. Or are you planning to defy orders?"
"......"
Pierre sank deeper into the plush chair.
The man standing before him wore an ambiguous expression—anger, sorrow, irritation, who could tell?
Anyone else would've had their throat slit on the spot.
But Pierre just watched him silently.
He'd followed the boss's orders without question, but deep down, he agreed.
Besides, the man was a Sword User who could infuse aura into his blade—a rare talent in this filthy underbelly.
A little griping was tolerable.
"Fucking holy kingdom bastards. Dragging their annoying problems here..."
If it hadn't been Simon's decision, they never would've taken the job in the first place.
No amount of money justified crossing a count.
If not for Palenia Holy Kingdom backing that former Executor.
No, even without that, what could a bunch of green kids with no blood on their hands accomplish?
The groups and individuals involved weren't just one or two.
Most of the small kingdoms and duchies near the holy kingdom had tacitly approved.
Believers of the goddess of light, Isteria, weren't confined to this southern continent.
Anywhere with a decent population was divided into dioceses or archdioceses, so most bishops and archbishops had likely cooperated in this mess.
Still feels off, no matter how I think about it.
Abandoning the search didn't mean dropping the suspicion.
The already sour relations were now completely ruined.
They did sell info, so no room for complaints.
Mages from the lower and mid districts.
Three digits already missing.
The silver lining was they hadn't touched the central district mages.
If even one from the three great academies had vanished, things wouldn't have blown over this easily.
Thud, thud.
The charred end of the cigar dropped into the ashtray.
As Pierre exhaled another plume of smoke.
"Big trouble!"
The underground door burst open.
A young man stumbled in, drenched in sweat.
Entering without warning, the man reflexively gripped his sword pommel.
"...If it's not urgent, your head's coming off."
Pierre held him back.
"Enough. Stand down. What happened?"
Ignoring the man's murderous glare, the youth pressed on—too frantic to care.
"Branch 4... Branch 4..."
"Branch 4?"
"Everyone at Branch 4 got wiped out."
"How many?"
"That's..."
Pierre narrowed his eyes.
The hesitating youth blurted it out in shock.
"O-one! Just one!"
"One?"
"Yes! Word just came in, it's confirmed. Black cloak, hood pulled low..."
"Spare the details. Know him?"
"...No. Not on the roster."
Not on the roster.
Meant he wasn't from the count's side.
Pierre's face twisted further.
Gauging his mood, the man spoke up.
"I'll check it out."
"No. From the look of it, probably..."
Then—
Boom!
Something shattered upstairs.
They'd posted a doorman out front, but someone had kicked the door in.
Too late already.
Everyone in the slums knew this was Simon's personal info guild branch.
Charging in fearlessly meant it was definitely the one who'd massacred Branch 4.
Thud!
Another impact. The floor this time.
The ceiling shook faintly, then blood droplets formed above and dripped down.
Shing! Shing!
Swords drawn.
Pierre and the man exchanged glances.
"I'll go."
But Pierre shook his head.
"Wait."
"But..."
"Guys upstairs. Not just one or two, they won't go down easy..."
Aaaagh—!
Whoosh!
Splat!
Grind, boom!
"......"
Screams mixed with flesh-rending and shattering sounds.
Pierre clamped his mouth shut on reflex.
All three stared silently at the ceiling, as if by agreement.
Drip, drip.
Soon, fresh red blood seeped from the reddened ceiling above.
***
Inside the smoke-filled building.
Men with weapons drawn glared at Licht with killing intent.
Pretty quick reaction for guys who'd been boozing and gambling moments ago.
At the bar on one side, a man polished a glass.
Too rough-looking for a bartender.
Built like a brute—more suited to heavy labor than serving drinks.
Have they lost their minds? Licht mused inwardly.
Three presences below.
Two small fry he could kill with a gesture; the third had decently honed energy.
One of them's Pierre Darsen.
The other a Sword Runner or Sword User at best.
Yet none fled.
Not even after he'd kicked in the door and smashed the doorman's face into the dirt.
No way they hadn't heard the commotion, so they were choosing not to run.
A slight letdown for Licht, who'd braced for a nighttime chase.
No.
Better this way.
No need to track them down.
Easier to wrap up.
Maybe they thought numbers would make it simple.
He glanced up; the man was still polishing his glass.
Ignoring the sudden intruder like he didn't exist.
Clink.
He finally set it down and spoke.
"Pierre Darsen, you say."
His voice echoed through the suffocating silence.
"Looking for someone."
"Wrong address?"
"No."
Licht glanced below again.
"Already found him."
"...No idea what you're on about. Where'd you get that bullshit info?"
"We'll confirm that now."
"You little shit!"
A man nearby lunged, unable to hold back.
Rusty longsword in his right hand.
No sign of aura. No mana either.
Good momentum, but that's it.
Typical slum trash.
As the man closed in and swung, Licht ducked.
Whoosh!
"Wha...?"
The blade sliced empty air.
Face twisting in shock at the easy dodge, Licht surged forward and slammed a fist into his solar plexus.
Crack!
Gurk!
The man flew back pathetically, crashing into a table amid groans as the others watched.
No need to draw the Ascension Sword.
Licht extended a hand toward the fallen man.
Shing!
The rusty longsword flew out, drawn by an eerie force.
He gripped it and swung horizontally without looking.
Splatter!
Glurk!
Kraaagh!
Fountains of blood; two more crumpled.
"Fuck this!"
"Beat his ass!"
Crash! Clink!
Tables toppled, bottles and glasses shattering across the floor.
Over ten charging at once, each clutching a gleaming blade.
No proper aura users, no formation—just wild rushes.
But anyone would've flinched at the killers swarming from all sides.
Not Licht.
Idiots.
The youth didn't dodge.
Slums had their ways, and raw overwhelming force and terror were best for prying info loose.
Step.
He stepped forward.
As his left foot planted, wind coiled up his leg.
Some noticed and faltered, but too late.
Whoosh!
Condensed mana split into ten sharp gusts.
Invisible blades shredded their bodies.
Splat!
Blood erupted; over ten dropped at once.
Through them, the bartender charged.
Sword Runner.
Speed leagues beyond the others.
Body reinforced with aura.
His sword arced down from above, drawn who-knows-when.
Using the small fry as shields was smart, but to Licht, it moved in slow motion.
He parried the falling blade upward.
Clang!
Clear metal ring, sparks flying.
"What the hell are you?"
His sure-kill blocked.
A flank from a blind spot by a Sword Runner.
Parried effortlessly without flinching—meant at least Sword User level.
The man's eyes trembled in horror.
Licht didn't answer.
Grind!
Overpowering, he pushed the sword back; the man yielded ground.
Veins bulging, he yelled.
"Hemun? Those bastards hired mercs!"
"Hemun?"
"Those washed-up fucks, now of all times!"
"No clue what you're rambling about."
Licht didn't know or care about slum politics.
"No need for a dead man to know."
He shoved the sword away.
The man regained stance in an instant.
Horizontal slash.
Aura-reinforced body was a weapon itself.
His strike was worlds faster than the small fry.
But—
Clang!
Blocked again, futilely.
Sparks melted into air.
Licht stepped in, kicking the knee.
Crunch!
Bone snapped, joint twisting unnaturally.
Collapsing form lost balance.
Licht saw the man's blank face as he fell.
Thud!
Guhk!
Rusty longsword plunged through.
Flesh parted smoothly.
By the time spasms stopped, silence blanketed the first floor.
Splat!
Pulling the blade released hot blood pooling on the floor.
Licht walked to the center.
Three left.
As the thought crossed his mind—
Shing!
Blue aura-laced blade erupted from below.
Slicing floorboards, aiming to sever his ankle.
He'd anticipated it and sidestepped lightly.
Left foot back; the blue edge missed, slashing empty air.
Licht stomped once.
Boom!
Fierce blast; floor exploded.
"H-heek!"
"......!"
In the wrecked basement below, three survivors stared up as expected.
A man by the door sobbing, looking up.
A man gripping a blue sword, faint emotion on his face.
And.
"Pierre Darsen."
"Kob!"
Pierre's shout barely out, the called Kob lunged at the youth.
Blade vivid with blue aura.
But the youth didn't fall.
A golden sword-strike plummeted straight at him instead.
Draw so fast no afterimage lingered.
Flash!
Body cleaved clean in two.
Before Pierre could process, blood sprayed from the door.
Splat!
Gurk!
Licht landed lightly, unleashing a wind blade at the door simultaneously.
Pierre reeled inwardly.
Chantless wind magic? Isn't he a swordsman?
He tore his gaze from the vacant-eyed man.
Only then realizing the youth before him had vanished.
Where?
The answer came from beside.
Bam!
Pierre's head smashed into the table.
A slender finger pressed his skull.
Crunch!
Golden blade stabbed beside it.
Scorching pain in his throat.
Body shuddered uncontrollably as a voice sounded above.
"Where's Simon?"
"I-I don't kn—"
Shing!
Wind swept over his right hand.
Clean severing sound followed.
Beyond his pinned vision: bloodied table.
And a severed finger rolling off it.
Finger?
"Aaaaagh!"
Mad pain hit late from the stump.
Grk!
Licht crushed Pierre's head, silencing him.
"Don't think about dying first."
Staring into those impassive black eyes.
"Where is he?"
Pierre felt an indescribable terror.