Chapter 76
Chapter 76
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 76
Chapter Title: Common Sense
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Common sense.
It refers to the values and knowledge that members of society acquire through education and ultimately share with all members.
And common sense often intersects with the traditional unwritten rules of that society, gaining tremendous coercive power even without being documented or codified into law.
That is why members of society, regardless of their status, strive to uphold common sense, especially those values that overlap with social unwritten rules.
Failing to do so leads to social death as a matter of course—and sometimes actual death.
- Do not kill high-ranking nobles carelessly.
In this world, this is common sense and at the same time, violating a social unwritten rule means death.
Even if the perpetrator was a high-ranking noble on the same level as or higher than the victim, social death was hard to avoid.
Even if they were mortal enemies who could not live under the same sky, or if it happened in the heat of fierce combat where distinguishing friend from foe was difficult, condemnation could still follow.
But to kill a noble you met for the first time today in broad daylight for no particular reason (at least right now)?
It was a major incident that could shatter common sense and collapse society.
Especially if the witnesses were nobles like the victim—the shock and terror were beyond measure.
That was why Lady Baretti and the others gathered in the office were plunged into collective panic, unable to do anything.
They could only watch as the murderer who had destroyed their common sense and the unwritten rules of their world wiped the blood-dripping pommel and then smoothly pulled the dagger from the knight's forehead.
“Hey, you.”
“Eek……!”
Who am I? Where am I?
Is this really reality?
Yens, who had been blankly denying reality, jolted so hard his shoulders twitched when Sion pointed at him.
“Judging by the unfamiliar face, you must be from the Information Guild, right?”
“Y-Yes, that’s right.”
The Grade 1 Information Collector (who had been, but was now just a field agent) who had dreamed of becoming the youngest vice guild master and burned with ambition was nowhere to be found.
There was only a man whose wits turned nimbly enough, trembling pitifully and even wetting himself.
“Were you the one who brought in the Rundel Count family?”
Correction. The man whose wits turned not just nimbly but exceptionally well snapped to enlightenment at light speed upon hearing the question.
He realized that if he opened his mouth carelessly here, common sense would shatter again.
“Yes!”
“Why did you do it?”
“I was demoted from headquarters while working as an Information Collector! So I judged that riding the crown prince’s line would get me back to headquarters quickly, and I connected with them!”
“Information Collector? What grade?”
“Grade 1.”
“I see. Pretty capable for someone young. Anyway, then you know about me too?”
“Pardon?”
“You don’t?”
Yens, who had unwittingly asked back, furrowed his brow slightly at Sion’s reaction and experienced the rare sensation of his whole body’s muscles stiffening automatically as he stood at attention.
“No. I know some.”
“Some? Up to where?”
Yens scanned the other people in the office and Sion at near light speed.
Treating someone in the same space as if they weren’t there meant it was fine to talk about them.
“I know that you have a separate title attached to your name as ‘Sir,’ and that a dedicated scout reports information about you directly to the top of the guild in code.”
“I see.”
Then this guy doesn’t know anything yet. Sion concluded and said to Yens,
“You’re going straight to the Information Guild headquarters from here. Tell the guild master and those old fogeys in the Council of Eight or whatever that from now on, all information about me will be relayed through Jena Allot only. And also.”
“Yes.”
Yens desperately memorized Sion’s words.
“The guild higher-ups probably have a rough idea, but I don’t know what you call it. Anyway, relay that a small number of people can now see something called ‘divine speech,’ but at this point, no one knows as much about it as I do. So.”
Sion’s voice, which had been speaking plainly without inflection, changed in an instant.
Killing intent or low-frequency.
Releasing his ‘skill’ weakly, Sion growled as he continued,
“If something like today happens just once more, there’ll be no mercy. Got it?”
“Hup! Uh… Y-Yes….”
If the skill’s intensity was divided into 10 levels, he had only used 1 or 2. Yet Yens suddenly felt his breath catch, his legs trembling uncontrollably.
“Then go.”
“Yes, sir.”
Yens staggered out, pouring every ounce of strength into each step, his knees buckling but never quite collapsing until he made it out.
“He’s got a long lifeline.”
Sion chuckled softly and turned his head.
The office was filled with an unbearable stench: the blood and filth wafting slyly from the two sprawled corpses, the body odors from humans sick with fear and tension, and the instinctive shit and piss they had let loose, all mixed together.
Clack.
Opening the office window let in a cool breeze, which Sion savored as he spoke to the humans still trembling in terror, unable to speak or act.
“The knights that pig brought are all dead. And about half of the ones from that woman’s mother’s family or whatever are dead too. The rest will be cleaned up soon enough.”
“……!!!”
Finally realizing this situation was fully ‘reality,’ they jumped in shock.
“You must be wondering how such a thing is possible. How someone can do it so casually.”
Sion perched on the office desk and continued.
“A proper army is just a surplus group that eats money without producing anything. You all know that much. That’s why the August Barony hasn’t raised any real troops either. And the ones you’re relying on are the same.
Why spend money on an army when you can hire mercenaries or call in the kingdom’s forces? Even if you did, you could arm at most a few dozen—what use is that?”
“…”
“So they hold ridiculous things like mounted lance tournaments or swordsmanship contests to recruit half-wits who’ve never properly killed a man on the battlefield as knights, or drag in third-rate mercenaries from who-knows-where to make soldiers.
That’s right. The ones you relied on, the ones I killed today—they were exactly that. Fake killers. But I’m a real killer.”
Sion didn’t use his skill.
But the unique aura emanating from a ‘real’ one who had lived over a century, spending nearly half of it killing people or monsters, permeated the room—and the ordinary folk whose common sense had shattered today couldn’t withstand it.
Amid the growing wet stains between their legs and the protruding evidence of excretion at the back of their pants, Sion continued.
“Originally, I planned to let it slide quietly. Because you’re not worth the trouble. Believe it or not, to me, you’re just ants. No, ants might be too much?
Right, trees, grass, pebbles. That’s what it boils down to after living a long time. Anything outside of things to converse with or share emotions with loses all meaning.”
What is he saying right now?
We, born into prestigious families that have led trash for generations, are ants, trees, pebbles?
But they couldn’t dare ask.
The hollow expression of the ‘real killer,’ tinged with some regret in his face and eyes, couldn’t possibly belong to a man in his twenties.
“Kicking a pebble or pulling a weed because it bothers you on the road—that’s kid stuff, right? So normally, I don’t pay much attention.
But if a pebble trips your toe? If weeds keep blocking your view? Then you pull them, don’t you?”
Sion’s right hand blurred as he spoke expressionlessly. The dagger left his fingertips and embedded in someone’s chest.
“Guh! Guuuh…….”
August Baron’s second wife, Lady Baretti, looked down at her chest in disbelief, eyes widening, before slowly crumbling.
“That woman paid the price for crossing the line. And you will too if you cross it. Her maternal family, her mother’s family. Betisect Family, was it? Raise your hands if you’re from there.”
Three people tremblingly raised their hands.
“I can see her maternal family doing that—blood’s thicker than water. Even if her married daughter’s talking nonsense, she asks for help, so they come. They’ll get off easy. But not you.
Her mother’s family? Crawling from the central region all the way here—the reason’s obvious. Greed for a cut. Figured they had connections in the capital, no big deal.”
“Th-That’s…”
“Lie, and you die too.”
The noble from the Betisect Family who had bravely stepped forward clamped his mouth shut.
“So the Betisect Family pays the price. Take that woman’s wretched corpse. Tell your family head what happened here. And wait for him to come. Oh, I’m not going there.”
At that moment, as if on cue, someone slipped into the office.
A man who impassively scanned the scene—one with a cracked skull, another gushing blood from the forehead and dead—spoke.
“I’ve completed all your orders. Do we handle this place the same way as before?”
“Perfect timing. First, introduce yourself to these folks.”
“…You’re serious?”
With the king potentially involved, this needed to be certain, so Juang asked back without gauging Sion’s mood.
“Yeah. You asked me for a favor, right? I can probably settle it now, so introduce yourself first.”
The capable Secretary Juang immediately realized.
The immortal duke was declaring his full involvement in the king’s ‘succession’ issue.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Juang Teber, Second Secretary to His Majesty the King.”
Everyone’s eyes widened to the point of tearing.
“Juang.”
“Yes.”
“You know the Betisect Family?”
“Yes. The current lord, Baron Spiora Betisect’s third son is a Grade 2 Archivist in the capital’s military affairs department, and his youngest daughter married the military minister’s fifth cousin.”
The Betisect nobles were seeing Juang for the first time today.
But his immediate response to Sion’s question left no doubt—he was truly the king’s secretary.
“I’d like the Betisect Family to exist in name only within three months. At minimum, the current lord and his direct line should step down and never reach my ears again.”
“Understood.”
With that, the fate of the Betisect Family—who had sniffed around Duke Sion’s territory for a quick profit—was sealed.
“And send that pig corpse to Rundel. Personally.”
“I will.”
The office occupants felt their sanity slipping at this conversation—not only ruining an intact territory but casually mentioning Crown Prince’s uncle and capital powerbroker Count Rundel as if it were nothing.
It felt like a dream. One they never wanted to dream again in their lives, a nightmare.
But the buzzing of flies already swarming around the corpses through the window reminded them this was unmistakably reality.
(To be continued in the next installment)