Chapter 242
Chapter 242
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 242
Chapter Title: The Emperor's Eye
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The noble district of La Mertion was protected by extraordinarily stringent security. However, that didn't mean the nobles avoided using the sewers—quite the opposite. The aqueducts flowing in clean water and the sewers carrying waste out were twice as numerous here compared to other districts.
As such, the underground waterways leading to the heart of the noble district were tangled like a spider's web. Yet Ironside navigated them without hesitation, as if he had memorized every single passage.
-Splash.
The sewers didn't just carry polluted wastewater.
A sticky, slimy stench. A foul rot.
The reek of decaying corpses flowed alongside it.
A stench that made the soles of your feet itch and your head throb.
"Hmm..."
Blocking your nose and mouth with a hood wasn't enough to endure it. But everyone here was a demigod, a dragon, a knight, or Ironside.
Mythical beings, mages, or at least those who could wield mana in their flesh—they pressed on silently, dealing with the walkers as they went.
"Feels like we've become janitors."
"Why, isn't it a decent experience? When would a noble lord ever get to try something like this? Think of it as volunteer work."
"First off, I'm not a noble. Ironside."
-Slash.
The knight swung his sword, severing a walker's neck. He shook off the blade and continued.
"And don't talk to me first."
"So prickly. Hey, you lot holding up okay? Target's not far now."
"No need to worry about me. But... yes. It's foul."
Abel gazed bitterly at a corpse floating down the muck.
"The corpses we've handled number over forty. These walkers... those raised by vampires persist only until their bodies fully decay, so these must have been made at least a fortnight ago... Considering the winter in between, at least two or three months old."
"Yeah. Fresh kills."
"That means the one behind this atrocity has preyed on at least one life per day for those two or three months. Over a long period, methodically."
"...Probably."
Ironside closed his eyes briefly at Abel's words.
Abel placed her blade on the twitching corpse's forehead and slid it down smoothly.
The body spasmed shortly before going still. Abel let out a deep sigh and bowed her head.
"All creatures inevitably devour other lives to sustain their own existence. I don't deny that..."
Even for vampires.
Not all vampires drink human blood by choice, nor did they all become vampires willingly.
To borrow Fernandez's phrasing: yes, there's room for mitigation.
If it's for survival, skulking in the sewers beneath the sun in grief, occasionally feeding to endure. Tragic, but understandable.
The human guardian dragon acknowledged it wasn't so different from the sins humans commit.
A trait of the species. Like a lion hunting antelope—it's something to be managed, not hated.
However. These corpses... their blood is congealed and rotten. Their arms and legs bear deep gashes.
Not just from decay, but clear wounds inflicted in life, causing them to limp.
"Taking lives not for survival, but indulgence, mere pleasure... that's vile."
Abel withdrew her sword from the corpse's head. Her blue eyes blazed.
She shook off the blade and took the lead. Everyone followed quietly, overwhelmed by her presence.
* * *
Pausing beyond the iron bars, Ironside cautiously drew a lockpick.
With a click, the rusted grate swung open. A rush of hot air blasted out.
"From here, it leads to the lord's manor. Everyone, no telling what might happen. Stay sharp."
-Creeeak.
The decrepit door groaned open. A long corridor appeared, lit by flickering gloomy torches. The sharp tang of blood drifted through it.
-......
A faint sound echoed. From the corridor's midpoint, where small doors lined the walls, whispers leaked out.
No one here had senses duller than a commoner's. All paled.
At least five doors lined the hall, and from each came moans of agony and mad mutterings.
The knight cautiously opened one. It wasn't locked.
"Daddy's here. Hold Daddy's hand. Good girl. My girl."
A man, chained, sobbed as he fiddled with something small, murmuring.
Tendons bulged in the knight's hand. Rage seemed to paralyze his reason. At that moment, Ironside gripped his shoulder.
-Grrrr.
The knight ground his teeth and turned. His eyes were bloodshot. Ironside slowly shook his head.
"We can't save them all and escape. Our target is just the lord."
"You expect us to... ignore that sight?"
"Listen, Inner Circle lordling. Haven't we seen enough filth to numb our sensibilities?"
The Inner Circle of the Dane Kingdom wasn't so different from the Empire's Ironsides in essence. Assassinations, terror, political maneuvers, sabotage. Naturally, they handled the kingdom's dirtiest secrets themselves.
Thus, they had to grow numb to scenes that stripped away one's humanity. In an era where demons laughed beneath every shadow.
Turn your eyes away, get distracted for a moment—parents slaying children, children poisoning parents. All too commonplace.
Harsh exploitation, rampant bandits, spreading plagues, mad mages' experiments, assaults by other races and monsters.
In such a world, tenant farmers and serfs were utterly powerless. A common tragedy across the Eastern Kingdom Alliance's feudal systems.
So, one had to get used to it. At her words, the knight lowered his gaze and growled.
"What do we do here? If it's just reporting, we could head back now without issue."
"At least we take the lord's head. Need his skull as proof, right?"
Ironside said coldly. Mere eyewitness accounts couldn't spark war. But a vampire's head—especially the lord's—changed everything.
That would enable a crusade declaration. A lord's fall was no small matter; if a grand duke's, the impact would be immense.
Even without the Holy Pantheon's halo, the Dane Kingdom's Round Table Council held powerful precedents.
[Wandering War]. A war where nobles and royals set aside rank to fight as wandering knights. A pledge to devote themselves to justice beyond affiliation or status. A war unanimous among all Round Table Knights.
In this era, it was little more than a storied tradition—the last recorded one 400 years ago. Yet it dated back to founding Knight King Dane's first against the Buried Church.
"So that's why they asked us for support."
"Yeah. Honestly... you're right. King Vicente would declare a crusade over the slightest proof."
King Vicente's dominance over the Round Table surpassed typical feudal bounds. A living legend who had forged myth in his time, his knights were knights first, grand dukes second.
He who quelled the fallen witch's schemes, revived the legendary Buried Church, crushed the legions of undead. His prestige approached absolute monarchy, not feudal kingship.
His declaration of Wandering War would never be vetoed by the council. It was a scheme tailored after grasping all domestic politics. The knight sighed deeply.
'A plot exploiting His Highness's resolve. But... must I refuse?'
The knight's eyes fell on the chained man.
Beard and hair overgrown, face obscured, but his near-naked body was covered in scabbed scars.
Emaciated, frail frame clutching... a tiny hand. Severed cleanly, as if by something sharp.
The man trembled, murmuring.
"My girl. Don't cry. Don't cry... Scary uncles are coming... Daddy'll stay right here, don't cry."
Such whispers echoed through the entire corridor. Consistently, from every room. The wails of madness. The wails of those bereft of kin...
-Grrrr. The knight ground his teeth, gripping his sword hilt. He shoved Ironside aside roughly and strode forward. They walked much farther down the hall.
* * *
La Mertion's grand duke. Vermand de Bares. One of the Empire's eight electors, steadfast imperial loyalist from the emperor's enthronement to now.
He who gripped the Silk Road from the Eastern Kingdoms, amassed vast wealth, built power on gold. The man called the imperial treasury's vein.
"No guards from the palace for a guy like that?"
Ironside narrowed his eyes, traversing the lord's manor corridors. Even at deepest dawn, the utter lack of presence was eerie.
The mansion was impeccably maintained. Not a spiderweb, not a speck of dust. Marble and bronze landings and halls, covered in crimson carpet.
A mansion gilded in gold. Adorned with the empire's priciest luxuries from every region.
Ironside whispered as he tread carefully.
"Weird."
"A trap?"
"If they wanted to lure us, they wouldn't leave evidence in the basement. Why's no one here? The emperor wouldn't ignore this."
At that moment, Freya looked up abruptly. She tilted her head slightly and spoke.
"Ignore...?"
"What's wrong?"
"Ignoring... doesn't that seem off?"
Freya paused, tilting her head again.
"The people underground were abandoned."
"...What?"
"No signs they'd eaten in at least a week. Their stomachs were empty. The wounds on their skin were just festering from delayed healing as life ebbed—not fresh marks within a week."
The spring goddess narrowed her eyes.
She governed flower buds, spring winds, birth—and embraced the dead to forge them into Einherjar. No one was more attuned to the living span than she.
"For enjoying their torment as slaves?"
"Torture marks absent rules that out for now... but these are vampires. Even if food's plentiful, no one starves their livestock on purpose. They'd at least give thin oat gruel—anything to prolong life."
Even if kept as playthings rather than emergency rations, investing effort to capture, torture, then letting them starve was inefficient, pointless.
Freya said as much. Perhaps the northern mindset kept her from fixating on mere cruelty. She spoke of efficiency.
"A week..."
Ironside stroked his chin at her words. Then his eyes widened, and he flinched.
"I've been deployed to this region for a week."
"Stopped feeding from then?"
"They knew my movements in advance? Traitor inside? No, possible—betrayals always lurk... but why?"
The grand duke fleeing his domain? Leaving evidence behind?
Impossible. With a spy in Ironside ranks, assassinating arriving agents would suffice.
Then why...
"Is it certain the emperor would protect this city's lord?"
"Obviously."
"And the emperor foresaw your movements?"
"Probably."
Abel nodded, gripping her sword hilt. She glared coldly at the stairs above.
"The emperor blocks you, protects the lord—but if the lord's deeds can't be exposed, there's a card to play: a loyal assassin with firm personal convictions. One who disdains the lord's evils, exceptional in strength. I've seen such a one in the wilds. Know who?"
"...The Emperor's Eye."
Sun Spear, Darian Shrike. Empire's strongest. Emperor's Spear. Shiled's Chosen. Emperor's Hound...
The man who assassinated more imperial nobles than any in the last 50 Years' War.
"Come out and defend your actions."
As Abel spoke, the door to the upper corridor swung open.
A lavish parlor appeared. And with it, a thick blood reek.
Sticky... but unlike the sewers: the scent of fresh blood.
"Darian Shrike. Have you fallen too?"
"Such harsh words."
A sinister voice echoed. The group drew weapons, advancing slowly to the door. The parlor was painted in gore.
Corpses littered the floor. Servants' garb on bodies with single holes in chest or head, cooling coldly.
Amid them, two men.
A plump, pale middle-aged man in impeccable fine suit, and a youth with a gorgeously gleaming spear slung over his shoulder, gazing down.
"These wretches... I judged in the Empire's name."
"These..."
Fangs sharply protruded, claws as well. All corpses were vampires. That explained the mansion's lack of servants. Ironside eyed the fat middle-aged man coldly.
"Considering Duke Bares's crimes, the ones needing beheading aren't these pitiful victims. Darian."
"The duke's life belongs to His Imperial Majesty, who wishes it preserved a while longer."
"Why obey?"
Ironside glared sharply, clutching his sword hilt.
"You're a Shiled temple knight, Darian. Why heed a vampire?"
"If the Empire falls, more blood will flow."
Darian met her eyes. His bloodshot gaze burned like a wounded beast's.
"Even if unjust. Even if wrong, innocent blood must flow the least. Excising the Empire's rot? Follow the prince's plan, and the Empire ceases to be. War erupts, countless die."
Vampire predation stays personal. With church authority intact, vampires can't cross certain lines.
One man's evil spills less blood than a faction's war. Overlooking lesser harm to avert greater. Contrived peace for minimal casualties.
Which is right? What is justice?
Darian had no clear answer. His creed, like other temple knights', was 'peace for the innocent.' Not lingering by the emperor for power lust.
He had volunteered as the emperor's final safeguard. Even if the emperor fell, his deeds drew blood—but judging him would unleash vast tides.
Someone must watch the emperor within bounds not crossed. Witnessing the fallen ruler, Darian swore it. Body steeped in shame and filth, yet act toward good.
Thus, his spear—the Shiled relic, Sun Spear—still burned unquenched.
"The emperor is a necessary evil."
Even a cancer eating the Empire must be borne if excision kills the patient.
"No alternative, then."
"You... Fernandez's lover."
"You remember me?"
"Impossible to forget such a figure. Your presence means... he joined the prince after all."
Darian smiled bitterly. Perhaps he, who brutally crushed beastfolk, gathered fallen warlocks, charged great demons—might understand.
"Show me his face, and I'll turn a blind eye to your retreat."
"S-Sir Shrike! Those villains won't give up!!"
"Quiet."
Darian laid his spear tip on the trembling duke's nape.
"Go. Convey my will to your lord. And Abel—tell Fernandez I wish a private audience."
"When and where?"
"I'll come to him."