The Patriarch is Dead
“The patriarch... is dead? What kind of bullshit is that?!”
“What's so strange about dying? Anything alive eventually kicks the bucket. Even that bastard who was bitching at you just moments ago is a corpse now.”
Skutum glanced at Kelop's slumped body at Adel's words.
“That's not the same thing. The Ardragon tribe inherited the blood of dragons. We have tougher bodies than humans, and our skin resists magic too.”
“So?”
“...What?”
“You—with your tough body and magic resistance—just lost to me.”
Skutum's face twisted at Adel's words.
“You're right. Ardragons are strong against physical attacks and can endure magic. But you all have weaknesses too.”
Adel pulled the poisoned needle from Kelop's corpse—embedded in his neck.
“Poison and curses.”
“...”
“You inherited dragon blood, but you're not dragons. Your exterior might be tough like theirs, but inside, you're not much different from humans.”
“I still can't believe it. The patriarch is the finest warrior in the White Fang tribe. For him to be murdered without anyone knowing? And then issue orders to us as a corpse? That's ridiculous.”
“It adds up.”
Skutum flinched. Adel's unshakeable certainty made his shoulders tremble faintly.
“That's how the Forgotten Ones operate.”
Step by step, Adel approached him.
“Beast tamer Bran. Among the Forgotten, he's the one who wields poison and curses best. Even a White Fang patriarch would be helpless against his arts.”
Adel wiggled his fingers, as if tugging the strings of a puppet.
“He's no necromancer summoning graveyard undead. He manipulates intact corpses like puppets.”
Leaning close to Skutum's ear, Adel whispered softly.
“When he gave you orders, he was already dead. Imagine marching here to carry out commands spat from a mouth flapping without a will of its own.”
“I... don't believe it.”
Skutum ground his teeth. The thought of the patriarch he'd faced being a corpse made bile rise in his throat.
“Believe it or not, that's your problem. But if he isn't a puppet, I'll stake my neck on it. Come find me anytime. I'll hand it over.”
“...”
Skutum's eyes wavered at Adel's words.
“Skutum, unlike that idiot, you seem to have some guts. That's why I spared you instead of him.”
Adel pointed at Kelop's body.
“Keep this between us. Handle it quietly. Use Kelop's death as an excuse to head back. Go verify it.”
“Verify... what?”
“Bran's beast-taming isn't perfect yet. In half a year, even a dead body starts rotting. To prevent that, he installs a special device at the nape of the neck.”
“...”
“Check for a small thing the size of a finger joint. If it contains a tiny worm called a corpse bug, it's over.”
“...You'll answer for those words. You killed the third son of the White Fangs. I know your precious rules.”
Crunch. Skutum rose on his mangled legs.
“What are you waiting for? Retrieve Lord Kelop's body!”
“Yes, sir!!!”
Blood still poured from the hole in his thigh.
“A life for a life. You'll pay for killing him.”
Adel smirked at Skutum's retreating back.
“A life for a life... Nice words. I wonder how the White Fangs' hundred thousand souls will repay the debt they owe me.”
“...”
Skutum's step faltered as he gripped the broken door handle, then resumed.
“Hmmm...”
In the empty room left by the departing Ardragons, the stench of blood lingered. Adel leaned against the wall, looking a bit fatigued.
“Was killing Kelop a bit much?”
He'd done it himself, but a nagging unease lingered.
[Who knows? I don't know the guy, but killing someone just for being a moron isn't right.]
Whoosh... From the shadows, Kalderet emerged. He stood where Kelop's bloodstained corpse had been.
[But I don't think you're the type to murder without reason.]
“Is that supposed to be comfort? Thanks.”
[Hmph, I'm no god of mercy or kindness. Spare me the sappy talk. I just stated the truth.]
Kalderet scraped the floor idly in response.
[Want me to guess why you killed Kelop?]
“Why?”
[He sold his father's life to the Forgotten Ones, right?]
“...”
Adel gave no reply, but the bitter smirk tugging at his lips was affirmation enough.
[Sure, there could be reasons. Jealousy of his brilliant brothers... Or greed for a twisted throne.]
[Killing his own father over mere greed?]
“What's wrong with that? In back alleys, people kill for a loaf of bread.”
Adel responded to Garon's skeptical tone.
[Motive doesn't matter. What counts is he sold out his tribe to the Forgotten Ones.]
“In his previous life, yeah. It wasn't just freeing Kaztan's Balrocs.”
[No way...]
“Yeah. That moron opened the Maze Hajatum. Seven Balrocs burst into the world—worse than any war in the central nine kingdoms.”
[Insane.]
“It's his past life, but unleashing Kaztan's Balrocs shows his mind hasn't changed.”
[Hmm... He could be a potential criminal, but freeing those Balrocs alone justifies death.]
Adel nodded.
“One mystery remains: how did Kaztan's rider die?”
Kaztan's beast tamers were no pushovers, especially the riders armored head to toe in treasures. Kelop couldn't have handled one.
[White Fang warriors helped. That Skutum had decent skill.]
Adel shook his head.
“Impressive for a high dragon rider, but at best a grade-2 knight. Sword Expert level. Not enough for a Kaztan rider.”
[Hmm...]
“Likely outside help. Nine times out of ten, the Forgotten Ones.”
[If he's tangled with them, he might've introduced Bran to the patriarch.]
“Possible. They target mental gaps, like the weak and jealous.”
[If Skutum checks and believes you, it'll come out. But the beasts closing in are the priority.]
“Yeah. It's gonna be a long night.”
The cloudless night sky let moonlight flood the room clearly. Plenty of time before dawn.
Late night. The market, usually bustling till dawn with deals, lay deserted after the day's chaos.
“You really came.”
Sagael, standing before the sand palace's gates—a massive building with a red roof overlooking the market—chuckled in disbelief at Adel's bold approach.
“Sorry I'm a bit late.”
“Yeah. Coming to the Sand Palace at this hour... They say you're the son of the White Ghost, but you're fearless.”
“Well... had some business. No need to fear if you've done nothing wrong.”
“Even for a near-human, you committed murder. And you did nothing wrong?”
“Self-defense.”
Adel met Sagael's gaze.
“He drew steel on me. Market or alley, that makes it a battlefield for me.”
“...”
“Funny hearing you—you who smashed countless enemy commanders' heads—quibble over right and wrong.”
“Hah, well...”
Sagael muttered awkwardly at Adel's unflinching retort.
“Looks like the White Ghost raised a kid sharp with words, not just swords.”
“Doubt it. Desert hunters don't hand out licenses just for signing up like mercenaries.”
“What? Haha...”
He shook his head, conceding.
“You live on the edge. Normally, my spear would've pierced your throat by now... But the Storm King heard of today's mess and took an interest in you.”
“Is that so?”
Adel smiled, his reaction as expected.
'Allied with the White Fangs or not, he wouldn't welcome them in his territory.'
This commotion might even be welcome. News of a White Fang warrior's death could delight him.
“If he's that interested, the news I brought might shock him into fainting.”
“Save the jokes. Come in. The Storm King ordered me to bring you personally.”
“Honored to have the Smasher's guidance.”
“Haha, he means keep an eye on you.”
Sagael laughed at Adel's cheek.
“This way.”
He led to the top floor. Below teemed with mercenaries hunting jobs. No guards like in a normal castle—this was the Storm King's Crimson Banner mercenaries. The Sand Palace buzzed differently from a king's fortress: freewheeling, yet Adel's every step drew swift, tracking gazes.
'As expected of the Crimson Banner elites.'
They didn't hide their killing intent like trained knights. To an ordinary person, just entering might choke them—each felt like a beast.
'Even in the past life's continental conquest, no place gave Zen Kingdom as much headache.'
Zen dispatched mercenaries across the central nine kingdoms' wars without conquest ambitions. But when Azal subdued the others and hit Zen last, it faced its toughest fight.
'Honestly surprising. Mercenaries are usually rated below knights. But among the nine, Zen excels in combat and tactics.'
True mercenary prowess. They seemed reckless, but pulled off fights knights couldn't.
'Among central kingdoms able to check Azal, Zen's the prime candidate.'
Thus, allying with the Storm King was pure gain. Adel saw this meeting as the perfect start.
Creeeak—The lower floors crawled with mercenaries, but this one was empty when the door opened.
'No need for guards here.'
Its occupant outmatched all Crimson Banners combined.
[This... is impressive.]
Kalderet addressed the man gazing out the window at the room's center.
[Adel, I thought your father was a beast, but compared to him, nothing. Primordial energy crammed into a human body.]
If Haien Temir was a razor blade, Lugal Shazan was massive iron. A presence that could pulverize foes.
'High praise from you.'
[Calling the strong strong isn't praise. Just fact.]
Adel nodded in agreement. This man earned even a god's recognition as a warrior.
“Lugal.”
He introduced himself plainly. No more needed—anyone on the continent knew the name.
“So you're the one who stirred up the market.”
He grinned at Adel.
Adel eyed the outstretched hand, then shook it.
Twitch. Adel's shoulder instinctively quivered. Fitting for a continental powerhouse—different from Haien's aura. But that was it. Unlike his first meeting with Haien, it was mere tension, not fear.
'Not bad.'
Excitement bordering on thrill. Proof of his growth.
“Adel Temir.”
His mind had long surpassed powerhouses, and now even his instincts stood fearless before them.
“I once told my father something similar.”
“...Hm?”
Lugal eyed him with interest, unshaken by his pressure.
“The real commotion starts now.”
Adel turned to the window.
“Tomorrow, I head to the Cove with Leviathan Guild. Half a day till dawn.”
“And?”
He faced Lugal.
“Half a day is enough to rewrite history.”