Chapter 58
Chapter 58
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 58
Chapter Title: Into the Fourth Ward
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Deep in the night, long before dawn broke.
There was another place where the darkest things converged.
Wayne's Fourth Ward Protection Zone, decried as the vilest spot in the city, reeked of decay right from its entrance. Half-naked beggars and vagrants, stinking of heavy intoxication, lay sprawled across the sticky ground where snow had yet to fully melt.
The cigar smoke mingled with a sharp, acrid scent—a sure sign you'd entered the Fourth Ward Protection Zone.
Dever strode right through its heart.
"What the...? Ain't this some fancy noble lord?"
It wasn't until he'd reached the deepest alley that a sober soul appeared. The man, with yellowed front teeth and gaps here and there, fancied himself the local boss of the Fourth Ward.
He eyed the well-dressed noble up and down. Even shrouded in shadow, it was clear this was no ordinary man.
"Heh heh, what brings a lord like you here in the dead of night...?"
The man dragged out his words, squinting slyly. His shrewd eyes gleamed from beneath matted hair.
His quick mind, sharp from years of scheming, told him a massive payday had just walked in.
Baring his stained yellow grin, he tested the noble's temper. He knew a little prodding often made cautious aristocrats squirm—and spill more coin.
"You do know what kinda place this is, right, m'lord?"
Something whistled through the silent darkness in response.
The man snatched it mid-air, catching the moonlight glint. A cufflink embedded with a blue sapphire. The matching one followed right after.
Dever straightened his disheveled cuffs.
"That's the down payment."
A jingle rang out, and something else arced through the air.
"That's for your life."
Life price? The man's gleeful grin at the sapphire cufflinks twisted into confusion.
Folk came here for shady requests—never anything pure. Usually to off someone quietly or cripple them for good. Jobs that demanded a king's ransom and deadly silence.
That's why they always hid their faces.
Not like this noble, boldly showing his.
"Look closer."
An oppressive shadow loomed over the man.
His brows twitched. The lazy glint in his eyes sharpened, leisure vanishing.
Were there nobles besides imperial kin who carried such menace? No golden imperial hair, but ash-gray locks.
Ash-gray hair...?
"C-Cliff?"
Dever emerged slowly from the shadows, nodding at the watch in the man's filthy grip. It gleamed ash-gray, just like the duke's.
"Sell it rashly, and you'll blow your cover on dealing with me. No one in Nexus but me has a watch like that."
He added kindly, by way of explanation.
"Means loose lips get you killed."
The power dynamic flipped in an instant.
"Then why not stay hidden in the dark and yap from there?!"
The hardened vet lashed out at Dever instead. The noble couldn't dirty his own hands, so he'd come crawling here. In these deals, you never handed over the upper hand easy—that was his desperate play.
But it was a miscalculation.
His opponent was Dever.
A mere alley boss in this den of vice knew nothing of Duke Cliff's true caliber.
"Remember me. Fail to bring the one I want, and I'll come hunting you myself."
Dever leaned against the wall, lighting a cigar. His gaunt cheeks hollowed as he drew deep on the harsh smoke.
"Kuh! Kek!"
The man coughed and scowled as the exhaled plume hit him square.
"Get caught fencing what I gave you at the border, and I'll rip your limbs off and feed 'em to the mongrels in this alley."
Dever continued calmly.
"Every last junkie under you, too."
The narrow, dim alley's only light was the cigar's flickering ember, teetering on extinction.
"What proof you got I make the stuff? You think you can sell me out?!"
Drug trafficking and production were the Fourth Ward's lifeblood. Running errands felt like child's play next to the fat profits. Touch that, and the man flushed with rage.
"Beat it! I don't need this deal!"
"You've stayed alive this long 'cause your Nexus noble clients kept their mouths shut, right?"
"...!"
"I'm about to crash and burn hard. My sleazy rep'll spread like wildfire. With my backlog of sins, folks'll say Dever Cliff's finally lost it for real. And they'll dig for why."
Dever smirked, drawing deep on the cigar again. Stray forelocks veiled his eyes.
"So I'll tell His Majesty I bought Nexus's taboo drugs right here in this alley. Sound like a solid plan?"
"You think you'll walk away from that?! Even a duke'd swing for treason!"
"Doesn't matter."
The cigar hit the ground, crushed under his shoe.
"I could rot in prison my whole life and die on the block—wouldn't care."
Madness flashed in Dever's eyes.
The man's face twisted in horror at the duke's glare. He'd thought a big fish had swam in—turns out it was a monster come to collar him.
"Wh-who'm I lookin' for?"
His bluster crumbled in a heartbeat.
Sweat slicked his palms; the watch and cufflinks kept slipping.
"Beth Jens."
Dever murmured.
The name soothed his mouth smoother than the bitter smoke.
"Every Beth Jens in Nexus. Not a single one missing."
"That's a dime-a-dozen name! Gimme hair color at least!"
The man griped again, but it was a plea laced with desperation. Fail to find this noble's Beth Jens, and who knew what hell would rain down.
Dever didn't flinch at the panicked shout.
"Doesn't matter."
Hair color or not.
She'd fled already—no way she'd parade her old look. She'd hack off those flowing locks or dye 'em any which way. Hiding was easy.
Still, if that face lost its night-sky black mane... it'd sting a little.
"Scour Nexus from the gutters to the spires. Leave no stone unturned. One month deadline."
Back home, Dever slipped seamlessly into Duke Cliff's duties, as if he'd never left.
He scoffed at the rumors painting him as a war-mad fool blind to the world, keeping the boardroom on edge daily.
Some grumbled he was pickier in business than old Cassius ever was—but his profits and results shut them up fast.
His surging arms trade dovetailed with the battlefield rumors he'd spun, gradually quelling the gossip. Eventually, most dismissed it as idle chatter.
Dever Cliff and love? Absurd. A heartbroken duke pining for his vanished lady? After that breakdown? That man who unflinchingly toppled his ancient house's empire in a blink?
People snorted. And thirsted harder for Dever.
Suitors flooded Dever Manor daily, but he received none in the parlor.
"Your Grace, Count Ronald's carriage is at the gate."
"Did we have an appointment?"
Dever turned a newspaper page, sipping tea in crisp shirt sleeves. His thick brows arched slightly, prompting.
"No, sir."
"Then it's rude."
Dever dismissed it neatly—no prior appointment meant impudent.
But the butler knew it was just an excuse. Even with one, his master wouldn't let outsiders' feet sully the house.
It was fastidiousness, and excessive self-defense against trauma. Especially since the war's end—it had deepened.
"I've redone the parlor for the coming spring."
A polite nudge to entertain guests in the new space.
"Good work."
Glancing from his paper, Dever eyed the window. Bare branches outside, but eager buds dotted them, swelling prematurely.
"The room I asked for—it's sorted?"
"Nearly done. Just wondering on bedding and furniture colors for the lady's room."
"Colors..."
Beth Jens's colors.
"Sky blue."
"Understood. Matches the spring sky nicely. I'll commission the same decorator who did the late Cliff ladies' quarters."
The usually terse butler sounded almost excited—a rarity.
Then, a knock. A servant handed the butler a thick envelope at the door.
"Mail, sir."
Far bulkier than the usual society ball invites or men's club summons. Cheap paper, crudely wrapped—that was it.
Hardly fit for a duke's manor.
"Leave me."
Dever set the paper aside.
Exactly one month since his Fourth Ward visit. No word by his next outing, and he'd hunt the wretch himself. Lucky bastard had a long thread of fate.
A wad of yellowed paper spilled from the torn envelope.
Listed densely: every Beth Jens with age, origin, marital status. Some just "Beth," no surname.
Dever's eyes raced over the sheets.
Silence in the study, broken only by rustling pages.
His tireless gaze halted.
Beth / 23 / Brent Protection Zone / Unmarried
Protection Zone: Nexus's official euphemism for red-light districts rife with brothels and trafficking.
"Brent..."
Dever murmured the familiar name.
Cliff Family territory.