Chapter 62
Chapter 62
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 62
Chapter Title: Crimson Locks
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Though their individual thoughts and feelings may have differed, on the surface, Princess Isabel Aslan's coming-of-age ceremony had concluded splendidly.
Unlike in previous years, this royal event provided ample time for the envoys from various nations to find satisfaction.
It was a banquet that included none other than the princess's own coming-of-age rite, stretching on far longer than usual.
That meant plenty of time to negotiate and align their mutual interests.
Of course, not everyone felt that way.
Some reveled in joy at achieving their goals, while others scowled at how events had unfolded contrary to their plans.
One by one, they began preparations to return to their homelands.
Elder Lühen, the Elemental Maestro, casually gathered up the gifts offered by the foreign envoys and ordered the apprentice mages to sort them meticulously.
These weren't mere bribes.
These gifts would transform into the driving force behind the Mage Tower fulfilling their commissions.
A proud institution like the Mage Tower could never accept gifts and then ghost them—that simply wasn't an option.
Ah, but of course, the Mage Tower wasn't the only one carting off valuables.
Kuung!
A thick stack of documents slammed down onto the desk with a resounding thud.
"Captain, that's the last of the paperwork."
"Commissions paid?"
"All accounted for. The wagons are about to burst at the seams."
"Good work, everyone."
Whether it was the lasting impression of his exchange with Elder Lühen or a change of heart from initially keeping their distance from the martial clan, people had gradually approached Ian one by one.
Thanks to that, Ian had secured a fair number of commissions through this royal banquet.
These commissions would later be assigned back at the clan to the various strike teams according to their levels.
'Still, they at least saved face.'
Compared to Alex coming in person, it was laughably inadequate, but Ian didn't mind much.
You couldn't fill your belly on the first sip, after all.
Besides...
'Most of the big commissions worth the clan's attention seem to have come in.'
Those bearing the more substantial ones apparently still didn't fully trust Ian and never broached the subject.
But Ian stopped dwelling on it.
His private meeting with Demure the night before, and everything else—it all pointed to Paon aiming to mend ties with the royals.
'Handing over the task of dealing with suspicious elements in the capital to me specifically...'
No matter how much the royals claimed not to handle the kingdom's military affairs directly.
Resorting to borrowing the martial clan's hand even for intruders within the capital?
A ruling house governing a nation couldn't possibly be that feeble.
Yet they entrusted him with the mission anyway—it strongly felt like they were handing him a chance to earn merits.
'Whatever the case, it works out perfectly for me.'
He'd already been in a bind after unexpectedly offending Princess Isabel, so there was no reason to turn down a stage laid out by the king himself.
"Ugh, seriously, do these guys have zero talent in their massive territories or what? Why keep dumping commissions on us instead of handling their own crap?"
"Hey, as long as it lines our pockets."
No matter what Ian truly thought, his squad members gaped in awe at the mountain of commissions piled on the desk, clicking their tongues in amazement.
When had they ever seen such a haul of incoming requests at the clan?
They'd been too busy following orders from above.
They'd probably never know just how many people in the world longed for others to handle tasks they couldn't do themselves.
Not that they needed to, anyway.
'Anyway, external business seems wrapped up.'
Time to prepare for the real commissions.
"Alright, that's everything—let's kick back for a bit!"
Thud!
Ralph's back was halted just as he aimed to flop onto the sofa amid the paperwork stacks.
"Huh? W-what? Why...?"
Ignoring Ralph's question, which carried a hint of unease, Ian issued his orders calmly.
"Everyone, grab your weapons. We've got somewhere to be."
The leisurely outing was over.
It was time to start some truly 'martial clan'-worthy work.
The banquet had ended with many distinguished guests departing satisfied.
But wasn't it truly ironic?
The protagonist of that very banquet, Isabel Aslan, hadn't enjoyed it one bit.
"Haa..."
Isabel let out a long sigh, her delicate eyes stubbornly furrowed without any sign of relaxing.
Her birthdays had always left a bitter aftertaste, but never had she felt this utterly wretched before.
Isabel knew full well.
How she was treated among the people from the martial clan and the Mage Tower.
She had persistently raised objections to them, earning the infamous label of a spoiled royal brat tarnishing the wise Aslan royal house.
She harbored no regrets over her actions.
As a result, those who had swaggered through the capital Shurton like it was their own backyard had started minding their manners.
That was enough for Isabel.
As long as they stopped disrespecting the royals.
She had thought that wretched inferiority complex of hers would ease up a little.
But it was all a delusion.
Neither the martial clan nor the Mage Tower saw her as someone worth genuine caution—they respected nothing of the royal dignity.
They simply yielded and sidestepped because tangling with this one woman spelled trouble.
Facing that truth head-on made Isabel feel even more pathetic and small.
'Ian Lichtenauer...'
Biting her soft lips, Isabel recalled the martial clan's Second Young Lord.
A man once derided as half-wit.
No—a man who had disguised himself as one.
His conversation with Elder Lühen, and the way she'd secretly observed him mingling with various envoys afterward.
He could never be a half-wit.
Yet he had hidden his claws beneath that stigma for so long.
That was why she had tried to sound him out.
With a common enemy in Eldest Young Lord Alex, perhaps they could align their goals.
But another miscalculation on her part.
Even a man extraordinary enough to humble himself for years showed zero interest in allying with the royals.
That fact struck her as profoundly humiliating.
Knock, knock!
"...?"
A knocking sound echoed from beyond the door into Isabel's troubled ears.
"...Princess, it's me. You haven't eaten all day... I brought some snacks."
It was her nursemaid.
Someone who'd known her since childhood—she'd surely guess how utterly depressed Isabel was right now.
"...Not hungry. Take it away."
But what could be done? Isabel's mood was too foul to accept even the nursemaid's kindness.
"......"
No response came to Isabel's cold dismissal.
Only the careful sound of something being set down, followed by retreating footsteps.
The nursemaid knew.
Talking at length to her like this would only deepen their mutual distress.
"......"
With a brief sigh, Isabel cracked the door open to find a neat basket containing a sandwich and something to drink.
Alongside a small note.
-Princess, no matter what others say... To people like us, the Aslan royal house is prouder than any other family.
The nursemaid must have written it to comfort her turmoil.
But even that fell short of soothing Isabel's emotions right now.
"...Now even the nursemaid pities me."
She could only twist everything through her victim complex.
"Haa..."
Eventually, Isabel reached for the sandwich her nursemaid had made.
It tasted good, but her troubled heart refused to settle.
After forcing down one sandwich, Isabel opened her wardrobe.
She pulled out her favorite night-walking attire and robe, slipping them on.
At times like this, what always soothed her was a nocturnal outing beyond the castle walls.
The princess's coming-of-age rite had ended in the royal palace, but that was merely palace affairs.
In the capital Shurton, the lingering revelry kept the drinking and dancing going late into the night in spots here and there.
In stark contrast to Shurton's bright, sleepless city vibe, the outskirts felt heavier than usual.
Just a few days prior, a massacre had unfolded that ordinary Shurton citizens knew nothing about.
The slums' residents kept their doors bolted day and night, avoiding all外出.
In a place where the only visitors were royal informants...
... Step!
Strangers had returned to the slums.
"Hmm... The Third Prince said it was definitely around here."
Glancing around!
A man with a sword and blade of differing lengths at his waist muttered as he scanned the surroundings.
Then, the man with a massive blade on his back corrected him.
"The prince said earlier it was a bit further in, Captain."
"Oh, right?"
Though doors were shut tight, wary gazes pierced from everywhere.
It was only natural.
Just days ago, unfamiliar outsiders had rampaged through the area.
If not for the weapons they visibly carried, bricks might have flown their way—the air hung thick with tension.
But regardless of the slum dwellers' sentiments, Ian and his crew pressed silently toward the scene of the incident.
They'd faced far worse than the crude killing intent of slum rats.
How long had they walked?
"Captain, over here!"
Sylvia Clonen called out to Ian from the rear as his group scouted around.
"Hm? What is it, Sylvia?"
Instead of answering Ian's question, Sylvia pointed to a spot.
Where her fingertip directed.
Traces of erasure remained, but a blackened bloodstain lingered.
"Captain, found another one here too!"
Soon, Dane spotted yet another from a bit farther away.
At least five meters from where Ian and Sylvia stood.
"...Well, now."
Ian's eyes gleamed at the discovery.
'The royals said they'd investigate... and it seemed like one person's doing.'
Sweep!
He scanned the ground around the bloodstain.
Every martial art's foundation lay in the lower body.
Especially the feet.
Footprints inevitably bore the marks of one's martial prowess.
'Let's see... There.'
Fortunately, no recent rain, and no slum dwellers eager to visit a slaughter site—it wasn't hard to find traces.
'Not heel, but a forceful twist from the ball of the foot. Meaning a single strike massacred all the slum folk...'
A martial art capable of covering five meters in an instant.
Ian's mind raced, drawing from the countless martial styles he'd studied to forge the Blood Demon Iron Chain Art.
Narrowing it down to suspects.
'Clonen Shadow House's whip arts...? No. Khan Empire's iron mace? Nah, the blood splatter wouldn't be this minimal. So, thin, slender weapon... Damn.'
One culprit crystallized in Ian's mind.
"Captain, Captain! Some kid's looking for you!"
Just then, Ralph snapped Ian from his thoughts.
"...?"
Sweep!
Turning, he saw a grubby-clothed child hesitantly approaching.
"U-um... Are you... from the royals...?"
"Yes, we're from the Lichtenauer Clan. And who might you be?"
Gently probing the frightened child yielded big, teary eyes.
"S-sniff! M-my friend... he died unjustly... H-hic! P-please, mister. Help my friend... Waaah!"
Hearing 'Lichtenauer Martial Clan' must have eased the tension.
Helena softly embraced and soothed the bawling child, who eventually calmed and recounted the day's events in bits and pieces.
"I-it was the first time anything like that happened... A-adults tried to take our stuff, but suddenly there was this noise... The grown-ups in the house said never to look outside no matter what, but my friend got curious and peeked... a-and they said he died..."
'Eliminated the witness, huh.'
"Where was your friend's house?"
At Ian's question, the child quietly pointed to one home.
"Th-there... G-grown-ups won't let anyone near..."
Probably to avoid retaliation if they stepped wrong, keeping everyone away from the start.
Creeeak!
Opening the rickety door revealed a stark contrast to the outside—bloodstains congealed everywhere.
Unlike the exterior, cleaned to avoid inciting slum terror, they'd preserved it intentionally for precise clues.
"......"
"...Bastards."
"What kind of scum...?"
Fury rose in the eyes of Ian's squad as they followed him inside.
Smashed tables in chunks, scattered corpse fragments.
As a house guarding the kingdom, they couldn't stay calm at such a sight.
Sweep!
Helena quietly covered the child's eyes.
It was too gruesome for a young one.
"......"
Ian approached what seemed the child's corpse and carefully lifted it.
A long, thin slice like filleted meat.
Setting the body down, Ian plucked a strand of hair from the congealed blood on the table.
Tap, tap!
Brushing off the blackened scab revealed a long, red lock reflecting in Ian's eyes.
"...It's confirmed."
The fiend behind this incident.
Perhaps someone I know.