Chapter 20
Chapter 20
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: Reunion with Saliva
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“““Please take care out there, Master Damian.”””
With a send-off from the annex servants, Damian boarded the carriage. It wasn’t the ornate imperial carriage he usually used, but a plain one without any decorations.
He had only told the servants that he was heading off to a remote place for training. He didn’t suspect them or anything, but you never knew where rumors might leak from.
“Nothing left behind, right? The money, clothes, potions, emergency rations, and...”
“Anna, calm down. We already checked everything the day before. Besides, Byzantine is the largest city in the south. It’s no match for the capital, but you can find just about anything there.”
Unable to hide her excitement, Anna spoke up, and Felix, who was driving the carriage, leaned toward the window to chide her.
“Even so. It’s the first time you’ve left the annex for this long, young master. And you’ll be taking on adventurer work too.”
To Anna and Felix, he had said only that he’d be staying around Byzantine for a few months, taking on requests from the adventurer’s guild.
Neither of them worried much about it.
Byzantine’s public safety wasn’t bad, and more importantly, they knew Damian’s skills. They trusted he could handle most requests without issue.
Of course, Damian planned to head even farther south from Byzantine. His ultimate goal was Maidran, the hideout of the Hashashin.
No matter what, he couldn’t tell them that—not when the assassination attempt had only just happened. They’d both oppose it fiercely, obviously.
“Take good care of the annex while I’m gone.”
Damian put on the mask of “Eric Hilton” as he prepared to disembark. The annex was his residence, but it also housed guests visiting the imperial palace.
Anna and Felix were his maid and butler, but they also managed the annex. Damian had never really dealt with guests anyway, so they’d handle it fine.
“Don’t worry about us, young master.”
“If you get the chance, send us a letter or two~.”
The rare books he’d bought from collectors would arrive soon as well. He’d left their handling to the two of them.
In truth, only a few of those books were Books of Hell. The rest were for show.
After all, he was collecting them as a hobby, so he needed some old tomes on the bookshelf to avoid suspicion.
Even if he confessed his black magic to them, they’d keep the secret. But he didn’t want to burden them with it needlessly.
Damian got off a short distance from the warp gate management office.
It had been a long time since he’d traveled. Before his regression, he hadn’t left the annex for more than two days until the imperial palace terrorist attack.
After his first contract with the demon of Hellfire, Infernal, Damian had wandered the continent like a homeless dog.
In the process, he’d stumbled upon information about ancient tomes no one could read and formed contracts with more demons.
This new power called black magic had brought him fame, and Michael had proposed that he join him.
‘Michael... Rubia...’
His pre-regression travels had been less like journeys and more like aimless wandering, moving wherever his feet took him without purpose.
Not anymore. He had a clear goal now: revenge, ascending to the throne. This trip was preparation for that.
“Mr. Eric Hilton... Approved. The south has a different climate from the central continent, so prepare thoroughly.”
The paperwork check went smoothly. After paying the fee, the staff member guided him to the waiting area.
There, people like Damian, heading to the southern continent, lounged on cushy sofas.
A freshly published copy of Anytic lay on the table, but sadly, no one was paying it any attention yet.
Warp gates connected the capital to major cities in the east, west, north, and south.
Though they required massive mana stones to transport even one person, they could shrink journeys of weeks into mere seconds. Their strategic value was immeasurable.
Naturally, both sides in the civil war had fought bloody battles to secure them. Ironically, the result was the complete destruction of the warp gates.
“Hey, did you hear about what happened in the Taia Mountains?”
“Of course. Hashashin, of all things. The world’s getting dangerous.”
Two men sitting next to him were discussing the incident Damian had been involved in just recently.
Damian hadn’t spread the story himself, but an event like that was bound to get out eventually.
The Hashashin’s activities themselves hadn’t drawn much attention. They’d lurked in the continent’s shadows since their founding.
Countless people must have died to their daggers, but no one knew the exact number.
Hashashin never failed. They left no evidence. So Damian and Agnes’s survival was enough to draw all eyes.
Hashashin were strong. Damian had to expend an entire Book of Hell to deal with them.
But that was strength seen from the perspective of a predator. This time, Damian would be the hunter.
“Making it rain to counter fire magic? No one’s calling that bastard child an idiot anymore.”
“Even with lowborn blood mixed in, he’s still His Majesty’s son. It’s only natural.”
He wanted to shove a knife into both their throats, but Damian just sat there, arms crossed.
The duel with Arkin, the Arnesian cruise ship incident, and now the Taia Mountains assassination attempt.
After two years of foundational training, his rising activities had built him fame beyond compare to his past self at this time.
Both the as-yet-unformed reformists and orthodox factions would increasingly see him as a threat.
But they couldn’t even imagine it yet. That Damian’s goal was to crush them all and claim the throne.
“Next. Eric Hilton. Please step forward.”
Soon it was Damian’s turn. Following the staff’s guidance, he entered a cramped space barely big enough for one person.
Clunk. The door shut, and blue light rose from the floor. It quickly filled his vision.
It felt like a thin bolt of lightning struck from his toes to the crown of his head. Then his body jolted, and white smoke clouded his sight.
“Welcome to Byzantine, city of the scorching sun and hot sand winds. The jewel of the south, where sweet fruits ripen in abundance.”
As he followed the staff outside, sunlight as intense as the greeting hit him.
Though still some distance from the great desert, sand already crunched in his mouth.
The people looked different from those in the capital’s central region. Mostly dark-haired, with tanned skin from the sun.
Their clothes were loose and flowing, most wearing hats or hoods. Damian pulled a pre-prepared hood from his subspace pouch and draped it over his head.
“Cheap, cheap! Southern specialty, date palms!”
“Hey, young man! Check out this fabric. Perfect gift for a lover!”
“Newspaper! Get your newspaper! Taia Mountains assassination attempt! Culprit is Hashashin!”
Entering the market street, the merchants’ fervor—hotter than the sun—left him momentarily dazed.
Spotting him as a traveler, they swarmed to foist their wares. Pickpockets among them lunged too, but all ended up screaming with broken wrists.
A bit deeper past the market, a quiet residential area appeared.
Damian had several things to do in Byzantine, but meeting someone took top priority.
‘Is this the place?’
A two-story house of adobe walls, not brick. The weathered wooden door bore an engraved rose.
Wooden crates lined the stairs, sweet scents wafting from them. Probably dried fruits stored for market sale.
“Who’s there?”
Knocking brought a gravelly old voice.
The homeowner was an elderly woman, her face etched with wrinkles, but her sharp features suggested she’d been quite the beauty in her youth.
“Long time no see.”
Damian removed his mask as he spoke. Facing her not as Eric Hilton but as Damian Renekht, her eyes widened.
“...Come in.”
Regaining her composure, the woman guided him inside. Seated by the second-floor window, she brought warm tea and a few small cookies, sitting across from him.
“Mind if I...?”
She lifted a long pipe and asked. Damian nodded lightly, and she drew deeply, gazing out the window.
“Speak freely.”
Damian crunched a cookie and said. But she shook her head with a wry smile.
“You may be my daughter’s child, but you carry the imperial blood. How could I speak casually to your face?”
Damian’s maternal grandmother, Lirian, said as she tapped her pipe ash.
“She was a fool. Born with talents to captivate the masses, yet she tried to captivate one above them. Positions beyond one’s station turn to poison.”
Damian had met Lirian only once, at his mother’s funeral. She’d run a theater troupe back then and had cut ties after his mother’s scandal.
“But why seek an old woman like me? Hiding your identity, and so suddenly.”
Thud. Instead of words, Damian pulled a pouch of gold coins from his subspace pouch.
“Family affection? Do you feel that for the grandmother who left cursing my wretched daughter?”
It wasn’t just that. Before his regression, he’d owed Lirian his life. This was repaying that debt.
She treated him coldly, like he had no familial bond, but that wasn’t her true feelings.
Even if she deceived herself that way, Damian knew the truth beneath.
“It’s not just a gift. I need to stay here a few days and ask some favors too.”
That wasn’t a lie either. He needed Lirian’s help.
“That much gold could buy this house outright, but I won’t refuse. Things have been tight lately.”
“First, I need to find someone. Sky-blue hair...”
Crash! Suddenly, crashing sounds erupted from below. Looking out the window, a few kids were smashing crates and grabbing the fruits inside.
“You idiot! I told you not to!”
“No, you idiot! The old lady here’s senile—she won’t say shit even if we steal!”
“Run for it! Go, go!”
Five kids stuffed whatever they could and bolted down the alley. As Damian donned Eric Hilton’s mask and rose, Lirian stopped him.
“It’s fine. Catching them won’t gain anything. Besides, that sky-blue hair...”
“No. I need to see her face.”
Damian leaped out the window, landing from the second floor. He pursued the kids’ trail. His sprint drew occasional screams from passersby.
“Sh-shit! What the hell’s chasing us!”
“Split up! Split!!”
At a fork, the kids scattered. Half the fruits dropped mid-chase, but the young thieves had no time to care.
Damian sought only one. Younger than before, but that sky-blue hair was unmistakable.
Crunch. He formed a foothold with black magic—Stone Scales—on the building wall and climbed to the roof.
They darted through alleys to shake him, but from the high ground, it was pointless.
“Eek!”
He hopped rooftops, closing in. For wide gaps, Stone Scales made platforms for leaps.
Realizing Damian targeted him, the thieving boy cursed and took massive strides like an acrobat.
It looked like aura at a glance, but Damian knew it was clumsy flight magic.
“Gah! Let—let go! I—I was just doing what they told me!”
But it wasn’t enough to escape Damian. Grabbing the boy’s nape, he flailed like a lamb to slaughter.
“Saliva.”
“...What’s that, mister? You know me too?”
Descendant of a traitor. Magic Knight Saliva.
A guerrilla comrade who’d roamed battlefields with Damian in the past—until the final moment, when they were both beheaded together.