Chapter 23
Chapter 23
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: The Traitor's Heir
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-I'm Saliba the Magic Knight. The descendant of that famous traitor. Nice to meet you, Captain Damian.
A young man with sky-blue hair like the open heavens.
Even as he openly revealed his own shame without reservation, there wasn't a shadow on his face.
Only later did I realize there were indescribable emotions hidden within.
Damian remembered the day he first met Saliba.
They had already heard much about each other. It was a time when they were both active in the reformist faction.
Damian had joined at Michael's urging, while Saliba had entered the civil war to retrieve his sister sold into a brothel.
-I have only one family member. If I can save her, I'd stake my life on it hundreds of times over.
Ironically, the one holding Saliba's sister Shea's well-being was Imur, one of the reformist faction's executives.
Normally, Saliba should have sided with the orthodox faction, not the reformists. No matter what, he couldn't go to battle alongside his enemy.
But he couldn't join the orthodox faction either. It was because of his origins as the descendant of a traitor.
The orthodox faction, formed mainly by noble houses, was extremely picky about applicants' backgrounds. The reformists, on the other hand, were not.
Imur, from the Byzantine underworld, was boldly serving as an executive, after all.
Therefore, Saliba needed to rack up solid achievements. To reclaim Shea using Michael's authority.
For such a Saliba, the creation of the guerrilla unit was a definite opportunity.
Even if the feats earned while dancing on the edge of death weren't officially recognized, he could receive compensation from Michael accordingly.
From the start, everyone who volunteered for the guerrilla unit had clear goals. And the only one who could fulfill those goals was the Emperor above all.
Damian, on the other hand, had none of that. Back then, he was no more than a leaf tossed about by the strong winds.
He had simply taken the position of guerrilla captain because Michael asked him to, because it could end the war a little sooner.
-Let's meet up sometimes, Captain Damian.
That was the last conversation he had with Saliba. When they met again, only their heads remained, paraded in the square and reviled by the foolish masses.
I wonder if he ever met Shea, or if Shea even survived. At this point, it was a fact of little meaning.
"I want to get... stronger."
"So why do you want to get stronger?"
Saliba couldn't hide his uncharacteristically flustered expression.
It wasn't that he had no greed for magic. Those who awaken their talent always crave the next step.
Before his regression, Saliba had a clear goal. Now, he didn't. Shea wouldn't be sold into a brothel.
It was possible to let the two live comfortable lives. Even without anything in return for Damian, he could do that much out of past ties.
But as a sponsor investing in Saliba's talent, that was a different matter. There needed to be a definite return.
So Saliba needed a personal goal. Not as intense as Damian's revenge, but a reason to stake his life and his entire existence on.
"Th-that's..."
Saliba bit his lower lip and averted his gaze. There was surely some reason, but he couldn't easily speak it in front of Eric.
An ordinary face if ordinary. But looking into Eric's eyes felt like sinking into a dark night sea.
Just as with his unique fighting style, this alien power pressed down on Saliba. He couldn't fool him with petty lies.
"Saliba..."
Shea placed a light hand on her brother's shoulder, looking somewhat pitying at his state.
Shea was just as flustered. She had endlessly asked others to take her brother as a disciple, but only received cold stares in return.
She had never dreamed things would unfold like this.
Was it really right for her brother to follow this man named Eric Hilton? Would he not suffer something bad? Various worries clouded her mind like mist.
"I-I'm wronged!"
Saliba spat it out. Damian didn't press him but let him continue speaking.
"Fuck, 'traitor's descendant' this, 'traitor' that. I don't even know who that traitor was or what the hell they did wrong!"
Sky-blue hair. A symbol possessed only by the traitor who dared to rebel against the Empire. It was like a curse that no medicine or magic could hide.
Yet the specific crime was unknown. The Empire had erased all record of his existence and deeds.
Without knowing the exact reason, generation after generation suffered discrimination for their ancestor's sin.
If Saliba had said those words in the square just now, countless people would have thrown stones at him. For the traitor's kin to deny the crime was a crime in itself.
He couldn't even form proper family ties. Saliba and Shea were said to have different fathers as well.
The reason Saliba needed the Emperor's authority to rescue Shea from Imur was precisely because of their origins.
"I want to make it so no one dares call me a traitor or anything like that to my face. For that, I need power!"
Forgetting even the thought that the man before him might become his sponsor, Saliba screamed out his pent-up rage.
That was probably why he joined the Imur Brotherhood too. He wanted power, wanted to grow strong, but no one would accept him.
So he had no choice but to turn to the underworld. He and the other traitor's descendants were all in similar straits.
The darkness Saliba had desperately hidden before his regression. The deep desire he couldn't dare reveal. The dream he compromised on as he aged.
Because he was still a young boy now, he could express it like this.
Damian wanted to confirm it.
"That reason is enough."
Saliba and Shea's mouths gaped open in shock. To offer sponsorship for such a reason. If word got out wrong, he could be in danger himself.
'Don't settle for that—desire more.'
He would want to go beyond people calling him a traitor's descendant, to erase the unknown sin itself. People always crave more once they get what they want.
And the only one who could grant that was the Emperor.
Damian's ultimate goal was the throne. Saliba could become a solid ally.
-It's a shame. His talent itself is revolutionary, but he was born at the wrong time.
Even Rubia had evaluated Saliba's talent that way.
Saliba was still young. If he received proper education from now on, he would grow into a mage whose name would echo through Imperial history.
As for a teacher, Damian could rescue one.
He had heard that Zika, Arkin's magic teacher, had been ousted from the palace after a duel with Damian and was living a hard life—hiring him would be good.
Even if his personality was lacking, he wasn't incompetent as a teacher.
"Th-then, do we have to go to the capital right away? No, do we have to go, Brother Eric?"
The joy of being able to properly learn magic was short-lived, as worry clouded Saliba's face.
He was concerned about Shea and the other kids who had been in the brotherhood with him.
"Not yet. I have some business to take care of here."
Damian looked at the floor and raised one corner of his mouth. Saliba and Shea, not understanding what he meant, tilted their heads in unison.
* * *
"Boss. Are you really okay with this? No matter what, something this big, the guards will definitely..."
The subordinate swallowed his words under Imur's gaze. Continuing to babble here could cost him his head first.
"Spilled water already. If we're going to salvage this, we do it big."
Imur hadn't expected things to escalate this far either. That outsider Eric Hilton was far more capable than imagined.
But the world doesn't view situations so objectively. In others' eyes, the Imur Brotherhood would look like it was cowering before a single outsider.
To avoid unnecessary attention, Imur hadn't stepped in personally. It was for preparations to unify Byzantine's underworld.
But that had backfired. The Eric Hilton issue didn't end there but kept tarnishing Imur's reputation.
Other organizations were increasingly showing signs of disregarding the brotherhood. If this dragged on, all plans would go up in smoke.
So he decided to show them. What the brotherhood—and Imur—really were.
"Preparations are complete. Just give the signal, and we can detonate immediately."
From the rooftop of a building, Imur looked down at the private house where Eric Hilton was staying.
His subordinates had spent days digging a tunnel leading beneath it. And they had installed mana bombs procured from the black market.
A grand fireworks show would unfold. Byzantine would remember the brotherhood's might once more.
"Do it."
At Imur's word, the subordinate beside him sent the signal. Moments later, a tremor ran through his soles.
KABOOOMMMMM---!!!!
With a deafening roar, a blue pillar of light shot up from where the house had stood. The deep night, which had cloaked even the moonlight, suddenly blazed bright.
Mana bombs had power, but their precision was on another level from regular explosives.
Though other houses stood nearby, the explosion damage was minimal. Just some cracks from flying debris.
There weren't many artisans in the Empire who could produce mana bombs. Their price was sky-high. The ones Imur got from the black market were actually defective.
But the iconic blue pillar of a mana bomb—everyone in Byzantine would have seen it. They would be reminded once more that Imur, that the brotherhood, showed no mercy to enemies.
Imur led his subordinates toward the collapsed house. He planned to find Eric Hilton's corpse and hang it in the marketplace.
"Hmm. Used too strong one?"
Nothing remained where the pillar had faded but utterly crumbled debris.
He had heard this house held Eric Hilton plus some old man and kids under Mahut's command. He doubted even corpse chunks would remain.
"Search it anyway."
At Mahut's—no, Imur's—command, subordinates rummaged through the debris. Nearby residents turned gazes at the midnight commotion, but when Imur glared and scowled their way, they all looked away.
He had already sent word to the guards. He had sent the guard captain a fine woman, so tonight he would be buried in skirts and ignore this.
"Boss, there's something here!"
It was some statue. Its surface was spiky like fish scales—either crudely made or expressing the sculptor's artistic flair.
"Hmm?"
But Imur furrowed his brow not for that reason. How had this survived unscathed in that mana shell's light pillar? That was the question.
Tap, tap. Kicking it produced a sound. There was space inside. That made it even more baffling.
Some kind of magic tool? As he thought that.
"You're late."
Suddenly, a voice came from the statue. It echoed booming like from a cave, startling some subordinates into falling over.
Crack. Then the statue's face began to crumble away. Beneath emerged a man's face.
"You little runt."
Eric Hilton looked down at Imur and said that.