Chapter 36
Chapter 36
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 36
Chapter Title: Byzantine's Underworld Chaos
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Byzantine's dark alleys. Even in broad daylight, sunlight barely reached this place, which had turned into a battlefield swarming with grotesque screams and bloodstains.
Though they could only wield aura at the level of street thugs, their numbers were considerable, so a translucent haze rose like a mirage over the entire alley.
"Die! Die!"
"Chase him! I said chase him!"
"Kwaaaah! My eyes!!"
"Charge! Charge, you bastards!"
The chaos sparked by Imur's downfall. A sandstorm had swept through Byzantine's underworld, which had maintained a fragile peace amid subtle checks and balances.
Of course, the southern powerhouses hadn't sat idle. Since Imur's death, they had gathered one by one in Byzantine, closely monitoring the situation.
To gauge how the current events would affect their own power and how they should respond going forward.
But they hadn't intervened directly yet. At least the underworld's disputes remained in the shadows, not spilling into the light.
For example, just a short distance from the alleys where gangsters were brawling lay the lively, bustling streets of Byzantine.
But everyone knew. The water boiling furiously from within would eventually burst out. And that it wouldn't be far off.
"Hey. You blind or what? You look like an out-of-towner, so get lost."
Into that chaotic melee strode a man.
A hulking brute who had just been smashing the skulls of rival gang members grabbed the man's shoulder with a massive hand, halting his bold advance.
Normally, he would have punched the man square in the face right then, but the brute suppressed the urge with considerable restraint.
Getting an innocent tourist tangled in this mess would only cause headaches.
"You idiot? Don't resist. You'll get hurt."
But this crazy out-of-towner ignored the goodwill. His build was solid, so even under the brute's pressing grip, his balance didn't falter.
Patience was only good for one try. A solid smack would set him straight. Thinking that, the brute raised his other hand.
"Uwaaaah! Uwaaa! Let, let go!!"
A newborn's wail burst from the brute's mouth.
In the alley where friend and foe were indistinguishable, the clamor halted for a moment. All eyes fixed on one spot.
"My hand.... My hand!!"
The brute's hand wasn't just broken—it was crumpled like a sheet of paper. Yet no aura emanated from the out-of-towner's body. In other words, sheer grip strength alone had snapped the hand of a man who wielded aura.
In current-day Byzantine, only one person could pull off such a feat.
"T-that guy's...."
"Eric Hilton!"
In a way, the culprit behind the present chaos. Damian, wearing Eric Hilton's face, walked right into their midst.
The rogues who had been tearing into each other moments ago spun their heads into gear.
Because they knew just how much weight the name Eric Hilton carried in Byzantine.
"You, Eric Hilton."
"...."
"I don't care what schemes you've got. I'll give you a chance."
One man extended a hand toward Damian. In the hand hidden behind his back, he clutched a sharp dagger.
"Take my hand. The unification of Byzantine's underworld that Imur planned. If we combine our strength—"
"Bug."
The approaching fool, and the ones sizing him up from the surroundings. They all felt utterly insignificant.
Kwaaaang! Damian stomped hard, and stone scale spikes erupted from the ground.
Not only the man lunging at him, but the other thugs had no time to react.
Huff, huff. Countless spikes halted precisely at their throats, leaving them only able to gasp for breath.
"Scram."
That alone let them feel the gap between Damian and themselves. From the moment Damian had crushed Imur, no one in the underworld could stand against him.
Even Imur, who was nothing but brutish and needlessly cruel, had held a pillar of the underworld thanks to his overwhelming power.
Eric Hilton—Damian—was the one who had brought that Imur down.
The gangsters cautiously backed away. Damian ignored them and entered a rundown building.
It was one of the Imur Brotherhood's hideouts.
"Smells...."
Descending to the basement, a bizarre mix of sweat, fishy stench, and the musty odor unique to mold assaulted him.
It seemed to have been left abandoned since Imur's death.
The sight of blood crusted to the floor naturally soured his expression. Torture tools lay scattered messily around.
Of course, that wasn't the only function of this space.
Using the black magic—Gaze to scan the floor, he spotted a point where mana flows twisted complexly. A secret device crafted with magic tools.
No need to bother dispelling it. For something like this, brute force was easier.
Kwa-gwang!! Smashing the floor with stone scale boulders shattered the magic tool, revealing stairs leading down.
The space beneath the basement was a low, cramped room that nearly brushed Damian's forehead against the ceiling, piled high with documents Imur had hidden.
'As expected, contact had already been made.'
Among them, a letter adorned with ornate gold leaf caught his eye first.
The paper was still white and crisp, so it hadn't been long since Imur received it.
Soon, the Empire will be reborn anew.
I shall secure your place in it.
Prove your worth.
Short, forceful sentences. The writer's intent seeped through the upright script.
The northern wastelands, the great mountain range spanning from one horizon's end to the other. Like a peak boldly challenging the heavens—fierce, and thus incomprehensible to anyone.
His name was confirmed by the seal embossed on the letter.
Michael von Edbalt.
Not yet called the Empire's Greatest Swordsman, but a man who would soon claim that title.
Damian's half-brother, and an existence he must inevitably surpass.
He had suspected contact from the fact that Imur hadn't immediately fallen for Damian's provocation.
And this method was so very Michael.
Michael only reigned and advanced. He pointed the direction but gave no direct orders to his subordinates.
Just as he had taken no action when Rubia murdered Anna and Felix. Michael pondered only the depths of the great ocean, with no care for the shallows of a well.
Right beside Michael's letter was another one. They had likely arrived together for Imur.
The one chosen by him will surely handle his own affairs at least.
Still, if you encounter difficulties, request aid.
No name was signed, but Damian knew the identity from the seal alone.
'As expected, it was this bastard.'
When he checked Saliba's condition, he had roughly guessed the culprit. Now he was certain.
Xenon Stugart.
A right-hand man who had served Michael since childhood.
Later, he would become one of the innermost confidants of 1st Prince Michael, forming a pillar of the 'Emperor's Right Hand.'
Not the strongest among them, but the one who prided himself on the purest loyalty to Michael.
Whether then or now, he operated in the shadows, never revealing himself, devoting everything to elevating Michael's status.
Even Damian hadn't known of his existence until he was temporarily appointed to the 'Emperor's Right Hand.'
At this point in time, even Rubia likely didn't know that Xenon served Michael.
His direct relationship with Damian wasn't particularly bad. Because Damian was the only blood relative Michael followed.
'Bastard.'
But Damian saw him differently. Like Imur—no, in some ways more vicious trash than Imur.
The war crimes Xenon committed during the civil war were beyond counting. He went beyond mere hostility to reformists, hesitating not even to sacrifice allies or civilians if needed for operations.
Dozens of villages vanished by his hand alone. The death toll within them was incalculable.
Yet there was no regret, no hesitation. Because the only object of his gaze was Michael von Edbalt.
Everyone else could be sacrificed for Michael—that was his mad conviction.
He was someone Damian must confront to achieve vengeance.
Since he didn't surface often, it was right to eliminate him now if possible.
Saliba's issue was also entangled.
Currently, Saliba was in a vegetative state. A fragment of his soul had been chipped away by Xenon's magic, rendering it dysfunctional.
And a single note left behind. It pointed to a location on the outskirts of Byzantine.
The message was clear. It was summoning Eric Hilton.
Likely because of Imur. But what exactly Xenon demanded of Eric Hilton was unknown.
It could be simple revenge, or perhaps some scheme.
"...."
The situation wasn't pleasant. His rough handling of the thugs just now had been a form of venting.
Damian bore responsibility too. Saliba had been targeted solely for his connection to Damian.
Moreover, Naberius's trial was also involved.
-Take the neck of the necromancer entrenched in this city.
Xenon didn't reveal himself, so his skills weren't widely known, but he was one of the Empire's top necromancers.
Meaning Damian had to go all out. He couldn't fight merely as Eric Hilton.
He would need to employ every available black magic, and if necessary, be prepared to expend the Book of Hell.
The silver lining was that this matter hadn't reached Michael's ears.
Given Xenon's personality, he handled anything that could harm Michael on his own.
In other words, as long as no evidence remained, he could avoid direct confrontation with Michael over this. It was too soon for that.
'Plenty of reasons to kill him.'
To save Saliba, for the contract with Naberius. And for Damian's vengeance.
But to prepare for what followed, some groundwork was needed.
'That's why I came all the way here.'
The numerous documents in the basement. These would become a great source of power for him.
* * *
Byzantine's central prefecture. Even among the jewels of the south, it was the largest and most splendid building.
Nominally, Byzantine's ruler was the mayor, but in truth, that position was a figurehead.
The true power lay with the Assembly. A group formed by mid- and small-sized nobles from across the south.
Inside the prefecture, the conference room prepared for them. Usually, they sent proxies to voice their opinions, but given Byzantine's current turmoil, the heads of each house had all attended.
The reason they gathered here was Eric Hilton.
For some reason—or backed by someone—they had ousted Imur and plunged Byzantine's underworld into chaos.
"I-is that really you...?"
"Damian Renekht...?"
"Green flames?"
And from behind Eric Hilton's face emerged the Emperor's illegitimate child, Damian Renekht, leaving those in the conference room at a loss for expressions.
Normally, they should be furious.
A member of the imperial family had visited the south's heart, Byzantine, without any prior notice. And in disguise, no less.
In the fiercely independent south, this could spark major political issues.
But none of them could voice it.
They only fiddled with their mustaches or readjusted their turbans, stealing glances at Damian.
The reason was.
"So, what do you think of the conditions I've proposed?"
Damian tapped the documents on the table as he asked. They came from Imur's secret warehouse.
"You don't have any real choices anyway, so let's make this amicable."
The materials detailed the misdeeds committed by the southern nobles over the years. And they were on the verge of falling into imperial hands.