Chapter 4
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Under the Pale Moonlight (4)
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Late at night.
Near a small ferry landing, two men were hiding their bodies.
"So, my father got help from the smugglers here when he was young. He used to say that. You know, Rakshar? Whenever my father got drunk, he'd ramble on about his old exploits."
"Y-Yes, that's right."
"Back then, listening to him was so boring, but who knew it'd come in handy like this."
It was a lie.
It was true that Blanc's father, Palad Cardmus, had a habit of droning on about his past exploits when drunk, but he'd never once mentioned anything about smugglers.
Blanc knew this ferry landing was a smuggler's route purely from his own knowledge.
More precisely, from the memory of his regression, having experienced it once before.
But he couldn't very well tell Rakshar that he was a forty-year-old mercenary who'd regressed, so he'd coaxed him here with a convenient fib.
Fortunately, Rakshar was naive about the world and fell for it without suspicion.
"Young master."
"I heard it too."
A rustling sound came from the darkness, and a group emerged as if sprouting from the ground.
'They've even dug tunnels.'
True to its reputation as a free city, all sorts of illegal dealings that should never see the light of day happened openly here.
These smugglers were no different.
They smuggled gold.
Precious metals like gold and silver were strictly regulated by national law.
Especially since they were minted into currency; failing to control them properly could collapse the economy in an instant.
"So, we just go to them and ask to hitch a ride on their smuggling boat?"
'As if!'
Blanc stared at Rakshar, who spouted such idiocy, too deflated even to curse.
"Sure. We just stroll up boldly, slip them some coin, and snag a spot on the boat, right?"
"We spent some on the inn room, but will eight silvers be enough?"
Rakshar thrust his gray-furred face close, eyes wide and sparkling.
He had little worldly experience beyond begging as a child, so he was ignorant of many things—but Blanc hadn't expected him to be this dense.
'He's a whiz with the forest, so I thought his head was fine...'
No matter. He could make all the decisions anyway.
There was only one reason Rakshar was here.
"You brought the bow and arrows, right?"
"Yes. Twenty in total."
"Good."
His reason for being here: raw combat power.
He'd shoot arrows in place of Blanc's still-frail body.
'They're late.'
About an hour after Blanc and Rakshar held their breath in wait.
The smugglers, carrying heavy crates with small torches, suddenly froze.
'Here they come.'
From the direction the smugglers stared, about twenty men appeared out of nowhere.
"Ambush!"
"Weapons up!"
The quiet ferry landing, filled only with insect chirps, turned to pandemonium in an instant.
"Young master."
"Wait."
Their mismatched armaments suggested mercenaries, not affiliated soldiers.
"Kill 'em all!"
"Take the gold!"
The mercenaries charged in, cutting down the porters left and right.
The smugglers drew weapons to resist, but they were few to begin with, moving secretly.
"Jackpot! These bastards were loaded! Solid intel!"
Well-prepared mercenaries overwhelmed them effortlessly.
At this rate, the smugglers' annihilation was only a matter of time.
"Now!"
An arrow from the darkness pierced a mercenary's brow dead-center.
Caught up in battle frenzy and gold lust, the mercenaries didn't notice their comrades falling as they hacked away.
But when three more dropped to arrows, they sensed something off.
"What the hell!"
"Arrows!"
"Where from?"
"They called for backup!"
Arrows from unseen darkness left them helpless.
"Don't move! Pin the direction, and we can—"
"Gahk!"
"Urk!"
Arrows flew from unpredictable angles.
Not a perfect full moon, but its power lingered.
Absorbing that lunar energy, Rakshar moved beyond human limits, constantly shifting to loose precise shots.
"It's not one guy!"
"Damn it! We're made! Run!"
They could mistake him for several. Rakshar was that stealthy and swift.
Blanc could only admire the sight.
'With skills like that, ambushed and killed because of me... how bitter must it have been.'
In his past life, Rakshar might've survived if Blanc hadn't been taken hostage.
"Young master."
Rakshar approached, breathing ragged from fatigue.
"Tired?"
"No."
"Then that leader-looking bastard fleeing like mad over there..."
"Yes."
Moonlight revealed mercenaries scampering desperately.
"Just nab him. Stick an arrow in his knee; his buddies won't dare rescue..."
Whoosh!
Before Blanc finished, Rakshar loosed.
The arrow whistled, and a distant figure tumbled.
"...Like that."
Fueled by moonlight's wildness, Rakshar killed and wounded without hesitation.
Blanc gave a thumbs-up to Rakshar, who shrugged as if to say good enough?.
"Well done, Rakshar."
Of the dozen or so smugglers, only three remained after the mercenary raid.
Even they bore minor wounds, far from peak condition.
"Who are you?"
Two figures emerged from the darkness before them.
"None of your business."
A black-haired boy with cold eyes answered curtly.
He looked no older than twelve or thirteen, but the smugglers already knew he was no ordinary kid.
Those precise arrows from the dark were surely his doing.
"Rakshar, drag that leader here."
"Y-Yes, young master."
The massive figure obeyed the boy's command without question...
"W-Werewolf!"
"Holy shit! Werewolf! Full moon werewolf!"
'Half, but yeah.'
Under moonlight, baring gray mane, Rakshar looked every bit the werewolf.
Child-eaters, maiden-rapists, mocking humans from shadows.
Werewolves, blending human intellect and monstrous savagery, terrified people most.
Yet this boy commanded such a monster with a word—what was he?
'Demon! A demon.'
'Not human, that's for sure.'
Blanc couldn't read their minds, but sensing their overwhelm, he pressed the advantage.
"I want to use your route. Discreetly."
"B-But we have no authority to decide."
Blanc frowned at their refusal.
As his displeasure showed, the smugglers just watched nervously. And then...
Thud!
"Ow! Fuck! That hurts!"
The mercenary leader, arrow in knee and trussed up, hit the ground face-first; the smugglers flinched.
"You fuckers! Know who I am!? I'm that famous— Huh? Wh-What's this? Werewolf!"
He panicked at Rakshar's moonlit form.
"Rakshar, fetch Emilia. She's probably huddled in the inn, scared and crying."
"But young master, leaving you alone here..."
"Rakshar."
"Y-Yes."
"Go. Don't worry about me."
Moon-maddened, instincts sharpened, Rakshar sensed it clearly.
The vast madness in Blanc's eyes.
"I-I'll go."
Overwhelmed, Rakshar fled without retort.
Left: three smugglers, Blanc, and the bound leader.
"You! You little shit! Who the hell are you!"
The leader ranted at the boy who tamed a full-moon werewolf, trying to shift the mood.
But...
"Perfect."
Blanc strolled among corpses, finding a short dagger on one, smiling satisfied.
"Y-You..."
"Who I am? Of course. Batay, leader of the Black Fang Mercenaries, right?"
Batay gaped, identity pierced instantly.
But it didn't end there.
"This one's Larry, big-ears Hardon, one-eyed Thomas..."
Under pale moonlight, Blanc named corpses, flipping them one by one.
Eerie spectacle.
"Demon... A real demon."
Even smugglers watching from behind choked on Blanc's mad aura.
"Wh-Who are you?"
Batay polite now, but his fate was sealed.
"The werewolf who left? Rakshar."
Batay stared blankly, speechless.
Look closer: terror blooming in his eyes.
"This... Call it revenge for Rakshar."
"Wh-What...?"
Blanc grinned at Batay's quaking gaze.
"From now on... I'll slash you thirteen times, stab nine."
Calmly declaring torture-death.
"P-Pardon?"
"Start from the legs, work up slow. Last, rip your left ear, slide this dagger down your throat. How's that? Agonizing, obviously."
Batay froze, world halting, as Blanc stroked the blade with innocent glee.
"No, why? I never wronged you! Mercy, please!"
Sensing doom, Batay wailed childlike for mercy, not life.
"No."
Blanc refused flatly.
"You did the same. To Rakshar. Slowly, painfully."
"What bullshit! That fucker's fine! Aaaargh!"
"Rakshar! Help!"
I should've told him to run.
"L-Let the young master go!"
Rakshar nocked an arrow, aiming at the mercenaries.
But they outnumbered him; he had one arrow left.
"How many of ours did that fucker kill?"
"Two dead, three wounded bad—retirement level."
"Fuck! Big score tonight, and this retarded werewolf ruins it!"
Batay spat, raging.
"You, caught? I'll rip your limbs off. Run? Then I dismantle the brat!!"
"Rakshar!"
"Y-Young master!"
My loyal gamekeeper.
"Look, you crybaby! See the fucker who died for you!"
Dying half-werewolf, blood-tears streaming, gazed at the boy.
"I slashed thirteen times!"
I slashed thirteen times.
"Stabbed nine!"
Stabbed nine.
"Ripped off that dog ear!"
Ripped off that shitty ear.
"Know what? Shove it slow down the throat, feel the heartbeat through the blade!"
Right, Batay. Spot on.
"Feel it clear. The heartbeat."
Second night post-regression.
Under the warped full moon.
Today, Blanc claimed his first revenge of this life.
