Chapter 478: Collision
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 478: Collision
In the alleys not far from the riverbank, a faint mist drifted with the breeze.
Ethereal flute music lingered between the low-slung houses, weaving through the narrow, cramped paths. Yet, beyond an arc of flickering electricity, the music lost the target it had already locked onto.
The Rat King, who not long ago had been proudly patrolling his vast territory, was now in a state as wretched as a literal rat about to die in a sewer. He coughed up several mouthfuls of foul blood mixed with bits of internal tissue.
"Cough, cough... You're late."
The Rat King found it difficult even to breathe.
However, the panic and fear from moments ago had vanished from his face.
His eyes, blurred by heavy injury, could not clearly make out the newcomer’s features, but he knew the man would be wearing a black formal suit that blended wildness with solemnity, topped with a tall silk hat, his face deep and cold.
The man’s eyes were blue, like a lake, but in the depths of that lake, frost and fire clashed.
"Forgive me, my dear Sam."
Muen tore open a precious magic scroll. A surge of vitality flowed from it, beginning to mend the Rat King’s wounds.
"Belland is simply too large. Even for me, it takes a bit of time to find the way."
"Heh, save that talk for the children. I don't believe for a second that you didn't have people monitoring the movements in the Lower District," the Rat King said, forcing his lips into a grin.
"Believe it or not, I really didn't."
Muen shrugged.
He hadn't even been in Belland recently, let alone monitoring it.
At most, he had sent a few people from the Duke's Estate to keep an eye on things while smuggling—no, selling off the low-quality, old weapons piling up in his old man’s warehouse to earn some pocket money.
To think he was monitoring them... people really thought too poorly of him.
Besides, he didn't actually have any intention of fully controlling the entire Lower District. That would be far too exhausting.
And unnecessary.
"Is that so?"
The Rat King withdrew his gaze.
"Since you say so, Lord, then that's how it is."
"...We really should have more trust between us, Sam."
Muen casually produced a bottle of fine wine and thoughtfully opened it. After pouring a glass for himself, he handed the bottle to the Rat King.
"Tell me, what's the situation?"
"..."
"Don't look at me like that. I just got back; I'm out of the loop on a lot of things."
"The opponent is Old Ghost."
The Rat King took the bottle and gulped down several large mouthfuls. The high-proof spirits flowed into his stomach, gradually warming his hypothermic body.
"A ghost from ten years ago."
"Old Ghost? A ghost?"
Muen’s eyebrows arched slightly.
Naturally, he wasn't very familiar with the name. Ten years ago, Muen Campbell was still a playboy who only cared about flipping up maids' skirts; there was no way he would have cared about what happened in the distant Lower District.
However, he had heard the name mentioned in the intelligence gathered by the Duke's Estate.
Old Ghost. Real name unknown.
He had once founded a massive gang and nearly unified the entire Lower District ten years ago. It was said that even His Majesty the King had heard of him, marking him as a formidable figure.
But as a representative of the Lower District's dark side, catching the eye of the Emperor meant he was already in danger.
Sure enough, Old Ghost failed to truly unify the Lower District. He was soon dealt with by an unknown high-ranking figure and vanished completely.
The intelligence suggested he was likely dead, but it seemed he was still alive.
"Old Ghost is back. He wants to rule the Lower District again."
"Oh? He’s got ambition. But for an old-timer from ten years ago to return, he must have something to lean on, right?"
Muen flicked the brim of his silk hat.
"Any leads? You couldn't have been beaten this badly without knowing anything."
"How should I know? I was ambushed!"
The Rat King struck the ground in frustration. Remembering how he had just lost his most loyal and elite subordinates, he felt a pang of heartache.
But then, remembering the opponent was Old Ghost, he felt incredibly lucky to have escaped with his life.
"However, the people capable of supporting his return at a time like this... you don't even have to think to know it's probably those guys," the Rat King said, exhaling slowly as he regained his composure.
"You had us break away from their control; they weren't going to just sit by and watch. The interests of the Lower District are a massive piece of meat. Only a strange fellow like you would leave such a prize untouched."
"I'm a broad-minded man, so I'll forgive your insolence for now. But... 'probably'? Sam, you're making this difficult for me. In this city where black and white blur together, the word 'probably' is like the safety leggings under a girl's skirt—whether you see them or not, it doesn't make much of a difference."
Muen cracked a witty joke, then turned to look into the distance.
"Well, although this is indeed quite annoying, there's a very obvious clue right in front of us, isn't there?"
"Wait here. I'm going to go buy some oranges."
"Huh?"
The Rat King naturally didn't get Muen’s dry humor. He blinked, only seeing the still-blurred figure set down the empty wine glass and pick up the repeating crossbow from beside him.
"I'll borrow this for a bit."
Muen pressed down on the brim of his hat, as if signaling the start of a performance. Then he turned and strolled leisurely out of the alley toward the open street.
The Rat King looked down and saw the wine glass resting right on top of his Ace of Hearts.
*
"What is going on?"
Seniel gripped his bone flute, his expression grim as he stared into the morning mist-shrouded streets.
The flute music constructed from his mana was still lingering throughout the alleys; no movement should have been able to escape his perception. He had seen with his own eyes the target in the distance take a direct hit from his attack.
But in the blink of an eye, he had lost his lock on the target.
It was as if the man had vanished into thin air.
This defied logic.
According to the intel Robin had given him, his target—the guy named Sam—was just a street thug who relied on potions to barely scrape together some cultivation. He only needed to watch out for the military weapons the man had smuggled from who-knows-where, and he would be no threat at all.
But a street thug managed to dodge the magical lock of a Royal Mage this easily?
What a joke. The Royal Mage Corps and the Royal Knight Order were the Emperor's sword and shield, respectively—the most elite forces in Belland, selected through rigorous screening!
If a street thug could toy with him like this, he might as well resign and go guard the Academy gates. That would be the only way to avoid shaming the years of education the Academy had given him.
Unless...
Acting out of caution, Seniel quickly deployed a defense formation around himself.
The moment the defensive array took shape, a crossbow bolt suddenly shot out from the shadows of the alley.
It came from the same repeating crossbow; Seniel could recognize the identical magical signature.
But the power was worlds apart from before.
It was as if lightning had been poured into the bolt. A brilliant blue light stung Seniel’s eyes, and the sharp projectile let out a piercing whistle. With a sharp clang, it actually tore through several layers of his defenses in succession.
Ting.
An accessory at his waist shattered.
Seniel’s face darkened. He gripped his flute tightly and looked toward the figure slowly emerging from the thin mist.
"Damn that Robin... I wasn't told there would be others interfering in this."