Chapter 536: The Various Factions
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 536: The Various Factions
One week later, evening.
The sun sank in the west like a massive fireball, drowning in the waves of the Old Rhine. The clouds were a mottled crimson, staining half the city in a deep, bloody hue.
"Is it about to begin?"
Muen set aside the letter in his hand and gazed at the transition between light and shadow. The clamor of the day was drawing to a close; the silence of the night was fast approaching.
Everything still appeared peaceful. Wisps of cooking smoke rose over the city districts. Laborers, weary from a long day at the docks, headed home laughing and chatting. Today’s wages might afford them a decent dinner, or perhaps finally buy that toy their daughters had been eyeing for a month.
But beneath this tranquility, in places unknown to the masses, something long-simmering was beginning to bare its grisly fangs.
Over the past few days, aside from coordinating matters through the communication channels established with the First Prince, Muen had spent almost all his time in this inconspicuous little house in the Lower District. He was still processing the immense weight behind that single, casual sentence his father had written in the letter.
The more he took control, the more Muen marveled at the resources the Duke had spent years cultivating in Belland. They were far more substantial than he had ever imagined.
Now that his eyes and ears were fully open, Muen could feel the true scale of the storm surging beneath the surface of this seemingly minor event—the First Prince leaving the palace to attend a gala.
It seemed Second Prince Andrew wasn't merely testing the waters this time.
While his actions in other areas were often questionable, his determination to see his older brother dead was palpable. Consequently, the outcome of this night might truly dictate the empire's trajectory for decades to come.
At this stage, even as the son of a Duke, there was no room for retreat.
Muen cleared the items from his desk and spoke to the shadows behind him. "Go. Tell Sam to come see me."
*
"The time has come."
In another hidden location within the Lower District.
The bloated, portly Gentleman Gro hurried along, looking like a bouncing ball from a distance as he made his way into the innermost room.
There were no bright magic stones here, only flickering candlelight. A man with grisly scars across his face sat in silence, resting with his eyes closed.
"Mr. Old Ghost, here is what we agreed upon."
Old Ghost snapped his eyes open. His aura shifted instantly, a violent, bloody scent permeating the air. Gentleman Gro broke into a cold sweat and instinctively lowered his head further.
Old Ghost took the box from Gro, opened it for a brief glance, and said tonelessly, "The new drug?"
"Yes, the new drug. As per our agreement, it is time for you to make your move."
"Very well."
Old Ghost stood abruptly and looked out the window. The view from here was strangely expansive, offering a panoramic view of the entire Lower District.
The city's brilliant lights were reflected in his eyes, sparking a faint trace of nostalgia. But that sentiment was quickly replaced by iron-blooded ruthlessness. Old Ghost reached out his hand, slowly closing it as if to crush the entire district in his palm.
"This time, I will take back everything I lost ten years ago."
*
Clop, clop...
As night draped over the horizon, a light mist rose from the Old Rhine, drifting into the streets and alleys on a gentle breeze.
At the end of a quiet street, the guards stationed at the Diswinter Bridge—the link between the Upper and Lower Districts—heard the rapid thunder of hooves echoing through the fog.
"Who goes there!" a guard barked, standing before the barricades. "The bridge is closed for the night!"
"Lower the bridge! We are on urgent business!"
An object was suddenly hurled through the air. Caught off guard, the guard scrambled to catch it.
"This... this is..."
The guard’s irritation at the stranger's disrespect vanished instantly, replaced by a pale face as he recognized the exquisite patterns on the strange metal token.
"Lower... lower the bridge! Quickly!"
The guard spun around, shouting frantically toward the bridge tower while shoving the barricades aside.
With a piercing roar of machinery, massive wheels turned and thick chains slid, slowly lowering the bridge deck.
However, before the two sections of the bridge could even lock into place, a troop of riders burst from the mist, leaping their horses across the gap.
Though it was called a gap, there was still a distance of nearly twenty meters between the sections, and the incline of the bridge was incredibly steep. It should have been impossible for a normal person to cross.
Yet the horses beneath these riders seemed to ignore gravity itself, soaring effortlessly across the bridge and into the opposite district, leaving behind only faint silhouettes that soon dissolved into the fog.
"The Royal Mage Corps?" the guard whispered, still shaken. "Why are they mobilized? Is something big happening in Belland tonight?"
The guard looked up toward the Lower District.
In the darkness, the city's silhouette loomed grimly, like a crouching beast.
*
In the countryside, amidst the woods.
Spring was deepening, and all things were bursting with life, yet the night air remained chilly.
Fortunately, a crackling campfire warded off the cold.
Above the fire sat a small iron pot, so warped and dented it looked pathetic. Inside, freshly picked wild greens bubbled and simmered. Even in the outskirts of Belland, such things were never in short supply during this season.
Wild greens alone were quite bland, so crushed spices were tossed into the pot. After a bit of stewing, the concoction began to emit an appetite-whetting aroma.
A withered hand, indifferent to the red-hot temperature of the iron, lifted the pot directly from the fire. An old man sitting cross-legged on the ground looked down at the vegetable soup, which had been boiled down to a porridge-like consistency.
"I forgot again..." the Indra King sighed. "I cooked enough for two."
Half the soup was poured into a chipped, broken bowl in the Indra King's hand; the other half remained in the pot.
The Indra King tilted his head back, drained the simple soup in one gulp, and slowly stood up.
His vacant eyes seemed unable to see anything, yet within that cloudiness, the faint silhouette of the massive city in the distance was reflected.
He took a step...
"Heh, for an ascetic, you still waste food?"
The Indra King’s step halted abruptly.
He looked down again, toward the other side of the campfire.
Not long ago, after he had displayed his power to intimidate the voyeurs lurking nearby, no one had dared to approach him.
Yet now, someone was sitting casually before him, unceremoniously using a sterling silver spoon to eat the soup from his pot.
"Tsk, tsk. You can make wild greens taste this good? I didn't expect a stern-faced man like you, Indra King, to be such a good cook. I really wish those fellows in the Cathedral—the ones who preach about 'asceticism' but actually just cook food that tastes like death—could come here for some training."
This was also an old man, with hair and a beard as white as snow. He looked even older than the Indra King, but his complexion was ruddy and his expression was genial, giving off a sense of approachability.
He wore a white divine robe that was entirely out of place in these surroundings. On the thin hand emerging from his wide sleeve, a ring of authority—a symbol of nobility and holiness—was clearly visible.
"Archbishop Canterbury?" The Indra King stared at the old man, his face remaining expressionless. "What are you doing here?"
"Ho ho, don't be so tense. I'm just here to catch up on old times. I'm not very good at all that fighting and killing business." Archbishop Canterbury waved his hand with a chuckle. "That look on your face, like you're ready to strike at any moment, is going to scare me."
"I have no 'old times' to catch up on with you."
"Don't be like that. We're all old relics of the same generation. Old relics always have things to talk about."
Canterbury swept his hand, and a faint, indifferent holy light suddenly enveloped the area.
"The old men chat, and the children play. Everyone has their own way of doing things. That’s the only way to keep this 'family' from falling apart, isn't it?"