Chapter 550: Kindness
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 550: Kindness
"Sam, you truly have exceeded my expectations once again."
Old Ghost remained expressionless as he wiped the blood from his cheek.
Fire, bloodlight, roars, and screams—the cold wind, heavy with the scent of gunpowder, whipped at Old Ghost’s long trench coat. Here, in the hidden, narrow alleys of the Lower District, it seemed the hard-won rules of the civilized world had utterly ceased to function.
Every primal instinct for bloodlust and sin had been unleashed. Nothing remained but slaughter and death.
Gang warfare never followed a script. From the moment blades clashed and blood splattered, nearly everyone in this frenzied feast had seen red. No one knew when the carnage had reached its peak, nor when it had begun to subside.
By the time the Rat King snapped back to his senses, the ground was littered with severed limbs.
Some belonged to his men; others to Old Ghost’s.
Their blood mingled, flowing together into the city’s sprawling sewer system until one could no longer be distinguished from the other.
But a battle of blood and fire must eventually yield a result.
In terms of terrain, equipment, and the caliber of his subordinates, the Rat King’s men—meticulously trained and fully armed by Mr. Bruce—had ultimately triumphed over Old Ghost’s forces. The latter were a patchwork crew of drug-addled madmen who, amidst the slaughter and pain, had rediscovered the meaning of fear.
Which meant...
"I won..."
The Rat King rose slowly, a crossbow bolt still buried in his shoulder. The searing pain in his flesh did nothing to dampen the exhilaration in his heart. He stared at the man who had once been his living nightmare, a blood-stained smile twisting his face into something gruesome.
"Old Ghost... I beat you... face to face!"
Ten years ago, he had been nothing more than a pathetic street urchin begging for scraps in the Lower District. He had watched with his own eyes as this man, through sheer terror and iron-fisted tactics, brought the entire district under his thumb, piece by piece.
Ten years later, he was the leader of a major syndicate with elite soldiers and the finest gear. Yet, he had still felt a tremor of fear at this man’s return.
Whether ten years ago or ten years later, he had never imagined that a day would come when he would stand before this man as a victor.
The feeling was... extraordinary. Truly wonderful.
"Yes, I must admit, I lost this round. I didn't expect that in less than ten years, these fools would have degenerated to such a pathetic state."
Old Ghost sighed softly and casually tossed a severed head onto the ground.
It belonged to Cilock, the elder brother from the Brotherhood.
During the heat of the battle, he had tried to flee out of cowardice, and Old Ghost had personally claimed his head.
That had been the beginning of the collapse.
"A loss is a loss. Since when did you start making excuses for your failures, Old Ghost?"
The Rat King mocked him, savoring every drop of his triumph.
"Or is it that you’ve simply lost the fire you had ten years ago?"
"Indeed, I lost this exchange."
Old Ghost shrugged. He pulled a cigar from his coat and lit it against a piece of metal debris that was still glowing red from the recent shelling.
He exhaled a cloud of smoke, looking at his victor with a leisurely air, showing none of the panic or terror expected of a loser.
"However, winning one round... doesn't mean you'll keep winning until the end."
Twang—!
A sharp crossbow bolt sliced through the air, stirring the cold night wind as it streaked toward Old Ghost’s face.
The Rat King was no fool. Even as they spoke, his hidden reserves had been moving into position. His remaining combat-capable men were poised in the shadows. At the Rat King’s silent signal, they raised their crossbows without hesitation and unleashed a volley at Old Ghost.
But the bolts were suddenly seized by an invisible force, halting dead in the air inches from Old Ghost’s face.
He clenched his hand into a fist, and the arrows were instantly twisted into a useless clump of scrap metal.
"This is a lesson learned from the personal experience of your senior, Sam. You really ought to listen."
Old Ghost exhaled a plume of smoke, using the pale haze to mask his equally pale face.
Judging by the slight tremor in his hand, this man—who had once nearly reigned supreme over the entire Lower District—was not quite as composed as he appeared.
But... as Old Ghost tilted his head, as if listening to something in the distance, a sinister smile crept back onto his lips.
"Wooo—"
A wailing sound drifted in on the night wind, eerie and bone-chilling, like a whisper from the underworld.
The Rat King’s expression shifted. "You have another move?"
"Another move? I wouldn't call it that. Let's just say... it's something I prepared a long time ago."
Old Ghost studied the Rat King’s changing expression and suddenly said:
"But honestly, Sam, I still don't understand why you chose that so-called Bruce over me. You must know that Bruce... is likely an agent for some Great Noble. He is fundamentally no different from the noble lords who want to reclaim control over the Lower District."
"I, on the other hand, am the only one who truly wants to liberate this place. Everything I do is to return this district to the freedom it deserves."
"Haven't I said it before? I don't play dog to a dog!" the Rat King snarled, baring his teeth.
"No matter how many times I hear that, it’s still just as irritating."
"Heh. A man like you? I don't believe for a second you'd bring anything good to the Lower District's future."
"A man like me... Are you referring to my brutality?"
Old Ghost shook his head. "You must understand, Sam, brutality is a means, not an end. And... even I do a bit of good every now and then."
"Good?" The Rat King’s brow furrowed.
"Yes. For instance, handing out bread to the poor, giving them a little something to eat for free. Lately, I’ve done quite a lot of 'good' like that. Those people were very grateful to me."
"What exactly are you trying to say?"
The Rat King’s expression grew colder as a sense of dread intensified in his gut. In his experience, Old Ghost was not the type to hand out food out of the goodness of his heart, let alone brag about it.
"So..."
Old Ghost flicked his cigar and stepped back into the darkness behind him.
"For what comes next, Sam... I hope you thoroughly enjoy my kindness."
"Stop right there!"
The Rat King roared, moving to prevent Old Ghost from escaping.
But one of his subordinates suddenly grabbed his arm.
"Lord Rat King..."
"What are you doing? Chase him! If we let Old Ghost go, there will be no end to the trouble!"
"No, look... look over there..."
The subordinate pointed a trembling finger toward the side.
"Someone... no, a lot of people... are coming."
*
"Honey, I'm home."
Old Luke pushed open the door, looking weary from his travels.
The door was old and let out a sharp, piercing creak as it opened. It worked better than most doorbells, quickly alerting the others in the house.
"Daddy!"
First came several cheers of delight, followed by the glow of a dim candle from the inner room. An aging woman stepped out carrying an oil lamp, with several children scurrying out from behind her.
"You're finally back!"
The children swarmed Old Luke, jumping and dancing with excitement.
"Sorry, the customers were pushing hard tonight, so I had to stay a bit late."
Old Luke gave the woman an apologetic smile, then patted the children’s heads one by one, his eyes crinkling with wrinkles as he laughed.
"Have you little rascals been listening to your mother?"
"Yes!"
"Good! Here, look!"
Old Luke reached into his satchel and pulled out several loaves of bread.
As he handed them out, the children erupted into even louder cheers.
This wasn't the black bread they usually ate. This was bread made from refined flour, fermented and baked until it was fluffy and sweet. The moment it appeared, a rich aroma filled the room.
The children began to devour it. It had been a long time since they had eaten bread this good; to them, it was nothing short of a gourmet feast.
"Eat slowly, there's more."
Old Luke stroked the children’s heads with even more affection.
"Where did the bread come from?"
The woman leaned against the doorframe, smiling at the heartwarming scene.
"The bakeries should have been closed by now. And it’s not payday yet; you shouldn't have had the money for this."
"I ran into a kind gentleman on the way. He was handing them out on the street."
"Which noble house was he from?"
The woman asked in surprise. "Winter is almost over. Why would a noble come down to hand out bread now? And this bread..."
In past winters, nobles from the Upper District would often send people to the Lower District to distribute bread, but it was always black bread that was even harder to swallow than what was sold in the markets. Bread made from refined flour was something they wouldn't even dare dream of.
"Eh, why worry about it? A truly kind lord like that doesn't come around often."
"You're sure there's no catch...?"
"What catch could there be? In the eyes of those nobles, the lives of poor folk like us probably aren't even worth as much as this bread."
Old Luke quickly stuffed the last piece of bread into the woman’s hand. "Quick, eat up. That should keep your mouth busy."
"What about you? Did you eat?"
"I did!"
Old Luke patted his stomach and said loudly, "I ate first! I'm stuffed!"
"Is that so..."
The woman looked skeptically at Old Luke’s flat stomach, a smile dancing in her eyes, but she said nothing.
She secretly tucked half of her bread away and began to savor the rest in tiny bites. Her slow movements weren't born of elegance or breeding, but of a desire to make the taste last. For those used to black bread, even ordinary baked bread was a rare delicacy.
Old Luke watched his wife’s enjoyment and then looked at the children, who were full and starting to play. He secretly licked a few crumbs from his pocket, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.
It was just an ordinary night, yet because of a few loaves of bread, it felt like a holiday.
"Speaking of which, I heard some loud noises from the next block over. I hope nothing's wrong."
"What could be wrong? That’s just the Lower District. Probably two gangs fighting again. As long as you don't go poking your nose in, we'll be fine."
"True."
The woman licked her fingers. "I'll go heat some water for your bath."
"Bring out my stash of wine! We're living large tonight!"
"Alright."
Perhaps because of the meal, the woman—who usually kept a tight rein on Old Luke’s drinking—was much more agreeable.
She picked up the oil lamp and turned to heat the water. Old Luke sat on the edge of the bed in the darkening room, settling the little ones down to sleep while gazing out the window.
The night was deep, and the white mist looked eerie.
It wasn't a particularly beautiful sight, but for Old Luke, who had lived here his whole life, it was a familiar one.
Yes, it was a bit noisy outside, but other than that, today was a good day.
"Heh, haven't had a drink in a month. I'm going to enjoy myself tonight. And the eldest’s birthday is coming up soon. Once I get paid in a few days, I’ll buy him that gift he’s been wanting for so long."
"On his birthday, I can sneak another drink. Just thinking about it is wonderful..."
As the children drifted off one by one, Old Luke began to tally his small fortunes.
Being able to drink twice in one month was something he previously wouldn't have dared to imagine!
"And the third one, what did he say he wanted... hm?"
As he mused, Old Luke suddenly leaned his head closer to the window, straining to hear.
"Is that... crying? A child?"
Smash!
As he muttered, a sharp sound of shattering came from the kitchen, making Old Luke jump.
"Honey? What broke?"
Old Luke frowned and stood up quickly, heading toward the sound.
He felt a vague sense of unease. For a family like theirs, dishes were precious items. His wife was always careful with them; how could she have dropped something?
"Honey, what happened—"
Old Luke lit a candle to illuminate the kitchen, then froze.
The woman was collapsed on the floor, her eyes rolled back, twitching in extreme agony. Beside her lay an overturned tray, a shattered wine glass, and... half a loaf of warmed bread.
"Honey! What... what’s wrong?"
Old Luke lost his wits, frantically kneeling to support his wife.
But the moment his hands touched her body, he froze again, his heart filling with terror.
He tremblingly pulled back his wife’s sleeve, only to find that her thin hand had somehow become a bloody mess. Sharp, bony claws were forcing their way through her flesh, growing out before his very eyes.
"This... what is this...?"
"Lu... Luke... honey..."
Sensing her husband’s warmth, the woman regained a flicker of consciousness, but her expression remained contorted, as if she were fighting an internal battle.
"Run... run..."
"Run? What’s happening? What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong..."
Old Luke was paralyzed with panic, unsure of what to do. After a moment of hesitation, he gritted his teeth and scooped his wife up in his arms.
"You... hang on. I’m taking you to a doctor. We’re finding a doctor..."
But just then, a familiar voice came from behind him.
"Daddy."
The voice belonged to his eldest son, his pride and joy.
Old Luke turned his head stiffly.
In the flickering light of the candle, he saw the young boy open a mouth filled with blood and fangs, weeping as he spoke:
"I'm hungry..."
*
"I guess it wasn't going to be that easy, was it?"
Muen sighed as he watched the weeping little girl emerge from the white mist.
Anyone with a brain could tell that a little girl appearing at a time like this wasn't some cute mascot. The ominous feeling of a shadow looming over his heart seemed to confirm it.
"What do we do?" Albert asked.
"Just charge through?"
"Relax, I'm not that stupid. If the enemy is prepared, then I am too."
Before Muen’s voice had even faded, several figures shrouded in black robes darted out from the shadows of a nearby alley.
"My Lord."
This time, the black-clad agents didn't attempt to assassinate Albert. Instead, they bowed their heads to Muen.
"Your people?" Albert asked, surprised.
"Of course. Who doesn't have a few subordinates in black clothes? Luckily they made it in time, otherwise this would be troublesome."
Muen nodded and addressed the agents.
"See that girl? Whatever that thing is, hold her off and cover us."
"Understood."
The agents moved to obey.
But in that instant, Muen’s eyes narrowed. Sensing something, he suddenly roared:
"Watch out!"
Something flashed through the darkness.
One of the agents looked down blankly at his abdomen, where a thick, massive tail had skewered him through.
Squelch.
The tail retracted, blood spraying everywhere. Disbelief was frozen on the agent’s face as he collapsed.
"Damn it."
Muen watched the agent fall and cursed under his breath. He pulled hard on the reins to steady his agitated horse while points of starlight flared up, illuminating the surrounding darkness.
One.
Two.
Three.
...Many.
They were monsters with razor-sharp claws, hideous fangs, hard scales, and crimson eyes. They—or rather, it—still had tattered remnants of old clothing hanging from their bodies, revealing their former identities and retaining some recognizable human features.
But on those near-human faces, the only thing remaining was the cold, bloodthirsty instinct of a true magical beast.
They stepped forward slowly, low growls vibrating in their throats like a true pack of predators.