[Translator - Pot]
[Proofreader - Kawaii]
Chapter 140: Even Marco Matters
The rain clouds covering Grunewald City poured rain equally over the massive castle and its walls, the bustling streets, the decks of anchored ships with their sails folded, and even the back alleys.
Swoosh—
On nights like this, when a downpour drenches the city, the usual disturbances of the underworld are quietly buried beneath the rain.
Thanks to that, Zizek, who had been busy lately, could finally focus on training his swordsmanship in peace.
Crack!
The raindrops shattered into smaller fragments as they collided with his swinging sword.
Of course, Zizek’s sword strikes weren’t sharp enough to cut through the falling rain. It was just a phenomenon similar to a blind arrow hitting one soldier out of a million-strong army.
Still, Zizek’s heart was filled with the determination to cut down and deflect every incoming “arrow” of rain.
“Huff, huff.”
Zizek’s breath was ragged as he danced with his sword. He was desperately trying to control his breathing, swinging his sword, retreating, and advancing as he faced imaginary enemies in his mind.
‘Ah, I got hit again. I fell for it that time.’
Imaginary Knut, imaginary Rudgarda, imaginary Balthazar, imaginary Tara…
One by one, the forms of the strong opponents he had recently encountered slashed at his neck, heart, wrists, ankles, and even his hair.
How many times had he died already?
“Ouch!”
Zizek tripped and fell flat on his back, staring up at the sky.
“Damn it. This isn’t working.”
Raindrops fell into his open mouth. Zizek drank the rain with a dumbfounded expression.
“Boss, you should take a break now!”
“Nah, I’ll just lie here and rest.”
“You’ll catch a cold!”
“Stop nagging, I’m not a fucking kid.”
“Why are you cursing?”
Zizek grumbled in response to his subordinate’s concern and struggled to get up.
‘I feel like I’m onto something, but it also feels like I’m just flailing around.’
But for Zizek, who had never received proper instruction from a master, this was the best he could do.
‘Imitating the fights of the strong.’
Of course, he had never seen Knut fight, nor Rudgarda, nor Tara. The only experience he had was Balthazar’s dagger aiming for his neck with movements and speed beyond his comprehension.
Therefore, most of his imagination was a reinterpretation, recreation, and misreading of the sparring sessions he had with Karzan.
In essence, he was fighting a Karzan with Tara’s face, a Karzan with Rudgarda’s face, and a Karzan with Knut’s face.
“It’s such a crude method.”
But it wasn’t entirely meaningless. The techniques Zizek was developing through this process were being refined through countless thought experiments and simulated sparring sessions.
It wasn’t so different from how Karzan had developed his own sword style.
‘But it’s not satisfying.’
Even though the barrier of the 4th tier was within sight, it felt like he was being smacked on the back of the head and chased away by a grumpy, menacing gatekeeper.
‘What’s missing?’
He had enough mana. He had plenty of real combat experience, and his sword swings were filled with insights. Yet, it still wasn’t enough to break through to the 4th tier. Why?
If Allenvert had heard that question, he would have pointed out, until Zizek’s ears burned, that he hadn’t learned a proper mana cultivation technique, that his mana and swordsmanship weren’t yet in harmony, and that the imbalance in his body, energy, and spirit was preventing him from advancing to the next level…
But Zizek had no proper master to guide him.
“Maybe I should ask old man Gareth to teach me something.”
He knew Gareth had been a renowned knight in his prime. Even now, in his old age, Zizek doubted he could beat him.
But Zizek still hadn’t mustered the courage to ask him for a spar or to teach him swordsmanship.
‘How can I maintain my dignity as a boss if I’m getting beaten up by a new executive and then asking to learn swordsmanship?’
Besides, Zizek’s goal was always Karzan. It was unclear how much a knight’s sword would help him.
‘If I knew it would be like this, I should’ve just accepted when the boss offered to teach me.’
In his own way, Zizek had stubbornly decided to try his best on his own first, and only seek help if he truly couldn’t make it.
But—
“Damn it, I didn’t think it would be this hard.”
Where was Karzan, and what was he doing? What could have happened that he sent that masked, deadly warrior as a messenger instead of coming himself?
“At this rate, I’ll forget what he looks like.”
Right now, Zizek missed Karzan’s ridiculously rugged face more than ever.
‘To make matters worse, the atmosphere around here has been strange lately.’
Zizek had a friend who used to share meals with him as a member of the Bisakino Brotherhood years ago.
That friend had suddenly shown up at Zizek’s usual bar and left him with a warning that sent chills down his spine.
“Zizek, be careful. I heard our side’s inspector went to the Black Night Society and is now investigating you.”
“What? Why me?”
“I don’t know that much. But you know better than anyone that nothing good comes from crossing paths with that guy.”
“Damn right I do. Shit.”
Why would such a big shot take an interest in a small fry like him?
‘Did that idiot Black Night Society leader plant some nonsense in their heads?’
Regardless, this wasn’t good news. Zizek was still weak, and above all, he had to prevent the name of Eisenach from reaching their ears.
‘If they make a move, even Eisenach won’t come out unscathed.’
Their power was nothing to scoff at. Zizek knew that better than anyone.
‘If it comes to it, should I just set off the firecrackers?’
Zizek thought about the firecrackers Karzan had given him as a last resort. Karzan had said he’d come running if they were set off.
“…Sigh.”
Zizek stared at the ripples created by raindrops falling into puddles, then suddenly looked up.
“Damn, it’s really pouring.”
It was as if someone had hauled seawater into the sky and was dumping it down. Zizek pushed back his soaked, seaweed-like hair.
Feeling the dampness, he pondered.
‘…Do I really need to take a bath? I got soaked in the rain, so can’t I just consider myself clean?’
To him, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable conclusion.
***
“Hmm.”
Huten, the inspector of the Bisakino Brotherhood, rolled a walnut in his hand with a sly smile.
“So, what’s the conclusion? Our idiot young master Somerset got scolded by his mom and turned red and blue, is that it?”
“Yes. It seems he came whining to our contact about it.”
“Pathetic.”
Though they had targeted Somerset precisely because of his temperament, it didn’t make him any less pitiful.
“He seems to fully trust and rely on us now.”
“Why wouldn’t he? We’ve been feeding him sweet words, bowing and scraping, and offering him value as underworld figures.”
Huten sneered.
“He’s the typical spoiled brat who thinks the world revolves around him. If someone is serving him so willingly, it’s because they’re planning to take even more from him. He doesn’t even realize that.”
His subordinate chuckled.
“Well, that’s how all spoiled young masters are.”
“Even among those raised in luxury, look at someone like Verdzig. He’s far more ruthless than us.”
“Ah, that’s true.”
Huten, who acted like he’d give Somerset the shirt off his back in his presence, didn’t hide his mockery and disdain when the young master wasn’t around.
“We’re about 80% there. All the effort is paying off.”
Following orders from above, they had been executing a plan to infiltrate Grunewald.
They set up a high-end bar frequented by the noble delinquents, spread rumors, and generously provided alcohol, drugs, and women.
‘It was too easy.’
It didn’t take long for them to reel in the big fish—Somerset.
Somerset, who had always been weak-willed and resentful of his mother’s control, was an easy target. By playing on his insecurities about his brothers and feeding him sweet lies, winning his favor wasn’t difficult.
‘The fool is digging his own grave without even realizing it.’
When Somerset, displeased with his younger brother Allenvert, asked them to “take care of him.” Huten was thrilled.
The fact that the young master was starting to entrust them with dirty work was a good sign in many ways.
‘And then things got even luckier.’
The thugs who had been arrested for messing with Allenvert caused Somerset to lose face, and the assassination of a prisoner sent the situation spiraling in an unintended direction.
‘At some point, it became a problem between Allenvert and Verdzig.’
But there was no denying that Somerset had also been caught up in the scandal.
‘The moment he felt inferior to the younger brother he had always looked down on, he started to truly fall apart.’
Honestly, to Huten, Somerset’s delusions of inheriting the duchy with a bunch of drunken delinquents and underworld organizations were downright absurd.
‘Though, to be fair, we did encourage half of it.’
Still, it was good that Somerset was starting to move according to their plans.
“The problem is that the Agrippas is keeping a close eye on us.”
Huten chuckled at his subordinate’s concern.
“Wasn’t that expected?”
It was extremely difficult to deceive their intelligence network.
Especially with someone like Somerset, who had little self-control and wore his emotions on his sleeve, keeping secrets was impossible.
“But if they intervene, it could seriously derail our plans—”
“No. It’s actually a good thing.”
Huten shook his head.
“How so?”
“The more isolated Somerset feels, the more he’ll rely on us, won’t he?”
“Ah!”
The subordinate marveled but cautiously asked, “But what if they get angry and attack us?”
“Hmph, since when are we afraid of the Agrippas?”
It was an arrogant statement, hard to believe coming from a mid-level officer of a third-rate organization that parasitized Grunewald’s underworld.
“Isn’t Grunewald itself more fearsome than the Agrippas?”
“What a foolish question.”
It was a question that couldn’t be asked if one knew the reason why the Clan of Agrippa had become Georg’s in-laws.
‘And if you consider who’s behind me, it’s even more so.’
Huten continued, hiding his true intentions.
“Even if Agrippa is thriving, they’re still a foolish clan clinging to vain dreams after being trampled once.”
That’s right.
They were truly lost in a delusional dream.
“Georg is a monster, and the elders of the council are no ordinary men. There’s no way they’d make such a cripple their successor.”
It’s baffling that they couldn’t even grasp such an obvious truth.
“We just need to become the sole backer of Somerset, who’s isolating themselves on the island. Then, we can simply disappear into Grunewald’s shadow.”
“Yes, sir.”
The subordinate closed his mouth.
He didn’t want to provoke Huten by bringing up how “Grunewald’s intelligence and wrath are terrifying.”
However, Huten never believed his schemes were intricate or covert enough to deceive Grunewald in the first place.
‘After all, this is all just bait.’
He knew well that his role was nothing more than bait from the start. In that case, he just needed to stick to his role and continue with the obvious ploy.
‘There’s no need to know anything beyond that.’
If he were to act on some clumsy curiosity…
‘No, let’s stop there.’
Huten shook his head and changed the subject.
“Have you finished investigating that guy, Zizek?”
“My apologies. We haven’t uncovered any significant information yet.”
“Don’t dawdle. Find out what’s there. There must be something.”
“Understood.”
“Dismissed.”
After sending his subordinate away, Huten suddenly scratched his forearm. It was as if the area with the spider tattoo was itching—or perhaps feeling a bit awkward.
“Haha.”
Huten’s soft laugh sounded different from before.
“Shall we continue, then?”
He turned his gaze.
“Just kill him, damn it.”
“Oh, we can’t do that.”
Huten’s eyes gleamed with delight as he looked at the man who had been beaten beyond recognition.
“Thank you. I’ve been feeling restless lately, itching for something.”
A toy to play with as he pleased. That was the future left for a lower-tiering officer of the organization who had been caught with a fatal weakness and was now slated for “disposal.”
“Those who live through this mad night need an outlet for their violent tendencies to avoid being consumed by the madness.”
It was a truly enjoyable task to pour out that violence by catching others’ mistakes and punishing them for it.
“You’re already insane, Huten.”
“Hehe.”
Huten laughed.
“How else could one survive in this godforsaken world of the moonlit night without going mad?”
* * *
The morning after a night of heavy rain was cool and refreshing.
“What lovely weather.”
I stretched as I breathed in the damp air.
Tonight, the banquet will finally take place. But until then, I couldn’t afford to sit around idly.
R𝑒ad lat𝒆st chapt𝒆rs at free𝑤ebnovel.com Only.
“Olivier, how has Brother Somerset been lately?”
“Are you referring to young master Somerset?”
Olivier responded immediately.
“There have been some unfavorable rumors. He’s been mingling with the troublemakers of the noble clans, neglecting his training, and being careless with the Security Guard’s duties…”
“Is that so?”
It was a pitiful update, but I couldn’t help but think there was more to it.
“I’d like to hear the unofficial stories, the rumors circulating among the servants in the annex.”
Nobles tend not to see their servants as equals. They often overlook the fact that servants have eyes and ears too.
That’s why sometimes, the most overlooked whispers in the lowest places can hide undeniable truths.
“Um, young master.”
Peter cautiously spoke up.
“Among us, Marco is the one who listens well to rumors.”
“Oh? Now that I think about it, that’s true.”
There’s a saying that even dog dung can be useful if you know how to use it. This must be one of those times.
“He’s always gossiping and slacking off, so he tends to gather with others and talk about such things. I’m not sure how it is these days, though—”
“Can you change his habits?”
“Well, he’s careful, but I’ve heard he still sneaks off sometimes.”
“Good. Perfect.”
I pointed at Peter.
“Tell Marco to come running right now.”
It occurred to me that knowing Somerset’s movements might be more important than I thought.
‘Or maybe not.’
[Translator - Pot]
[Proofreader - Kawaii]