Chapter 130

“They are preparing to move.”

A thought struck Eugène like lightning, and he swallowed his breath, whispering to himself. Whoever committed this crime seemed to regard this place as disposable, ready to leave at any moment. The fact that they had not relocated until Eugène and his companion discovered it might simply have been a matter of luck.

“Where should we go next?”

They had reached a dead-end alley. Above them stood the mansion they were aiming for, and on three sides, walls enclosed the space. In front, a water pipe connected to the upper house protruded at about the height of a child’s torso. Only a child like Gecko could enter it; there was no way an adult with Hunter’s stature could fit.

“We should go upward.”

“Upward?”

Eugène raised the lantern to illuminate the ceiling. As Hunter had mentioned, the ceiling of the sewer pipe, about one and a half times his own height, had a wooden door. No matter how he looked, it was not reachable while standing.

“Are there normally doors there?”

“Impossible. It has been secretly modified. It is not widely known, but in this neighborhood, there are quite a few houses with passages connecting to the sewers for transporting cargo out of sight. Those with something to hide would prefer such houses, and I checked. As expected, that is the case here as well.”

Hunter, who had been talking up to that point, glanced back at Eugene and raised his chin arrogantly.

“Will you crawl, or shall I lift you? I do not mind either way.”

Even if the ground beneath them had not been a field of corpses, Eugène would not have exposed his back to Hunter. Silently, he bent his knees, signaling that he would sacrifice his shoulders. Hunter did not refuse and climbed onto him. The weight of a fully grown adult pressed heavily upon Eugène, yet he maintained his balance firmly and bore the load.

Thanks to Eugène maintaining a steady balance, Hunter was able to manipulate the keys without difficulty. The key affixed to the ceiling seemed to belong to a rather complex mechanism, yet a few deft movements were enough to unlock it. One could believe that he was a professional thief rather than a mere fence. However, he seemed far from pleased with how smoothly things were progressing and kept muttering in a sulky tone.

“You, a fence, have risen quite high. You have experienced the body of His Excellency the Admiral. …Damn, if the surroundings were not like this, I would have enjoyed myself immensely. But now, there is no mood for jokes at all.”

“Shut your mouth, Hunter.”

Could this man really never stop, even at moments like this? Eugène growled low, unable to hide his irritation. Only then did Hunter cease his grumbling and focus on finishing the task.

No, on second thought, he did not completely stop. He muttered under his breath, so faintly that his voice barely reached Eugène’s ears. Eugène ignored the constant hiss, like a snake above his head, deciding that engaging with every complaint would be endless.

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“sGa, hGHhIw. TaIN aGAI tIE kr G EJbEkbI vaGhiIb aIbI.”

Hunter spoke at last, after a long pause. Seeing the scene before him, he felt no satisfaction from having crawled out of the pit of corpses.

Eugène frowned as he observed the walls of the basement, smeared with the victims’ blood, and the rusty torture instruments, scattered haphazardly with bits of flesh clinging to them. The perpetrators had apparently given no thought to even minimal cleanup; the blood pooled on the floor had not been properly wiped. He stood still, gazing down at the glossy black stains, his expression hardening.

“This is strange. It is understandable to eliminate those involved to obscure the mastermind behind the request, but was torture really necessary?”

Hunter tilted his head, sharing Eugène’s puzzlement.

“Perhaps the mousetraps were tampered with…?”

Uncharacteristically uncertain, Hunter rubbed the back of his neck and offered a speculation.

“Do you know anything about that?”

“Not at all. After you slaughtered the others, the only survivor of the Clawhad gang I met was that child. Even if it is one gang, how could a child who only ran errands know such intimate details?”

Their conversation ultimately reached no clear conclusion. The clues at their disposal were far too vague to form any meaningful deduction.

They left the torture chamber and stepped into the hallway. Fortunately, no sentries were visible, likely because they had not anticipated an approach from below. Aside from the torture chamber, the other storage rooms were empty, though the air was stale, as if left unventilated for a long time. A musty stench, of unknown origin, permeated the rooms.

Having passed through the sewer, Eugène had become somewhat desensitized to smells, yet it was only then that he realized the odor was strangely familiar. He stopped in the middle of the corridor, furrowing his brow in suspicion as he pondered.

“…What are you doing?”

Hunter whispered softly, having nearly gone up the stairs alone. Eugène was inspecting his surroundings carefully, even entering an empty storage room to feel the remnants left on the floor with his hands, seemingly confirming something. Hunter watched him with a doubtful expression, but Eugène said nothing, merely brushed his hands, and returned to his place.

“I needed to check something briefly.”

He offered no further explanation.

They ascended the stairs from the basement to the first floor without much difficulty. Compared to the basement, which had gone fairly smoothly aside from witnessing things best left unseen, the path to the ground floor proved to be a challenge from the start.

In mansions, basements were usually used as storage areas and were often connected to the kitchen. This mansion was no exception, meaning that to enter the main building, they had to pass through the first-floor kitchen. Unfortunately, even at this late hour, there were still people present in the kitchen.

Shh.

Eugène froze the moment he detected the noise and pressed a finger to his lips. Hunter understood the signal immediately and held his breath.

From above came the murmur of voices. Low laughter, cynical curses spat out, and murmured conversations. Occasionally, an exasperated complaint or a momentary cheer cut across the room like a passing shower.

The scene unfolded vividly in Eugène’s mind from the sounds alone. It seemed that after finishing their evening meal, a few individuals had remained in the kitchen, lingering in the warmth and gambling. Eugène positioned himself at an angle beyond their line of sight and, listening carefully, could discern how many were present.

There are four.

He also observed something peculiar. Although they conversed energetically among themselves, the language they used was not Eneca. The men spoke in Camarin, the official language of the Confederation of Five Nations.

(Good heavens, this one too. There’s still quite some time before he departs the empire. Is he planning to drain all the empire’s currency already?)

Someone’s bet had evidently been significant, for a voice chided the man. The others quickly added their remarks, warning him not to risk his life over something trivial, speaking as though teasing. The man who had been reproached muttered back defensively.

(It doesn’t matter. I have already sent off the last cargo. There’ll be no further use for it. Once I’m confined to the monastery from tomorrow, I’ll be forced to act mute and will not even dream of gambling.)

Eugène’s ears twitched at that. They had clearly mentioned ‘cargo.’ What did they mean by that? From the context of the conversation, it appeared that their presence here was for the purpose of transporting it. Only after listening did Eugène realize how fortunate he had been. Had he arrived a day later, the outcome might have been disastrous.

[That’s uncertain. Whether we can rejoin depends entirely on the decision of the superiors.]

(-What do you mean by that? Our assigned mission is complete, so naturally we should rejoin, shouldn’t we?)

The laughter in their voices vanished at that. In response to his colleagues’ serious questioning, the man who had initially voiced concern lowered his tone.

(In principle, yes. But we have yet to locate the ledger. Their assholes must be on fire by now. Do you think that imperial bastard will just let us go?)

(What? Goddamn it! Are you going to grab our ankles over that?)

Even though it was only conjecture, the men quickly became agitated. It was not merely their hotheadedness, but because, in that situation, their suspicion seemed entirely reasonable.

(Haven’t you seen all the dumb shit that bastard has been pulling while we’ve been here? He’s greedier and dumber than you could ever imagine. The fucking idiot managed to lose the ledger to a pair of tits in the middle of something this important. But it’s always bastards like him who cling the hardest to their own skins.)

(Even so, for fuck’s sake. What are we, his wet nurses? How long are we supposed to keep cleaning up that dumb imperial fuck’s messes? Even a two-week-old brat wouldn’t be shitting all over the place the way that asshole does!)

Around that time, Hunter traced letters on his back with his finger. Rodom. Eugène, for whom Camarin was a foreign language, could barely understand the content of the conversation, but Hunter, originally from the Confederation of Five Nations, seemed to be able to distinguish even the slightest difference in accent. Confirming the name Hunter had spelled out, Eugène faintly furrowed his brow.

As expected, they are part of Nightwing.

Eugène’s eyes grew cold as he regarded those who prowled the empire as though it were their own front yard. He had known that they were scheming a conspiracy that could pose a serious threat to the empire’s security, but he had not imagined that they had been involved in his assassination attempt as well.

But what Eugène truly could not forgive was not the failed plot against his life. The moment he realized they were part of Nightwing, what flashed most vividly before his mind’s eye were the images of corpses discarded like garbage in the sewers, rotting in pitiful indignity.

He pointed to the opposite wall with a stern expression on his face and raised two fingers. Though it had never been arranged beforehand, Hunter was quick-witted. Indeed, scowling as if chewing on something bitter, Hunter reluctantly pressed himself against the wall as instructed.

Eugène, his back to the right-hand wall, began to ascend the stairs with utmost caution. One step, then another. Those enthralled by their gambling did not notice the shadow creeping up from below. Eugène gently set aside the short sword he had been holding and drew the pair of daggers strapped at his waist.

(Goddamn it! What a mood killer.)

(There are no more rat bastards left to catch and string up. What the hell are we supposed to do now?)

Buried under their constant, petty complaints, the faint creak of the wooden stairs went completely unnoticed. Eugène briefly leaned out to secure his line of sight and survey the upstairs. The men were seated at a small table, one to each side. Eugène marked the ones directly ahead and to the right as his targets. Once his position was certain, he gave Hunter the signal and launched into action.

A dark shadow burst out from the basement landing. One of the men, seated facing the stairs, flinched and lifted his head in alarm. But by then, Eugène’s dagger had already left his hand.Shluck!The ghastly sound of flesh ripping and muscle bursting echoed through the kitchen.

The dagger struck true, burying itself deep in the man’s right eye socket, leaving only the hilt protruding. Bright red blood sprayed across the cards spread out over the table. The man’s hand, which had instinctively groped for the sword leaning against his chair, convulsed once in a spasm before going limp.

(Hhhk–)