Chapter 64 : Chapter 64

Chapter 64. The Sword Fiend is Coming (3)

I felt Bolero’s gaze on me. It was fleeting.

“You just said… Bihen Benkou is the Sword Fiend?”

His distinctive low voice carried a subtle anger.

As he finished speaking, he fixed his eyes forward again, and Warren flinched, his shoulders trembling.

“Ah, I, I spoke out of turn…!”

“You said nothing is known about this Sword Fiend. You’d better explain yourself properly. The moment rumors spread that the Wild Dogs and Sewer Rats are hiding or fabricating information, the consequences won’t be light. Starting with me.”

He could’ve asked me directly to verify the truth.

Was he preparing for some unforeseen situation?

He kept my identity under wraps for now.

Despite his bear-like appearance, he was as cunning as a fox.

“Tch, that’s…”

Warren’s eyes darted around, his mouth clamped shut.

He’d been so cocky before, but now he was finally showing his true colors.

This time, I stepped in, stopping Bolero as I spoke.

“One last time. Where is Lady Adeline now?”

That’s when it happened.

“Boss!”

Another beggar burst in.

He stumbled forward, panting heavily, his face pale as death.

“T-The manor soldiers, t-they, t-they got Joy…!”

“What about Joy, you idiot!”

“S-Stabbed, w-with a s-sword…”

Warren shot to his feet, his face hardening instantly.

“Those damned bastards… Lord Bolero, stay here for a moment. I’ll explain when I’m back.”

Warren stormed out with his men, leaving Bolero and me alone.

An awkward silence hung in the air.

“…Imperial youth. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I never hid my name.”

“No. About being a Blood Mage. And about your connection to Lady Adeline. You must’ve found it pretty amusing, listening to me ramble nonsense.”

His face showed a trace of irritation.

I shrugged.

“Well, I’m on a classified mission, you see.”

“…Tch. Fine, an interesting connection, then.”

If he knew about my past life, he’d probably faint.

“Alright, Imperial youth. Let’s save the details for later. For now, let’s get out of here. Things don’t look good.”

“Hold on.”

During the Talrug Canyon subjugation, I’d overheard something.

In an emergency, the nobles of nearby territories, bound by ties to the previous generation, would come to Adeline’s aid under a righteous cause.

“The moment they heard my name, the manor soldiers’ faces changed completely.”

It was as if they’d finally found the fugitive they’d been chasing.

“The lord here, Viscount Mosfield. What kind of man is he?”

“Hm? Why ask that all of a… ah.”

Bolero, who’d been slinging his pack over his shoulder, suddenly froze mid-motion.

His mouth gaped as if something had just clicked.

“…Conwell is practically the overlord of the Kingdom’s east. If you trace the history of the surrounding territories, most were enfeoffed by the Conwell lord of their time, receiving imperial decrees to become vassals. It’s a bond forged in loyalty. Belmont is no different. If Conwell is embroiled in civil strife, they’re obliged to raise armies in support. No matter who becomes the new lord, reestablishing ties with Conwell is inevitable.”

“So that means…”

“For Viscount Mosfield, neutrality isn’t an option. He must choose a side.”

Simple enough.

Despite the urgency, it felt like a weight had finally lifted.

No need to overthink things anymore.

I don’t know what expression I was making, but Bolero looked at me and flinched, as if he’d seen a ghost.

I muttered to myself, half to him.

“Weeds are best pulled out early, don’t you think?”

* * *

Warren stormed out, leaving Bihen and Bolero behind, his steps heavy with fury. As he exited, his beggar subordinates fell in behind him, matching his pace.

Warren spat on the ground.

“Viscount Mosfield. His guts are spilling out, huh? Daring to mess with the Wild Dogs and Sewer Rats? Hah, that bastard!”

“Tch, let’s crush ‘em this time, Boss!”

“They think we’ve been sitting quiet ‘cause we’re fools. They’ll only learn after a proper beating…!”

Each gripped a crude club tightly.

Despite their bold words, their faces betrayed obvious tension.

Warren snorted and swung his arms.

“Let’s go!”

“Uoooaah!”

A furious roar echoed through the back alleys.

The beggar crew surged past him, charging forward.

‘Hm?’

Warren’s eyebrow twitched.

His men, who’d rushed ahead, were hesitating, faltering.

“What’re you doing, you idiots!”

Warren shoved past them irritably, pushing them aside.

Then he, too, caught his breath.

It wasn’t just Belmont’s manor soldiers surrounding their hideout.

‘No way, h-how…!’

There were at least ten of them.

All clad in full plate armor, draped in shimmering blue cloaks.

In any territory, plate armor in the Kingdom was reserved for those at least of quasi-knight status.

Those chilling blue cloaks were the symbol of Conwell.

Together, they signified the Conwell army—specifically, its elite forces.

“You the beggar chief here?”

The voice came from within.

The plate-armored soldiers parted left and right, clearing the view.

A man, also in plate armor but with his helmet off, sat atop a fallen beggar.

Viscount Mosfield, hunched and trembling, was only noticed later.

Warren shouted.

“Joy!”

“Boss…”

Joy was the lookout guarding the hideout’s entrance.

He was so taciturn that even calling out “Boss” was rare.

Seeing him now, teeth chattering as he called out pitifully, Warren’s heart broke.

“Well, damn, it’s got a name? A beggar, no less.”

Thud! Thud!

The man grabbed Joy’s hair and slammed his face into the ground.

The face dragged up was soaked in blood.

Warren’s eyes widened, nearly tearing.

“Ah, agh! Sir, sir! P-Please, spare him! Show mercy, I beg you!”

Warren quickly bowed his head.

The suddenness of the situation left him no time to think clearly.

Clashes with manor soldiers were common enough.

Usually, it was rookie soldiers looking down on beggars and picking fights.

Most Kingdom officials avoided entanglement with the Wild Dogs and Sewer Rats.

Stirring trouble could escalate, causing headaches.

Even lords found them troublesome.

But beggars couldn’t afford to act too bold.

A show of submission usually prompted the other side to back off, as if granting a favor.

Warren had assumed this was another such case.

He’d only planned to show Mosfield, who’d unusually shown up in person, that they wouldn’t be pushed around.

‘What the…!’

But the Conwell army?

He hadn’t even heard they’d arrived in Belmont.

“Hey.”

The man sitting on Joy called out softly.

His low, sinister voice seemed to pierce the skin.

Warren’s body shuddered.

“Y-Yes, yes, s-sir…!”

“You don’t know who I am, do you?”

Warren cautiously lifted his bowed head.

The man’s lips curled upward.

Between them, a few teeth gleamed a dull gold.

‘…!’

Warren hurriedly bowed again.

His body, curled like a mouse before a cat, trembled uncontrollably.

‘Gold-Tooth Angus…!’

A knight infamous in the imperial capital, Aleos, part of the Langster Faction.

His temper was so volatile that no lord would take him in.

Reduced to a wandering knight, he had a bizarre habit of melting down the metal trinkets of slain Sharon Faction knights to coat his own teeth.

‘Angus joined the Conwell army…!’

There’d been no word of this.

More crucially, Langster Faction knights—especially those like Angus, who followed the path of tyranny—were the natural predators of the Wild Dogs and Sewer Rats.

“Hey, beggar chief.”

“…Y-Yes, sir!”

“I heard Bihen Benkou is in your hideout. Just tell me if it’s true. I don’t like long talks.”

“I-I only know the name Bihen Benkou. I don’t even know what he looks like, sir.”

“Oh, right. I forgot. You beggar rats are known for your loyalty, aren’t you?”

Crack—!

Angus slammed Joy’s face into the ground again.

This time, the dull thud was particularly loud.

“Haaah…”

“J-Joy!”

“First, the nose broke. Now, the teeth are gone. Wanna guess what’s next? What’ll it be? Keep watching, or just talk?”

“N-No, please, sir…! I really don’t know!”

“Sure, you don’t. How would a filthy beggar know Bihen Benkou’s face? Fine, just bring him out. The guy inside.”

“T-Today’s guests are just a traveler from the capital and his attendant. That’s the truth, sir! Believe me! Bihen Benkou? No way, that’s absurd!”

Bihen Benkou.

A name rapidly spreading through the Kingdom’s east.

The reason was singular: rumors that he was the Sword Fiend.

Warren had tried countless times to verify this through Conwell’s Wild Dogs and Sewer Rats, but for some reason, no answers came.

It was as if the entire Conwell branch had vanished collectively.

‘Unless Ramba is deliberately hiding Bihen Benkou’s identity…’

So, telling Angus he didn’t know wasn’t a lie.

Calling Bolero a mere traveler was due to the duty to protect a client’s identity.

‘The slick-looking guy with him must be some apprentice priest or something. No way he’s Bihen Benkou.’

Warren swallowed hard.

The hump on his back trembled visibly.

“Ha, ha, ha, ha… what a stubborn beggar.”

Angus laughed, his voice trembling, but it didn’t sound like laughter.

He glanced at Warren, then called to Viscount Mosfield beside him.

Mosfield flinched and looked up.

“S-Speak.”

“You see this? This beggar doesn’t understand a word. Doesn’t know fear. Just how benevolent has your rule been?”

“…I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. This is why status matters. No matter how just and kind a lord is, these lowlifes can’t comprehend it, can they? In the end, they need to be treated according to their place.”

Angus extended his hand, and a soldier handed him a hand axe.

“Even beasts know their hierarchy, so how can human society be any less? Archduke Callence has promised to restore the broken order.”

Angus raised the axe.

Seeing the gleaming blade, Joy sobbed and thrashed.

Belmont’s manor soldiers threatened the lamenting beggars with spears.

“N-No…”

Warren staggered to his feet.

He’d chosen the life of a beggar to avoid being swept up in the chaos of the world.

In other words, he’d become a sewer rat to preserve his life.

For a beggar, what could be more terrifying than death?

“Boss, s-save me, Boss…”

“What good would killing you do, fool? I’ll just carve off one leg. It’ll make your miserable life easier, so be grateful. The low stay low, and the high remain in their rightful place—that’s the natural order.”

Warren’s mouth hung open, dazed.

If only he could rip out his heart to show it.

Words would only anger Angus further, so all he felt was despair.

Tears fell foolishly.

A man only crumbles and despairs when he feels powerless.

“Enough. I’m here.”

A voice came from behind.

All eyes turned that way.

“Sorry, Boss. Took me a bit to assess the situation.”

Warren had briefly considered it.

Doom Fist Bolero could likely match Gold-Tooth Angus, so maybe he could shamelessly beg for help.

But the enemy’s numbers were too great.

Yet, what was happening now?

The man striding in, declaring war with his words, wasn’t Bolero.

It was the man Warren had thought was just Bolero’s lackey.

Bolero himself stood behind, arms crossed.

“Ha…”

Angus rose from his seat.

His sinister, downcast gaze remained unchanged.

“Check him out. He’s no ordinary guy, that’s for sure.”

At Angus’s nod, a few soldiers pulled out rolled-up parchment.

Their eyes widened as they compared the sketch inside with the man standing beside Warren.

The man spoke.

“I am Bihen Benkou.”

He drew out the scabbard hidden under his cloak, revealing it fully.

‘…!’

Shock flashed in Warren’s eyes.

He saw the red cord wrapped around Bihen’s scabbard.

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