Chapter 105

Three days have already passed since the storm called Sion.

The Imperial Guard doubled, maybe even tripled, their vigilance. Lir, Alter, and I were reassigned rooms, shifted to a new sector inside the palace walls.

‘The old rooms, closer to the main gate… they were convenient.’

My new chamber rested in the heart of the palace, the sixth floor. A considerable distance from the main entrance.

So far, in fact, that I seriously considered submitting a formal request for a carriage—just for traversing the interior.

…Returning from expeditions will become quite the ordeal now.

“So, that woman… what was she, really?”

“Just a peddler, that’s all.”

I answered Lir, absently massaging my right hand, the nerves frayed. The physician advised consistent stimulation to improve blood flow.

“…I highly doubt an ordinary peddler could waltz into the Imperial Palace so nonchalantly. And find your chambers, of all places, within this massive fortress.”

“A remarkably skilled peddler, then.”

For three days, I’d racked my brain, desperately trying to place ‘Sion,’ to unearth her identity.

But no matter how deep I dug into my memories, no one fitting that description emerged.

Sion infiltrated the palace as if it were her own home. Furthermore, she possessed intimate knowledge of key figures within the Imperial circle.

And among these ‘key figures’ were Generals Grisha and Bel.

The instant Sion left the palace, I went directly to Grisha. I needed to know if she’d felt even the slightest sensation of being watched in recent days.

She responded with a puzzled look, claiming to have sensed nothing of the kind.

Grisha, a battle-hardened veteran of countless campaigns, stands among the continent’s most formidable warriors. Even with her ‘priest’ classification which is not known for acute senses, there’s no way she wouldn’t have noticed someone infiltrating the palace, monitoring her movements.

Seeing Grisha’s confusion, I revealed Sion’s existence and the information she possessed. Upon learning that she had been under surveillance, Grisha was visibly shaken.

‘…Her skill alone places her at least at the general level.’

In this world, the number of individuals with ‘general’ caliber who aren’t actively serving in the military can be counted on one, maybe two, fingers.

The Godfather of the underworld, Mallis.

Don Arteta, slayer of dragons in the eastern mountains.

Both well past fifty, men of the old guard. Figures entirely opposed to Zion, not only in appearance, but in temperament as well.

‘…Characters not implemented in the game, perhaps?’

This world holds roughly 1.2 billion inhabitants – a combined population of orcs, elves, dwarves, and humans. To render all of them within the game would be, of course, impossible.

‘If I consider it not strange…it’s not strange, really.’

The core theme of the game I enjoyed beyond the screen was, without a doubt, the ‘war between the continent’s peoples and the demonic forces.’ The game itself unfolded around generals and grand lords; the ‘underworld’ was only ever mentioned a few times in side quests, never truly explored.

‘Logically, what good would fame do an assassin, anyway?’

Save for ‘Delta,’ a man inspired by a sword saint who abandoned the underworld, became a general, and is currently toiling away in the north, for most whose primary occupation is ‘assassination,’ ‘fame’ was a sign of mediocre skill.

Mallis, the Godfather of the underworld, only gained notoriety after he began managing the organization. In his younger days, when he was still active, none among the respectable knew his name.

‘…It would be convenient to have at least one person deeply versed in this field nearby.’

Never did I imagine a day would come where I’d so regret not having any high-profile criminal friends…

“Ah.”

No.

Actually, I do know some people who could be called prominent criminals.

* * *

A chilling air slips past the brick of the wall, caressing my neck. A filthy, humid atmosphere permeates the entire building. I half expect to turn around and see the rats that followed me scuttling back into the shadows.

This medieval-era prison is in far worse condition than I had imagined. To compare this place to the imperial palace where I live is like comparing heaven and hell – a perfect analogy.

“This way!”

The prison guard leading me speaks with a voice filled with military discipline, his footsteps precise as he guides me.

A faint sheen of cold sweat clung to the back of his neck.

It wasn’t unreasonable to react this way; a general had arrived unannounced, after all.

*Screech*—!

The iron door, as if echoing the dilapidated state of the prison facility, swung open with a piercing shriek. Inside, a family sat huddled together, looking like paupers after being trapped in the filthy cells.

“…”

The little girl, barely older than myself, glared at me, her eyes burning with a venomous fire.

Her father, sitting beside her, hastily pulled her into an embrace and whispered, “Stay quiet if you don’t want to die.”

I leaned back in the steel chair positioned in the center of the visiting room. The chair groaned, as if warning it was nearing the end of its lifespan.

“How should I address you? Count… is no longer applicable, I presume?”

“Guinevere. Simply Guinevere will do.”

Guinevere, the head of the esteemed Guinevere family, who, just two or three months prior, wielded immense influence within the capital, stated.

“Very well, Guinevere. My visit today… it’s not because I harbor ill will towards you, the Count, or your daughter, nor am I here to taunt you. I’m not even here to further investigate the extensive list of crimes you committed…”

*Grind*, it went.

Before I could finish speaking, the sound of grinding teeth sliced through the air. The one responsible for the unpleasant noise was undoubtedly the young lady of the Guinevere family – the very person who had plunged the great Guinevere family into this squalid prison.

She seemed to believe that she was trapped in this filthy, ancient prison because of me.

Hence, the resentful glare she directed my way. Seeing this, her father swiftly grabbed the back of her head and slammed it against the desk.

*Thud*!

The girl’s head collided with the rusted iron desk. The father, having punished his daughter’s lack of tact, immediately bowed his head in a gesture of utmost politeness.

“I deeply apologize for my child’s insolence. It is entirely my fault for raising her so poorly.”

The patriarch of the Guinevere family, his face obscured by a thick beard, wore a seemingly benign expression, a stark contrast to the man who had just violently slammed his child’s head against a desk.

A darkness clung to his remorseful eyes, heavy with regret for days long past.

Like most dogs in this racket, the man’s acting was at least passable.

If his daughter wasn’t slumped over the desk, nose bleeding, I might’ve actually believed his repentance was genuine.

“I offer my sincerest apologies…!”

“Forgive me. Please, forgive me.”

As the family head spoke his apologies, his wife, son, and relatives simultaneously began to bow their heads to me.

Eight people, all lined up and bowing repeatedly – the word pathetic couldn’t quite capture it.

“The Guernere family deeply regrets the disrespect shown to you, General. So…”

“Let’s cut to the chase. It’s rather damp in here, I don’t intend to linger.”

My tone was icy, halting the spectacle unfolding before me.

These were the Guernere family, the ones who exploited the blind, who tried to sever a father’s foot before his son’s very eyes.

Two or three months is hardly enough time to change your heart and become a new person.

They’ll need about 500 years in a prison like this.

“Crimson eyes, hair as black as graphite, a large cloak, and appears to be around sixteen years old. Female, and introduced herself as ‘Sion.’ A complete merchant in personality, and in terms of skill… generously, I’d rate her as General-class.”

“…”

The family head slowly raised his head, cautiously meeting my gaze.

“Does that name ring any bells?”

“…Sion, you say? We’ve hired her a few times.”

“Tell me everything you know.”

At my firm tone, the Guernere family head bit his lip, lost in thought.

“Would… would it be permissible for my house to offer the General a proposition? The way of the world is give and take, after all.”

The head of the Guineer family finished his brief deliberation and asked with utmost caution.

…Unbelievable.

“Manifest.”

Focusing on the foreign sensation within my chest, I revealed the crimson crystal upon my shoulder. The members of the Guineer family gazed at the object, which emitted a sharp, mechanical sound, with an air of wonder.

Soon, the tip of the crimson crystal pulsed with a dark, bloody light. A slender beam grazed the Guineer head’s hair, carving a massive hole in the wall behind him.

It seemed we’d struck a water pipe. Water gushed from the corroded pipe, and the stone bricks separating the prison cells shattered. The dark, bloody light continued to extend, pulverizing dozens of walls. It likely gouged a large hole even in the prison’s exterior wall.

“The Queen sought to burn you at the stake. I opposed it.”

The Guineer members seemed to experience a chill down their spines at the sight of the gaping sequence of holes unfolding behind them. Their hands, riddled with scars and blisters, trembled as they bit down on lips gone pale.

“Do not think that I spared you because I found you particularly useful. Simply, I was not in the mood to kill that day.”

I tapped the rusted iron desk with my left hand, surveying the imbeciles before me.

“You must not forget that the reason you are alive and breathing now is solely due to my whim.”

At that moment, the sound of guards running through the corridor beyond the visiting room door echoed. The sudden appearance of holes in the prison walls must have given them much to do.

“Are you alright?!”

A guard, his face pale, burst through the door.

“Put the bill on my tab. It’s nothing of consequence, return to your post.”

“…A-ah, yes. R-right.”

“I believe there are no other inmates on this floor besides Count Guineer. There’s no need for such alarm.”

“Are you alright….”

“I said, return to your post.”

I slipped the crimson crystal into the breast of my tunic, turned, and fixed him with a stare.

The soldier, meeting my gaze, swallowed hard. He fled, shutting the visitation room door behind him like he was escaping a plague.

The head of the Guiner family swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. His young daughter, her face moments ago contorted with fury, now wore a mask of chilling dread. The rest of the family were no less pale.

“No newspapers make it in here, it seems? You appear unaware of where I’ve been.”

My words were like chipped ice. A dark, crimson flicker heated the air around me, raising the room’s temperature another notch.

“I have returned from the warfront.”

Since returning from Valarrand, moments like these find me with unnerving regularity.

The humidity and heat of that place… it amplifies my irritation tenfold, and my words become sharper without my permission.

“Tens of thousands died before my eyes. My comrades suffered grievous wounds. I lost the use of a hand entirely.”

This derelict, decaying prison… it was not so far removed from that land.

Confined, humid, hot, and festering.

For everyone who was there, I imagine, Valarrand is a vile memory. But for me, especially.

“…Do not assume I am as amenable now as I was two months past.”

And terrible memories, they change a person.

The refuse before me no longer appear as people at all.

When the trial resumes, I will actively champion their execution.

“Do not test my patience. I am already in a foul mood.”

“…My apologies.”

The head of the Guiner house could do nothing but lower his head. His dimwitted daughter, finally understanding her position, echoed a small, repeated apology.

“So, who is Sion?”

I tapped a light rhythm on the steel desk with my fingers, trying to stir the heavy, settled air.

…Naturally, the humans before me were petrified, stiff as stone, seemingly uncomfortable even to breathe.

It would take some time for them to overcome their fear and loosen their tongues.