Chapter 76

The Place Where the Demon Passed (1)

At some point, Isaac had stopped feeling excitement or anticipation.
Even if such emotions did arise, they would seep away like a passing desert drizzle—gone before they could settle.
They neither accumulated in his heart nor left behind any trace.

And yet, even at an age well past his prime, there were still a few things that could stir his heart.
One of them was building a Magic Tower in Goethe.

For now, it was nothing more than a distant, absurd dream.
But in this life, Isaac intended—without fail—to erect a Magic Tower in Vinfelt.

A tower free from the constraints of class and nationality.
It wasn’t that he held radical beliefs about equality or freedom like the Republic’s revolutionaries.
It was simply that class and nationality were the greatest obstacles to the advancement of magic.
An environment freed from the limitations of the era would accelerate magical progress by ten, even twenty years.

And this wasn’t merely for Isaac’s personal ideals of magic.
On the continent, an influential Magic Tower would become a crucial pillar in protecting his family.

If it was impossible to change the great current of the future, then it was wiser to meet that future from a favorable position.
Developing Vinfelt was the beginning, and the upcoming Goethe competition would have to serve as another stepping stone.

“But before that… I should finish this first.”

Isaac checked the letter that had arrived from Violet.
It spoke of suspicious movements within Bern City.

It was so predictable it almost drew a sigh.

The heads of the great families had surrendered their lives willingly because they had made a deal with the Marquis.
If they died as representatives, the wealth they had built for their families would remain untouched.
The Marquis had kept his promise.
Or more precisely, the Count had.

However, the remnants of those great families—who had not expected a Count to stand behind the Marquis—could not abandon their greed.
Had they quietly taken what they had and left the city, no blood would have needed to be shed.
But they couldn’t do that.
Since the founding of Bern, they had prospered and accumulated wealth through the black market. Letting go of what they had enjoyed for so long was not easy.
It was only natural.
They would harbor thoughts of revenge against the Marquis who had publicly executed their fathers and masters.

“How is it that people never change, whether in this era or the next…”

Isaac recalled countless history books he had read and the news he had heard in his previous life.
Two things never changed with time:
people, and war.

Isaac began writing a reply.

“Is someone outside?”
“Yes? Yes, sir!”

A servant temporarily filling in for Hans answered in a slightly trembling voice.

“Deliver this letter. To Violet of Weissman.”

The boy handed over the letter.

***

“Why does this ale taste like this?”
“Unless you want another hole punched through your throat—”

Bill growled at the grumbling Weissman.
It was an odd scene.
Not long ago, they had been desperate to kill each other.
Of course, even now, one side still very much wanted the other dead.

Weissman had attacked the Niers gang for professional reasons.
It was necessary to bring the expanding black market under the Marquis’s control.

But from the Niers gang’s perspective, it was different.
More than half of them had died helplessly under Weissman’s blade.
To thugs who had never learned swordsmanship, Weissman—once a soldier of the Republic—was an opponent they simply could not handle.

Though they had ended up united under the name of Goethe, their feelings toward each other were far from friendly.

“If it weren’t for the young master, you lot would’ve all coughed up blood and died. That ale would’ve been poisoned.”

Bill muttered.

“It already tastes like poison,” Pallich joked.

At that, the Weissmans gathered in the inn burst into laughter.

“You little bastard—”

Bill’s face flushed red and blue, but he didn’t charge forward.
By Isaac’s orders, the secluded inn—effectively the Niers gang’s hideout—was now filled with Weissmans.
The only Niers member present was the dim-witted innkeeper guarding the bar.

Since Niers consisted mostly of drifters and beggars, they lacked the restraint to attend such a meeting.
If even their leader Bill was this heated, one could only imagine the rest.
Had both sides attended in equal numbers, half of them would have ended up dead—
and most of those would have been from the Niers gang.

“You crippled bastard. Once you’re healed, I’ll break you all over again.”
“Do as you like.”

Pallich shrugged at Bill’s threat.
It wasn’t enough to intimidate him or even sour his mood.

Having taken three bolts made of Demezite, Pallich was currently unable to use one arm and one leg.
To make matters worse, poison had been deliberately applied to the arrowheads, slowing his recovery.
If his aura level hadn’t been high, he likely wouldn’t have survived at all.

“Ah, such a terrifying gang leader. If you want, I could take you on myself.”
“If you find him too much, how about me?”

Three or four Weissmans gathered around Bill.
They partially drew their swords from their sheaths as they spoke—
a blatant threat and mockery.

“Let’s see just how skilled the slum gang leader is.”
“If he dealt with that crazy Niers, he must have at least some ability, right?”
“If you want to see, I’ll gladly show you.”

Bill leaned in close enough for their noses to almost touch as he replied.
Even he didn’t know where this courage was coming from.

He had started as a bandit, formed a group just to survive, and came to Goethe to snatch anything worth money.
That was how it was supposed to be.
Yet somehow, he had become a gang leader—and without realizing it, he had developed a complicated attachment to his organization.

His gang members were stupid, filthy, and vulgar.
But in the end, they were just struggling to survive.
They were weak—too weak to live alone—so they banded together.

When he heard how they had been cut down by Weissman’s blade,
instead of feeling relieved that the blade had spared him,
he felt his blood boil at the loss of his men.

“Bunch of cowards who ran from the Republic, acting all high and mighty.”

Bill spat each word out.

“…You really want to die, don’t you?”

The malicious teasing of the Weissmans instantly turned into killing intent.
To refugees, being called “runaways” was an insult.

Shing.

One Weissman, provoked by Bill’s words, fully drew his sword.

“Fine. Let’s see who dies.”

Bill also drew his dagger.
The once noisy inn fell silent.

“Shouldn’t we stop them?”
“Does it matter? There are plenty of other gangs we can use.”

The Weissmans whispered among themselves.

“Hey, Bill!”

Suddenly, Pallich called out loudly.

“Damn it, you scared me. Don’t call my name, you freak. It gives me chills.”
“What were you thinking when you wiped out the council hall back then?”

Ignoring Bill’s hostility, Pallich asked.

“You didn’t have to do that, did you? Wouldn’t it have been better for you if we’d all been wiped out by those great families? Like you said, we slaughtered your side. Sure, it was under the committee’s orders—but whether to carry it out or not was still your choice, wasn’t it?”

At Pallich’s words, the Weissman who had drawn his sword hesitated.

“What are you trying to say? The young master ordered me to follow that woman’s instructions, so I did.”

Bill frowned.

Instead of answering immediately, Pallich took a sip of ale.
As expected, it tasted awful.

“Seems you’re more loyal to the young master than you look.”
“Bullshit. There’s just a reason for it.”

Bill recalled the magical contract he had made with Isaac.

He also recalled the strange magic Isaac had used.
Bill shook his head.
If he disobeyed Isaac’s words, the only price was death.

“Whatever the reason… thanks. We survived because you captured the great families.”
“The fuck are you—…?”

Bill made an incredulous expression.
And it wasn’t just him.

“Sir, what are you talking about?”

Even the Weissman who had drawn his sword spoke in disbelief.

“I won’t say sorry. We had our own circumstances too. And you—put your sword away.”

“Didn’t you hear what that gang trash just said!? He called us runaways!”

The Weissman protested.

“He’s not wrong, is he?”
“At the very least, it’s not something we should hear from scum who commit kidnapping, rape, and murder like it’s nothing!”
“Looks like your ideals of equality and freedom don’t blind you after all.”

Pallich shot him a glare.

“Hah, unbelievable…”

Reluctantly, the Weissman sheathed his sword and left the inn.
Pallich paid no mind and went back to gulping down his ale.

“Everyone, just drink this awful ale. Once the other gang leaders show up, it’ll taste even worse. Innkeeper—one more, no, two more. Don’t make a face. We’ll pay for all the drinks here.”
“…Hah. What are you waiting for? He says he’ll pay. Move.”

At Pallich’s easygoing words, Bill let out a sigh.
The innkeeper, looking unsure whether he was a gang member or a businessman, refilled the mugs and carried them over.

And so—one hour, two hours, three hours passed.

The Weissmans, flushed with alcohol, chatted loudly without a hint of tension.
As they drank more, the topic gradually shifted away from Bern City.
Most of their stories were about the Republic they had once lived in.
Training, battles, the revolution, the moment the king’s head fell beneath the guillotine—
Even if exaggerated, they had already repeated these stories hundreds of times, yet they never grew tired of them.

But the more the Weissmans became engrossed in the past, the more the drunken haze left Bill and Pallich.

“Not a single one has come.”
“…Fuck.”

At some point, Bill and Pallich had ended up sitting together, glancing toward the inn’s entrance.
They were waiting for representatives from other gangs—
those who would side with Weissman.
In reality, they were also aligning with Isaac’s will.

“…Promote Venders to mayor and help bring the black market into the open.
In return, citizenship will be guaranteed, and a way to earn a living through labor in the city will be provided.
Deliver this message.”

It was part of the letter Violet had received from Isaac.
The gangs willing to cooperate were told to gather at this inn by midnight—
before the cathedral bell rang.

“Did you even deliver the message properly? Most of those bastards can’t even read.”
“You think I didn’t? I explained it clearly so they’d understand and sent them all. I don’t want more enemies either.”

Bill grumbled at Pallich’s question.
Not showing up meant rejecting Isaac’s proposal.
Which, for both Bill and Weissman, meant more enemies to deal with.

“Should’ve crushed them a bit less, you Republic sword-swinging bastard.”
“How was I supposed to know it’d turn out like this?”

Pallich, already sick of ale, lit a rolled cigarette wrapped in paper.
While pipe tobacco was still common in the kingdom, in the Republic, cigarettes had become popular alongside the revolution.
Lighting it with a candle, Pallich exhaled thick, harsh smoke.

Though he lived carelessly, Pallich was meticulous when it came to missions.
Every gang leader assigned to him had been cut down without exception.
Even the underlings who tried to protect them were sent along to the grave.

Bill had been relatively lucky.
During the height of the battle with the Niers gang, he had been in Goethe.
Even if Weissman now tried to rebuild the city, there was no way the gangs would simply accept it at face value.

Ding—

Ding—

At last, the church bell rang.

“…So in the end, no one came.”

Creak—!

Along with Pallich’s hollow laugh, the inn door’s hinges groaned.
But it wasn’t another gang.

“Bo… Boss…”

“Odoh? Why are you—?”

Bill’s eyes widened.
The drifter who had barely stumbled into the inn collapsed, a blade lodged in his back.
Leaning on his crutch, Pallich got up and limped toward him.

“He’s already dead.”

After checking the man’s breathing, Bill closed his eyes.
His face twisted with rage.

“…Those bastards aren’t even worth being called dogs.”
“Who is he?”
“One of the guys I sent to deliver the young master’s message. Damn it… fine. I’ll just chop them all to pieces.”

Pallich stopped Bill, who was about to grab his weapon and rush out.

“Why? Want me to cut you down too?”

“It’s too quiet outside.”
“Fuck, so what?”

Bill tried to ignore him and head out,
but Pallich yanked him back, causing him to fall flat on his backside.

“Ghk—damn it, you—!”
“Why don’t you take a look at what you almost got hit by first?”

Bill was about to curse again, but stopped.
A black iron bolt was embedded in the inn door.

“Everyone, get away from the windows! Archers are in position!”

Pallich shouted, ordering the Weissmans into a defensive stance.

“I thought all the great families were wiped out?”
“Now it makes sense.”
“Those bastards… they all sided with the remnants of the great families.”

At Bill’s curses, Pallich silently nodded.
But there was no time to discuss the alliance between the gangs and the great families.

“F-fire!”

The innkeeper, who had gone upstairs to fetch supplies, screamed.

“Biiill~ Biiill~ stupid Bill~ cowardly Bill~ pathetic Bill~!”

At the same time, a rough voice from outside began loudly singing.
It was less a song and more a mocking chant forced into rhythm.