Chapter 48.2.6: City of Crime
Armored Dragon Calendar Year 418 – Claude, Age 13
[Narrator]
The acrid smoke of burning incense mingled with less savory scents as Claude navigated the narrow streets of what was once called the most lawless settlement on the continent. Chains clinked softly in the distance, punctuated by the occasional bark of auctioneers hawking their human wares.
"This place has improved beyond my expectations," Claude observed, genuine surprise coloring his voice as they passed the slave market district.
"Underground A's shadow conquest has brought order to chaos," C replied, matching Claude's measured pace. "Before their influence spread, you'd witness slaves executed in broad daylight for the most trivial infractions."
"I'm aware of the previous conditions," Claude murmured, his words barely audible above the ambient noise of commerce and desperation.
Several weeks had passed since his departure from Rudeus and Paul. Each day bringing new intelligence and deeper understanding of the post-Metastasis landscape.
During this period, another fragment of his future had arrived, not through prophetic vision, but through the agonized plea of an alternate self facing imminent death.
The Wailing Point had delivered another dying wish.
"Another premonition, Master Claude..." C asked, noting the subtle tension in his leader's posture.
"No. This time, it's an obligation that must be fulfilled."
C nodded without requiring further explanation. Within Arbalest's inner circle, Claude's identity as a Miko with precognitive abilities had become common knowledge. The revelation that their leader could glimpse potential futures had bolstered the organization's confidence immeasurably. Few things inspired loyalty like knowing your commander possessed divine guidance.
Of course, the reality was far more complex and burdensome than they realized.
"Have you established contact with Somar..."
"I believe that won't be necessary, sir." C gestured toward a cloaked figure ahead.
Who was signaling them with subtle hand gestures from Arbalest's coded communication system.
"The former Buena Village children have developed impressive operational discipline since the Metastasis separated us." Pride edged Claude's voice.
C suppressed a chuckle at the observation. He would never forget the Spartan conditioning those children, and indeed all Arbalest members, had endured under Claude's instruction.
Even seasoned adults, hardened by years of slavery and abuse, had emerged from Claude's training claiming their previous sufferings felt like gentle massages by comparison.
Yet despite the brutality, or perhaps because of it, not a single trainee had died during the regimen.
Claude had pushed them to their absolute limits while ensuring they received proper nutrition and recovery time. The shared ordeal had forged bonds stronger than blood between the survivors, creating an organization unified by mutual respect and hard-earned trust.
"What about Ash?" Claude inquired as they followed their guide through increasingly convoluted back alleys.
"The reports indicate he's joined Division A with some kind of companion animal."
"He's operating as a courier across multiple continents, sir. We've lost contact temporarily, but he's reliable about checking in according to schedule."
"Good. I'm developing new enchantment items to facilitate long-distance communication."
"When completed, coordinating our operations will become significantly more efficient."
"I look forward to seeing your innovations, sir."
Their conversation continued as they navigated the labyrinthine route to their destination.
A journey that consumed far more time than direct travel would have required.
"This approach seems unnecessarily time-consuming," Claude commented as they rounded yet another corner.
"They're maintaining operational security against potential surveillance, sir."
"Excessive caution can become a liability if it impedes efficiency."
A voice materialized from the shadows behind them with practiced stealth. "Current circumstances necessitate such measures."
"It's been too long, Claude."
"Two years since our last meeting, Somar," Claude replied without turning, though C startled visibly at the unexpected voice.
[Claude POV]
The transformation in Somar was remarkable.
Gone was the pudgy village boy I remembered. In his place stood a lean, hardened young man, whose features had sharpened with responsibility and constant vigilance.
While not conventionally handsome, perhaps on par with Prince Zanoba, he carried himself with the confidence of someone who had carved out territory in one of the world's most dangerous cities.
"You've done well here," I said, studying the changes in him.
"I had a good teacher." His voice held no irony.
"Even if that teacher was a sadistic slave driver who made us question our life choices daily."
"And yet you all survived the Metastasis Event. Results speak louder than complaints."
We moved deeper into the building, Underground A's headquarters, hidden beneath layers of legitimate businesses and criminal fronts.
Somar provided a tactical briefing on areas still beyond their organization's influence, pointing to sections of a crude map he'd sketched.
"What's preventing you from expanding into those territories..." I asked.
"World-class opposition."
"I see."
Below the seven Great Powers recognized across the continents, numerous smaller but still formidable forces maintained their own spheres of influence. While lacking the legendary status of figures like the Sword God or Dragon God, these entities remained far beyond what ordinary people could challenge.
"Which specific power are we discussing..."
"Unknown."
C looked confused by the seemingly evasive answer, but I nodded in understanding. Somar's rapid ascension to control the criminal underworld of an entire city was already an extraordinary achievement for someone of his background and training. The idea that he could simply continue expanding until he controlled everything was naive at best. Suicidal at worst.
Even now, I estimated my own capabilities at full strength. Utilizing every weapon, magical technique, trap, and Cloud Style innovation at my disposal, I might match Ruijerd Superdia in single combat.
Perhaps.
The Superd warrior could be considered Emperor-level in spearmanship. A rank that transcended the more common classifications most warriors aspired to reach.
The gulf between Saint and King rank was already vast. the distance from King to Emperor defied casual measurement.
I possessed the potential to eventually reach God-rank mastery, given sufficient time and proper training. But how much time? Years? Decades?
Could I ever surpass the legendary Technique God, who stood at the absolute pinnacle of martial achievement?
"How long before you can identify this opposing force..." I asked.
"I won't be investigating them," Somar replied firmly.
"Why not..." I fixed him with an inquiring stare.
"Our mission focuses on protecting and locating Metastasis victims. I'm not ambitious enough to paint a target."
"On our backs by provoking world-class powers. They tolerate my control of the underground because I don't encroach on their interests. Pushing further would be like yanking the tail of a sleeping dragon. I'm not that foolish."
"Wise restraint," I acknowledged, recognizing the truth in his assessment.
I refocused on the immediate objective that had brought me to this city.
"Understood. Halt Underground A's territorial expansion and concentrate resources on victim recovery operations."
"I also need you to locate this individual." I produced a carefully detailed drawing from my jacket and placed it on the table between us.
"Who is she?" Somar asked, studying the portrait of a young woman whose features and bearing suggested noble birth.
"Someone I've been contracted to rescue. She hasn't arrived in this city yet, but she will."
"When that happens, secure her safety immediately."
I settled into my chair with the deliberate movement of someone preparing for a more difficult conversation.
"Now," I said, my voice dropping to a quieter register, "tell me about my parents' graves and where I can find them."
The air in the room seemed to thicken. Behind my strategic planning and organizational efficiency lay a son's need to pay his respects to the parents he'd failed to save.
Somar's expression softened with understanding. "They're at the memorial site."
"Outside the city, where we've been burying the Metastasis victims we've recovered. I made sure they had proper markers, with their names and what they did."
"What they did?"
"Saving those seventeen people." Somar's voice was quiet.
"Everyone who survived that attack knows what your parents did, Claude. Roland and Elena are heroes to them."
"We made sure their graves reflected that."
I stood. "Take me there."
The memorial site lay an hour's ride outside Milishion's walls. A field of simple stone markers that stretched farther than I wanted to count.
Each one represented someone who hadn't made it, someone the Metastasis had claimed, directly or indirectly.
Somar led me through the rows until we reached two markers near the center. They were larger than most, more carefully carved.
Roland of Buena VillageBeloved Father. Skilled SmithDied protecting seventeen souls from certain deathHis hammer held the line so others could live
Elena of Buena VillageBeloved Mother. VillagerDied coordinating evacuation while under monster attackHer courage saved children when darkness came
I stood before the markers, reading the words over and over.
Behind me, Somar spoke quietly. "The survivors wanted to say more."
"Wanted to list all their names, everyone Roland and Elena saved, but there wasn't room on the stone."
"This is enough," I said.
My voice came out steady. Controlled.
The mask held.
But inside, something was screaming.
Something raged. We should have been there. Should have protected them. We failed.
Something cooler calculated. Seventeen lives for two. Net positive. Strategic value—immeasurable. Emotional cost—catastrophic.
Something quieter offered the truth. They died being exactly who they were. Just like they would have wanted. Just like they raised us to be.
"The seventeen survivors," I said. "Where are they now..."
"Scattered across three continents. We've been tracking them."
"Most joined Arbalest. They wanted to honor Roland and Elena's sacrifice by helping save others."
Of course they did.
"Their names..."
Somar produced a list from his jacket. "I thought you might ask."
I scanned the names. Recognized some.
Didn't recognize others. It didn't matter.
These seventeen people were alive because my parents had stood their ground. Had done what needed to be done.
Had died so others could live.
Just like I was trying to do now.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For the markers."
"For taking care of this."
"They were my neighbors too, Claude. Roland fixed my mother's pots when we couldn't afford new ones."
"Elena helped deliver half the children in the village. We don't forget people like that."
I knelt before the graves, placing my hands on the cold stone.
I'm sorry I wasn't there.
I'm sorry I couldn't save you.
I'm sorry the organization I built to prevent this disaster couldn't prevent your deaths.
*But I promise you this: those seventeen lives won't be the last ones saved. Arbalest will continue the work you started.
We'll protect people who can't protect themselves. We'll save everyone we can.*
Just like you taught me.
I didn't say the words aloud. Didn't trust my voice to stay steady.
But I thought them. Pressing my palms against the stone as if I could transmit the message through sheer force of will.
After a long moment, I stood.
"I need to return to the city," I said. "There's work to do."
"Claude—"
"They died protecting people, Somar. The best way to honor that is to keep protecting people."
"To make sure their sacrifice meant something."
Somar nodded slowly.
We walked back through the memorial field, past hundreds of markers. Past thousands of stories I would never know. Past a catalog of loss that made my personal grief feel both insignificant and overwhelming.
The Metastasis Event had stolen so much from so many.
But it hadn't stolen everything.
Seventeen people lived because of Roland and Elena. Those seventeen would help save others, and those others would save more.
And I would make damn sure their deaths weren't for nothing.
Back in the Criminal City, I finalized the arrangements with Somar. Portrait distributed, intelligence networks aligned, operations coordinated.
"One more thing," I said before departing. "The woman in the portrait, when you find her, tell her I'm looking for her. Tell her someone remembers what she means."
Somar raised an eyebrow. "Cryptic."
"Want to explain?"
"Not yet. You'll understand when the time comes."
"You and your mysterious Miko nonsense."
"It's not nonsense if it works."
"Fair enough." He clasped my arm in farewell.
"Take care of yourself, Claude. Your parents would want that."
"My parents would want me to take care of everyone else first. Just like they did."
"Also fair."
I left the Criminal City with C. The weight in my chest no lighter than when I'd arrived.
But at least now I knew. I'd seen the markers.
I'd read the words.
I'd faced what I'd been avoiding since the moment I learned they were gone.
Roland and Elena had died heroes. Seventeen people lived because of their courage.
And I would spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of that legacy.
Even if it killed me.
Inside me, something finally quieted.
The rage, the calculation, the bitter truths—all of it stilled.
For a moment, there was only this. A son who'd lost his parents.
But only for a moment.
Then the mask settled back into place, and I became the commander again.
The work continued.
◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ AUTHOR'S NOTE ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆
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