Confidence—the core of the strong. Elemer's "reminder" had spurred Throne to return to the inn first, but the place was gone. The filth, the owner, everything had vanished, leaving only the metallic tang of blood and rust hanging in the air.
The scoundrels of The Shaded Castle were sharp. They already knew what kind of monster had stayed there. The Old Knight's reputation preceded him, a man so notorious that everywhere he went emptied out. People feared he might draw his blade and kill them at the slightest provocation. I'm actually quite friendly, Throne thought, feeling a pang of injustice.
He pushed open the window as dawn broke. The street below was alive—hawkers shouting, slaves shuffling in chains, carriages laden with contraband moving in and out. The Shaded Castle thrived in its own twisted way. Throne suppressed his killing impulse and simply watched, thoughts quiet.
The rapid clatter of hoofbeats drew his attention. He turned his head and saw a squad of the Nights Cavalry galloping down the main street toward the castle. His lips curled into a slow smile.
"Morgott, that idiot. He's being far too high-profile."
It was indeed the Nights Cavalry. Their numbers were few. The leader wore a cloak, as if hiding their identity—pointless, really. No wonder Count Hero had said it wouldn't take long; he'd been keeping tabs on them all along. Including Margit, there were only a little over twenty cavalrymen. Of them, only two or three could be called heroes. The rest were mostly mounted Omens.
"So, you also want to take a ship to Elphael. We've thought of the same thing."
Throne wasn't surprised. Time had been wasted at Volcano Manor, and Morgott was even more desperate to make the journey than he was. Throne only wanted Sellen. Morgott wanted the entire Haligtree. The longer this dragged on, the worse it would be for him.
"What a coincidence. Those nobles are annoying, but maybe I should join them? Even if I can't kill you, I could keep you from reaching the north."
"Or maybe I should sit back and watch the tigers fight, wait for you all to destroy each other, then swoop in for the spoils."
Throne rested his head on his hand, star-like eyes fixed on the approaching cavalry. He considered cooperation briefly, then raised an eyebrow. Huh. What on earth are they doing?
The Nights Cavalry didn't slow down. They didn't stop to assert their authority, didn't follow the usual routine of pressuring others only to be backstabbed by devious nobles. They said nothing, striking the city like a blade. Scoundrels waiting on the outskirts to collect tolls were trampled under hooves before they could react.
Screams and the sickening crunch of bones filled the air. The cavalry pressed forward—anyone blocking their path was run through with lances, trampled, ground into the dust. Muffled thunder echoed as this torrent of steel surged past, eventually halted by a noble leading a group of knights.
Throne could not hear what was being said over there, but the noble was gesticulating wildly, face flushed as he berated them. This was normal. Margit was just a general; he had no authority to kill in the streets, no power to judge crimes. Throne vaulted over the windowsill and leaned in, curiosity piqued.
The noble's words never reached his ears. Margit moved first—a sudden pivot, fingers closing around the cavalryman's straight sword. Steel flashed. A wet whisper of parted flesh.
The viscount clutched his throat, eyes bulging. Blood pulsed between his fingers before his knees buckled. The crowd's gasp turned to shouts.
"He killed Viscount Russell! Is this rebellion?"
Throne knew the name. Russell dealt in flesh, one of the Shaded Castle's busiest butchers. Yet he felt no shock, only the curl of a smile.
"Noise."
Margit tossed the blade back to its owner, face blank.
"Must you remind me of my oversights?"
This festering city had pressed against his patience too long. The killing urge had teeth now. He'd scraped Leyndell clean with his own hands—polished its stones, honed its laws, made it gleam. And these wretches dumped their filth at his doorstep. The stench choked him.
"Pellegrini."
His voice carried over the murmuring crowd.
"Disperse them. Arrest every slaver by Leyndell's law. Resistance earns no quarter."
The cavalryman bared teeth, greatsword singing from its sheath. The square erupted. Bodies scrambled like startled roaches.
"You can't do this!"
"My patrons will—" Shouts died mid-threat as Omen clubs rose and fell. The Nights Cavalry moved as one organism, blades parting flesh with mechanical precision. Cobbles grew slick. The gutters, already foul, drank deep.
Margit inhaled copper and rot. His shoulders loosened.
"The Golden Order I serve doesn't stink like this."
He flexed his fingers, aware of the excuse, aware of the consequences. What did it matter? They feared him whether he wore rags or robes. A glance at the remaining riders. A flick of his wrist.
"To the Shaded Castle. I'll see who funds this pestilence myself."
Hoofbeats faded into the haze. Four men charging a fortress.
Throne watched from the rooftops as chains shattered and bound slavers flopped into the scarlet muck. A dozen Nights Cavalry worked with brutal efficiency. He couldn't deny the satisfaction coiling in his chest.
"Madness."
Ranni's voice cut through the carnage.
"The Six Houses back this trade. Does Morgott seek war?"
"He knows."
Throne kept his eyes on the slaughter below.
"But your Grace-Given King isn't ruled by reason. That inconvenient conscience of his won't allow silence."
They'd crossed blades before, he and Morgott. No true schemer would have taken Volcano Manor's bait, nor faced Rykard with such reckless fervor. The man was idealism given flesh. Every compromise festered beneath his skin. That he hadn't purged the obstructive nobles sooner spoke only to his self-control.
"Count Hero's work, unless I miss my guess."
Ranni's tone frosted the air.
"Morgott came lightly armed. His forces are scattered now."
A deliberate pause.
"Will you strike? The opportunity won't come again."
This vessel held half a god's strength. Throne felt the old hunger stir—then still.
"Compelled or not, he's earned his title."
He turned from the bloodied square.
"I'll aid him instead."
Ranni's smile held no surprise.
Throne was a paradox—half-calculating strategist, half-reckless gambler. He reserved mercy for those who earned his respect, like a duelist honoring only worthy opponents.
"Charge in?"
"Not yet. Those nobles have Margit tangled up tight."
His gaze drifted to the castle looming in the distance. Something about this chaos felt... promising. He needed to see what secrets festered beneath those ancient stones.
Don't let their stumble at Mt. Gelmir fool you—the Nights Cavalry still struck terror into unprepared rabble. Their hooves thundered through the streets, severing heads from bodies. They followed Margit's orders to the letter, binding slave traders and slaughtering anyone who resisted.
By the end, the panicked scoundrels scattered into the hills, leaving the square filled with thousands of slaves. Their hollow eyes stared, uncomprehending, at the black-clad cavalry who'd freed them. Throne neither fled nor intervened. He watched silently from the rooftop, detached.
A few discreet inquiries revealed the truth: the Nights Cavalry's arrests were justified. The Golden Order tolerated slavery, but these traders had skipped their taxes. This was less liberation, more... debt collection.
"He's got guts and brains."
Throne surveyed the chaotic town, grudgingly impressed by Morgott's strategy. If he were in Morgott's shoes, he might not do better—but he wouldn't do worse, either. Bearing humiliation wasn't his style, but painting the streets red? Breaking before building? That, he knew well.
If he were the Grace-Given King, he'd have sent two hundred swordsmen to butcher every defiant soul. As for the Council of Six Houses? Heads would roll. Morgott, for all his cunning, lacked the final push of confidence.
Click.
The rooftop tiles shifted. An assassin, dressed as a Tarnished, dropped beside him, kneeling on one knee.
"Lord Old Knight, the Count requests your presence at the castle."
"Making your move?"
"Yes. The Marais family puppets won't hold him much longer. With Margit's guard depleted, this is our best chance."
"Understood. Go ahead."
Throne waved him off, but the assassin lingered. He hesitated, lips parting, then snapped his mouth shut.
Clang.
Throne's thumb flicked, and his blood-red katana slid three inches from its scabbard. His crimson eyes locked onto the man.
"Are you trying to tell me what to do?"
"Please hurry."
The assassin didn't dare say more. He retreated hastily. Being a villain had its perks—no need to explain yourself.
Throne, the "taciturn" one, appreciated the simplicity. He stood, leaning on his blade, and pulled out the summoning mask.
"Melina, have you found Millicent yet?"
"We're on our way back. Millicent has something to say."
"Let her speak."
Two seconds later, Millicent's voice crackled through the mask.
"Teacher, I've discovered something. Those nobles don't just abduct women—they take men, the elderly, demi-humans, and Misbegotten too. Most of the women are sent to Leyndell for... entertainment. The rest go to The Shaded Castle!"
Throne stood in The Shaded Castle, watching the chaos below. He was stunned for a moment, thinking that going to such great lengths for the slave trade was truly tasteless. The women were covering something up, the slaves were covering something up, and even the Frenzied Flame seemed to be a tool to lure Margit here.
"I understand. Wait on the outskirts after you return."
"Teacher, I want to help too!"
Millicent's words were firm; after traveling around so much, her disgust had only grown.
"It's not time yet. Wait patiently."
Throne finished speaking and, without waiting for a reply, cut the connection. He jumped off the roof with his blade at his side, squeezed through a narrow alley, and headed straight for the side gate of The Shaded Castle.
Hunters were already waiting there, each fully armed and muscles tensed. Today was a big job, and they didn't know how many would survive; fear and excitement coexisted in their eyes.
"Lord Old Knight, you have finally arrived."
A hunter saw Throne and hurriedly greeted him warmly.
"Where is Elemer? Where is the Crucible Knight? Don't tell me you few small fries are daring enough to go kill the Fell Omen."
Throne pushed his foul-mouthedness to the limit, making this group of desperadoes almost lose their tempers, but they ultimately held back.
"Rest assured, the plan is foolproof. We just need to lure him out."
"The perfect plan is for me to lead the charge? What about Count Hero? Does he think I'm an idiot?"
Throne swept his gaze across the surroundings. Seeing no one answer, he turned around and walked away, grumbling, "I have no obligation to follow your orders. I will fulfill the contract, but I don't want to stay with you idiots!"
The extreme foul-mouthedness finally caused someone to lose their patience. A man holding a grotesque, large wood-chopping blade stepped forward; he appeared to be a hunter who specialized in hunting Omens.
"Hey, you, wait—" Clang! The long blade was drawn directly, and he turned to thrust backward. This strike was fast to the extreme.
The wood-chopping blade had just been raised when the blood-colored blade light grazed it and pierced his forehead, causing his ferocious expression to freeze completely. The group was stunned, staring blankly as red and white blood dripped from the blade. The gold in Throne's eyes faded, and he slowly pulled his sword out.
"Who else wants to stop me?"
No one spoke.
Even though it was an ambush, the strike was too fast. A hunter of Omens with the power of a hero had been killed instantly. Who dared to speak? Who could speak? Should they swarm him together? If Margit inside was alerted, who would take responsibility? Blood-staining combined with Dragon power—how could a hunter of Omens block that?
Beneath his mask, the corners of Throne's mouth curled up, his tone ice-cold.
"Tell the Count that his life will be deducted from my payment."
There was still silence. Everyone just watched that back walking into the city, with only one thought in their minds: This guy is a madman! People aren't afraid of ruthless men, nor are they afraid of madmen. But as long as they are human, they fear a powerhouse who is both ruthless and mad. Fortunately, this person was on their side.
"The troops are deployed on the outskirts, and that poisonous moat should also be a trump card. But even with a thousand people surrounding and attacking, it would be very difficult to take down Margit. At the very least, if he wants to run, they can't stop him."
Throne walked on the moss-covered stone path, looking left and right. His appearance was an accident; the Council of Six Houses originally had the confidence to keep him there. Relying solely on Elemer and a Crucible Knight was far from enough, and besides, the Crucible Knight might not necessarily follow their orders. After thinking it over, only the thing beneath The Shaded Castle remained.
"So where is the entrance?"
Throne walked as if strolling in his own backyard. He hadn't seen many guards along the way, as if the fortress had been emptied out. He went around to the backyard and climbed the city wall. He could already see a small pier on the distant coastline, where some sailboats were loading cargo. It looked like they were preparing to flee.
Clearly, the simple and brutal methods of the Nights Cavalry had frightened the merchants; the smarter ones even thought Leyndell was about to descend into civil war.
"You can leave now if you want. Without a boat, you won't make it to the Haligtree, and that witch is in danger." Ranni said, slightly teasing.
"Don't worry, I'll make it. If I'm not mistaken, they will use the slave ships as cover to send those people underground." Throne said casually, placing his hand on the battlement.
"And the entrance is in this direction."
With a push of his right hand, he vaulted over. Gravity pulled his body down from the wall several meters high, landing right on a very steep rock face. There was no vegetation here, nor any road.
Beneath the wall was a solid piece of rock; one couldn't even see a cave. Throne narrowed his eyes, feeling the movement of the sea breeze. His gaze slowly scanned across and finally locked onto a certain spot. His Storm Art was not inferior to any Banished Knight, and the foundation of the Storm Art was the control of airflow.
The sea breeze hitting the rock wall would disperse, but here, it did not. Throne walked up to this grayish-brown rock wall, and a blood-colored blade light flashed and vanished. There was no sound, nor any sensation of cutting through solid matter. The rock in front of him simply vanished without a trace, revealing an opening at least five meters wide.
It was incredibly deep inside, and no sound could be heard.
"I guessed right." Throne smiled. This was a location not in his memories, a place the Tarnished had never been to. Judging by the direction, it led straight under The Shaded Castle. The bluestone slabs paved on the ground were clearly not a natural product; this was something constructed by human hands.
His timing was very clever; everyone's attention had been drawn away by Margit.
"But even so, it's very abnormal that there isn't even a single guard." Throne muttered to himself. He didn't release any starlight, but instead lit a torch. The burning light illuminated the surroundings. He saw that the sides of the cave were smooth, with some burnt-out torches hanging on them.
There were also some broken stones scattered around, like fragments of some kind of statue. Upon closer inspection, these stones seemed to have been broken long ago and dragged here by human hands.
"What is this place?"
Ranni was also observing the surroundings through Throne's eyes and quickly concluded: "This cave hasn't existed for long; perhaps it was constructed after The Shattering."
"Then it must be a product of the world-line changing, so I don't know it."
A strong curiosity welled up in Throne. He was half a Primeval Sorcerer himself and was quite interested in the unknown.