The Terminally Ill Young Master is the Mad Dog of the Underworld

[Translator - Pot]

[Proofreader - Kawaii]

Chapter 85: Let’s Think About How to Handle This

That night, Venion was reporting to Duke Georg about his observations after mentoring Allenvert.

“How was it?”

Venion licked his lips.

“There’s no doubt about his talent.”

“I see.”

“To be honest, even if you were in his place, it wouldn’t have been possible, would it?”

“That’s true.”

“Looking back at Grunewald's history, has anyone ever reached the fourth level of the Azure Sea Moon Shadow Swordsmanship in a single day?”

The Duke shook his head.

“No one.”

“It would actually be more believable if we said he had already seen the sword manual beforehand, breaking the rules.”

“Ludan is not the type of man to do such a thing.”

“That’s true. After meeting him, I could tell he’s a rather stubborn old man.”

As an old librarian, no one doubted Ludan’s integrity.

“You must have been quite shocked as well.”

“It would have been harder not to be shocked. He perfectly understood, copied, and even applied what he had seen in a new form of swordsmanship, all while fighting.”

“That’s not an easy thing to do.”

“Even if someone were a genius, there are different types, but the young master...”

Venion struggled to find the right words before finally saying,

“He has the temperament of a Grand Master.”

“A Grand Master, huh.”

“At first, I thought he was a finished swordsman. He was even improving, you know? The difference between the sword he used when he killed the first summoned creature and the one he used when he killed the last one...”

Venion let out a bitter laugh.

“It felt like two years of training had been condensed into that one day. He applied his own unique interpretation of the Azure Sea Moon Shadow Swordsmanship, as if he had spent years mastering it. Isn’t that insane?”

The Duke chuckled at Venion’s excited outburst.

“I’ve never seen you get this worked up before.”

“I didn’t expect it myself.”

“You kept your composure in front of Allen, though, right?”

“Of course.”

“Good. But listen.”

The Duke’s tone shifted.

“Allen’s true talent isn’t just that, is it?”

“…Well, no.”

The Duke thought back to his private conversation with Allen in the wine cellar. His eloquence, his mental fortitude, his persuasive power...

“It seemed like he quickly saw through my disguise. His mental acuity is extraordinary.”

“He wasn’t intimidated even in front of Verdzig. His sharp tongue is unmatched.”

The Duke crossed his arms.

“So, what kind of man did you think Allen was when you met him in person?”

“Forgive me, but can I be honest?”

The Duke nodded.

“To put it simply, he seemed a bit crazy.”

The Duke chuckled softly.

“Madness. Madness is the weapon against reason.”

“He held madness in one hand and reason in the other, wielding them like swords. Few people possess both.”

...In fact, this was the main point of the conversation between the two of them.

"The Head Butler's judgment never fails to amaze me. When Allen was still nothing, with just one conversation, he saw straight through his potential."

"I've always held great respect for him as well."

"Venion, then..."

"Yes?"

The two exchanged looks.

"Make sure you raise Allen well."

Venion lowered his head.

"Understood."

...Looking down at the ground to hide his expression, Venion gave a peculiar smile.

It couldn't be said that the two men's hearts were completely in sync. As with everything in the world, things were never that simple.

***

Returning to the base, we looked out at the city from a distance, where Security Guards holding torches stood watch over the night.

"Zizek. When we set up the shop..."

"Yes?"

"Call over the Security Guards every time they pass by. Give them some snacks and pocket money."

"Eh? Why?"

Zizek said with distaste.

"They’re just good-for-nothing, greasy bastards who don’t do a damn thing but know how to pocket backhanded cash."

His reaction clearly showed how the men of the underworld viewed the Security Guards of Grunewald.

‘The view from above and the view from below are different.’

To the people of the Grunewald Clan, the Security Guards were hardworking soldiers who kept the city safe day and night, but to the underworld, they were nothing more than vicious money-hungry demons who extorted from the alleyways to give it back to themselves.

"I used to curse them the same way in my past life."

The Security Guards were a different breed from the Royal Guard or the knights—they were a moderately corrupt and moderately efficient organization.

Somerset didn’t get demoted to the Security Guards for no reason.

Somerset, who lacked both skill and character compared to his brothers, had no place in the Royal Guards, the Knighthood, or any Special Operations Division, and there was a reason for that.

"If we’re going to give them money anyway, isn’t it better to offer it upfront rather than getting extorted?"

"Damn, yeah, I guess so."

"Besides, they'll probably do their job if they’ve taken the money."

Zizek nodded as though it were obvious.

"That's the way of things."

"Exactly. You can talk to those who understand the way of things. The Security Guards of Grunewald won’t outright attack a business that they frequently visit and exchange greetings with."

Zizek eventually agreed with my reasoning.

"Got it."

"And even though it’ll take a few days to get the business set up, leave the doors open."

"Why’s that?"n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

"Just because you open doesn’t mean business will come right away. You have to make your presence known."

He tilted his head, looking confused by this.

"Is that all? Shouldn’t we be handing out flyers or something?"

I gave him a disappointed look.

"You fool."

"Why are you cursing at me?"

"The people you need to make your presence known to aren’t the residents of this neighborhood."

"Then who?"

I turned to look at Rob and asked.

"Technically, this is the edge of your territory, right?"

"Ah, yes. That's correct."

"Then, how will people from other territories see this?"

"Ah!"

It seemed like Zizek finally understood what I meant.

"They'll think we're trying to encroach on their territory."

"And how will they react?"

"Heh heh heh."

Zizek grinned wickedly.

"They’ll probably start prowling around like neighborhood dogs, causing a ruckus."

Setting up a shop near someone else’s territory always attracted attention, and as Zizek said, the men of the underworld were even more territorial than street dogs. This was an unspoken rule in their world.

"Good, because there were some people I was planning to deal with anyway."

"Oh? Who?"

"There's a place with a scumbag named Vincent as their leader. Wasn't that place near their territory?"

"Yes, that's right, boss."

"Well, that’s interesting."

Zizek smirked.

"Leave it to me. I’m confident with traps."

I couldn’t help but admire Zizek’s sudden shift to the crafty, calculating figure of a seasoned underworld strategist.

"Impressive. You're more capable than I thought."

As soon as I recognized that this was about underworld scheming and manipulation, my mind started racing.

This was the dangerous allure of a professional's job, the kind of thing that makes people lose themselves in it.

"You've got a way of making compliments sound like insults."

"Anyway, let's hear your plan."

Zizek lowered his voice.

"So...?"

I was intrigued. Perhaps, I had unknowingly sparked a fire of ambition in Zizek's heart.

A much larger one than I had expected.

***

Through the thick smoke of cigarettes, the sounds of singing, shouting, and laughter blended together.

Semi-naked clothed men and women were intertwined like snakes, and the eyes of those who drank and sprayed alcohol like water showed no trace of reason.

"Heh heh."

"Bring more alcohol."

"We need more women."

"Get some men too."

Faces that couldn’t hide their refined airs. This was a place designed for the 'noble ones'—a decadent sanctuary for the morally corrupted.

"...."

The men of the underworld snickered as they stood nearby, while emotionless attendants, their faces masked like those of statues, stood outside. They were people who valued silence as a virtue.

"Alcohol."

Watching the aristocrats crawl on the floor like worms was amusing to Somerset, who took a sip from his glass. Indulging in decadence and corruption was, after all, one of his lowly hobbies.

Given that Somerset was Commander of the Security Guards responsible for the city's security, the disdain the underworld men had for the Security Guards seemed well-founded.

"Karl, Verdzig, Allenvert."

Amid the smoke, which covered the soft lighting like clouds, he thought about his brothers' faces—faces full of contempt and disregard for him.

"Damned bastards."

A sneer escaped his lips, his laughter laced with hidden animosity and jealousy.

However...

"…Call the owner."

Somerset's gaze was not the look of a man simply addicted to pleasure.

"I have something important to discuss."

***

Zizek's plan was simple: first, he would provoke an attack, then pretend to be a victim while seeking revenge.

"If a conflict breaks out between your two organizations, who do you think people will support?"

"Obviously, they'll support us."

"Why?"

Zizek's smile was cold and cynical.

"Those bastards lure in the trash of the neighborhood to sell drugs, or kidnap vagrants and sell them off."

"Sound like human scums."

"On top of that, they’re notorious for extorting excessive protection money from weak and poor merchants. Sometimes they collect it once a month, sometimes every two weeks. There's no principle, they just do whatever they want."

"Typical behavior for fifth-rate organizations. The lowest, most scummy methods."

"Exactly. I think the same."

Zizek added. "We also take protection money, but not as excessively as they do."

"The important thing is whether or not they provide proper protection in exchange for that protection money. If they don't, then it's not protection money; it's just extortion. And another thing—"

I drew the line for Zizek.

"You can't abuse those who cooperate by paying protection money. No one wants to live under a lord who takes their money and then beats them up. If you're taking their money, you need to offer them protection, not violence."

"I've kept that in mind. Still, it doesn’t seem like it was enough."

"I appreciate your honesty."

This was why integrity was important. Zizek was a man who understood integrity.

"The protection fees should be more reasonable than they are now. After all, they're already paying taxes. If the security of the streets isn't good, and they have to get protection from you, at least make sure they can earn a living. Don’t just take all of their money; allow them to make a living."

"Right."

"If there’s anyone in this district who’s working hard and still starving, that’s your fault."

I pointed at Zizek and Rob.

"Think about it. What do you think I meant when I said I’d get into distribution and set up a pawnshop?"

"…Provide ingredients reasonably to the merchants working in this district, sometimes offer loans by pawning, give protection, and introduce healthy people to jobs. And…"

As Zizek kept talking, his expression grew more twisted.

"Why are you getting so worked up?"

"…Damn it."

Zizek suddenly wiped the tear that had formed in his eye.

"Good grief, you’re going overboard."

"Boss."

"Yeah? What is it?"

Zizek, grinding his teeth with bloodshot eyes, managed to speak through his tears.

"If there had been an organization like this when I was still a kid, I would have just inherited my father’s store and settled down with a family. A normal life."

"…"

From Zizek's words, I could feel his regret, frustration, and determination.

"So, what do you think? Does it motivate you?"

"Absolutely."

Zizek wiped his eyes and gave a wry smile.

"After hearing you out, I think if we ruled this underworld with our own order, it would be a much better place to live than it is now."

"Alright. But the higher you climb, the more you’ll suffer. In the path of schemes, deception, violence, and revenge, you won’t be able to get off freely."

"Damn it. I’ve already prepared myself for that."

Look at this. Zizek may still be a weak man, but in his heart, he’s already holding a vast ocean of ambition.

"You must face other men of the underworld with schemes and violence, but when it comes to those who work honestly, you must treat them with the honor of not wielding cruelty like a sword. Treat that honor as precious as gold."

I passed on Karzan creed to Zizek.

In truth, this was an inheritance from my grandfather.

"Now, let’s wrap up the lessons here—"

I leaned in closer.

"Shall we talk business?"

"Yes?"

"Let’s research how to deal with that Vincent."

Running an organization and strengthening its foundations is all well and good, but—

Becoming a giant in the underworld ultimately means becoming a bloodthirsty monster that thrives on violence.

And honestly, I quite enjoy that.

[Translator - Pot]

[Proofreader - Kawaii]