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yawns Whew, what a week, am I right, you guys? I feel like I'm barely hanging on. But hey, at least the story's keeping you entertained, right?
Alright, I'm off to refuel with some more coffee. (っ-,-)つ☕ Don't forget to drop a review, my lovely readers! It really does keep me going.
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Mega Release:- Day 2/8
As William and his companions emerged from the underground, the morning sun seared their eyes. Perhaps they hadn't noticed it before, but the next day's sunrise was a sight they might never have seen. Their expressions weren't exactly refreshed. After all, they still didn't feel entirely alive. Death lingered closer than they had imagined. Knowing this, an internal tremor refused to subside.
"Never again. I can't afford to dabble in darkness," Kyle muttered, his face contorted as if he'd bitten a bitter pill. Favela nodded. Her expression remained stoic, but she might have paled slightly.
"Thanks for the corpse, by the way," Favela deadpanned.
The body of the assassin, who bore a striking resemblance to Favela in height, lay at their feet. It seemed they were meant to transform this one into the final member of their group. William hoisted the lifeless form and turned to Kyle.
"Leave the rest to me. Favela can stay with you while we let things cool down. Just a precaution."
William playfully winked at Kyle. Kyle managed a wry smile.
"I'll keep my distance from you guys for a while," he said.
Favela opened her mouth to respond, but William cut in.
"Our bond won't change, of course. But I'm also the leader of a hundred-man squad, and I need to start a business. It's busy, and there are risks involved. It's a challenging time for both me and you."
William smiled sadly. Normally, Favela would protest, but this time, she remained silent. She couldn't say anything. After all, she'd caused them considerable trouble earlier.
"We won't be separated forever. We'll just meet less frequently, and when things settle down, we'll see each other plenty," William assured them.
Would William's busy schedule ever calm down?
"Take care. As long as you don't die, everything can be managed. If things get desperate, rely on me. If it's something strength can solve, I'll handle it," Kyle's words bolstered William's courage. Could there be more reliable words? William's closest friend was the strongest man he knew.
"If there's anything I can do, count me in," Favela added. She, too, was one of William's closest friends. That's why he needed to keep his distance now. William had learned a valuable lesson from this incident. To avoid losing what mattered most, he needed to distance himself from risks. Being near William, a bundle of risks, wasn't where they should be.
"Until next time," William said, averting his gaze from them. It wasn't a farewell for life, but he didn't plan to meet them anytime soon. He didn't want to involve them further in his personal matters. This situation had arisen because William had tried to shoulder the burden of revenge for them. Ultimately, it was his fault.
In the future, he'd need to consider battlefields, business, and revenge. He'd also have to navigate his relationship with the Night Kingdom. Each decision required significant mental resources, and danger loomed over all of them. William would bear these risks alone.
And beyond all this lay the place William aimed for.
"But first, I need to handle this properly," he thought.
The path to that place wouldn't intersect with theirs. If it did—well, that would mean they were enemies. He didn't want their paths to converge. Imagining a scenario where he burned his friends through his own actions was something William couldn't bear to think about.
After all, it was his Karma to bear.
༺༻
"Ah, pharmaceuticals, you say? Quite an intriguing choice," remarked Roland.
After navigating various complexities, it was a few days later that William brought the business proposal to Roland.
Roland carefully perused the plan document crafted by William. William stood confidently, waiting. There was no need for nervousness. There was no way Roland would reject this proposal. William was certain of that, so he waited calmly.
"Yes, you're good to proceed as outlined here," Roland said, almost dismissively.
The decision was made with surprising ease.
William Livius's life was about to take a significant turn.
The military was primarily a place to earn status and honor. However, the heights William aimed for couldn't be reached by those alone. Money and resources were necessary. Having ample funds was advantageous. The availability of money determined the range of choices. Yet, money alone wasn't enough; without it, one would be helpless. To rise, both were essential.
"Thank you, my lord," William bowed deeply.
"But may I ask you a couple of questions?" Roland inquired.
"Feel free," William replied.
This post-decision confirmation allowed for openness. There was no need to fabricate lies anymore. While there were still "parts" to conceal, there were plenty of plausible explanations.
"Firstly, it's impressive that you've secured so many suppliers. You've meticulously researched various components—herbs, toxins, and even rare items—that constitute each pharmaceutical. Gathering such industry-specific information must have been quite challenging, don't you think?" Roland subtly probed. William had no reason to lie here.
"I established good relations with an underground dealer. In exchange for incorporating him into our business network, he shared this information. It's a win-win situation—he profits without taking on excessive risk. So, I've channeled part of our supply through him," William explained.
Roland glanced at the plan document. It was a point that had intrigued him.
"I see. So this is the person named 'Martin.' But the budget is substantial. Impressive sales and profit margins. As for who Martin is... let's leave that unasked. I can guess. While I don't want you to cross overly dangerous bridges, I appreciate that you've placed a 'buffer' in between," Roland acknowledged.
Martin was a man who dealt with various drugs within the Night Kingdom. When William embarked on this business venture, obtaining crucial "information" was his first priority, and Martin, a denizen of the night, held that information.
Through Nyx's introduction, William had bridged the gap and extracted everything from Martin overnight. The information was directly translated into a comprehensive list of suppliers.
"As for the suppliers, I understand. Next, though—pharmaceutical-related companies abound. Some even have ties to the royal family. How do you plan to outperform them?" Roland asked, addressing the competition.
"For now, I have no intention of directly competing with them. I'll focus on handling the rare and dangerous products that they either cannot or do not wish to deal with. Those tend to have higher profit margins, and it's a field they would find difficult to compete in."
William's response earned a satisfied nod from Roland. Not competing head-on was wise. Instead, they'd focus on handling rare or dangerous substances that the others couldn't. These specialized areas commanded higher prices and were less susceptible to competition.
"I see. Now, regarding personnel—don't tell me you plan to manage everything yourself, leaving Arcus frequently?" Roland posed the question, considering the business context. William had presented a compelling plan, and as a seasoned merchant, Roland wouldn't refute it.
"I'll borrow a few individuals from Frank and Ignatz's company. Being affiliated with the Taylor family ensures they won't make any rash moves. Plus, their prior business experience will reduce the need for extensive training," William explained.
"Very well, then. I'm counting on you, Chairman Livius," Roland said, firmly shaking William's hand. The coldness of Roland's grip and the warmth in his eyes left no doubt. William could trust him.
"Leave it to me, my lord. I won't let you down," William replied.
This significant step would propel William toward greater heights. Finally, despite his relative inexperience, he had both the martial and commercial aspects firmly in hand.
༺༻
"Ah, gah, aah, gah..."
Drip, drip. The damp, sewage-infested basement exuded a foul odor. Within this pitch-black room, devoid of sunlight, a single light flickered. Each time its flame danced, the man emitted a groan.
"What's this? Broken?"
Appearing before him was a man with a cheaply made, comically exaggerated mask and an equally cheap-looking wig that clearly revealed his fiery red hair. The red-haired man brought the flame closer to the groaning man. Instantly—
"Aaargh! No, no, no!"
The man writhed and squirmed in ways that defied human movement, attempting to escape the fire. But sturdy iron shackles restrained his hands and feet. Upon closer inspection, the man's body bore countless burns. His eyes were seared, his nails stripped, and his entire form covered in lacerations—a testament to brutal torture.
"Heh. This is what happens when you don't talk promptly. If you were going to spill the beans anyway, you should've done it while you were still human."
The man, now devoid of humanity, was named Martin. Despite having achieved a certain status within the Night Kingdom, his fate had become this pitiful state. A heavyweight in the underground guild overseeing the merchants, Martin was merely prey to the Night King who had set his sights on him.
"Well, my dear friend Martin, I'm grateful. Your information saved my life and that of my friend. So, I'll express my gratitude. You should be thankful too—you've been chosen as my stepping stone."
The red-haired man gently snapped Martin's neck. The excruciating pain he'd endured until now seemed inconsequential as he met his swift demise.
"White Dragon, I'll leave the disposal to you. Consider it a favor."
"...Don't use me so casually. I'm expensive, you know."
"Heh. Understood. Now, give my regards to the Night King. Let's both prosper," the red-haired man said.
White Dragon departed silently from Martin's side. The cleanup would likely occur after Martin's departure. Well, White Dragon wouldn't personally handle it—everyone had their role. The man left the scene without much interest.
"Business, and even the battlefield—both will soon be under the command of the hundred-man squad. Well, my skills will certainly be put to the test."
The man, now looking quite pleased, discarded the red wig and the jesting mask. Revealed was a handsome figure with pure white hair that grew more beautiful with age.
And so, the man vanished into the night streets.
༺༻
A few steps back in time—the morning after the attack.
In a windowless study where day and night were indistinguishable, the man wearing a jester-like mask sipped tea with an air of boredom. Since last night, he hadn't entertained a single thought. Only the bitterness lingered on his tongue.
Whether success or failure, the stain of endangering the royal family would remain. If a backlash arose against that man's "hobby," it might serve some purpose—
"Master, I have a report."
It was a long-awaited report, yet it failed to pique much interest. Since that day, the world had become tasteless and odorless. Even if the man died now, what difference would it make? According to him, the household staff were all kind-hearted. Therefore, perhaps it didn't matter much.
"Go ahead, old man."
Just killing time. Nothing he did could bring back what was lost.
"Firstly, the assassination attempt failed. Count Vlad is still alive."
"Is that so? What a shame."
"Next, the Assassins' Guild proposes a second assassination. Honestly, I couldn't believe my ears."
"Continue. I'll judge whether it's absurd or not."
"Understood. They suggest a more gruesome and dramatic assassination in five years. They want you to wait."
"Hmm."
For the first time, the masked man took an interest. The difficulty of a second assassination was self-evident. However, even under the royal family's protection, Vlad's life would last at most half a year to a year. The real issue lay in that man's vice. Even if they protected his reputation, inwardly—
"Five years, huh? Quite a long time."
If the Assassins' Guild went all out, they wouldn't need half a year to take Vlad's head. Even under the royal family's shelter, a single vulnerability could easily lead to decapitation. Would they really invest five years in preparation for an assassination?
"Speaking of which, who prevented the assassination? Old man Valdias? Was Oswald's second son there too? A slightly older one?"
"No, the most active participant was the recently talked-about White Mask, William Livius. Master, are you familiar with him?"
"...Ah, the one who defeated Schubester. I've received reports."
"Your ears are as sharp as ever. Oh, no, I mean, naturally."
"An outsider from a foreign land, wearing a white mask? Quite audacious."
"He hails from Lusitania and has white hair. Rumor has it he's rather handsome."
"White hair? Not red? Well, even if Chaos blood runs thick, not everyone has red hair ...Wait."
The man pondered. The elderly servant remained silent, awaiting the master's decision.
"Lusitania... Why... If excellence mattered, wouldn't Garius be the better choice? Why did it have to be Arcadia? ...No, perhaps the necessity lies in being from Lusitania... And the white hair, the mask."
The man raised his head.
"Old man, when did William Livius appear?"
"I don't have precise details, but he made a name for himself in Laconia."
"Look into it a bit more. I'll need to return there soon."
"Understood. And what about Count Vlad?"
"Five years is fine. The Assassins' Guild's audacity is somewhat intriguing. Or perhaps this idea came from elsewhere. Either way, for now, investigate William Livius. If he's a military officer, there's a chance we'll meet eventually."
"Very well."
The elderly servant withdrew, leaving the man alone in the study. He downed the lukewarm tea without savoring it. A faint sweetness lingered.
Colors returned to his vision, to the world.
"If my suspicions are correct, if everything is indeed connected to William Livius, it's undoubtedly a tragedy. I shouldn't rejoice. I know that. Yet, why am I so foolishly unable to help myself?"
The study held many books from various "foreign" lands. The latest volume, read to the point of wear, was a masterpiece of translation. Unlike colloquial language, it used formal language and various scripts from different regions. Truly, these were remarkable technological achievements.
Among them, the man picked up several books that had hardly been read.
"I became despondent after losing you. As compensation, I distanced myself, intending to watch over you from afar. Even if I couldn't fulfill our promise, I thought that much at least—but it's no use. I'm still powerless. But—"
He cradled the book against his chest and whispered softly.
"If he truly is what I imagine, even amidst hellish circumstances, if he's alive, then someday, I'll invite him here. And I'll prove your love. If he's alive, it's possible. If I can convey how deeply you loved him—"
The glimmer in the man's eyes, hidden beneath the mask, began to intensify.
Perhaps it was all too late. Yet, even in the midst of that hell, in this wretched world, there was still a glimmer of salvation, a trace of beauty. If conveying that could offer him redemption—
He was ready to pick up the shattered pieces of his heart and live with that purpose.