JC

Five hours earlier.

Lobik Dila was forty-three years old. He was a First-Class Head of Vigilant Hall under the City Guard, in charge of the West City Vigilance Hall, which handled the safety of Everstar City's western side.

Twenty Security Teams, all the Vigilant Officers in a hall, and countless clerks were all at his command.

Over a hundred police officers equipped with fine riot-control gear like suppression batons, miniature crossbows, and riot shields; nearly three hundred highly trained soldiers armed with anti-magic equipment such as Demonfall Swords, Arc Light Shields, Evernew Armor, and Energy Piercing Bolts; and an elite security force with twenty genuine Terminus Swordsmen serving as Security Captains...

All answered to him alone.

For someone born into minor nobility—Lobik's father was merely a small lord from Kaila County in the kingdom's west—this was exceptionally rare.

If he had not latched onto the Cavendish Family's coattails, there was no way he could have become West City's Head of Vigilant Hall in the Royal Capital at such an age.

There was only one tiny flaw in this wonderful relationship, where he had pledged loyalty to the Cavendish Family and received an official post in return.

That was the area he was responsible for in Everstar City.

The West Ring District, and the Lower City District.

Yes, the very front line of the bloody conflict between the Blood Bottle Gang and the Black Street Brotherhood.

A tiny flaw.

A flaw?

Pah!

By the King, this was a colossal disaster!

This was the warning his white-haired predecessor had given him during the handover:

"You must instruct your men well. Even when leading a team out from the barracks, passing through the West Ring District and the Lower City District on the way to West Gate..."

Yes, his predecessor believed that for the Security Team managing all of West City, the only thing they needed to do was dispatch Vigilant Officers and Patrol Teams every morning to West Gate to change shifts and enforce the law.

"You must take note—"

"For the sake of your money, when passing through West Ring District Three, be polite, peaceful, and friendly;"

"For the sake of your life, when passing through Lower City District Three, stay alert and tread carefully;"

"For the sake of your position, when you reach West Gate, be diligent, vigilant, and full of spirit!"

Lobik quickly understood why.

The Blood Bottle Gang, rooted in West Ring District Three, had deep roots and a long history. Their connections with many influential figures in the court were unclear, but they regularly paid the City Guard a substantial "share." So for the sake of their wallets, when passing through the West Ring District, officers needed to maintain harmony with the citizens, keep everyone happy, and turn a blind eye whenever possible.

The Black Street Brotherhood, entrenched in Lower City District Three, was ruthless, insane, and violent. Half the unsolved criminal cases in the Royal Capital were connected to them. When necessary, they showed no mercy even to officials. So for the sake of their lives, when passing through the Lower City District, officers needed eyes in every direction, ears everywhere, and to keep moving without lingering.

As for West Gate, it was Everstar City's public face to the outside world. It was also the unavoidable entrance for foreign dignitaries, nobles great and small, stewards from temples of every god, and adventurers from all walks of life visiting Everstar City. Diplomatic disputes, noble conflicts, religious hostilities, and civilian clashes all happened there. It was also the place the court's powerful figures watched most closely. Thus, for the sake of their positions, those on security duty and law-enforcement patrols at West Gate had to be fair, strict, hardworking, dedicated, impartial, and serve the people.

All in all, it was perfectly understandable that during the three years Head Lobik had overseen the Vigilant Hall, half his hair had turned white, three more wrinkles had appeared on his face, and his wife often protested through cold wars in bed because he came home at irregular hours.

At that moment, Lobik sat behind his desk, staring at the moonlight outside the window with a troubled expression.

He did not want to work overtime either—it was simply that an important figure had made a request tonight, leaving him no choice.

And besides.

What troubled him was not work, but the blockhead working for him.

Cohen Karabiyen.

Twenty-two-year-old Cohen had been promoted two months ago to Second-Class Vigilant Officer and Captain of the Third Security Team.

With skills superior even among Terminus Swordsmen—It would be even better if I could beat that freak Miranda—Cohen; an unbelievably noble background—"Sigh, Old Man, if only you were the King. Then I could at least become a Prince—ow! Old Man, why did you hit me?"—Cohen; and military experience rarely seen among young nobles, Cohen had unsurprisingly become West City Vigilance Hall's number one ace after leaving the army—"Damn Old Man! I clearly never signed anything, so how did I get 'discharged'? It must have been you shamelessly—ow! Why did you hit me again?"—Cohen—"They all say it's because I have a good father, but Old Man, you know better than anyone that I don't have a good father—hey, hey! Old Man, hit me again and I'll turn on you!"—Cohen.

At this moment, Cohen wore a neat and imposing officer's cap, with several strands of golden hair peeking out beneath its brim. His well-tailored blue uniform accentuated his powerful yet balanced physique, while his feet were clad in pitch-black military boots that reflected no light. Together with that resolute and heroic face, he was unquestionably the Royal Capital's ultimate "girl killer."

What a pity. If he had been twenty years younger and transferred to Everstar City earlier, he probably would have been enough to make the noble girls of the Royal Capital scream too—of course, that was merely Head Lobik's idle fantasy when his mind wandered.

Because that young, heroic "girl killer," Cohen, was currently speaking with righteous conviction and unending fervor, firmly laying out his views to Head Lobik.

"Sir, in summary, I absolutely do not believe we should clear out the garrison forces on Red Quarter!"

The young vigilant officer repeatedly slapped his chest, seemingly determined to let his superior know just how resolute he was.

"Especially tonight! A violent conflict is highly likely to erupt between the Blood Bottle Gang and the Black Street Brotherhood! In addition, I received intelligence from my men that the Black Street Brotherhood, in front of their main headquarters..."

"You have informants in Black Street?" Head Lobik was slightly intrigued by that. He yawned and interrupted the vigilant officer.

"Ha, planting informants among those Brotherhood lunatics is indeed difficult." Cohen scratched his head awkwardly, his lips curling upward. "But with my shrewd and capable..."

"Idiot! Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Head Lobik's sudden roar caused quite a stir. It even startled the beautiful red-haired secretary, Miss Jora, who was carrying documents past the door, and made her slip.

"You think that just because you placed third in the Terminus Tower's year-end assessment, the Brotherhood cannot touch you? You think that just because you come from the Karabian Family, the Blood Bottle Gang will not dare touch you? Most importantly! You think—"

The furious Head Lobik's voice rose wave after wave, leaving the formerly eloquent Cohen stunned.

"—that just because you're better-looking than me, you can order your direct superior around?"

Outside the door, Miss Jora's hand trembled as she picked up documents from the floor, scattering the ones she had already gathered all over again.

Cohen froze, then rubbed the back of his head in confusion.

"Uh, Head, that's a little off topic. Even though I am handsome, the Black Street Brotherhood's side..."

"Shut up! Idiot!"

Flushed with anger and embarrassment, Lobik suddenly felt there might be a reason why his old classmate's son got beaten by his father every day.

Lobik took a breath and said slowly, "I understand how you feel. I was once young and hot-blooded too."

The Head of Vigilant Hall looked out the window and slowly sighed.

"When I was transferred here three years ago, I also thought that one day, I would cleanse every trace of crime and darkness from the Lower City District and the West Ring District, so citizens could walk the streets without fear."

But Lobik changed course.

"But do you really think the Blood Bottle Gang and the Black Street Brotherhood are merely petty gangs that cannot stand in the light? That if I dispatch twenty Terminus Swordsmen capable of taking on a hundred men each, along with four hundred security troops and Patrol Team soldiers, I can wipe them out in one stroke?"

Cohen's mouth fell open.

But before he could answer, the Head snorted coldly.

"The Blood Bottle Gang has two terrifying Magic Users at its head, eight Psychic Warriors, and recently one of the Twelve Supremes. The Brotherhood has three—or perhaps four—terrifying assassins, six great leaders, and the younger Thirteen Great Generals. Do you know how many among those people are Transcendent Rank, or even Extreme Realm? What if even one troublesome one escapes?"

Cohen blinked, not understanding.

Lobik looked furious, speaking faster and faster.

"And there are their thugs, thieves, rangers, and adventurers spread throughout the kingdom, with influence reaching the Western Continent; their all-pervasive intelligence network, deeply rooted network of connections, substantial commercial network, sprawling web of interests that moves at a single tug, and secret networks in critical places. Do you think they're harmless? Do you think this is fighting the Aridbone people and beastmen on the Western Front? Do you think my police officers and City Guard soldiers have no families, no children, no social ties, no attachments or burdens, and are death squads who will throw their lives away for you just because you raise your voice?"

Cohen froze again.

"Even if the two great gangs are wiped out, what about the nobles' dirty secrets connected to them? What about the administrative departments' funding and greasy profits that rely on their threats to survive? What about the tributes they offer every year to important figures in the court? Without the gangs' control and protection, what happens to the poor, the rioters, and the unemployed who have no way to make a living? Without gang oppression, what happens if people stop praying and donating at temples? Without the bloody incidents created by the gangs, what happens when the city's potion market, alchemy market, agricultural market, rare medicines, and strategic supplies that can only be smuggled in through the gangs run out? And what about adventurers, mercenaries, and Psychic Warriors who lose their livelihoods and start stirring? Without the open and secret cooperation of the local gangs, what happens if the Kingdom Secret Bureau cannot keep track of foreign spies' underground operations?"

Lobik roared through all of that in one breath, then panted for several seconds in exhaustion.

"Have you considered all these countless, messy things that cannot be ignored?"

The Head crossed his arms, looking even more imposing.

"Why do you think I cleared out Red Quarter tonight? That's right, I'll tell you. Because an important figure personally notified me that it will become the bloodiest battlefield tonight! Whoever approaches will meet a bad end! So not only must I clear the area, I must post curfew notices and warn everyone to stay away! Why do you think we're working overtime today? So that by morning, our people can join the City Hall's medical, firefighting, and land administration departments in collecting the losers' bodies and cleaning up the ruins left by the war!"

Lobik stopped roaring. Panting, he tugged open the collar that was making it hard for him to breathe.

Cohen fell silent.

His fists slowly tightened at his sides.

"Now then, promising vigilant officer, Captain Cohen Karabiyen," Lobik said after collecting himself, his tone returning to normal.

"You may leave. Reflect carefully. Think about why your father introduced you to the most difficult Vigilant Hall to survive in across the entire Starfall Kingdom and the whole Western Continent. And remember to help Miss Jora outside pick up those documents. That was all your fault."

The door opened, and Cohen slowly walked out.

But his gaze had darkened, lonely and helpless.

It made Miss Jora, picking up documents nearby, ache for him.

All of that... all of what Head Lobik said, I already know.

Cohen thought silently.

He reached toward the sword rack outside the Head's office, intending to retrieve his weapon.

But if even the youngest Head of Vigilant Hall had become so calculating and world-weary, if even he dared not confront the bloodsucking gangs hidden in the underworld...

How could this kingdom ever change?

Cohen slowly lowered his hand.

He walked over to Miss Jora, who was crouched down gathering documents.

The secretary sensed Cohen approaching, and her face immediately reddened. She was just wondering what tone she should use to thank him for helping.

Hot-blooded?

Cohen laughed bitterly to himself.

Ever since I crawled out of the piles of corpses on the Western Front, that word no longer belonged to me.

This was not hot blood.

Cohen lowered his head and clenched his fists. Determination and fury flashed in his desolate eyes.

This was merely... the right thing.

Something that had to be done.

Miss Jora's face reddened even further.

She suddenly realized that from Cohen's angle, he could see the magnificent scenery inside her work uniform, as impressive as the Wailing Mountains—and, importantly, this needed to be said three times—he was handsome, he was handsome, he was truly handsome!

Red Quarter.

Cohen pondered as his eyes slowly narrowed.

The next instant, his expression turned ice-cold. His clenched right fist suddenly twisted, and it was as though a fierce wind had risen before the Head's office door!

Whoosh!

When the gust dissipated, Cohen was gone.

So was the sword he had left on the sword rack.

Only Miss Jora remained, gritting her teeth as she violently tugged at her red hair, which the gust had thrown into disarray.

Beside her, the scattered documents had somehow already been arranged into a neat stack standing on the floor.

Inside the Head's office, Lobik closed his eyes helplessly and let out a sigh.

Compared to Red Quarter...

That important figure had made an even more troublesome request of him.

He was to find out from the Sunset Believers passing through West Gate exactly why the Sunset Temple had sealed off its inner sanctuary.

Those religious lunatics... Lobik shook his head. How could he dare involve himself in matters concerning divine revelations?

Especially that shrew of a Sunset Goddess.

Pah, pah, pah!

Lobik shook his head, throwing the thought out of his mind.

Six hundred years ago, merely having such a thought would have gotten him thrown into an inquisitorial court by the Sunset Goddess's temple priests, wouldn't it?

Looked at that way, although the two Magic Empresses were also ill-tempered shrews, they had still done something good.

Pah, pah, pah!

Lobik shook his head again, throwing that thought out as well.

No, the consequences of that thought were even worse than the previous one.

Back to the present.

"You said you... you killed Quade?"

Yala stared at Tales in shock, as though she were truly seeing him for the first time.

"Yes," Tales answered with complete calm.

He took a deep breath and made what seemed like an outrageous request of this beautiful yet dangerous young woman.

"And please help the four of us escape Lower City District Three."

Yala's eyes widened as if she had witnessed some astonishing spectacle.

But Tales knew he was not simply taking a chance.

During his four years begging in the Ruined House, his world had not been entirely dark.

Aside from the few beggar children who had stood together through hardship, Jenny, the assistant at Grove Apothecary, and the seemingly unapproachable Barmaid before him—though was she really only a barmaid?—were among the few warm colors Tales had found in this world.

Three years ago, if not for her, he would have long since been bitten to death in the garbage heap behind Sunset Tavern by the Rage Wolf Dog raised by Morris.

It was said that after that, Morris—a major figure in the Black Street Brotherhood—had muttered for a long time about how his Rage Wolf Dog, which he had raised for six years without ever taming, had somehow run off on its own and disappeared.

"You... say that again?"

Yala came back to herself as though she had heard something impossible to believe, like demons returning from hell or gods descending from the heavens.

"I mean, I want to ask you to..."

But Yala interrupted him.

"You just killed Quade Roda, the man in charge of Everstar City's beggar children business for the most terrifying force in Starfall Kingdom's underworld, the Black Street Brotherhood—the only son of Sandara Roda, the Arms Boss known as 'Ironheart.'"

Yala finished in one breath, her face livid, then viciously jabbed Tales in the forehead with a slender finger.

"And then you want me to protect you, betray that 'most terrifying force in Starfall Kingdom's underworld,' and flee from the Black Street Brotherhood's inevitable manhunt and pursuit?"

"Uh, not entirely accurate." Tales rubbed the finger mark on his forehead and gave an awkward grin beneath Yala's murderous glare.

"But yes."

"That's roughly it."

An awkward silence followed.

Yala listened to the news and spent a long while digesting it.

Though Tales was anxious inside, he waited quietly.

Yala came back to herself and sighed.

But her expression swiftly returned to cold indifference.

"Hmph. Fight the entire Brotherhood for your sake? Do you think I look like that kind of good person? No, rather, do you think I look like a good person at all?"

"You don't need to face anyone from the Brotherhood!" Tales said urgently.

"We have our own plan. You only need to give us some food and supplies and help us evade the Brotherhood's eyes until we escape to Red Quarter! It would be effortless for you!"

"Please!" Tales said solemnly. "You're the only one we can rely on, Sister Yala!"

But even though he called her Sister, Yala did not seem moved in the least.

"Hmph. You're just a little beggar."

Yala sneered. "I make my living in the Brotherhood, more or less. Why do you think I would not immediately hand over you, the murderer carrying a blood debt against the Brotherhood, along with those accomplices of yours?"

Tales fell silent for a moment and lowered his head.

Yala tilted her head, waiting for his answer with a half-smile.

Until Tales raised his head again.

"Because I believe in you."

Yala froze, unable to follow Tales's logic.

"What?"

Tales spoke slowly and firmly, word by word:

"Because I believe in you."

"I believe you're different!"

Different...?

Yala was dumbfounded.

Had he gotten the wrong script?

He could actually say something so sickeningly mushy?

Hadn't this kid always been pretty mature?

And wasn't he someone hardened in the Brotherhood, in a den of beggar children? Why had he suddenly—had he watched too many Midnight Temple plays lately? Stories of the friendship between Hero Sara and Prophet Kaipeng?

Or had Quade beaten his brains out?

But Tales took a deep breath.

What the beggar child said next left her speechless for a long while:

"I know that nearly everyone in the Brotherhood is scum and villainy, twisted freaks burdened with blood debts, rabid wolves and demons wearing human skin. Sympathy and kindness, conscience and mercy—they mean less to them than the filth in a gutter."

"They sell girls whose families have been ruined to brothels, beat helpless children into cripples, sell drugs to teenage girls, extort hardworking Merchants until they have nothing left, drive farmers forced by disaster to sell their children into starving to death, seize those who cannot repay their black debts and sell them as slaves in the great desert, and run the ugliest, most shameful secrets alongside fallen nobles."

"But I also know that many of them are driven by survival, forced into it, shaped by what they saw and heard from childhood, trapped in it and unable to escape. They do it to live. They all have their reasons for saying, 'I have no choice but to do this,' and that is why they become the Brotherhood's most vicious claws, its most ruthless enforcers."

"But precisely because of that, I think that in such an environment, under such circumstances, if someone can still persist beyond mere survival—persist in holding onto a little sympathy, a measure of mercy, a trace of kindness, a thought of conscience; persist in doing some good, in being a good person; give up the idea of using their swordsmanship to earn dirty, easy money; give even the most destitute drunkard a free mug of ale; give ** being beaten and abused a cloak..."

Tales paused there.

Yala's brows drew tightly together.

She did not realize that she had bitten her lower lip.

"If someone can stand amid a rubbish heap in the biting cold, kill a Brotherhood boss's beloved dog to save the life of a child they do not know, and then keep helping, supporting, and caring for him for the next four years..."

At that, Tales looked up at Yala, his gaze filled with sincerity and hope.

"To do all that, I think, is harder, more dangerous, and more... than being a completely evil person in the Brotherhood, than abandoning all principles and conscience, committing every evil imaginable, and living every day as a carefree, comfortable villain."

"Stop!" Yala lifted her head unwillingly, her eyes reddened. "Kid, you're not anything to me. How could you, how dare you..."

But Tales cut her off without a care.

"Yala Saredon!"

At the sound of that name, the Barmaid trembled slightly.

Tales took a deep breath.

"I've seen you split a dog into three pieces with one stroke. I've seen you cut off the fingers of people who came to cause trouble. I know all the drinkers at Sunset Tavern are afraid of you. I know that even Quade and Rick, even Boss Morris, treat you with courtesy."

"I don't know what the surname Saredon means within the Brotherhood, but I imagine your hands have been covered in blood too, perhaps you have even killed countless people. Maybe your family and everyone around you belonged to the Brotherhood. Maybe your parents and siblings were all criminals burdened with countless sins."

Yala did not interrupt him. Instead, a desolate expression crossed her face as she sank into a silence as dead as death itself.

"So, I don't actually know whether you are a good person, or whether you count as one."

Tales silently drew out a dagger.

Yala's gaze froze in midair.

"But I stole this dagger from your tavern."

Tales slowly raised the dagger.

"I know that day, I merely said to you, 'I don't even have a knife. How could I possibly chop firewood?' Then that afternoon, this dagger appeared by itself in the most obvious spot in the storeroom."

Yala slowly frowned.

Tales forced the corners of his mouth upward.

"I always knew."

"This dagger—I had always thought someone else had left it behind, maybe Edmund. But only today did the two letters 'JC' emerge from its bloodstained blade."

"And only today did I hear your full name from a drunken Quade."

Tales raised his head and looked directly at Yala. The faint Starlight in his eyes made her heart jolt.

"Maybe those are your initials. JC."

"Yala Saredon."

Yala clenched her teeth.

Looking at the dagger, her fists began to tremble slightly.

She did not even notice why a beggar child who had never had the chance to learn to read could understand the letters on the dagger, much less piece together her name.

"Yala Saredon, Miss JC, I want you to know. I have to let you know."

Tales paused.

"Today, the dagger you gave me saved my life."

"And you also saved the lives of those three over there, three children who thought even ordinary white bread was a king's feast."

Yala's fists clenched tighter and tighter, and her gaze gradually focused.

This damnable kid.

"So, although I don't know what you were like before, and I don't know what you will become later, I always feel, I feel..."

Tales forced out a pale, fragile smile and looked straight into Yala's eyes.

"You still want to..."

"Be a good person."

"JC!"