# Chapter 11
—
Arthur thought to himself.
He had changed beyond comparison to the person he had once been in his previous life.
At fifteen, he had overcome his muteness, reached the First Circle, and his physical condition was vastly superior to that of Arthur Bayern at thirty.
But he couldn’t be satisfied.
It was true that he had grown tremendously in just two short years—but it was growth, and nothing more.
In his current state, there was not a single plan in his mind that he could actually put into motion.
*‘If a knight like Cadillac were to attempt an assassination on my mother right now, I’d be completely helpless.’*
And so, Arthur decided to start gathering bloodlines earlier than planned.
Unlike mana, which required a long time to develop, the Bayern bloodline could grow much stronger much faster—*assuming he could absorb only quality blood.*
*‘The issue was how to obtain that blood… but that ended up being solved surprisingly easily.’*
Two months ago, Arthur found his clue in a single newspaper article his mother had suggested he read.
It reported a decayed corpse discovered in the alleyways of Sector B-21.
At first, he dismissed it as one of the many urban legends that circulated in the slums—but then Yonel mentioned that the Imperial Investigation Bureau had gotten involved. That’s when he remembered.
*‘Frakil, the killer once known as the Empire’s worst murderer. If I recall correctly, this was about the time he first left traces in the capital.’*
He was a serial killer with a very peculiar bloodline—also a black mage who had used beggars and thugs in the slums as sacrificial fuel to grow stronger.
And once his power reached the level he desired, he began extending beyond Sector B-21 and into the city proper.
He then began targeting high-ranking nobles, and eventually earned the title of the Empire’s worst murderer.
*‘That was a year from now. The moment I received a hideous scar across my right arm.’*
This audacious black mage hadn’t even spared the Duke of Bayern’s family.
On a rare day out, he had ambushed Yonel and Arthur of the past, ultimately carving a deep wound across Arthur’s shoulder.
*‘He was eventually captured by the Imperial police who arrived late… but thanks to Frakil, I lost my mind even further and stopped going out altogether.’*
So the name *Frakil* was etched deeply into Arthur’s memory.
As were his powers and past actions.
*‘His bloodline… it was quite something. He could transform his entire skin to resemble a reptile’s hide, reflecting both a knight’s aura and a magician’s spells.’*
Although he had reached the First Circle, Arthur still lacked any solid form of defense. To him, such a trait was more than appealing.
That’s why he set his sights on Frakil’s bloodline as his first target—and began venturing into Sector B-21.
But finding a black mage whose appearance was only vaguely known, in a slum wider than any district in the capital, was next to impossible.
So Arthur turned to the beggars.
The imperial capital had the highest population density on the continent, and proportionally, a vast number of beggars.
Most of those vagrants had gathered in these slums.
Beggars knew everything—rumors, whispers, street talk.
That’s how he formed a connection with *Adun’s gang*.
*‘A strange partnership, born from an attempted mugging.’*
With the help of Adun’s crew, Arthur began hunting for Frakil, and at last, the results were beginning to show.
> “A man matching your description—dark skin, red eyes—has been staying with the *Hardon gang* for a few days now.”
Arthur’s lips curled at Adun’s report.
> “Where are the Hardon gang located?”
> “They’re holed up in the underground passages of Sector B-21.”
> “Is that far from here?”
> “Not at all. We can reach their hideout in ten minutes.”
Arthur nodded at the answer.
> “I’ll give you an extra gold coin as a bonus. Could you guide me to the Hardon gang?”
> “…You mean *the* Hardon gang?”
> “Yes. I’ve got business with Mr. Frakil.”
Adun rolled his eyes, then cautiously asked,
> “I don’t mean to overstep, but… our gang and theirs? We’re not on good terms, sir.”
> “So?”
> “If I show up there, it’ll definitely cause a fight. The Hardon gang is very touchy about outsiders…”
Arthur snapped his fingers.
> “So, what you’re saying is—it’s dangerous?”
> “Exactly! I’m not doubting your skills, sir, but they’ve got at least double the numbers we do—”
Two gold coins dropped in front of Adun.
> “That’s hazard pay. You’ll get the same again when we’re done.”
> “….”
> “Not a bad deal, right? Adun?”
Adun wrestled with the offer, then finally nodded.
> “If I hadn’t seen your skills, sir, I would’ve never taken such a job… But I have, so I can’t refuse. I’ll lead you there myself.”
He gestured to his underlings.
Several filthy beggars scurried off somewhere at his signal, while Adun bowed and asked,
> “Shall I guide you now?”
> “Yes. There’s a curfew, and I need to be home before then.”
> “…Curfew?”
> “More precisely, dinner with my mother. So I’d appreciate it if we hurry.”
Adun blinked at Arthur’s response.
He didn’t show it outwardly, but he was clearly baffled.
*‘Curfew? Is that some kind of noble joke? Or aristocratic slang?’*
Still, he didn’t think too deeply about it.
The tastes of the upper class were far too bizarre for someone like him to comprehend.
Having put those thoughts aside, he began moving.
Arthur followed, and ahead, the beggars who’d gone ahead were lifting the lid of a sewer grate.
A pungent stench immediately assaulted them.
Adun, glancing at Arthur for a reaction, explained,
> “This sewer is the fastest way to reach the underground.”
> “Sounds good. Let’s move.”
Adun resumed walking.
Arthur muttered softly under his breath:
*‘Undine, please.’*
At that, Undine perched delicately on the tip of his nose.
In that instant, the foul stench vanished like magic.
Not only that—Undine’s energy enveloped Arthur’s body, preventing any of the filth from clinging to him, except on his shoes.
In contrast, Adun trudging ahead continued to curse under his breath, overwhelmed by the stench and sludge.
After ten minutes or so, distant murmuring began to echo ahead.
> “Are those the Hardon gang?”
> “Yes, sir. In terms of size, they’re among the top three in this area.”
Arthur rose to his feet and strode toward the beggars.
> “S-sir?!”
Adun shouted in alarm, but Arthur didn’t stop.
Adun grumbled reluctantly.
*‘No matter how confident he is… is he seriously walking up to 30 gang members like that?’*
While Adun hesitated, Arthur stepped in front of the thirty beggars with a smile.
> “Hello? I’m here to see someone named Frakil. Could you take me to him?”
—
—
The Hardon gang, in the middle of their late lunch, blinked in confusion.
They scrutinized the stranger, who looked completely out of place in the sewers.
> “…Who the hell are you? You don’t look like you belong here.”
> “I’m looking for a man named Frakil.”
> “Frakil? Who the hell is that?”
> “Maybe you’ll recognize him if I say he’s a black mage?”
The mood changed instantly.
With grim expressions, the beggars glared at Arthur and began standing up one by one.
> “Why would some big-shot black mage be in a place like this?”
> “And who the hell are you to be asking for him?”
Subtly, they picked up crude metal rods, forming a circle around Arthur.
But Arthur simply shrugged.
> “Wouldn’t it make sense for a black mage to be in a place like this? They like sewers and underground hideouts, don’t they?”
One of the beggars suddenly lunged with a makeshift spear.
It was a sharp strike, but Arthur had anticipated it. With ease, he deflected it using the dull edge of the iron sword strapped at his hip.
*Clang—!*
As the sound rang out, the beggars shouted:
> “Get him—!”
> “Whoever he is, beat the crap out of him first!”
> “If *he* finds out, we’re dead! Kill him!”
Arthur let out a soft exclamation.
*‘Looks like I’m in the right place. They’re calling him “that guy.”’*
He glanced at Undine, still perched on his nose.
In response, Undine let out a tiny cry.
And in that moment, the filth beneath the beggars’ feet began to stir and move.
> “W-what the—?”
Several beggars slipped and fell, and Arthur lunged forward.
He brought down the blunt edge of his sword on one beggar’s shoulder, breaking it effortlessly. Without even turning, he kicked another in the chest as they rushed him from the side.
Two down in a flash—then Arthur fully activated his senses.
Smell. Hearing. Sight. Touch.
All but taste were heightened to read the positions, movements, and breathing of the 30 beggars.
Assimilating it all, Arthur dove into their midst.
> “…!”
The beggars, not expecting him to charge, lost their momentum.
But that brief hesitation was all Arthur needed.
> “Aaaagh!”
> “My arm!”
> “My leg!”
With screams, ten out of the thirty were down—struck by the blunt edge of Arthur’s sword.
The remaining twenty froze in shock before panic set in.
> “W-what the hell is he?”
> “A knight? Or a cop?”
As confusion spread, the uninjured beggars turned and fled.
Arthur slung his iron sword over his shoulder and muttered:
> “If I follow them, I should find Frakil—the black mage.”
He broke into a run, following the retreating beggars.
Only ten moaning bodies were left in the circular space behind him.
From the shadows, Adun watched the fight unfold—and could hardly contain his astonishment.
*‘Is he really not a knight? That swordsmanship was like magic…’*
His words trailed off. Then his eyes lit up.
*‘Shit. Maybe this is a chance?’*
Adun had always been honest with himself.
Though mediocre in skill, he’d built a formidable gang through keen instincts and sharp judgment.
And right now, those instincts screamed—*this is an opportunity*.
*‘If this guy wipes out the Hardon gang… that territory could become ours.’*
Grinning at the thought, Adun chased after Arthur.
The chase didn’t last long.
The fleeing beggars halted in a wide underground plaza, where thirty more gang members stood waiting. The twenty breathless messengers relayed the news.
> “Don’t just stand there—get him! We’ve got an intruder! He doesn’t belong here!”
The thirty Hardon gang members glared and shouted, confused.
Some rushed toward a large hut—clearly out of place in a sewer.
As Arthur arrived at the plaza, he muttered,
> “Oh… looks like I found the right place.”
Few but black mages would bother building a hut in a sewer.
Nodding to himself, Arthur scanned the beggars blocking his way.
*‘Damn, there’s a lot. I *could* take them all down—but I need to conserve energy for Frakil…’*
A year from now, Frakil would be powerful enough to defeat a 5th Circle knight.
But for now, he was just a black mage with a unique bloodline.
*‘Still… it’s best not to let my guard down. Magic—especially black magic—never follows the rules.’*
Just then, the door of the hut opened.
A man stepped out.
> “What’s all this noise?”
Dark circles under his eyes. A cloak draped over his shoulders. He looked like a black mage, through and through.
And Arthur recognized him—the very image from his memories.
Still, just in case, he asked aloud:
> “Are you Frakil?”
> “That’s right. And who might you be, Mr. Swordsman? You don’t look like you belong in a place like this.”
> “…Ah. I came to see you.”
> “Me? You’re saying that to me?”
> “Yes, Mr. Frakil—the black mage. I have business with you.”
At the word *black mage*, Frakil flinched.
His eyes narrowed dangerously as he muttered,
> “You with the Church?”
> “I respect God, but I don’t believe in Him.”
> “Then who? An assassin from another school of magic?”
> “Not that either.”
Frakil suddenly shouted.
> “Stop dancing around and answer me! Who the hell are you?!”
The beggars recoiled instinctively at his outburst.
Arthur shook his head calmly.
> “Sorry, but I can’t tell you that.”
Frakil’s eyes darkened.
> “Of course… A guy wearing a mask wouldn’t reveal who he is. Then what do you want?”
Arthur smiled brightly.
> “That’s an easy one. Your life.”
> “What…?”
> “More precisely, your power. And your blood. So I’ll be needing you to die now, Mr. Frakil.”
Frakil blinked.
Then let out a hollow laugh.
> “Are you insane?”
> “I’ve heard that before. But not anymore.”
Arthur raised his iron sword.
> “Shall we begin? If I’m late for dinner, Mother will scold me. And I don’t intend to be scolded today.”
—
