**Chapter 50**
—
A hundred mercenaries echoed the same words.
“Kill them….”
“Stop them….”
“They cannot pass through here!”
Watching the scene, Laborde muttered with a grimace.
“Is that really an illusion? No way… he’s not even an Archmage, so how could anyone cast illusions on a hundred people?”
Everyone nodded at his words.
Magic—miracles fabricated by processing mana.
Mages who wielded such power could summon flames in midair, or call down bolts of lightning.
And if one were to name the most difficult among such magic, it would be the “illusion” type.
Illusion magic, which penetrated and manipulated the human psyche, was known to require extremely demanding conditions to cast.
*That’s why this doesn’t make sense… To cast mass illusion on this scale, you’d have to be someone like Whitebeard. That legendary black mage I once saw.*
Could it be that Whitebeard was involved in this?
Arthur pondered and concluded that it was possible—or perhaps not. With things unfolding like this, even the smallest possibility couldn’t be dismissed.
As he thought this, Arthur drew the meteoric iron sword, and Carpe shouted.
“Kill them first! Once trapped in an illusion, there’s no way out unless they break free themselves! The only way is to bring them down!”
With that cry, a massive blaze erupted from Carpe’s hand.
That was the signal. Four mercenaries leapt forward to seize Marshal Dust.
Thud—!
Azlan, wearing a pair of rather unusual gauntlets, smashed the heads of charging mercenaries.
She flinched at every splatter of blood, clearly unaccustomed to such combat.
Whack!
By contrast, Keras—the one who had introduced himself as a D-rank mercenary—was clearly well-versed in close combat, blowing off mercenaries’ heads with a casual pull of his pistol.
Arthur’s eyes shifted toward Kassel and Hyson, the two C-rank mercenaries.
“To cut down the powerless pains me… but perhaps this too is my fate….”
With those words, Kassel’s greatsword cleaved mercenaries in two.
“This karma… someday I will pay it back. Rest peacefully.”
Muttering to himself, Kassel cut them down with swordsmanship that impressed even Arthur.
*I thought he was just a dazed fool… but his skills are surprisingly good.*
Finally, Hyson swung his enormous shield like a club, battering mercenaries aside.
Arthur wondered why he fought so inefficiently with a shield, but with sheer brute strength, it did not feel out of place.
*Their fighting styles are all different… but the one worth keeping an eye on is probably Kassel.*
If any of them were to turn enemy, Arthur had already determined who should be dealt with first. His gaze then fell on Laborde.
Laborde was turning the illusion-stricken mercenaries into minced meat with the shotgun Arthur had once seen in the armory.
Having taken in even that sight, Arthur finally began to move.
“We must… kill them!”
With that shout, a mercenary charged—only to have his head severed cleanly.
Each swing of the blade sent another head flying. Kassel, watching the display, muttered in a low voice.
“…Just as I thought, not an easy foe! But we shall not yield!”
The battle escalated quickly, and before long, all hundred mercenaries lay dead or incapacitated.
Perhaps because of the illusion, their movements had been mechanical, devoid of any human will.
When the slaughter ended, Azlan—drenched in mercenaries’ blood—grimaced.
“Damn it… was this right? It feels like we just massacred civilians. Couldn’t we have just knocked them out?”
No one answered.
They all felt it too, no matter how much they pretended otherwise.
This was not battle—it was butchery.
Even in the underworld where murder was routine, massacre carried a different weight.
At that moment, Arthur flicked the blood from his meteoric sword and spoke.
“Knocking them out might’ve been worse, Azlan.”
“…Why? They’d return to their senses once the illusion wore off, wouldn’t they?”
“Yes, they return. Half-mad… or hollow shells. And for such people, there are usually only two ends.”
Arthur gestured at the corpses.
“One: they kill themselves when madness consumes them. Two: their companions kill them because they can’t handle their vacant state.”
“……”
“That’s why illusions are called black magic. Once you’re caught in one, life afterward makes death seem like mercy. So don’t burden yourself with guilt.”
Azlan’s eyes widened.
The other mercenaries were the same.
“…Hm? Did I say something wrong? Why’s everyone looking at me like that?”
Azlan hesitated before asking.
“Donn, have you… ever been caught in an illusion?”
“Yes. Once, long ago. I’ll leave it at that—I’d rather not go into details.”
With that, Azlan fell silent.
Meanwhile, Carpe—tidying up the battlefield—raised his voice.
“Anyone want to quit?”
“……”
“This is an unexpected situation. Anyone who wants out, do it now. Once we move on, there’ll be no turning back.”
At that, D-rank Keras asked,
“What do you mean by unexpected, Carpe?”
“I’ve heard of Marshal Dust. But I never heard he had a mage of this level with him.”
“…Meaning?”
“It means our intel was wrong. He’s only got a thousand-gold bounty, yet why do you think guild offices across Arcane sent mercenaries here?”
“……”
“Because his skills don’t match his bounty. But if he’s accompanied by a mage of this caliber, that changes everything.”
Carpe warned,
“From here on, predictions mean nothing. Decide now. Who’s coming with me to capture Marshal Dust?”
Arthur raised his hand first.
“Me!”
“……”
“Me, Carpe!”
Carpe muttered after a pause, “…Is this a picnic to you?”
“No?”
“…Forget it. Anyone else?”
Azlan, after some hesitation, raised his hand.
Carpe looked surprised.
“You sure about this?”
“Feels worse to quit here.”
“…… Fine.”
Kassel and Keras followed, raising their hands.
“Same here.”
“Yeah, I’d regret backing out now.”
Carpe’s gaze fell on the last two: Laborde and Hyson.
“…I’ll join.”
“Laborde, it might be dangerous for you.”
“I know. If it gets too bad, I’ll run.”
Carpe nodded.
Then Hyson spoke.
“I’m out. I didn’t come here to see this kind of mess.”
Everyone’s eyes widened.
Azlan quitting was conceivable—but Hyson? Unexpected.
But Hyson had clearly made up his mind. He turned away.
“Good luck. From where I stand, this mission… ah, forget it. No point badmouthing it when I’m leaving.”
And with that, he truly departed.
Arthur let out a quiet sigh.
*Oh… The one with the least presence suddenly made the biggest exit.*
Once Hyson was gone, Carpe raised his hand.
“Then let’s go. Once we cross here, the destination’s right ahead.”
At that, the mercenaries swallowed hard.
“Stay sharp… From here on, this is the real thing.”
—
—
Carpe charged ahead once more, unwavering. Clearly, he knew the path.
They dashed through the landfill for a while, until Carpe stopped and clicked his tongue.
“Tch… it connects to here.”
Arthur peered over.
“This isn’t a sewer?”
“Right. I wondered why they holed up in a landfill… turns out they hid like rats in the sewers.”
“Hehh… Carpe, do you know Marshal Dust personally?”
“Personally? Why the hell would I be friends with a spy like—”
Carpe cut himself short, then warned Arthur with a glare.
“Don’t try to pry. Watch your mouth.”
“Oh… Not easy to deal with, just like last time.”
“Last time? Have we met?”
“Well? In this line of work, everyone crosses paths eventually, don’t they?”
Carpe sighed.
“…Why did I bring along someone like you.”
“But I’m useful, right?”
“Yeah, useful… Whether that lasts till the end is another question.”
With that, Carpe stepped into the sewer, Arthur by his side.
Azlan and Laborde watched them curiously.
*Have those two met before?*
*They look… oddly familiar with each other.*
Carpe was known as one of the few trustworthy mercenaries in the underworld—but equally known for keeping no close ties.
Considering his rare magical prowess, this was even stranger. Yet here he was, conversing naturally with Donn.
Kassel muttered,
“A warlock and a masked man in league… Not good.”
“……”
“What’re you staring at? I don’t like being watched.”
Azlan sighed.
“One freak after another… Not a sane one among us.”
They ran on in silence.
But before long, Azlan’s heavy breathing filled the air.
“…Goddamn it.”
The stench unique to sewers.
The sticky feel of mercenaries’ blood on his skin.
The muck squelching underfoot.
It grated on her nerves.
*Screw the money—I just want a bath.*
As she bit his lip, Arthur turned his head.
“You alright, Azlan?”
“…Honestly, feels like I’m dying.”
“Want some help?”
Azlan frowned.
“Help? How?”
Arthur snapped his fingers.
At once, the stench and the blood clinging to her vanished.
A miracle, only explainable by magic. Azlan’s eyes went wide.
“You—you… You’re a mage?”
“Nope.”
“Then what the hell…?”
Arthur paused.
At his feet, Undine surfaced.
\[Hello…]
Azlan gasped.
“A mid-tier spirit? You’re a summoner?!”
Arthur nodded.
Behind them, Laborde and Keras widened their eyes.
“A summoner’s rarer than a mage…”
“Donn, you’re more talented than you let on.”
Arthur smiled at Undine.
“Would you clean them up too?”
\[Yes, Arthur!]
With that, Keras and Laborde were cleansed as well.
The little miracle they needed most in this moment. Both of them gasped in relief.
Arthur then looked at Kassel.
“…I don’t need it. Relying on others is for the weak.”
“Really? Alright then.”
Arthur turned away coldly. Kassel’s eyes wavered, but he never asked.
Keras chuckled and spoke to Arthur.
“To be honest, I wasn’t sure… but it seems you really did survive against the Black Cross, Donn.”
“Oh? What makes you say that?”
“The spirit, for one. And back when you shot Teniaci… Speaking of which, how did you know he was hypnotized?”
Arthur shrugged.
“A hunch.”
“…A hunch?”
“Yes. he’s a B-rank mercenary, right? But he stood blocking the way too defenselessly.”
Azlan asked,
“So you fired a shot over just that?”
“Not just that. There was more.”
Arthur tapped his eye.
“His breathing was irregular, his gaze unfocused. He looked past us into nothing, and his speech was strange.”
The mercenaries widened their eyes.
Arthur snapped his fingers.
“A trained mercenary would never look like that. So I took the shot. If he was fine, he’d dodge. If not, he’d be disabled.”
Silence fell.
The mercenaries’ eyes held a new glint as they looked at him.
Just then, Carpe halted.
The sudden stop heightened tension. He turned, wearing a strange expression.
“Hey, madman.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. Clean me up too.”
“…?”
“I’m alive too, you know. This stench is killing me.”
Everyone blinked.
Arthur chuckled.
“Nope. You’re too sly, Carpe.”
“Sly? Who’s kinder than me?”
“Nope. Too sly.”
Carpe pouted.
Azlan, who had been tense, sighed deeply.
“…What is this group. I’m going insane.”
Beside him, Laborde nodded.
Keras stroked his chin.
“How much longer do we run?”
“Almost there. Ten more minutes.”
So they ran again.
Ten minutes passed. Carpe didn’t stop.
Yet no one objected. Nothing unusual had happened—yet.
Another ten minutes. Still no stop.
Arthur, puzzled, spoke.
“It’s been ten minutes, Carpe. How much farther?”
“……”
“Hm? No answer? Are you sulking because I didn’t let you use Undine?”
Carpe stayed silent.
Arthur frowned, halting mid-run.
Tap, tap, tap—
But Laborde and Azlan kept running beside him.
Arthur blinked.
“Huh? What’s this? Time stopped?”
He sharpened his senses.
But all he felt were the rats and insects of the sewer.
If time had frozen, he shouldn’t sense them either—yet they were still moving.
*Then is this an illusion? No… Can this even be called illusion? Mental magic like this requires direct or indirect contact.*
Even Archmages couldn’t break that rule.
Arthur’s tension spiked.
Something had happened.
And it was very, very bad.
As he raised his senses to the utmost, a familiar voice buried in memory rang out.
“How surprising. To think the child of Bayern would be here.”
Arthur’s shoulders trembled.
*What?*
His heart pounded, thundering in his ears.
Footsteps approached.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Sweat trickled down Arthur’s body.
He had always remained calm in any situation—yet now he felt fear vividly.
*Tension? Terror? Or should I call this… something else?*
The footsteps stopped.
Arthur’s senses peaked, so sharp he could almost see his own eyelashes.
And then the owner of the footsteps spoke.
“Arthur Bayern. Why are you here?”
Arthur turned his head—eyes wide.
“Khan Madrid…?”
The Empire’s Second Prince.
The man destined to be the next Emperor.
The very cause of everything—who had ended Arthur’s life in his past one.
And he was standing there, watching him from afar.
—
