Chapter 154: When the Year Changes
The first snow of the year had fallen. A thin layer blanketed the field, where the grass had lost its vigor to the biting cold. Duke Vandemir glared irritably at the snow fluttering like cotton and lit his cigar.
He drew deeply on the cigar before exhaling a thick plume of smoke, then spoke in a gravelly voice.
“Still no sign of the will?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, Your Grace.”
The aide bowed in apology, and the duke’s face twisted in fury. Unable to contain his rage, he seized the ashtray and hurled it at the aide.
“Do you think I summoned you to hear your damned apologies?! It’s been months already!”
“…I’m sorry.”
The aide, struck on the forehead by the ashtray, silently offered another apology. Without concrete results to show, he had no option but to absorb the duke’s wrath.
Hot blood trickled down the aide’s forehead. The duke, heaving with anger, kicked him in the shin and bellowed.
“Shut up and get out! Since you failed at the task I gave you, expect your salary docked this month!”
“…Yes, understood.”
The aide departed the study with a somber expression. The duke swept back the hair above his forehead, striving to regain his composure.
As the adage goes, haste makes waste; when anger flares, calm is best. Of course, for someone with his explosive temper, it was a principle exceedingly difficult to uphold.
Still, once his agitation had somewhat subsided, the duchess knocked tentatively and entered.
“Darling, are you busy?”
“What.”
“It’s nothing major; I just wanted to see your face…”
The duke furrowed his brow sharply at her words, delivered in a coquettish bid to placate him.
“You interrupted my busy day for such a trivial reason? Do you have any sense at all, or none?”
“I-I’m sorry. I just…”
“Enough! What’s the update on that actress whore or whatever she is?”
While the duke hunted for the will, the duchess had been assigned to deal with Claire, who was pregnant with Oscar’s child.
If Claire truly gave birth, Oscar would have a bastard offspring tainted with commoner blood—a vulnerability that needed elimination before it became lethal.
Eyeing her husband warily, the duchess slipped onto the sofa, swallowed dryly, and replied.
“Well, I couldn’t handle it…”
“What? Why!”
“The person I hired ambushed her in a dark alley, but by sheer coincidence, a passerby intervened and it failed.”
To be precise, the passerby was someone Damian had stationed to protect Claire, but ignorant of this, the duchess was utterly crestfallen.
She dreaded the barrage of bitter words her husband would unleash next.
The duke raked his hair wildly and puffed furiously on his cigar. A stifling weight settled in his chest, like a boulder lodged there.
“This is driving me insane. Who told you to kill her? With so many eyes watching, skip that and just induce a miscarriage. How could you fail even at that!”
“I’m truly sorry, darling. That woman is remarkably tough and stubborn… She won’t budge even at the suggestion of a face-to-face meeting; her defenses are sky-high.”
With Oscar’s bastard scandal rippling across the empire, even the duchy itself was in turmoil.
Some vassals were poised to defect to Damian’s side, heightening the duke and duchess’s urgency. They were deploying every tactic—coaxing or coercion—but Claire remained immovable.
Her resolve to bear the child shone through fiercely, leaving them on the verge of bursting with frustration.
“What do we do, darling? If Damian seizes the dukedom like this…”
“Who dares snatch the dukedom from me?! I am Duke Vandemir! The authority to name the next duke is mine!”
Furious at the lingering shadow of his father’s influence, the duke roared. The duchess hunched her shoulders and nodded vigorously, affirming her husband’s words.
After venting alone for a while, hurling objects about, the duke collapsed onto the sofa. He lit a fresh cigar and gazed outward.
Bare trees, pristine white snow, a blue and crystalline sky, piercing sunlight.
These were harbingers that the season had arrived for the land’s creatures to prepare for the coming year. Reminded that the current year was winding down, the duke murmured softly.
“We still have opportunities left.”
“Really…? Can our Oscar safely become the next duke?”
“Of course. Chances will surely arise when the year changes.”
With a cryptic smile, as if harboring a secret ace, the duke implied that new prospects would undoubtedly emerge in the approaching new year.
If his inept son crumbled like this, he himself would be utterly ruined—so he had to hoist him back up at any cost.
The Dom Merchant Group had risen to prominence in the coastal regions near the capital. But that was a recent development; delving into the group’s history revealed origins far from legitimate.
They had begun as pirates. Raiding coastal villages for plunder and assaulting nearby ships to seize their treasures.
As their power grew, so did the crackdowns on piracy, prompting them to shift professions. With their overflowing wealth and manpower, they established a merchant group.
Yet, their malevolent roots hadn’t vanished; even now, with their position somewhat secure, they continued committing foul deeds behind the scenes.
A prime example was the biweekly illegal slave auctions.
How long had it been since the Setron Empire abolished slavery? Still, they profited by buying and selling people like commodities.
This was a fact Damian had uncovered while investigating Ken’s black magic bombs and the Dom Merchant Group.
“Is that the ship?”
Damian pointed to a cruise liner floating alone in the desolate harbor.
He had received word that a clandestine marketplace, disguised as an onboard party for nobles, was set to take place there today.
Needing more detailed internal information on the group, he intended to exploit this immediately: raid the illegal slave auction site and seize control of the group and its leader.
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Everyone, prepare to move out.”
Isaac nodded and quietly signaled the subordinates behind him. Damian, concealing his appearance beneath a tattered robe, took the first step forward.
The guards at the ship’s entrance frowned and waved him off as he approached in his shabby attire.
“Hey, no one’s here to hand out alms, so scram.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Huh? This beggar’s lost his mind. I said scram, you bastard!”
One guard swung his hand menacingly, knocking off Damian’s robe hood. The smooth face revealed beneath was worlds away from that of a beggar.
For a split second, the man faltered, bewildered by the unexpected visage.
“Urk!”
Damian, pulling the hood back on with a chilling smile, drove his fist into the guard’s solar plexus. The strike was so swift and precise that no one could have seen it.
The massive guard toppled sideways with a thud. The other guards, stunned by the sudden turn, floundered in confusion.
“Wh-what the!”
“Why’d he just collapse?”
“Is this an intruder?”
Before they could grasp the situation, Damian snapped his fingers. At the signal, knights hidden around the ship emerged.
The guards on the deck fell without even a proper scream.
Leaving some subordinates on the deck as is, Damian led the rest through the empty entrance.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Aaagh!”
“P-please, spare…!”
Every guard they encountered en route was silently subdued without exception. Just in case, he stationed two subordinates at each staircase as they descended.
Only upon reaching the lowest deck did faint voices become audible.
Damian arrived at the red door, the source of the noise. The guard posted there already lay unconscious, sprawled on the floor.
“I’ll open it.”
“Go ahead.”
Isaac cautiously turned the handle. Damian lifted his robe hood slightly to clear his view.
Beyond the door lay pandemonium. Thick smoke—whether from cigars or something else—hung heavy in the air, and clusters of people shouted excitedly in various spots.
Damian’s gaze swept past the revelers lost in debauchery and settled on the man standing atop a circular platform.
“Come on, come on! This item isn’t your everyday fare! Behold, a boy with heterochromatic eyes!”
The masked man shouted, eliciting cheers from the crowd. Soon, a boy stumbled onto the platform, dragged up with shackles binding his hands and feet.
The boy’s eyes were indeed different colors, and his expression teetered on the brink of tears.
‘These demons have no humanity left.’
Damian furrowed his brow at the scene, devoid of any human decency. Who could desire such repulsive acts toward a child who looked barely in his mid-teens?
He averted his eyes and scanned the surroundings. Spotting the desired face at a table behind the platform, he issued a low command.
“Draw your swords.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Isaac unsheathed his blade from his waist. In the same instant, Damian kicked the door open.
Boom!
The resounding crash drew all eyes to the doorway. Damian, having already discarded his robe hood, declared,
“In the name of the Red Hawk Knights, we are here to apprehend this illegal slave auction. Everyone, remain seated and raise your hands above your heads. Any movement, even a single step, will be deemed an act of aggression and met with summary execution.”
The faces in the room blanched in an instant. These were nobles accustomed to lording it over others, here to unwind under the pretext of indulgence—individuals with much to lose.
To be caught in such illicit activity plunged them into despair.
Half froze and obediently raised their hands as instructed, but the other half bolted in blind panic.
The internal guards charged as well, turning the space into instant chaos.
“Out of the way!”
“Run!”
“Take them down!”
Even amid the pandemonium, Damian issued orders with composure.
“Jerome, you’re in charge here. Ensure not a single one escapes. And Isaac, follow me.”
Damian’s eyes tracked the man frantically scooping up papers and money from the table before fleeing, and he nodded subtly.
The guards attempting to block his path recoiled in fear from the sword master’s aura. Damian charged toward his target alongside Isaac.
The balding man scrambling desperately away was none other than Brandon, the owner of the Dom Merchant Group.
Brandon, who had slipped into a deserted rear corridor with his subordinate, shouted,
“Damn it, go tell Hans to burn the confidential documents right now!”
“That won’t do.”
Damian, approaching without a sound, seized his collar and intoned chillingly. Brandon’s neck constricted as his forward momentum clashed with the backward yank, eliciting choked gasps.
The subordinate, about to dash off at the command, was intercepted by Isaac.
Damian slammed Brandon to the corridor floor. Before he could rise, Damian plunged his sword beside the man’s throat.
“Eek—!”
Sensing the mortal threat, Brandon’s face drained to a ghostly pallor as he trembled, gazing up at Damian.
“Y-you, who are you! How did you know about this place?”
“Your words are insolent. Care to shorten your lifespan as well?”
Damian twisted the blade, nicking Brandon’s skin lightly. With a face that seemed on the verge of fainting, Brandon curled into a fetal position.
“I-I’m sorry! Please spare me!”
“Answer my questions properly from now on, and you’ll live. For your reference, I dislike repeating myself, so it’s best to respond fully the first time.”
“Y-yes, yes. Ask away.”
Realizing the man desired something specific, Brandon prostrated himself eagerly. If he played it right, he might weather this crisis unscathed.
What could this handsome stranger possibly want? Money, most likely?
As he mentally tallied his current assets, Damian’s ensuing words utterly defied his expectations.
“To whom did you sell the black magic bombs numbered A70 through 85?”
Brandon inhaled sharply, shaking his head desperately in denial.
“Wh-what are you talking about…?”
“I told you to answer completely. And don’t bother scheming uselessly.”
Damian curled his lips into a twisted smile.
“Your offices are already occupied by my knights, and I’ve obtained information on your tax evasion spanning over a decade.”
This wasn’t the initial raid to begin with. They had seized the unmanned merchant group offices prior to arriving here.
Ostensibly, the operation was to bust the illegal slave auction, but in essence, it aimed to trace the black magic bombs.
“Ah, perhaps killing you by mistake and ransacking the offices would be quicker.”
The words, laced with overt menace, prompted Brandon to squeeze his eyes shut.
Yes. Even if he died protecting the secret here, once this man searched the offices and found the documents, it would all be over anyway.
Better to preserve his life, he decided, and opened his mouth.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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