NOVPUB"W-what? The Plundering King?"
"I thought he ran away!"
"What’s going on? Didn’t the Administrator deal with him?"
The mere mention of the Plundering King’s name paralyzed the gang members. His past actions were too vivid, too terrifying for anyone to muster the courage to fight him.
Morbin and his top lieutenants, who had descended to the first floor, wore baffled expressions. Something didn’t add up.
After a moment of contemplation, Morbin declared confidently, "This must be an impersonation. They’re trying to scare us and take us out while we’re all gathered here. It’s a cheap ploy."
He refused to believe that the real Plundering King had returned. In Morbin’s mind, Claude—his sworn "brother"—would never have allowed such a mistake to happen.
"They’re fakes! The Plundering King has already been dealt with. My big brother chased him out!"
Morbin’s confident proclamation reinvigorated his men. They all knew about his relationship with Claude, the Administrator. Wasn’t it just yesterday that the two had gone to the bathhouse together?
"Kill them!" Morbin shouted.
At his command, the gang members rushed toward Ghislain.
Ghislain, unfazed, stepped forward and casually swung the back of his hand at the nearest attacker.
Thwack!
Crash!
The unfortunate man flew backward, smashing through a wall.
"...?"
The room fell into stunned silence. Sending someone flying through a wall with a simple motion was not something an ordinary human could do.
Whether this man was truly the Plundering King or not, he was far beyond anything they could handle.
Breaking the silence, Morbin stammered, "W-who the hell are you?"
"I told you. I’m the Plundering King."
"I-I heard you’d left the territory!"
"I came back."
Ghislain’s calm, unbothered reply made Morbin’s voice tremble further.
"D-did you know who I am before you came here?"
"Of course, drug peddler."
"I—I have the Administrator backing me! Didn’t you know? If you didn’t, you’d better leave now. I’m sworn brothers with the Administrator!"
Clinging to his supposed protection, Morbin’s confidence began to rebuild.
"Yesterday, huh? My big brother and I had dinner together! Took a bath together! Did everything together, you bastard! So if you don’t want to die, get lost!"
"..."
Ghislain remained silent, too stunned by the absurdity to respond.
Morbin mistook this as fear and, emboldened, began spitting out more threats.
"If you leave now, I’ll pretend I never saw you. Hell, I’ll even give you a business to run—something nice and profitable. No need for us to fight each other, right?"
Ghislain ignored him, taking a step forward.
"Block him! Stop that bastard!" Morbin screamed, his voice laced with panic. "I’ll go get the knights with my brother!"
His lieutenants and gang members hesitated, but eventually, Morbin’s panicked shouts lit a fire under them.
"You idiots! If that guy’s really the Plundering King, we’re all dead anyway! Don’t you know he kills everyone he catches?"
That wasn’t entirely true—Ghislain didn’t kill everyone. But the rumors were enough to spark a grim determination in the gang members’ eyes.
If we’re going to die, we might as well swing our blades once before we go.
Weapons were drawn, and a few of the lieutenants shoved Morbin toward the secret escape route.
"Boss! Go get the Administrator! We’ll hold him off here!"
"T-thank you! I’ll bring back the knights!" Morbin cried, tears streaming down his face as he fled toward the secret passage.
The End of Resistance
As the gang members charged, Ghislain’s knights stepped forward from the shadows.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Cries of pain filled the room as the gang members were effortlessly knocked down, one by one.
Despite their grit and loyalty to the underworld, the gang members were no match for the knights. Each strike sent another man crumpling to the ground.
"Ugh... they’re monsters..."
"We can’t win against them..."
"What the hell are we supposed to do against people like this...?"
The gang members’ resolve quickly crumbled. Weapons clattered to the ground as they fell to their knees in surrender.
"Please spare us!"
"We were just following orders!"
"I’m a good person at heart, I swear!"
Even the lieutenants joined in, their earlier bravado gone.
"Morbin’s the real villain here!" 𝓃𝓸𝓋𝓅𝓾𝒷.𝒸ℴ𝓂
"I was blackmailed!"
"I’ll live an honest life from now on, I promise!"
Ghislain, satisfied, nodded at their display of submission.
"Strip the place clean. Send these scumbags to the ‘Facility.’"
At his command, the knights stepped in to subdue the gang members, swiftly knocking them unconscious.
Thud! Thud!
With that, the leaders of Desmond’s criminal underworld were obliterated in a single strike.
Morbin’s Desperate Plea
Gasping for breath, Morbin ran with everything he had, clinging to the faint hope of salvation. His destination was the lord’s castle, where Claude resided.
"Stop!"
The guards at the gate halted him, but Morbin collapsed in front of them, screaming, "I need the Administrator! Get him immediately!"
"What’s your deal? You think you can just demand to see the Administrator?"
The guards scoffed, but Morbin’s voice turned shrill with desperation.
"You bastards! I’m his sworn brother! His little brother!"
"...Oh."
The guards exchanged awkward glances. They had heard the rumors about Claude forming a brotherhood with a gang boss.
Reluctantly, they went to report the situation to Claude.
"What? Why the hell is he here?" Claude exclaimed, his face pale with panic. If word got out about this, it would be a disaster.
Did the lord miss him when cleaning up?
Regardless of the reason, Claude couldn’t afford to let Morbin stay. Waving his hands frantically, he barked, "Get rid of him! He’s a dead man walking anyway!"
"We’re trying, but he says if we kick him out, he’ll reveal your secrets."
"This bastard’s lost his mind!" Claude roared as he leapt to his feet, feigning righteous fury.
Storming out with a group of soldiers in tow, Claude appeared before the castle gates, where Morbin was waiting.
"Big brother! Please, you have to help me! The Plundering King is—"
"Arrest him! Right now!" Claude bellowed, cutting him off.
"Big... brother?" Morbin stammered in disbelief.
"You scum! Do you think you can just show up here and demand to see me? You filthy criminal!" Claude’s voice thundered with authority.
The commotion quickly drew the attention of soldiers and castle staff, who began to gather around.
Claude, growing increasingly anxious, started to shout even more. "Drag him to the dungeon this instant!"
The soldiers grabbed Morbin, who finally realized that Claude was turning on him. His face contorted in rage as he screamed, "You bastard! Do you know how many bribes I’ve given you? How can you do this to me?"
"What? Bribes? I’ve never taken any bribes! I’m as pure as they come!" Claude shouted back.
"I’ve got proof! I kept ledgers of everything! My men will spread them everywhere!"
"Shut up! Those are fabricated! I’ve never done anything wrong!"
The scene was chaotic—a supposedly dignified Administrator grappling with a criminal in plain view. Wendy, standing nearby, could only pinch the bridge of her nose in exasperation.
Morbin, refusing to go down alone, shouted loud enough for everyone to hear. "What do you mean you’ve never done anything wrong? You took jewels from me every week during the war in exchange for soldiers! And you call yourself a man?"
The crowd’s reaction, however, wasn’t what Morbin expected. Instead of outrage, the onlookers seemed oddly indifferent, their expressions suggesting that this was all par for the course.
Morbin glanced around, confused.
"What the hell is going on? Don’t they care? Do they really believe this guy is some kind of saint? That’s impossible!"
In truth, the people didn’t trust Claude—they simply weren’t surprised. His reputation for corruption was already well known. If anything, his blatant denials were seen as part of his usual antics.
Realizing the crowd wasn’t on his side, Claude let out a sigh of relief and waved dismissively.
"See? Nobody believes your nonsense. Now, take him away!"
Morbin, his hope extinguished, allowed himself to be dragged off, muttering bitterly to himself. He had lived so deeply in the shadows that he hadn’t realized just how detached he’d become from the reality of public perception.
The Aftermath
With Morbin’s arrest, the remaining criminal organizations in Desmond’s territory were swiftly dismantled.
Most of the criminals, unaware of what was happening, were sent to the Labor Assault Unit’s special education facility. The general populace didn’t know the details but noticed the absence of the people who had once tormented them.
"Have you noticed how peaceful things have gotten lately?"
"Yeah, I think it’s because more soldiers have been stationed around here."
"Our lord seems like a decent person, doesn’t he? He doesn’t harass the people and even distributes food."
"See? You can’t believe every rumor you hear. It’s rare to have a lord like this these days."
"But what’s with the Administrator? I heard he’s taking bribes from criminals. At least he’s not bothering us, though."
While Ghislain’s reputation soared among the citizens, Claude’s continued to sink.
With the criminals eliminated and the morale of the people steadily improving, Ghislain couldn’t hide his satisfaction. Stabilizing the occupied territory was his top priority, and this was a significant accomplishment.
Gathering his vassals, he issued his next command.
"Let’s begin the next phase."
The Capital’s Reaction
News of Ghislain’s victory in the war reached the capital, lifting the spirits of its inhabitants. Nobles who had invested in his ventures, particularly those aligned with the Crown Prince’s faction, celebrated the success.
The victory not only reversed the power dynamic favoring the ducal families but also solidified Ghislain’s position as a formidable force.
However, not everyone in the Crown Prince’s camp was pleased.
"That... little upstart is capable of that? What’s this about a master of mounted archery, a sixth-circle mage, and the strongest sword in the North? Are you sure about this?"
Marquis Maurice McQuarrie, the Kingdom Army’s Commander-in-Chief, questioned Viscount Clifton, the leader of the Third Legion, repeatedly.
Clifton, his expression unshaken, confirmed with conviction.
"Yes, it’s certain. The Commander of the Northern Army possesses strength befitting his position. Fenris is now the strongest force in the North."
"..."
Maurice and the other Crown Prince-aligned nobles fell silent.
"Fenris is the strongest in the North? How could that boy, who once seemed so green, grow so powerful so quickly?"
Of course, there was still Rayfold, which had been on par with Desmond. However, the nobles largely dismissed it because its leader, Amelia, was a woman. They were convinced her rule would falter in time.
Amelia’s victory over the Northern Allied Forces was attributed not to her strategic brilliance but to the inherent strength of the Rayfold army and the incompetence of the Northern lords.
Maurice finally broke the silence, his tone uneasy.
"Are we... handling this correctly? That little brat is the strongest in the North now... Is this right?"
They had supported Ghislain’s rise, but none had expected him to grow this powerful. Now, he was too big to control.
"What if he bares his fangs at us instead?" Maurice thought, biting his lip in frustration.
A nearby noble, still skeptical, laughed dismissively.
"Didn’t the Ferdium forces and the Kingdom’s army support him? He couldn’t have won without them. There’s no way he did this alone."
The room fell silent again.
While the statement wasn’t entirely false, Viscount Clifton’s reports of Ghislain’s contributions left no room for doubt—his achievements far surpassed what could be attributed to mere assistance.
If Ghislain’s forces, now strengthened and fully trained, had stood alone, they might still have crushed Desmond without outside help. Fenris truly was the strongest force in the North.
Marquis Branford, his expression a mix of astonishment and amusement, thought to himself, "That rascal actually pulled it off."
Ghislain’s uncanny ability to toy with people’s expectations never ceased to amaze him.
Still, as one of his earliest supporters, Branford couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. Watching his protégé rise to prominence brought him genuine satisfaction.
But then Maurice’s voice turned cold as he addressed Branford.
"He’s growing too fast. Don’t you think it’s time to cut him down a bit?"
The other nobles nodded in agreement.
"He’s outpacing what we expected. We wanted him to check the North, not dominate it."
"Wasn’t he arrogant to begin with? He’ll only become harder to control."
"Perhaps the Marquis should consider halting his support and redirecting efforts toward aiding the Crown Prince’s faction?"
Branford Marquis’s brow twitched at the suggestion. Moments ago, he had been reveling in Fenris’s success, only to have this cold bucket of water thrown over him.
While Ghislain’s victory was remarkable, it had only been over Count Desmond—a single noble. The duchies and their vassals remained intact and powerful. And now, some were already eager to turn this into an internal conflict.
Branford’s voice turned firm and resolute. "Absolutely not. Fenris must not be touched."
"..."
"The Fenris Count will be a pivotal force in our fight against the dukes. Let us not forget who the true enemy is."
His tone brooked no argument, and the other nobles fell silent.
Of course, Branford was not entirely free of concerns. An ally who cannot be controlled can often become more dangerous than an enemy. But attacking Ghislain now would only benefit the duchies.
"Stay focused on our goals. Addressing the Fenris Count’s growth can wait until the dukes are dealt with."
The Crown Prince’s faction had no choice but to nod in agreement. However, Marquis Maurice harbored a different opinion.
"Tsk. Fenris has been nothing but trouble, even without that brat. And we’ve been managing the civil unrest well enough without him. Sooner or later, the Marquis will see reason."
A Release and a Warning
After concluding his duties at the royal court, Marquis Branford summoned his steward.
"Release Count Powd," he commanded.
Now that Ghislain had secured victory in the war, there was no longer a need to detain noble supporters of the duchies in the capital.
Count Powd, dragged into the Marquis’s presence in a haggard state, wore a resigned smile.
"I suppose Fenris’s victory means my release," he said, his tone defeated.
"Return to your lands, Count," Branford replied curtly. "And let us hope no further incidents arise."
Powd’s voice was weary but steady as he responded, "You’ve made a mistake, my lord. Supporting the Fenris Count was the wrong choice."
"What do you mean by that?"
Powd, his expression one of resigned indifference, elaborated.
"With Count Desmond gone, civil war is inevitable."
"Everyone knows the duchies aim to usurp the kingdom. It is the Crown Prince’s faction that suppresses this unrest."
"No," Powd said, his tone sharp enough to halt Branford’s assumptions. "It’s not the Crown Prince’s faction holding the civil war at bay—it’s the Duke’s own vassal, Viscount Josef."
"Josef?"
The name of the so-called "Limping Demon" sent a ripple of unease through Branford. Josef’s reputation as a ruthless enforcer seemed antithetical to the idea of suppressing conflict.
Powd’s weak smile carried a bitter truth.
"He is a rational man. It was Josef who convinced the Duke to spill as little blood as possible. His reason and pragmatism have kept the war from breaking out. Without him, we persuaded the Duke that outright rebellion was not the way forward."
"..."
"And have you forgotten what kind of man the Duke is?"
"..."
"Now, the kingdom will be drenched in blood."
Powd lowered his head, his posture heavy with regret, as though he truly mourned the violence he saw on the horizon.
Reflections
Branford Marquis stared after the departing Count, his mind racing.
Powd’s words carried an ominous weight. Could it be true that Josef’s pragmatism was the only thing preventing the Duke from plunging the kingdom into chaos? If Josef were removed or incapacitated, would the Duke unleash unrestrained violence?
"This changes everything."
The Marquis clenched his fists. Ghislain’s victory was no longer just a boon for the Crown Prince’s faction—it might be the catalyst for something far more destructive.
And if Fenris continued to grow unchecked, it could become as much a threat to the kingdom’s stability as the duchies themselves.
