Chapter 41《The Hound of the Storm》 – (3)
“Wh-Why are you doing this to me…?”
A trembling voice escaped from the lips of Judith Evergrit, a former member of the Hero’s Party, now infamous among the public.
Her steps, heavy with exhaustion, faltered as she climbed the stairs of the underground prison.
Each step she took sent sharp waves of pain from the wounds inflicted by the Hero.
Even though quite some time had passed since she was struck, the dull, stinging sensation radiated throughout her entire body.
Had she not consumed a potion in time, her injuries would have worsened to the point where walking would have been impossible.
“…Are you referring to me?”
The one who answered Judith’s bewildered question was none other than the elderly gentleman who had broken her out of prison and handed her the potion.
Draped in a cloak that covered his entire body, as if trying to conceal his identity, the old man spoke in a blunt tone directed at Judith.
“I told you, didn’t I? You have a task to resolve.”
“…”
A sigh accompanied the response of Robert Whitefin, the secretary to the Prime minister. Yet, his brief explanation failed to fully satisfy Judith’s curiosity and doubts.
“Hah…”
Eventually, Robert halted his steps, which had been slightly ahead of hers, and turned back to face Judith’s blurry, unfocused gaze.
“You… didn’t you witness the Hero’s secret?”
“The Hero’s secret…?”
Repeating Robert’s words, Judith’s mind suddenly flashed to a memory.
“Ah…”
When she slashed the cheek of the Hero, Vellius Grandius, with her dagger, the blood that flowed from the wound…
“Blue blood…”
And how the Hero’s companions had regarded the abnormal sight as if it were perfectly natural.
Whether or not this was the “Hero’s secret” Robert referred to, it was certainly a scene that defied Judith’s understanding as an ordinary human being.
“…Indeed. After observing him for decades, it’s clear that the Hero is not quite like an ordinary human. Even considering his role as a Hero, there’s a significant sense of dissonance with him and his companions. Surely, you must have felt it as well.”
To her murmuring, Robert nodded in agreement. His eyes, gleaming through the gap in his cloak, sparkled with an intensity unbefitting his age.
“The suspicious Hero and the Prime minister he wholeheartedly supports, Lilianel Greenfield. Together, they are rotting this country from the inside out.”
“…”
“But to drag them down or to bring them to trial—there was neither a way nor means to do so. Why? Because everyone in this country was on their side. The moment any investigation was initiated, it would all be exposed, and my head would have been severed.”
From the beginning, Robert had harbored doubts about the Hero, the Prime minister, and the decaying state of the nation. Yet he lacked the power to take action.
The authority of the Hero and the Prime minister was absolute in this country, and as the Prime minister’s secretary, even conducting a simple investigation would have drawn immediate suspicion.
“…But the situation has changed.”
At last, an opportunity had presented itself, solidifying Robert’s resolve to act after years of hesitation.
***
In a vast cave, a sorrowful wailing echoed, akin to a beast’s cry of despair.
The sound ricocheted off the cave walls, amplifying instead of diminishing as it spread further.
“Hmm…”
The deep, guttural growl of a hulking man relishing the reverberating cries filled the space.
Seated atop a throne made of steel, the man adjusted his posture, the scars marring one of his eyes stark against his rough visage.
Screeeech.
As his enormous frame shifted against the iron throne, a hair-raising screech rang out. Though it was merely noise, not a voice, it sent chills down the spines of everyone in the room.
The young soldier kneeling and begging for his life in front of the throne quivered, as did the personal guards standing at the man’s side.
“P-Please, have mercy just this once…”
The man on the throne, none other than Arkahak, the leader of the continent’s strongest mercenary group, the Stormhound, remained silent.
“… …”
His heavy breathing filled the silence, deepening the young soldier’s terror. Sweat poured down his face in torrents as anxiety and despair consumed him.
“I-I was wrong. I’ll never do it again. Please, spare me….”
The young soldier realized that his fate no longer rested in his hands.
It lay entirely at the mercy of this man—known as the most terrifying individual in the world—and a single word from him would determine whether he lived or died.
As regret and fury at his own foolishness swirled in his mind, he cursed himself.
“Damn it, what was I thinking…!!”
To have dared embezzle funds from the Stormhound, an organization with a thousand years of history… He could not fathom what madness had driven him to such an act.
“Hmm…”
“…!!”
Finally, a low grunt emerged from Arkahak, who seemed about to speak.
As the clinking of Arkahak’s silver-plated armor echoed, the young soldier, Ivan, trembled uncontrollably.
“…Ivan.”
“Y-Yes!”
At the sound of Arkahak calling his name, Ivan bowed even deeper.
Although only four syllables had been spoken, the atmosphere in the “King’s Chamber” grew so heavy it felt as though gravity itself had intensified.
Struggling even to breathe, Ivan awaited his fate.
“…What is the one rule that exists within Stormhound?”
“The rule…”
At Arkahak’s single question, Ivan’s mind began to race.
‘Stormhound’s rule…’
The one and only rule within Stormhound, the strongest mercenary group on the continent.
“Don’t touch your comrade’s money…”
Stormhound was a group maintained not by camaraderie or patriotism, but solely by the principle of money.
‘Even if a comrade becomes a corpse, their money is not to be touched.’
This single creed, considered more precious than life itself, was the foundation that ensured Stormhound’s unparalleled stability and profitability.
Thanks to this clear and honest source of revenue, Stormhound had been able to maintain and grow its power for a thousand years.
From petty thugs who could handle a fight to banished knights and clergy, all trusted the stability and immense wealth guaranteed by Stormhound’s rule and joined their ranks.
This straightforward and honest financial system was the reason why Stormhound, despite being a mere mercenary organization, possessed military and economic power surpassing most nations.
“…Yet you, through your embezzlement, have denied the very foundation of Stormhound.”
“A-Arkahak, sir?!”
As Arkahak’s massive body rose, Ivan panicked, shouting in alarm.
A sense of foreboding wrapped around him like a shroud.
“Why should I let a worthless subordinate who can’t follow even a single rule stay alive?”
“A-Arkahak, sir, p-please, wait! Wait a moment!”
Ivan began to retreat hastily, staring at the mercenary leader who advanced toward him with blazing eyes.
His inner voice screamed at him to run, to escape, but his legs refused to move, as if frozen in fear before a monstrous predator.
“The oath of Stormhound. Break the rule, and you repay it with your life. You remember that, don’t you?”
“N-No… no, this can’t be…”
This man approaching him was here to kill him.
There was no mercy to expect.
“Someone…!!”
Ivan frantically looked around at those nearby, his eyes pleading for help.
But the high-ranking officers of Stormhound, whose loyalty to their rule was as strong as blood and life itself, would never listen to the plea of a traitor who had broken it.
“Rest assured. According to the rule, the money you ‘honestly’ earned until now will be sent to your family.”
“A-Arkahak, sir, p-please! Have mercy!”
“Farewell.”
“N-Nooooooo!! Gaaaahhh!!”
The heavy gauntleted hand swung upward and then came crashing down on Ivan’s head.
Crack.
With a single, brutal blow, the skull—the hardest part of the human body—shattered, scattering brain matter everywhere.
Ivan’s body collapsed to the ground, convulsing a few times before going completely still.
“… …”
Arkahak gazed silently at the grim end of the traitor who had broken their rule. Then, extending his bloodied hand to the side, one of his trusted lieutenants hurriedly approached to wipe the blood clean from his iron armor.
“…Arkahak, sir.”
“What is it?”
Another aide, responsible for administrative tasks, stepped forward and handed him a document, seemingly to deliver a report.
“…There’s a request from the Avilia Kingdom.”
“The Avilia Kingdom?”
“Yes, not from an individual, but on a national level.”
“…”
A request on a national level.
This was no mere personal or regional matter but a plea from an entire nation.
It meant that an unprecedented calamity, one beyond the reach of even a nation’s full military might, had arisen.
The scent of money began to waft through the air.
“…”
Without a word, Arkahak turned the first page of the document handed to him. It contained only a few concise lines:
[Request: Subjugation of the Progenitor Vampire]
Advance Payment: 100 million gold coins
Requester: Robert Whitefin, Secretary to the Avilia Kingdom
—
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