Revenge of the Iron-blooded Sword Hound

Chapter 292

Chapters 292: Successors (2)

“You were the one who sent the Night Hound and the Saintess into the vault.” The tone was as if uncovering a spy, and Damian couldn’t help but be surprised as he turned his head.

Deer-like large eyes, clear pupils, and silver-shining white hair, an appearance reminiscent of Juliet.

However, the illusion disappeared in the blink of an eye. He lowered his eyelids once and raised them, revealing reality.

The girl in front of him looked slightly younger than Juliet, and her hair was much shorter. Most importantly, she was someone Damian knew. “…Sinclaire J Bourgeois.”

Damian’s niece and the daughter Bartolomeo. The legitimate heir of the Bourgeois Clan stood there.

Damian swallowed a shallow sigh. His attendance at a party organized by mere academy students had led to this revelation, as he had seen her name on the guest list.

“It’s a misunderstanding,” Damian said, shaking his head. While it was true that he had collaborated with the Night Hound, the demon-related facts were not precisely known to him either.

“I, too, was unaware of such things. I just happened to notice a bit earlier than others and came running. In reality, I’ve arrived at the main house not too long ago.”

Therefore, he could skillfully mix truth and falsehood.

Sinclaire stared at Damian with a restrained expression before turning her head away. “…Well, it doesn’t matter now. It’s not important.”

She stood in front of her father Bartolomeo’s corpse and murmured with a subdued voice, “There was something I wanted to ask. But now, I’ll never get to ask.”

Sinclaire recalled Figgy’s questions. ‘Questions about the future trends of the empire’s economy, doubts about current financial indicators, criteria for discovering new businesses, prospects for promising small merchant guilds, and the recent issues of mergers and acquisitions in the mercenary guild… And, of course, whether the conglomerates also eat chicken!’

‘I have questions too.’

‘Oh, Sinclaire. What are you curious about? Want to compare questions with me?’

‘…No. I have only one thing I’m curious about.’

‘Huh? Just one? Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why not! We’re meeting the richest man of the empire, you should gather as much knowledge as possible! It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!’

While her fellow student Figgy was getting excited about encountering the empire’s wealthiest man, Sinclaire had only prepared one question. But now, the person who should answer that question had died here, rendering it useless.

Then, Damian spoke up from behind. “Why did you abandon me, right? That’s the question.”

Sinclaire was slightly taken aback, and Damian shrugged when she looked at him. “Juliet asked me the same question when she was alive.”

“…Even Sister Juliet?” Sinclaire’s eyes widened a bit.

Her expression mirrored that of Juliet’s long ago.

“That’s right. In the end, your father and the Clan did not abandon you.”

It was the tradition of the Bourgeois Clan. It was exactly as Damian had explained to the Night Hound before.

The typical young bourgeois grows and develops within the Clan, but the ‘true’ successors are different. Like lion cubs falling off a cliff, the heirs who will lead the Clan in the future are sealed with a different fate, cast into society as commoners. Surviving in the wild is as challenging as surviving in society.

Success in the imperial capital, Venetior, without any help from parents or the Clan, solely relying on one’s own strength. That is the process of ‘proof.’

Esse, Non Videri. ‘To be, rather to be seem,’ is the belief.

“Bourgeois, for the sake of competition, always cultivate at least two leaders. In my generation, it was my older brother and me. In the next generation, it was you and Juliet,” Damian explained to Sinclaire.

And hesitatingly added, “…Originally, You should have been told much earlier. I don’t understand why my brother didn’t do that.”

Suddenly, Sinclaire felt a throbbing headache. Blood was flowing from the spot grazed by the golden coin fragments earlier. Seeing the blood triggered memories: “[It wouldn’t be bad to cut off useless connections now. From this moment, all the drama is over.]”

Bartolomeo, or rather the colossal monster hovering above, had uttered those words. ‘Useless connections? Drama?’ Sinclaire grabbed her spinning head and twisted in pain.

“Are you okay?” Damian approached, but Sinclaire, startled, stepped back. Sinclaire, like a wary long-haired cat, eyed Damian with caution. She slowly withdrew, showing her palm towards Damian, expressing her distrust as if saying she believed in nothing in this world.

“If my father’s body was really taken over by a demon… then who raised me when I was young? Which one is my real father? When did this happen?” she muttered, her eyes full of disbelief.

“?” Damian didn’t understand what Sinclaire was talking about. But Sinclaire continued to murmur, whether Damian understood or not.

“If my father wasn’t my real father from the beginning? Then what will happen? If what died wasn’t a demon but my father? Or if it’s not my father but a demon? I don’t know what’s what, it’s so unclear….”

Sinclaire, with disheveled hair, tormented herself. Suddenly, she raised her head. “Night Hound. I have to meet that person again.”

Whether the one killed by Night Hound was a demon or her father, everything would be resolved. Standing up, Sinclaire approached Bartolomeo’s lifeless body and closed his eyes with her outstretched hand.

“Goodbye, Father. I will inherit the Clan legacy.”

Damian, standing behind, was silent, not considering the words that were never in his thoughts. Eventually, Sinclaire’s eyes sank deeply. Her expression seemed to have made a significant decision.

* * *

“Ugh! Huff! Huhuhuk!”

Far from the Bourgeois, in the outskirts, a side road leading to Venetior. A middle-aged man was running through the mountain path, his once neat face now marred with scars, and his clean white attire completely dirtied by mud.

Humbert, the cardinal of the Rune religion, ran hastily, abandoning his carriage.

“Oh my god! You bitch! Bartolomeo was a demon! I truly didn’t know!”

With a frightened expression, he pushed through the thickets.

Before the dinner with Bartolomeo, Humbert had shared a meal with him. The investigation by the imperial Clan had begun as the links to cults, heretical sects, and the chain of crimes leading to the Bourgeois Clan surfaced.

Fearing that he might be discarded through tail-cutting, Humbert threatened Bartolomeo, saying he would blow everything up if he were to be investigated or arrested. And that’s when Belial revealed himself.

Humbert begged for mercy under Belial and, with fickle benevolence, Belial readily spared him. As a bonus, he even gave a ‘gift.’

[Use this when you face a crisis, weak human.]

Humbert tightly clenched what he held in his hand. It was a round object made of gold, shaped like an eyeball. It exuded an ominous energy, imbued with the power of the Demon Lord Belial.

As Humbert emerged from the thicket,

“Hieek!?”

What appeared before him was a sheer cliff.

As Humbert recoiled in fear,

Rustle-

The sound of branches colliding echoed from above.

“Huaaack!?”

Horrified, Humbert collapsed to the ground, trying to cover his head with both hands. However, even though he raised his arms, he couldn’t feel his hands on his head.

“…Huh?”

Raising his head to look at his hands, Humbert was astonished. His hands were gone.

Instead, only hot blood gushed out profusely. A voice echoed, “[Oh my? I just wanted to snatch what was in your hands, but did I end up taking your hands?]”

From above, the mocking laughter of a woman resounded. Frantically looking up, Humbert saw a branch gently bending. Perched on it was Ms. Ouroboros, the one who led Humbert to flee to this place.

She had cut off Humbert’s hands!

[“Oh- Beautiful. Is this it? The relic received from the demon?”]

She laughed while playing with the blood-stained golden sphere.

“G-Give it back!”

Humbert gathered his courage and shouted. More than the loss of both hands, what bothered him was losing the ‘Demon’s Eyeball’ bestowed by Belial. And of course, Miss Ouroboros had no intention of returning it.

[The Grand Cardinal of Rune, selling children for money behind the scenes, now cozying up to demons? Quite a character, truly.]

“Uh, ugh!”

As if penetrating his inner thoughts, her words made Humbert shudder. But Miss Ouroboros still wore a seductive smile.

[But still, I don’t mind. Criminals like you. I’m ‘collecting’ them.]

“…What? Collecting?”

Humbert made a puzzled expression, and at that moment,

Swoosh!

Suddenly, something like a snake flew in from behind, wrapping around Humbert’s neck. It was Miss Ouroboros’s whip.

“Kek!?”

As Humbert was lifted, choking, he couldn’t resist much. Both wrists had already been cut off.

While struggling in mid-air, Miss Ouroboros, with a laughter-infused voice, spoke to the floundering Humbert.

[I’ll make you my ‘assistant’ too. Let’s welcome the ‘old era’ together.]

“?”

Old era? Usually, when suggesting to welcome something together, people say ‘new era,’ don’t they? Even in the gradually fading consciousness, Humbert expressed doubt at her words.

Then, Miss Ouroboros whispered one more thing into Humbert’s ear as his consciousness was slowly fading.

[‘The Chaotic Warring States era.’ That was the last thing Humbert heard in his right mind.