Chapter 52: The Opera House

Lower City, Bogut Marquis’ domain, Sanya Opera House.

The theater’s auditorium was unimaginably vast, with scarlet seats arranged in meticulous order. It was said that the Marquis had prepared it especially to invite every noble in the capital.

The opera house was in a remote location, nearly at the outskirts. But that didn’t matter.

Only those nobles with an invitation from the Marquis would come—either to enjoy the songstresses’ nightingale-like voices, or… to take part in a secret gathering.

“John, what are you standing there like an idiot for?”

Old Mike was surveying his surroundings, pondering how to contact his client, when a black-robed man behind him gave him a pat.

“I’m just a bit worried. After all, we’re about to raid the Marquis’ auction…”

If El saw Old Mike now, he would be utterly shocked—the old man of before had vanished without a trace, replaced by a down-and-out, destitute-looking middle-aged man.

Infiltration, searching, assassination… Old Mike had once excelled at all of these. Over the years, he’d honed a disguise technique so astonishing it inspired awe.

He understood every kind of person, and left no visible flaws.

By now, he’d blended seamlessly with this group of cultists. Everyone believed his background without a doubt—a poor man whose wife had been taken by the nobles, determined to seek revenge. “John.”

“John, you’re still too weak. Want me to give you a piece of Bloodstone?”

Another black-robed man leaned over, showing Old Mike the item in his hand—a crystal, its surface shimmering with an unsettling crimson glow.

“Thank you, Gerin. But my devotion to the Demon Lord hasn’t yet been tested, so I can’t accept His grace just yet.”

Old Mike refused the offer with the excuse, “No reward for no merit.”

His eyes swept over the Bloodstone, a flash of coldness in their depths.

He’d thought his heart had long since frozen, but these disgusting vermin had stirred his blood once more.

Old Mike knew all too well where that Bloodstone had come from—a young woman, a mother. If he hadn’t found a chance to help her child escape, the consequences would have been unimaginable.

“You’re too honest, John. No wonder your wife got taken by the nobles… heh heh heh…” Another black-robed man let out a perverted, creepy laugh.

“That’s enough. Actually, you don’t need to worry. This operation is almost none of our business. When the auction starts, we just have to keep watch and make sure no suspicious people sneak in.”

The first black-robed man who’d spoken to Old Mike explained. He seemed to be the leader of this group.

“The rest will be handled by the big shots, John. The only ones dumb enough to get in the way might be the Church’s mutts… but as long as one of us Sentries dies, or someone sounds the alarm, our job’s done.”

After that, the black-robed man began assigning tasks. The others received their orders and moved to their posts.

Old Mike walked away, sneering to himself.

A pack of ungrateful bastards—the Church’s relief grain for the Lower City really was wasted on dogs.

Even the little thieves under Old Mike’s command would sigh after eating their gruel, “One day, I’d like to be a priest.”

To him, these cultists were entirely lost in self-delusion. They thought themselves heroic… ha! Cursing the world’s injustice while cutting down those even weaker than themselves.

True nobility was never like this…

In his mind, the image of the Noble Young Master he’d met the other day appeared. Old Mike shook his head.

Far too naive, he thought to himself.

No, why am I even thinking about this… Stay sharp, Old Mike. You’re just helping him with a commission, it’s all for the children—you’re not throwing your life away for him.

Don’t expect anything from nobles, you’ve always known that…

He repeated these thoughts over and over, until his steps finally slowed, and Old Mike took up his post.

An Invisible Barrier enveloped Sanya Opera House, and with the cultists on watch, a seamless network of security was in place.

Although Old Mike had told El the general plan for this operation, he’d given almost no details.

So, just how would he get in?

Old Mike shrugged. If that Noble Young Master dared to dip his toes into this mess, then he must have his own ways. No need for a petty crook like himself to worry.

***

A strange Caravan was passing through the Lower City.

There weren’t many people in the Caravan. Without exception, all wore black robes and masks, their faces obscured.

What didn’t match was the vast amount of cargo they hauled, all wrapped in pale brown cloth. But anyone with experience could tell—those were living beings.

The leader was named Dami, tall and powerfully built, with a face crisscrossed by scars beneath his mask.

“Boss, we’re about to deliver this batch of goods. Should we have a taste first? Can’t let them ruin everything,” asked a black-robed man driving the carriage.

“Don’t cause any trouble. Just do your job.”

Dami frowned. His innate talent, Wolf’s Sniffer, made his senses exceptionally sharp.

Just a moment ago, he’d felt as though he was being watched. But in a blink, the sensation vanished.

Was it his imagination? Being too sensitive could be a curse… always putting him on edge.

They’d chosen only the most remote streets in the Lower City. Night had fallen, and here, there wasn’t a scrap of light, let alone a witness.

“Boss, you know, we’re the White Gloves for those lords. Can’t let all this work go unrewarded, or the boys won’t be happy…” The black-robed man called to the others, sparking a round of support.

Seeing Dami hesitate, he pressed further: “People say, if you touch butter with a glove, it’ll always leave a stain. This job isn’t exactly clean. If a few pieces of cargo go missing, the bosses upstairs won’t care.”

“All right, but be quick about it,” Dami relented.

They were all desperate men; none would blindly obey orders. Dami was in charge because he always made the right calls—plus he was strong.

Times like these, it was better to go with the flow, or it would undermine his authority. Besides, he himself was a little tempted. Just thinking about the taste of Bloodstone made him itch inside.

There was no going back.

With a cheer, the black-robed men stopped the wagons and rushed to the cargo.

“Let me see, which one should I pick…”

The man who’d made the suggestion pulled open a crate, revealing a cage. Inside, a little girl curled up in the corner.

She had short, watery blue hair, and glowing skin—one could tell the slavers had taken careful care of her.

What drew the eye wasn’t her delicate face, but the fluffy cat ears on her head and the slender, curled tail at her waist.

Dami noticed what was happening. “A kid? Don’t tell me you’re getting worked up again.”

“Can’t help it… My favorite thing is…”

The black-robed man grinned hideously, unfastening his belt—intent on enjoying himself.

“Waaah—” The Demi-Human girl’s face twisted with fear. She instinctively shrank back, but she was already in the corner, with nowhere left to retreat.

The iron cage clanged as she pressed against it.

“Mute? That’s less fun. I do like it when they scream…”

He reached into the cage. The girl squeezed her eyes shut, as if resigned to her fate.

But what happened next, she would never forget for as long as she lived.

In an instant, the black-robed man in front of her turned into an ice sculpture, frozen in the same leering pose—absurd and grotesque.

“Not good, ene—” Before the next man could finish, his voice was muffled by a thick wall of ice.

The ice element seemed to come alive, spreading, blooming, wantonly harvesting every black-robed man present.

Half the girl’s body was numb, frozen, and she’d lost all feeling. In a daze, she seemed to hear a man and woman conversing.

“El-senior, you overdid it. At this rate, you’ll freeze the rest too.”

“Sorry, I got carried away. I never could use magic like this before. I just don’t have enough experience.”