Chapter 163: Top-Tier Freeloader

“Lord Campbell, the situation has been handled.”

Inside a carriage lightly scented with floral perfume, Muen lifted his gaze toward the bald, middle-aged man who had just returned from outside.

Dew still clung to the sparse hair on the man’s balding head. Heavy shadows weighed under his eyes, making it look like he hadn’t slept in days.

And yet, he remained spirited.

—Not that he had a choice. When a subordinate rushed in to report that the son of Duke Campbell had just issued a tip-off about illegal dealings and gang conflicts in the Lower City, he nearly spat water onto another esteemed guest he was entertaining.

Even now, the memory made him wipe his forehead with a cold sweat. Thank the heavens he hadn’t actually sprayed—otherwise, his head might’ve rolled that very night.

But it had still scared him witless. For a moment, he thought that unresolved incident from before had come back to haunt him—that the young Campbell heir was targeting him on purpose.

After all, if something like illegal trading or gang war ever endangered a duke’s son, there’d be no place left for him to run.

Thankfully... none of that had actually happened.

“Viscount Goun, are you all right? You look like you haven’t rested at all.”

Looking at the man who seemed ready to keel over at any second, Muen spoke with mild concern.

“Did I trouble you by disturbing you so late at night?”

“No, no, not at all. It’s an honor to serve the people of Berland. How could that possibly be a bother?”

Viscount Goun gave a forced smile, mopping sweat from his brow that seemed impossible to wipe away. He retrieved a box from behind him.

Inside lay the familiar metal container—quiet and motionless. The mystical golden runes on its surface wriggled like glowing tadpoles, pulsing in eerie patterns.

“Lord Muen, here is your item. We’ve successfully recovered it from the hands of the gangs,” Viscount Goun said with utmost deference, offering the box.

“Thank you.”

Muen accepted the box with a smile. He brushed his palm over the container—click. A mechanical sound rang out, and # Nоvеlight # the lid opened just a crack.

In that instant, a terrifying pressure burst forth. Muen couldn’t help but inhale sharply, then snapped the container shut again with a decisive clack.

“It’s definitely what I lost. Thank you for your trouble, Viscount Goun.”

“Lord Campbell, you’re too kind. It’s no trouble at all. In fact, it’s my duty. You’ve helped expose the filth hidden in the shadows. I should be thanking you.”

“You’re a true public servant, Viscount. With an administrator like you overseeing the Lower City, things are bound to improve.”

“You flatter me, my lord. But you, Lord Campbell—you took the time to visit the Lower City in person to understand the people’s hardships, and even stood up fearlessly to the criminal elements. You’re the one who truly embodies the dignity of a duke’s heir.”

“Oh, it was nothing—just wandering around in the middle of the night.”

“Such modesty! I’m sure your deeds will be the talk of every noble’s banquet.”

“Eh, those nobles just love empty talk. I much prefer diligent, boots-on-the-ground officials like yourself, Viscount Goun.”

Muen slapped the viscount’s shoulder with gusto.

“Keep it up—you’ve got a bright future ahead.”

“Haha! Then I hope you’ll put in a good word for me with those lords?” Viscount Goun beamed.

“Of course.”

With a flick of his hand, Muen stowed the metal container into his spatial tool. He rose and stepped out of the carriage.

“Shall I arrange an escort for you, Lord Campbell?” Viscount Goun chased after him, asking with concern.

“No need.”

“In that case... safe travels, my lord.” Viscount Goun gave a deep bow.

“No need to see me off.”

Muen waved a hand dismissively and disappeared into the night.

As his figure faded into the darkness, the smile vanished from Viscount Goun’s face. His lips moved, murmuring something inaudible, and his expression twisted into something sinister.

But he quickly slapped his face, and the exhausted, near-dead mask gave way to a proper smile once again.

He hunched his back even more than before—bowing lower than he had to Muen—and swiftly climbed back into the carriage.

It wasn’t empty.

Sitting exactly where Muen had just been was a silver-haired girl.

She was flipping through a stack of documents, brows furrowed slightly, clearly deep in thought.

Viscount Goun didn’t dare speak. He slowed his breathing and waited silently.

After an indeterminate stretch of time, the girl seemed to finally notice him. She lifted her gaze and asked:

“Everything’s been resolved?”

“O-of course! Just some damned rats and vermin from the Lower City. I’m ashamed to have wasted so much of Your Highness’s time.”

“Oh? So by that you mean... all the rats and vermin were executed?”

“...Er... th-that... may have... possibly... not happened...”

Sweat once again broke out on his brow. Under the girl’s silent pressure, Viscount Goun felt a few more strands of hair falling before his eyes.

The bald gleam of his moon-shaped scalp caught the moonlight even more sharply now.

“Forget it. The state of the Lower City isn’t something one person can change anyway.”

Celicia lowered her eyes dispassionately, unwilling to spend more time on the subject.

“But that one’s actions... they were rather unexpected.”

When Muen had filed the righteous report, Celicia had been in the middle of a discussion with Viscount Goun. At the time, she’d assumed someone had offended him and he was using his status to retaliate.

That was why she had decided to stay hidden and observe. If he went too far, she’d step in to stop him.

But she hadn’t expected... this.

A black-eats-black con job?

Interesting. Leaving aside the fact that he’d gone to the Lower City at all, this level of high-tier freeloading didn’t seem like something a duke’s son—raised with no shortage of money—should even know how to do.

If he’d wanted the Ancient Dragon’s Lifeblood, it would’ve been far easier just to ask. Someone would’ve handed it over immediately.

“But given his recent string of bizarre behavior... it doesn’t feel out of character.”

Celicia’s lips curled ever so slightly. She couldn’t help but picture that guy—pretending to be weak in the Lower City, only to play everyone for fools. She shook her head with a quiet chuckle.

But then she chased those irrelevant thoughts from her mind and resumed her frigid composure.

“Well then, Viscount Goun—let’s return to our previous topic.”

Celicia pulled several photos from the folder she’d been examining and laid them across the table in front of her. Alongside each one, she placed carefully cut snippets of text corresponding to the descriptions.

The photos were blurry, almost ethereal—some were mere scribbles like a child’s drawing.

But every time Celicia’s long, pale finger tapped one of them, Viscount Goun’s face went a shade paler.

“Heart-Ripping Banshee...”

“Shadow Butcher...”

“The Sleepless One...”

“The Lake Monster of the Glein River...”

“And then there’s...”