Chapter 190: The Dark Emperor

Shurz jolted awake from a nightmare, turning his head toward the window. Heavy clouds smothered the sky, and under the pitch-black night, this ancient and bustling city seemed so peaceful.

His unhealed wounds still ached. Even with a top-priced healing mage hired to tend to them, the kind of injuries he’d suffered that night—aggravated by forbidden drugs—were never going to heal in such a short time.

But compared to the pain in his body, it was the unease gnawing at his heart that mattered more.

In the room, the fireplace burned fine pinewood, its warmth pushing back the chill of an autumn night. A faint incense drifted through the air, musk potent enough to calm even a rut-mad elephant.

And still, the anxiety refused to subside. Since that day—the failure to seize the Ancient Dragon’s Lifeblood—it felt as if some malignant switch had been flipped. The entire Lower City was suddenly steeped in an invisible shadow.

Something was coming.

As the most infamous hyena in the Lower City, Shurz’s instincts in such matters were razor-sharp. He had relied on them to evade death countless times.

“Gulson! Gulson!”

“Boss.”

His right-hand man’s voice came from outside the door.

“What are your orders?”

“No word yet from the ones upstairs?”

“...No. We’ve sent message after message, but every letter’s gone into the void.”

“Damn it!”

Shurz swore, his gaze dark as pitch.

“Those damned nobles—can’t be trusted when it counts!”

To maintain his position and secure support, the Hyena Gang funneled most of its monthly income into currying favor with those lofty nobles. And now, at the critical moment, the help he’d been promised was nowhere to be found.

Not even a reply.

Had he been abandoned?

A flicker of panic crossed his eyes.

No. That wasn’t it.

As long as the Hyena Gang remained one of the largest powers in the Lower City, they wouldn’t be cast aside so easily.

For those greedy aristocrats, scrapping an existing force and fostering a new one from scratch was far too costly.

Something must have delayed them. That was all...

Calm.

He had to stay calm.

First, he needed rest. He hadn’t slept in days—if he kept this up, his body might collapse before the real crisis even arrived.

With slightly trembling hands, Shurz opened the drawer by his bed. From the bottles crammed inside, he fished out one he knew by touch, shook out two small white pills.

But before he could swallow them, his lieutenant returned, voice at the door:

“Boss, a message from the Rat King.”

“Speak.”

“He’s asking you to meet with him.”

“Now?” Shurz blinked, instinctively glancing toward the window.

Middle of the night—what, was this supposed to be some kind of lovers’ tryst?

“Not going.”

“But the man the Rat King sent said you should really think about it.”

“Think about his grandmother’s leg! I haven’t even settled the score from a few days ago!”

He smashed a fist into the wall. The gemstone ring on his finger cracked, ruined in an instant.

Gang fights were common enough, wins and losses inevitable. But thinking of what had happened days ago, it was like rage had drowned his brain.

He had never been humiliated like that. If he hadn’t escaped into a filthy sewer, the great leader of the Hyena Gang might really have gone down to those useless city guards.

He’d sworn—if the Rat King showed his face, it wouldn’t be a wall he smashed, but that ugly mug of his.

And those other bastards...

“But...”

His man hesitated.

“The Rat King’s messenger said you weren’t the only one invited.”

“Not just me?”

Shurz frowned, then caught on.

“He invited other gang leaders?”

“That’s what he said.”

The man paused. “I pulled out all ten of his fingernails, and he still didn’t change his story—so I don’t think he was lying.”

“At a time like this, gathering all the Lower City bosses...”

Shurz tapped the bedframe, thinking. “Rat King, what the hell are you scheming? Did you notice something’s wrong too?”

“So... do we go, Boss?”

“Go? How could we not!”

A gleam lit his eyes. He didn’t know what the Rat King was planning, but if that many were gathering, being left out would be fatal.

A smart man never passes up a chance at information.

“Gulson, get the carriage ready. We’ll pay the Rat King a visit.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Footsteps faded. Soon, the sound of hooves rumbled in the courtyard.

Shurz crushed the pills in his hand to powder, stood, and reached for his cane—accidentally knocking over a water jug, dousing the fire in the hearth.

He stared at the smoking fireplace, the sense of foreboding thickening. His face twisted into a snarl.

“I’ll see for myself—after decades in the Lower City, let’s see who can touch me.”

...

...

“I did what you asked.”

In the lonely night, the Rat King Sam looked toward a figure swathed in pure black not far away.

The man stood on a narrow bridge, gazing out over the city. His face was lost in the shadow of his top hat, unreadable. But when his gaze shifted, Sam occasionally felt a jolt of primal fear—like this wasn’t a gentleman in formal wear at all, but a caged beast, restless and dangerous.

“Did you?”

Muen turned his head, pressing down the brim of his hat in habit, smiling pleasantly.

“Much appreciated, Sam.”

Dropping the “Mr.” made it sound like casual talk between friends.

But Sam didn’t respond, face still set.

“As agreed, I’m only responsible for calling them here and providing the venue. Whatever happens after has nothing to do with my Rat Society.”

“No—there’s one more thing I need from you.”

“You want to go back on the deal?”

A chill flashed in Sam’s eyes. Deep as you might be, # Nоvеlight # my Rat Society isn’t—

“Of course not.”

Muen clapped a hand on his shoulder, speaking warmly.

“An audience, Sam. In a show like this, how could I do without you as an audience? Stay and watch the whole performance with me, my friend.”

“...”

Sam was silent a moment. “I want to know—what are you going to do?”

“What?” Muen blinked innocently.

“Why, bring salvation to lost little lambs like you. You’re all about to be finished, you know that?”

“Liar.”

Sam’s gaze was cold.

“I don’t believe you’re that kind-hearted. You’ve got another motive.”

“Ah... good men are always misunderstood.”

Muen sighed, heading toward a nondescript building buried in shadow.

In the empty streets, hostile gazes from different quarters crossed like blades, colliding in flashes of killing intent.

Muen walked on as if he hadn’t noticed, striding straight into the dangerous dark.

Sam’s cheek twitched, but after a moment’s hesitation, he followed.

They passed unopposed.

But at the building’s door, Muen suddenly stopped.

“What now?” Sam tilted his head.

“Still... not quite used to it,” Muen murmured, looking at his hand.

“Not used to it?” Sam frowned. What madness now?

“Well, I may not be used to this act, but as the saying goes—

‘Making knees go weak at a glance is a yellow-hair’s essential skill.’

So I have to give it a try, right? Someone’s waiting for me.”

He chuckled at himself, adjusted his hat again, and pushed open the door into the prepared stage—leaving the Rat King blinking behind him.

Yellow hair? Your hair’s white.

And what the hell is “making knees go weak” supposed to mean? Was that even a saying? It didn’t sound wholesome at all...

...

...

Reknos Underground Bar.

As an unremarkable Lower City joint, it had none of the famous dens’ hot strippers, blood-pumping music, or drugs on tap.

For a bar, it was too quiet.

Frighteningly quiet.

Muen stepped inside. In the dim light, white smoke curled upward, veiling a row of sullen faces behind it.

Hyena Gang — Shurz.

Brotherhood — Cirok and Dolan.

Cerberus — Flangy.

Trade Hall — the Taicol brothers.

Face after face matched the intel from Anne. In this small bar, most of the Lower City’s major gang bosses—or at least their top brass—had gathered.

“Looks like without a leash, the house dogs are feeling nervous.”

Muen smirked.

For that, perhaps he owed thanks to the Silent Moon for stirring up enough trouble. Forced to heed the palace’s summons, the nobles had left their “pets” masterless. Without that, even with the Rat King’s face, he couldn’t have gathered them all so quickly.

And since the actors were all here...

“Gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself. I am—”

Clack!

A sharp sound cut him off.

He pressed a hand to his hat, turning his head toward the wine bottle that had just brushed his cheek.

It shattered on the floor, red liquor splattering like blood.

Thrown at his head.

Muen arched a brow, looking at the man who’d thrown it.

“Hyena Gang—Shurz.”

“What the hell are you...”

Glaring at this stranger shoved in front of him, Shurz’s temper spiked.

“Bring the Rat King out!”

“The Rat King...”

Muen glanced at the shadowy corner where Sam was watching with glee, no intention of showing himself, then smiled back at Shurz.

“Mr. Shurz, tonight’s invitation didn’t come from the Rat King. It came from—”

Clack.

A second bottle flew—not at Muen’s head this time, but to smash at his feet.

Liquor and glass shards splashed up, marring the pure black of his suit.

He didn’t dodge. Head down, he stared at the stain in silence.

“Cut the crap and get the Rat King out here, now! I’ve got no interest in talking to you!”

Shurz’s eyes were bloodshot as he roared. Normally, he cultivated the image of a courteous old gentleman—but days without sleep, a pounding skull, and a growing dread made control impossible.

And he’d found the source of that dread.

From the moment he stepped in and saw the same flicker of unease in the others’ eyes, he’d understood the Rat King’s game—huddling for warmth.

Not just him—every gang in the Lower City had been abandoned from above.

A terrifying sign: a storm was coming.

Against a storm, the best defense was to band together. The Lower City had never been unified, but facing an unknown threat no one had ever encountered before, such a thing wasn’t impossible.

But unity meant a leader—a ruler of the Lower City, a... Dark Emperor.

The Rat King’s summons was obvious. He wanted to be that Dark Emperor.

And if he succeeded, with their bad blood, Shurz knew he’d be in for it.

So he had to wreck the plan, force Sam to show his face.

“Ha, the hyena’s raving again.”

Someone behind him jeered.

Shurz only smiled coldly. Fools.

The blade’s already at your throat, and you don’t even know it. At this rate, you won’t last long either.

Yes... if the Rat King was the source of this unease, then removing him might even—

“My name is Bruce Wayne.”

“...Huh?”

Shurz blinked at the stranger Sam had shoved forward.

The man finally lifted his head, wiping liquor from his cheek with a handkerchief, smiling politely.

“Bruce Wayne, Mr. Shurz.”

“Like I care—get the Rat King out here!”

Some green kid? No wonder Sam pushed him forward.

In that case...

His patience wore thin. His fingers tightened on his weapon—

“What a pity.”

Shurz heard the man sigh, as if mourning the withering of a flower, the fall of a leaf, the passing of life.

In that instant, his unease swelled like a balloon, crushing his pounding nerves.

Gonna die.

Gonna die.

Gonna die.

What? The danger... wasn’t the Rat King?

No time to think.

He heard the man finish:

“Such a beautiful night—and yet, Mr. Shurz, you’ve shown me no respect. You won’t even call me Mr. Bruce Wayne.”

Confusion, fear, incomprehension—Shurz opened his mouth to speak.

But he would never speak again.

The world spun. In fading fear and anger, he saw the dimly lit ceiling, the shocked faces of the others—and a headless body.

His own.

His severed head rolled, staring blankly, the corner of his mouth still curled in smugness.

After three sleepless days and two nights, the Hyena Gang’s Shurz finally slept forever.

...

...

“Madman! Madman! That bastard’s a madman!”

In the shadows, the Rat King hissed under his breath, shaken to the core.

What had he just seen?

That guy, as casually as anything, in front of everyone, had lopped off Shurz’s head?

Did he know who that was?

Annoying as he was, Shurz still led one of the Lower City’s biggest gangs.

Was this supposed to start a gang war?

And after Sam had gone to all the trouble of gathering them—how was this supposed to end? Shurz hadn’t come alone!

Even as he thought it, Muen turned and grinned at him.

“Sam, my dear friend—the Hyena Gang boys outside are all yours.”

“What—wait!”

Sam’s gut sank. The man’s voice was louder than usual—loud enough for those outside to hear every word.

Before Sam could stop it, the sound of bolts slicing the air rang out.

His Rat Society elites, posted outside for his protection, opened fire without hesitation on the Hyena Gang at Muen’s cue.

“Rat King, you—”

Outside, Shurz’s lieutenant roared in fury—only for the roar to turn to screams.

One after another.

Then silence.

Blood began to seep into the room from under the door, stabbing at the eyes of all present.

The oppressive quiet smothered the air—until it was broken.

As if nothing had happened outside, Muen raised his eyes, sweeping over the stunned faces around him with satisfaction.

“Good. Now, no one should interrupt me.

“Since time is short, I’ll get straight to the point.”

In that moment, in this nameless bar, the man calling himself Bruce Wayne delivered the line that would later become infamous across Belrand’s Lower City:

“Gentlemen... be my dogs.”