Chapter 209: The Power of Money

Muen felt as if he had stepped into another world.

The night was thick, not a single lamp alight.

The entire city seemed thrown into a sunless abyss. Everywhere he looked, faint and unspeakably grotesque shadows flitted.

Rain still poured down. Thanks to the city’s excellent sewer system, no great disaster had yet occurred, but the water pooling on the streets still rose past his ankles.

Muen walked through the unfamiliar alleys as though in a realm of the dead.

From time to time, explosions echoed in his ears. In the distance, firelight occasionally flared, only to vanish instantly into the heavy night.

The Silent Bureau’s all-out assault on the heretics had indeed begun as scheduled. If not for the Evil God’s sudden premature action, those cultists might have been caught completely off guard, their schemes ruined.

But since this was the Evil God’s plan, of course it would not be so easily destroyed. In fact, at the start, the Silent Bureau had even suffered a hidden loss—some among their ranks had already been silently eroded by the Moon.

Yet it was, after all, an institution built specifically to confront Evil Gods. Against corruption, its handling was practiced and ruthless. After a brutal, merciless purge, this violent organ—so long restrained in Belrand—finally bared its cruel fangs.

Though it rained, Muen could almost clearly smell the blood.

Tonight, who knew how many corpses would be thrown into Belrand’s sewers, or simply burned into ash.

But Muen had no time to bother with the slaughter between Silent Bureau and cultists. In fact, he was somewhat grateful for the chaos they caused—for it allowed him to slip so easily into the heart of the cultists’ stronghold.

The air grew ever colder. The chill pierced his bones, so sharp that even with his body’s current fortitude, he could not help but shiver.

“Looks like the direction is right.”

Muen pressed the brim of his hat down and strode forward quickly.

But before long, he stopped.

He let out a helpless sigh.

“As expected, it wouldn’t be that easy, would it?”

At the edge of the street, what had once been a gentle brook beneath little bridges was now, under the torrential rain, a raging torrent.

And from that muddy flood, a claw suddenly shot out, seizing the riverbank that barely held against the current, and pressed down hard.

Claw marks gouged the green stone. Then, like a lizard, a monster covered head to toe in scales slowly heaved itself from the water.

Its head swayed. Cold vertical pupils locked on the lone living man in the alley. The feral aura spilling from it chilled the spine.

Moonbeast.

Small in size. Compared to the worm the banshee had prepared with the Red Flame Gang to kill him, it was far weaker.

But...

It was not alone.

As Muen’s gaze shifted, more monsters emerged from the darkness. Their malformed, sneeze-born appearance—like mistakes of creation—did not inspire relief. Rather, they deepened the chill.

“So that’s what Teacher Mera meant earlier, by ‘the things crawling up from below’?”

A trace of realization flickered in Muen’s eyes. At last he understood why, under the Silent Bureau’s overwhelming assault, the cultists could still hold out.

These Moonbeasts... surely not just the ones before him. This whole district must already be their nest.

No wonder the atmosphere here felt so wrong. With these creatures about, the residents were most likely already...

“You really know how to make trouble for me.” Muen irritably touched his spatial device.

“You cannot expect to pass so easily, can you?”

In the alley where only rain should have sounded, a sharp voice rasped like scraping metal. Muen betrayed no surprise, only turned his gaze to the shadows opposite.

From the dark, a gaunt figure shrouded in a black robe slowly emerged among the monsters. In his hand swung a lantern, shedding eerie blue light.

“Who are you?”

“You may call me... Beast Tamer, Muen Campbell.”

The figure pressed hand to chest, bowed his head, performing a ludicrous, half-parody of a noble’s salute:

“To have the honor of facing the legendary duke’s son in person—it is a privilege.”

“I thought it would be the banshee who came.” Muen said flatly.

“For such trifles, naturally the priestess need not act personally.” The Beast Tamer raised his head, staring at Muen. His sunken-eyed, ugly old face twisted with scorn.

“For me to wait here especially for you is more than enough.”

“Oh? So confident?”

“Heh... Confidence, naturally, comes from strength. I’ve studied you, Muen Campbell.”

“Studied?” At last Muen raised his eyelids.

“Yes. Studied.”

The Beast Tamer spread his arms. The lantern in his hand swayed. Its blue gleam flickered, as did the fervor on his face:

“From your battle records at Saint Maria Academy, from the skills and techniques you displayed when # Nоvеlight # cutting down those Red Flame Gang members, I have gained the clearest understanding of your strength and fighting style. That is exactly why I am here.

—Muen Campbell, I am the one whose ability restrains you the most.”

“Scared me. I thought you were going to suddenly spout something like ‘I’m your nemes*s’ or whatever...”

Muen shrugged indifferently. “Restrains me, how so?”

“Kekeke...”

The Beast Tamer gave the standard villain’s sneer.

“Very simple. Your techniques, your skills—every one of them was forged to slay ‘people.’ From your two weapons alone, this is obvious.

Therefore—

It had to be me, the Beast Tamer, who came.”

The lantern swayed. Silent commands issued. Before he realized it, Muen was surrounded by Moonbeasts.

Born of lunar corruption, Moonbeasts were usually brainless creatures.

But with a commander, such pure killing machines became entirely different.

“I see. I really am not good at fighting monsters.”

That was the truth.

From the very start, Muen’s sparring opponents—from assassins to adventurers—had always been human.

And his weapons indeed did not suit combat with giant creatures.

Not to mention this many Moonbeasts. Even if he were skilled at fighting monsters, being dragged to death here would be no surprise.

This so-called Beast Tamer, for all his talk of research and restraint, was in fact simply planning to overwhelm him with numbers.

No matter how he looked at it, for Muen alone, this was another dead end.

But—

“Do you really think you’ve got me cornered?” Muen’s lips curved faintly.

“Kekeke, why don’t we test it?”

The Beast Tamer licked his lips, eyes feverish.

“Muen Campbell, I will make you one of my collectibles. Kekeke... I’ve never had such a noble specimen. How thrilling.”

“Collectibles?”

The Beast Tamer said nothing.

But behind him, a massive Moonbeast lumbered forth.

On that twisted body—unlike any creature imaginable—Muen saw despairing human faces embedded, wailing miserably.

The sight conjured unwelcome images. Muen’s expression chilled.

“Seems before you came, you didn’t ask your priestess for her advice?”

“Advice?” The Beast Tamer frowned.

“Yes. Advice. Because if you had, you wouldn’t have studied and researched and overlooked the most important thing.”

Muen’s mouth curved into an utterly emotionless smile.

“As a duke’s son, do you think I’d be stupid enough to fight to the death with your monsters?”

As he spoke, two round objects slid from his sleeve, rolling to a stop before the Beast Tamer’s feet.

The Beast Tamer glanced down. Sensing the terrifying killing aura trembling within those spheres, his confident grin froze stiff.

What?

“W-what are these?”

“Grenades. No—by this world’s terms, Cluster-Type Explosive Spell Instant-Release Magi-Missiles.”

Muen weighed a few more balls in his hand, and asked with feigned curiosity:

“You’ve never seen them? A little toy of the military, made especially for numerous enemies. Costly, yes, but, well, pulling out a dozen or twenty is hardly difficult for me.”

He pursed his lips, smiling with mockery.

“Haven’t seen them? No matter. Here—consider your knowledge broadened.”

Before the words had even fallen, in the Beast Tamer’s horrified eyes, the grenades—no, the Cluster-Type Explosive Spell Instant-Release Magi-Missiles—detonated. The deafening blasts roared. Scorching flames swept forth, incinerating every scrap of flesh they touched.

What followed—was hell.

In the first wave of explosions, the Beast Tamer, reacting quickly, had his monsters absorb the damage. With body after body sacrificed, he managed to endure the Magi-Missiles’ assault.

As he watched his “collectibles” charred into charcoal, his expression twisted in fury. He swore to make Muen Campbell suffer ten times this pain.

Kekeke, why not turn him into a Moonbeast? From noble aristocrat into base, disgusting monster—what delight that would be...

But before the fantasy could even finish, amid the explosion’s aftershocks, before he could command the remaining Moonbeasts to counterattack... he saw Muen pull out something new.

Scrolls.

Magic scrolls.

Even he knew how priceless they were—always sold out, never enough supply.

Yet Muen tossed them about like worthless scraps.

One by one, spells erupted instantly. The street became an apocalypse—flames surging to the sky, gales raging, thunder rolling.

And as the Beast Tamer, caught in the blast, had his hand blown off, a scroll happened to land on his head, instantly healing the wound.

Muen Campbell was throwing even healing scrolls around!

But it didn’t stop.

Magic crossbows.

Alchemic bombs.

Disposable magi-tools.

Under that insane power of money, the Beast Tamer’s Moonbeasts—meant to surround and kill Muen—were cut down at terrifying speed.

At last, when Muen pulled out a Magi-Cannon, so fearsome it nearly made him piss himself, and expertly fired three consecutive shots, nearly leveling half the street, then casually kicked the now-scrapped cannon into the river without the slightest regret—

The Beast Tamer, now stripped of every follower, at last burst into tears, utterly frozen in despair.

You motherf—... this isn’t fighting fair...