Chapter 489: Urgency

“Uncle Fude, give me a piece of meat.”

The sun was setting. A young shipyard worker who had labored all day was finally heading home. But before going back, he stopped by a familiar butcher shop and picked through the cuts of meat that were about to be discounted because they hadn’t sold. Even so, he still chose the cheapest piece.

“Oh? You kid are actually willing to buy meat today. Did you get paid?”

“Yes! A full two thousand Aimier!”

The young shipworker, his skin darkened by the sun, grinned broadly. Two thousand Aimier was already a pretty good wage for him—enough to buy four hundred pounds of black bread at current prices.

Of course, he couldn’t really spend it all on bread. His younger sister’s school fees were two months overdue; he needed to pay those back as soon as possible. The roof at home was leaking; he needed to spend money to fix it.

There were plenty of things he needed to spend on, but he still wanted to splurge just a little. After all, the family hadn’t tasted meat in over a month—ever since his father got injured while hauling cargo at the docks, the entire burden of the household had fallen onto him alone. Their life had been extremely tight.

“Speaking of which, being able to afford meat this year is all thanks to the good market!”

“Market?”

The butcher, his hands quick as always—and quietly adding a bit more meat to the boy’s portion—casually asked:

“You mean the food prices this year?”

“Yeah! Last winter black bread cost a full ten Aimier. If prices were still like that, I wouldn’t have spare money for meat.”

At that, the young shipworker grew a little excited. In previous years, every winter, food prices would double. But this year, they barely went up at all—only slightly higher.

“I heard it’s all thanks to the new Governing Officer.”

“Is that so? But didn’t some people say he embezzled the famine relief food to sell for profit? That he lined his own pockets? Look, it seems like hardly any nobles came to the Lower District to hand out free bread this year.”

“Tch, what good is free bread? Those free loaves always get taken by street thugs anyway—I never get any.”

The shipworker curled his lip in disdain:

“The bread price itself is what matters. I’ve got hands and feet. I’m not going to live off someone else’s charity.”

“Fair enough. Here, that’ll be twenty Aimier total.”

While chatting, the butcher wrapped the meat in newspaper and handed it over.

“Huh? Uncle Fude, did you get hurt?”

The shipworker paused as he took the meat. He suddenly noticed the butcher’s right arm was heavily bandaged; earlier it had been hidden inside his sleeve.

“Ah, this?”

The butcher chuckled.

“Got this from a disobedient brute this morning. No big deal. The brute’s obedient now.”

“I see.”

The shipworker laughed too.

“Then be careful. I’m heading home first. I need to cook before dark.”

Families in the Lower District saved money by avoiding candle use, so they usually finished all tasks before nightfall. Coming to buy meat had already delayed him.

But just as he hurried to leave, the butcher suddenly called out:

“Hey, wait—don’t go that way.”

“Why?”

The young shipworker asked in confusion:

“I always take that road.”

“You can’t today. Supposedly a horse went mad and crashed dead on the road. The city guards are cleaning it up.”

“A horse...? It’s just one horse. That road is huge.”

“Who knows? But if I tell you not to go, there’s a reason.”

The butcher lit a cigarette and said slowly.

Seeing his strange expression, the shipworker shivered. He suddenly recalled the sort of things that often happened in the Lower District—daylight murders, gang shootouts... things ordinary people absolutely shouldn’t get involved in.

A “mad horse” was probably just the officials’ excuse.

“Then I’ll take the long way. Thanks, Uncle Fude. Damn, now I’m going to be late... whatever. I already splurged on meat—using a little candle isn’t the end of the world.”

Muttering to himself, he quickened his pace and went around from another direction.

Once the young man disappeared, the butcher immediately dropped his casual expression. He crushed out his cheap cigarette and bowed deeply.

“Lord Rat King.”

“Hm.”

From the back of the shop, a short figure walked out—it was the Rat King.

He looked up at the sky.

“If I count the time... it should be almost done.”

“Yes. The brothers standing guard outside reported that the noise inside has stopped.”

“Then let’s go.”

“Yes.”

The Rat King walked toward the sealed-off building.

Along the way, several men dressed as city guards were setting up roadblocks, but when they saw him, they bowed respectfully.

They weren’t actual guards—they were the Rat King’s men in disguise to drive away civilians.

“Mr. Bruce said no real city guards would show up on this street today—and there really weren’t any. Looks like his relationship with the city guard... no, perhaps with the upper levels themselves... is extremely deep.”

Thinking of the Governing Officer who had purged the corrupt old guard with thunderous force, the Rat King felt even more reverent, though he had not yet met the man.

Without letting any subordinates accompany him, he entered the building alone.

A faint smell of blood lingered in the air, but the scene was far from the carnage he had imagined. Besides the damaged walls and floors, he couldn’t find any corpses of the monsters—not even blood.

It was as if they had been erased from existence.

His heart tightened, but he continued carefully. Finally, in a large, heavily damaged open room, he saw the figure.

It seemed this had been the bar hall originally. The ceiling above had a massive hole, not just through one floor but all the way up—six floors in total.

As if a meteor had fallen from the top floor and punched straight through to the underground.

Sunlight streamed down through the dust, and that figure sat quietly in the center of the ruins. His black suit was still spotless, without a trace of blood from the earlier battle.

“Lord Bruce.”

The Rat King cautiously approached, lowered his head—and froze for a moment.

Because lying in front of the seated Muen, completely naked, was Wood—now restored to human form.

His exterior looked uninjured, but he no longer breathed.

“It’s you, Sam.”

Muen spoke softly.

“It’s me.”

The Rat King crouched down.

“You... are unharmed?”

“What harm could come to me?”

Muen lifted his head. The light brightened his face a little.

That face was still deep and composed, with a faint calm smile—but the instant darkness flickering deep in his pupils still made the Rat King afraid to look directly.

“As long as you’re fine.”

“Mhm.”

Muen nodded lightly, lowered his head again, and looked at Wood. His fingers tapped lightly on his knees, as though thinking.

“Sam.”

“Present.”

“Do you know about beastification?”

Muen suddenly asked.

“Beastification?”

The Rat King blinked and replied:

“Of course. I remember that some people with ** bloodlines can transform under external stimulation or ancestral blood awakening.”

“Can ordinary people without ** bloodlines beastify?”

“How could they? Without that bloodline, they’re just normal people.”

“Yes. Without # Nоvеlight # that bloodline, they’re just normal people.”

Muen suddenly turned his head and stared at the Rat King.

“Then based on what you know of Wood, do you think he could possibly have that bloodline?”

“Of course not. Normally those with that bloodline show signs in their battle aura or mana. I’ve known Wood for over ten years—he has never...”

As he spoke, the Rat King suddenly froze.

Bit by bit, he lowered his head, staring at the naked man with horrified disbelief.

“You mean...”

“Yes. Neither Wood nor his subordinates had even the slightest ** bloodline. In fact, that bloodline is rare—certainly not something everyone could have.”

“But... but they all...”

“They all turned into monsters. People without any ** bloodline beastified into monsters.”

Muen murmured:

“And that’s what makes it terrifying.”

After killing Wood, Muen had used the Black Book to read his soul’s record. He learned that the cause of all their beastification came from the drug Old Ghost had sent.

Supposedly the drug could raise one’s strength for a short time. And indeed, Old Ghost hadn’t lied—the drug did increase their power briefly. What he didn’t say was that it had just a tiny side effect.

Originally, Muen assumed the drug was the same as the potion from Eamon’s incident—overstimulating one’s latent bloodline potential... but that wasn’t the case.

They were ordinary people. No special bloodline at all.

They became monsters solely because of that little pill.

“Seems this is already far beyond the level of a Lower District gang fight.”

Such a bizarre drug could not possibly originate from Old Ghost.

Even if he was the ghost of ten years ago—the man who had nearly ruled the dark side of Belrand—he couldn’t make something like this.

The drug’s source could only be those behind him.

The Inner Council.

The phrase appeared once again in Muen’s mind.

“But... are those people really that impatient?”

This terrifying, strange drug—no matter when it appeared, it could single-handedly decide outcomes... for example, in the future battle for that position.

But they used it now—just to take back the Lower District?

Why?

To restart the black market drug trade? For smuggling routes?

Were they short on money? So short they had to sell their estates and still couldn’t fill the deficit?

Or... was there something in the Lower District they desperately needed?

“Looks like simple thinking won’t get me the answer.”

After pondering for a while and getting nowhere, Muen sighed, took out his pocket watch for a look, then slowly stood up and set his top hat back on.

“My lord?”

The Rat King finally snapped back and bowed:

“Are you going to...”

“Don’t follow. I have something to do.”

Muen adjusted his clothes and strode out of the building.

“Something to do?”

The Rat King watched Muen’s silhouette, which looked as though he were marching toward a battlefield, and his expression grew solemn. After such a fierce battle, that man still refused to rest and had something important enough to attend to...

It must be extremely important. Probably something concerning the safety of the entire Lower District.

...

“I want a room. One with a bath.”

Ten minutes later, Muen appeared at a Lower District inn.

After requesting a room with a bath, he finally removed his disguise and enjoyed a long, luxurious hot bath.

Then he lay down on the bed and gradually drifted off to sleep.

Yes—his “urgent business” was sleeping.

In truth, sleeping was no longer a necessity for him. His powerful mental strength allowed him to go at least half a month without rest.

However—

If he was going on a date with a certain lady, how could he show up looking dusty and exhausted?

If that lady found him distasteful... that would be more terrifying than the destruction of the entire Lower District.

Hm?

Wait.

If it were Celicia, glaring at him coldly with that icy, disdainful gaze...

On the soft bed, Muen’s eyes snapped open.

All sleep vanished instantly.