Chapter 182: Good Breed

"...Temple of Night?"

After returning to the safe house, Ole frowned and thought for a moment: "What a bunch of weird guys."

His answer was unusually terse and brusque. The tyrant narrowed his eyes, squinting as sharply as a scalpel. The assassin crossed his arms and tutted awkwardly, "Faith is faith, but not all ordinary believers are respectful to the temple priests."

"The old man is unhappy with them trying to interfere with the Scarlet Bazaar's business under the guise of faith, and the Temple of Night is unhappy with the old man for allowing the pagans to grow and prosper in Port Morris." The corners of his mouth twitched sarcastically, his sharp canine teeth flashing a cold light under the lamplight. "I wonder if these people are worshipping the statue of the God of Night or the holy box filled with gold coins."

As for Olei, the second male lead who has been rebellious since childhood, said that he doesn't like anyone.

The professor hummed thoughtfully, then heard the assassin leader cough lightly: "Danija and the others are back."

Some people stayed at the base camp in Port Morris, which meant that the core forces of the Shadow Chasers gathered in their homeland again.

"That kid kept crying and shouting that he wanted to introduce you to the others." The black-haired young man raised his head and glanced at the assassin leader. He found that the other party was stiffly turning away, looking a little hesitant: "If you are willing..."

This was an invitation for him to intervene in the internal affairs of the organization.

The professor stared at him calmly: "Are they all trustworthy people?"

The Shadow Chasers in their previous life had split apart due to betrayal—and it was likely his handiwork. Given the male lead's strong sense of loyalty and righteousness, Nova didn't believe he would easily murder his traitorous companions and family members after his rebirth.

As expected, the assassin's expression became noticeably stiff, and his fingers unconsciously clenched, turning bluish-white.

"...I'm not sure." He whispered, his voice a little hoarse, as if he was suppressing something.

That unforeseen betrayal was like a grotesque and horrific nightmare to Orel. The handle of his scimitar had become slippery with blood, making his grip nearly impossible. He stood amidst a sea of ​​blood and corpses, the excruciating pain of both body and soul leaving him barely able to support his weight with the handle. All around him, fallen faces were names he could name even with his eyes closed.

The companion who had shared life and death with him did not die in the enemy's hunt, but died at the hands of those who had fought side by side with him. The anger of betrayal surged like a tide, but was ultimately swallowed by endless confusion.

He once sat arm in arm with them in dim taverns, with cheap beer foam splashing and laughter and curses intertwined. They discussed the future of the country together, denounced the cruelty of the nobles together, and spitted on the corruption of the Church together, vowing to use the weapons in their hands to eradicate the injustice in the world.

...But why had it come to this? How had those who had once been willing to sacrifice their lives for their companions, those warm eyes that gleamed with determination and trust, ultimately turned their weapons against each other, stabbing without hesitation, filled with hatred?

After the investigation concluded that it was the tyrant who was behind the betrayal, those tired and gloomy confusions instantly transformed into a huge wave of hatred, and they rushed towards the culprit without hesitation, even with a roar and relief.

...He didn't know if this could be considered a form of escape, but after the tyrant died, for some reason, Orel didn't feel much pleasure from revenge, but instead still felt suffocated.

——But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have any resentment towards people now.

Knowing the impact this experience had on her friend, and not wanting Ole, with his explosive temper, to get into an argument and ultimately jump out the window in frustration, Marcylin wanted to intervene, but was interrupted by Azucar, who was standing beside her. She was startled, then saw him silently shake his head at her in a very relaxed manner, motioning for her to continue reading.

...That's right. If Orre breaks through the defense and attacks, this person will definitely be the first to rush up.

The red-haired girl sighed and felt extremely tired.

She dropped her eyes and caught a glimpse of her friend's fair skin, visible beneath the cuffs fastened with cufflinks. There seemed to be several fine scratch marks extending deep into her skin, though she couldn't tell how long they were. They had almost healed, leaving only a few red marks. But no matter how minor, these injuries shouldn't have appeared on this person. After all, with his strength, who could possibly get close enough to hurt him?

It wasn't Orel. If someone got injured while "sparring," they would definitely cast a healing spell on themselves, and then, depending on their mood and the extent to which Orel had provoked them, they would decide whether to heal their opponent. It wasn't her either. Besides, she didn't want to fight. If the opponent showed their true strength, they wouldn't be able to get close every time, which would be extremely boring for a warrior. She would rather face Orel's dual blades.

Then it can only be a certain Majesty.

"…What happened?" Marcylin thought in horror. "Why did he suddenly get into a fight? His Majesty is just a fragile, ordinary person!"

“You did the right thing.”

Ole was stunned for a moment, then heard the tyrant say calmly, "Dealing with people without addressing the root cause of the conflict is a waste of effort."

Those smoky gray eyes stared at him without wavering, as if seeing through his weaknesses. Ole had the awkward urge to look away. "For example, during this Hong Kong slave riot, how many Shadow Chasers do you think would support the slaves?"

"...the vast majority?" Ole frowned. He hadn't thought about these things in detail. "Those who left with me are all young people who can't stand the old man's way. We share the same ideals."

The professor deadpanned, "No more than 50%."

"How can—"

"To be precise, if the slave rebellion results in all slaves releasing their Black Blood Marks and defecting en masse, support will likely be no more than 50%. I've overestimated this support rate." Nova ignored him, his voice flat, as if stating a simple fact. "If it aims to overthrow the Scarlet Market, support will probably be around 30%. If it demands the abolition of slavery, it might only be 10%."

"The Bloody Bazaar was built on the slave trade, a sinister empire built by sucking the blood of slaves." The professor remained blunt in front of everyone. "But this is also the homeland and home of the Shadow Chasers, where your tribe and relatives are. Your tribe has invested manpower and financial resources to train you. As vested interests, although this is not your fault, you are inextricably linked to this bloody system—and it is difficult for vested interests to overthrow themselves or cut off their own heads."

Therefore, the Bloody Duke always looked down upon the troubles caused by his son. After all, the other party was even using the funds from the Bloody Bazaar to support the actions of the "Shadow Chaser" - in his opinion, one day these young people's naive enthusiasm would be defeated by the cruel reality, and then they would come back honestly to inherit the family business.

...But the Bloody Duke did not expect that his only son was much more stubborn and determined than he had imagined, like a true hero.

Ole stood there in silence, his face turning pale, as if he had just remembered something. Marcylin looked at her friend with some concern, but he ultimately resisted the urge to argue.

Nova glanced at him, his tone softening. "But as I said, resistance itself is valuable. We must uproot some things before we can allow the good seeds of this land to take root and sprout again."

He stared expressionlessly at the assassin's brown face and announced in an unusually cold tone, "So be prepared for someone to go against you."

…

That being said, he ultimately had a formal meeting with the Shadow Chasers. Daniga, oblivious to the underlying dynamics, was overjoyed, proudly introducing his idol to his friends and boasting about his achievements at White Tower University. Those Shadow Chasers who had already known the professor also looked at him with eagerness and friendliness.

"Are you the editor-in-chief of the Limin Daily that Daniga keeps talking about? Are you really an ordinary person?"

A strange shadow chaser looked up and down the black-haired young man with a gloomy expression. The vigilance and inquiry in his expression made the professor, who had been stiffened by the praise in the crowd, finally regain a sense of familiarity.

"Pierce, what's with your tone? What's wrong with ordinary people?" Daniga glanced at his companion unhappily, squeezed next to the professor, put his arm around the shadow chaser's shoulders, and deliberately pushed him down.

"I'm worried about you, you idiot." Pierce slammed the claw down without hesitation, his face rather gloomy. "Boss, what a fool! He knows you're prone to emotional outbursts, yet he lets you do whatever you want. I heard from the boss that you almost died in the Inquisition in White Tower Town."

He was talking to Daniga, but his eyes were fixed on the professor. He obviously suspected that Daniga's distress was related to the extremely suspicious-looking stranger in front of him.

Daniga's momentum suddenly softened. He touched his nose awkwardly and muttered to himself, "Boss, why do you tell me everything? Don't spread such embarrassing things. It will ruin my image."

"Come on, everyone knows what kind of person you are. Everyone knows who you are." Another Shadow Chaser laughed at him in a good-natured way. "Last time, it was only thanks to the professor's tip-off that the boss arrived in time. Otherwise, you would have been in trouble."

...Is that really the case? Pierce narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but the other person stared at him indifferently—there was no clue at all. Instead, he felt as if he had been seen through, and finally, embarrassed, he was the first to look away.

The suspicion and uneasiness in his heart hadn't dissipated. He felt that the dark-haired young man before him had a dangerous aura that didn't fit the identity of an "ordinary person," hidden beneath those cold, indifferent, smoky-gray irises. But since his boss had chosen to believe him, Pierce finally took a step back in silence.