The Terminally Ill Young Master is the Mad Dog of the Underworld

[Translator - Pot]

[Proofreader - Kawaii]

Chapter 87: Uncle, You Look Pathetic

"…That's how it went."

"No."

The guy who said he was going back suddenly brought two orphaned boys, causing Zizek to rub the back of his neck and barely manage to say.

"What is this all of a sudden?"

"You still have the money I gave you yesterday, right? It won't be much trouble feeding two more mouths, will it?"

"Well, that's true."

Even amidst his bewilderment, Zizek let out a small, surprised laugh.

"Boss, You have a surprisingly tender side."

"Provide them with food and a place to sleep, and in return, have them do odd jobs or whatever. Think of it as having new apprentices. Are you planning to start an orphanage or something?"

"Ultimately, that's what I'm thinking of doing."

At that, Zizek's jaw dropped in disbelief.

"No… really?"

It wasn't a lie. In my previous life, I had set aside a portion of my income to run an orphanage.

'I wonder if those kids are doing well.'

It's probably difficult.

It's a harsh world. But I hope that at least a few of them are living bright lives.

I thought of the kids who would now be older than Allenvert and said.

"I'm not planning to start anything big right away, so don't make such a face."

"Goodness."

Zizek sighed.

"Still, you can't just keep bringing in people like this, can you? I agree that reputation is important, but that doesn't mean we're running a charity."

"Don't worry about that."

I didn't intend to. However…

"This kid gave up his own food to take care of a kid who wasn't even his own blood."

"!"

Zizek's eyes wavered.

"It's too much of a waste for such an angelic kid to die here. Don't you think?"

Both Karzan and Zizek were men who had entered the underworld with the same mindset. That's why we, of all people, had to understand this kid.

"…Damn it."

Zizek also looked emotional.

"Kid, what's your name?"

That was as good as acceptance.

"M-Moritz, Boss." The child barely managed to answer.

"…!"

I had to clench my teeth to hide my shock.

'Moritz?'

How could I forget that name?

'Orlando, Tammy, Henry, Servo, Susanna, and…'

Moritz.

Although I had forgotten their faces over the long years—n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

I, Karzan, had brought them into the underworld, and I could never forget the names of those who ultimately died.

'Calm down, Karzan. This is just a coincidence.'

But I want to believe it's fate.

"Ha-ha."

Zizek stared at my face for a moment and then smirked.

"What's so funny, huh?"

"Nothing."

"Useless punk."

"Anyway, I'll take responsibility for these kids."

Zizek patted the heads of the two boys.

"Rob! Take the kids and get them cleaned up."

"Understood."

The boy, Moritz, knelt before me with a face that looked like he was about to cry.

"Boss Karzan, I will never forget this kindness."

I let out a small chuckle and shook my head.

"Think of it as a reward for taking care of your little brother. If there's anyone to thank, it's the nobility you've shown."

Nobility...

Yes, even this boy, a weed sprouting in the filthy back alleys, possesses nobility.

Yet, why is it that such a virtue is so rarely found among nobles and clergymen, the so-called 'noble' bloodlines?

"See you later. Go get some rest."

"Thank you."

Moritz bowed his head once more.

"You are my light, Boss Karzan."

"…!"

I silently watched the backs of the orphaned boys as they left the room, holding Rob's hand.

"Light, huh."

Just as my grandfather had once been my light, the thought that I could now be that for this boy felt strangely peculiar.

‘You don’t need to become someone extraordinary.’

Just grab onto this unexpected chance at life like it’s a lifeline and try to live a little longer.

That’s enough.

"Zizek."

"Yes?"

Zizek, who still had a conflicted expression, turned to me.

"Not far from here, there’s a house where one of 'His' attendants lives."

"What? In a slum like this?"

"It’s a long story, but they’re from a fallen noble family."

"Ah, I see."

"I'll give you the address. Keep an eye on it and make sure nothing happens to them."

"Understood."

"But don’t approach them directly or anything like that. You’ll scare them."

"Got it."

I nodded.

"And one more thing."

"Yes."

"That guy, Vincent—he might be up to something even more vile than you think. Look into it carefully."

"…?"

I didn’t bother mentioning abduction outright. If Zizek handled things well, he’d naturally uncover it himself.

"That’s all I’ve got to say. Now I’m really leaving."

Zizek muttered in response.

"Please stop coming back so often."

"Shut up. It's my decision."

Zizek grinned.

"I've gained a new perspective on you today."

"How annoying."

I snorted and stepped out onto the street.

Then, a sudden thought crossed my mind.

'Where are those guys now?'

Zamuel, and the colleagues he managed to gather.

'If I ever find you again…'

I won't lose you this time.

'First of all, I need to get strong enough to at least beat up Zamuel, that bastard.'

I can't afford to be humiliated again.

* * *

Zizek, who had been watching Karzan leave with a complex expression, turned around.

"Alright, everyone. Let's get moving."

"Yes, sir!"

"Before dinner tonight, we'll finish the contract, moving in, and cleaning. We'll even find a sign and put it up."

"Huh?"

"No, even so, doing all that in one day…"

"Shut up."

Zizek was the type of man who wouldn't be satisfied until he pushed through with whatever he had decided.

"At the latest, we'll get a response within two days. I'll train you enough to withstand even Vincent coming in person."

"…Yes, sir."

Even as he heard his subordinates' almost lifeless voices, Zizek smiled pleasantly, mentally repeating every word his boss had said.

"He's doing something filthy, huh… Vincent, that bastard."

* * *

For Verdzig, there was a far more important matter than the incidents with Somerset and Peter.

"The situation is taking a rather difficult turn, Young Master."

"I see."

It all started when Allenvert, who had ventured outside the castle for the first time in seven years, was confronted by ruffians hired by Somerset.

Several of them were killed, and several were captured and imprisoned in the dungeon, but they were brutally murdered by an unidentified assailant who took advantage of the commotion.

And now—

"Jeffrey's investigation team has almost identified the suspect."

As the Commander of the Second battalion, Verdzig naturally knew what had happened within the Royal Guards.

"As expected of Jeffrey. He inherited his father's blood; his nose for tracking prey is still sharp."

Verdzig twisted his lips.

He already knew the identity of the culprit who tried to frame Somerset and create discord between him and Allenvert.

"Bring me my sword."

"Yes, sir."

Verdzig, receiving the sword handed to him by the butler, stood up. His dignified movements, the cold smile that appeared on his beautiful face—

It was proof that he harbored anger close to murderous intent.

"Prepare the carriage."

"I will see to it."

Within this detached residence.

There was no one who dared to object to what Verdzig had decided.

***

In the city of Grunewald, there is a district filled with the villas of various vassals. Among them, the villa that stood out the most for its scale and splendor belonged to Count Bergen, a vassal and the father-in-law of Duke Georg.

Crash!

At that moment, however, Count Bergen's reception room was in utter chaos. Expensive glassware lay shattered on the floor, and the tables had been overturned.

"Ve-Verdzig, my lord! What is the meaning of this?!"

"Stand down!"

"What are you all doing?! Stop him at once!"

"But, sir…"

The employees of the Bergen Clan hesitated, unable to approach the cold fury radiating from the young master as he destroyed the reception room with an expressionless face.

"Anyone who approaches will lose their head."

"!"

Their bodies froze. When he made such a statement, it was not an idle threat.

"I told you, didn’t I? Bring Uncle Malekian here."

"Y-yes, at once."

The employees bowed their heads as if Verdzig Grunewald was their true master rather than Count Bergen.

"What is the meaning of this chaos?!"

At last, Malekian appeared.

"Uncle, you’ve come."

He was a middle-aged man with hollow cheeks and sharp eyes, giving off an impression of cunning and treachery.

"Verdzig! How dare you act so insolently! Do you even realize where you are—"

"Where, you ask?"

Verdzig’s lips curled into a cold smile.

"Where else but the place where someone dared to send assassins into the dungeons guarded by the Grunewald Royal Guards to murder a captive of our Clan head and frame his child for the crime?"

"!"

Malekian’s face turned ashen.

"Ve-Verdzig… how did you…"

"It’s not how, Uncle."

Verdzig’s voice grew even colder.

"You should have started with admitting your wrongdoing, apologizing, and owning up to your actions, no matter what they were."

His hand moved to the hilt of his sword.

"Calm down, nephew."

If that sword was drawn, there was no one in the room who could stop him.

"Uncle. You must answer me honestly."

"…I will."

"You didn’t act alone, did you?"

"Y-Yes. This was my decision alone…"

The fear in Malekian’s trembling eyes was proof enough that he was telling the truth.

"Hah."

Verdzig let out a dry laugh.

"Are you all out of your minds? To commit such blasphemy within Grunewald’s domain…"

"Verdzig, we did this all for your sake—"

"Are you certain this was truly for my sake?"

"Of course, it was!"

"And why was this done in secret, without informing me?"

Malekian sighed deeply before responding.

"Because I knew this is exactly how you’d react if you found out."

"The fact that you knew and still went through with it is the problem."

Verdzig walked toward his uncle, who was at least a head shorter than him.

"Uncle, the issue here is that I had to investigate to find out what was happening in my own maternal family. You disregarded my authority entirely and acted on your own. Why would you use your nephew for your own gain?"

"…!"

Malekian, struck by the harsh truth, couldn’t muster a reply.

"And if you were going to do it, at least don’t get caught. Trying to frame someone, only to end up as a suspect yourself? How utterly pathetic."

"W-what do you mean?"

Verdzig stared at his uncle with disdain, and Malekian couldn’t meet his nephew’s piercing gaze.

"The Royal Guards has already identified the suspects."

"!"

Verdzig slammed the sheath of his sword onto the ground, shattering the marble floor beneath it with ease.

"If it weren’t for me, Verdzig Grunewald, the second Young Master of Grunewald and Commander of the Second Battalion of the Royal Guards, this villa would already be surrounded by Royal Guards. Do you understand now?"

"…!"

Verdzig shot his incompetent and greedy uncle a cold, mocking look.

"Uncle, You look pathetic."

"Watch your words!"

Despite being completely beaten down, Malekian couldn’t let his young nephew’s insults slide so easily.

Yet, whether it was his pride as a noble or as an elder, neither served him well in this situation.

"Remember this. Schemes are like double-edged swords coated with poison. Mishandle them, and you’ll end up cutting yourself and dying from the very poison you wielded."

As Verdzig quietly gathered his mana, the overwhelming pressure made Malekian’s breathing grow ragged.

"Hah… ugh…"

"You’ve already cut yourself on that blade, Uncle. What will you do now? Will you cut off a finger to stop the spread? Or would you rather lose your entire arm later?"

Malekian wasn’t so foolish as to not understand the implication.

"You’re asking for a scapegoat."

"Offer one, and I will ‘handle’ the rest for you."

Of course, Verdzig intended to use this as leverage to place his uncle firmly under his control.

Seeing his uncle hesitate, the nephew pressed further.

"Give me the assassin."

"That’s… not possible. You know why."

The assassins were the Bergen family’s hidden dagger, their most dangerous asset.

"You seem to have a lot to say for someone who doesn’t grasp the gravity of the situation."

"Verdzig—"

"Do you think my father wouldn’t find out about this?"

"!"

At the mention of his brother-in-law, Malekian paled, his fear rising visibly. Grabbing Verdzig’s sleeve, he pleaded desperately.

"Nephew, please… just not the Duke…."

The one who rescued Malekian from this deadlock was none other than the true master of the villa.

"Verdzig."

Even a tiger’s cub bows to its elder. The voice belonged to an imposing white-haired man, his noble dignity evident in his every movement. His calm, authoritative voice called his grandson’s name.

"Grandfather."

"Grandfather."

"You seem very angry."

"I apologize."

Verdzig bowed his head to his grandfather, Count Bergen.

'Hoo.'

Malekian finally breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his nephew's refreshingly polite demeanor.

"I also received a report after the fact regarding this matter. I was already about to issue a disciplinary measure because of the major incident they caused."

The Count said, still looking disappointedly at his immature son.

"This grandfather will provide ample compensation for this matter."

"It's nothing for you to worry about, Grandfather."

"It's alright."

The Count lightly shook his head and said with a composed gaze,

"So, Verdzig. Do you have a good way to resolve this matter?"

Only then did Verdzig realize that the opportunity to achieve his goal had arrived.

"Grandfather, actually—"

Verdzig said, bowing his head respectfully.

"I have one."

This was the start of his main point.

[Translator - Pot]

[Proofreader - Kawaii]