Chapter 128: ¹²⁸The Alley Of Corpses
The metallic stench of blood pooling over the gray cobblestones hadn’t fully evaporated by the time Ethan Valen’s boots stepped away.
Behind him, the narrow alley had transformed into a corridor of slaughter.
The three tax collectors lay crushed into a formless heap, merging with the putrid mud of the gutter. The middle-aged man lay completely rigid with a fractured skull, while his wife knelt at the threshold of their rickety wooden door. Her soul was entirely hollow.
Ethan didn’t look back even once.
He didn’t slow his pace, didn’t leave a single copper coin, let alone dish out words of comfort. He was no hero. He was merely a man whose limit of patience had been inadvertently tripped by the wrong trigger.
In his arms, the teenage girl remained unconscious.
Her head resting against Ethan’s chest felt impossibly light. Malnutrition had stripped away half her body weight. Her tangled, dust-stained black hair partially obscured her deathly pale face.
Despite having fainted from trauma, her frail body still occasionally convulsed violently. An instinctive reflex from the dark memories continuing to grip her subconscious.
Ethan kept walking.
His boots tapped a constant rhythm over the uneven cobblestones. The wooden doors of the surrounding houses were tightly shut.
The residents of the lower district chose to lock themselves away, peering in horror through the cracks in their wooden walls at the black-clad figure who had just executed the tax collectors.
He deliberately took a detour.
At the main intersection in the distance, a group of tax collectors had set up a barricade in preparation for the Frost Flower Festival. Ethan had no desire to waste time entertaining those guard dogs while carrying an unconscious girl.
He turned left, navigating down an alley that cut straight to the heart of the lower district.
The initially crisp morning air gradually turned thick and suffocating. The stench of the gutter now mingled with the nauseating aroma of rotting meat.
Ethan’s steps slowed as he arrived at a dusty dirt square.
The sight before him was a brutal contrast to the glamorous marble lanterns in the center of Astrea.
In the middle of the square, dozens of four-meter-tall wooden poles stood in rows. They were driven firmly into the earth.
And to each of those poles, humans were shackled like carcasses in a slaughterhouse.
Ethan halted his steps at the edge of the square. His dark brown eyes swept across the expanse of suffering.
Twenty-three poles. Twenty-three humans.
Their condition was horrifying. A few were still breathing—emaciated bodies clinging to bone, cracked lips, and hoarse whimpers that were barely audible.
On other poles, life had long since fled, leaving behind blue-fleshed corpses with eyes staring blankly at the sky. Meanwhile, at the furthest poles, the process of decay had invited swarms of black flies buzzing loudly.
In front of the row of poles, a large wooden board was roughly nailed. Words painted in the glaring red of blood inscribed an absolute message:
TAX EVADERS. REBELS. TRAITORS TO THE CROWN.
The activities of the citizens at the edge of the square carried on in a facade of normalcy. A mother dragged her young son along, keeping her head bowed deeply so as not to look at the poles. An old man with a cane hastened his limping pace, his lips moving silently as he muttered a prayer.
No one dared to stop. No one dared to look. They were forced to be blind in order to survive.
A man shackled to the nearest pole slowly lifted his heavy head. His hair was falling out in clumps, his face covered in the dried lines of whip lashes.
The man stared at Ethan’s immaculate figure wrapped in his dark coat.
His chain-bound hands trembled violently. His stiff lips moved without making a sound—a silent plea for his life to be ended swiftly.
Ethan stared back at him. Without an ounce of pity. Without the stirring of a hero.
He turned his face away, tightened his hold on the girl in his arms, and resumed walking.
He couldn’t save them all, and he had no intention of trying. Astrea had to be destroyed by its roots, not by severing the chains of its shackles one by one.
Ethan left the damned square behind, slipping through the narrow alleys until the rough cobblestones gave way to pristine gray marble.
He had returned to the elite merchant district.
Clack.
The small bell chimed as Ethan pushed open the wooden doors of The Gilded Dove.
A young servant sweeping near the stairs reflexively turned his head. His eyes blew wide open.
A dark-coated noble youth carrying a filthy, bruised, and raggedly dressed girl was certainly not a common sight in a high-class inn.
Clatter!
The broom slipped from the servant’s hands and slammed onto the floor.
His body trembled, but his survival instincts in the Capital made him quickly bow his head deep. He locked his gaze to the floorboards, not daring to utter a single word as Ethan’s boots strode right past him.
Ethan ascended the marble staircase with a measured rhythm. Arriving at the third floor, he pushed open the door to the White Rose Room without knocking.
Inside the warm room, Kaelia von Ashford was sitting on the red velvet sofa, about to take a sip of her hot tea. Near the arched window, Valera Voss stood with her arms crossed, staring down at the streets below with a bored expression.
Both turned their heads in unison.
Clink!
Kaelia flinched. Her hand trembled so much that the porcelain cup nearly slipped from her fingers. She hastily set it back down on the table.
"Hah... Who... who is she?" Kaelia whispered, holding her breath. Her eyes scrutinized the girl in Ethan’s arms.
Filth, pale skin, tangled hair, and bluish bruises that stood in stark contrast to the room’s luxury.
Valera dropped her crossed arms, stepping forward. Her golden eyes sharpened, scanning the girl from head to toe.
Ethan kicked the door shut behind him. Ignoring their reactions entirely, he walked over to the sofa and laid the girl down against the soft velvet cushions.
"Call a healer," Ethan ordered flatly.
Kaelia and Valera exchanged a fleeting glance. Kaelia mustered the courage to step closer.
As soon as she observed the details—the split corner of her lips, the elongated bruising around her neck, and the dried reddish stains on her thighs and torn cotton skirt—the Ashford Princess’s breath hitched.
As a woman, she knew exactly what had happened.
Kaelia’s porcelain face instantly drained of color. "Was she... raped?" she whispered in horror.
"Yes," Ethan answered curtly, as if he were merely confirming the weather.
Kaelia took a half-step back, covering her mouth with one hand. Beside her, Valera let out a low growl. The female knight’s hands clenched into fists until her knuckles turned white.
"Where did you find her?" Valera hissed, her eyes flashing with fury.
"The lower district," Ethan replied, then sank back into a wooden chair. "Three tax collectors. They’re dead."
Valera clicked her tongue, the corner of her lips ticking upward slightly. "You killed them?"
"Yes."
"Tch. At least someone paid for this sin," Valera muttered.
Kaelia remained frozen in place. Her gaze shifted back and forth between the unconscious girl and Ethan. Thousands of questions swirled in her mind.
Why would Ethan—the cold-blooded man who unhesitatingly tore down the academy and manipulated nobles—suddenly bother carrying some random girl out of the gutter? This deviated wildly from his usual logical calculations.
But Kaelia knew her boundaries. She bit her lower lip, swallowing her curiosity, and spun around swiftly. "I’ll fetch a healer."
Click.
The wooden door clicked shut, leaving Ethan and Valera alone in a room that suddenly felt suffocating.
𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮
Valera leaned against the wall not far from the sofa, crossing her arms.
"My Lord," Valera called out softly, her tone extremely cautious. "You never bother saving strangers."
Ethan remained silent. His dark brown eyes were locked onto the girl’s face.
In his mind, the image of fragile Elara had flashed by, completely shattering his cold rationality in that alley earlier. But he had no intention of voicing that out loud.
Realizing she wasn’t going to get an answer, Valera snorted through her nose. "Hmm, whatever. Suit yourself."
Ten minutes later, the door to the room opened once more.
Kaelia rushed inside alongside a middle-aged, gray-haired woman whose hair was tied up in a tight bun. She wore a simple brown robe and carried a worn leather bag that jingled faintly with every step.
She was the exclusive on-call healer for The Gilded Dove.
The old healer didn’t ask many questions. Years of working in the Capital had trained her to be blind and deaf to the affairs of the nobility. She went straight to the sofa and popped her bag open.
Her tired eyes inspected every bruise, scratch, and dried stain. Her jaw subtly clenched, but her fingers worked with practiced professionalism.
After completing a physical observation and channeling a sliver of mana to check the girl’s pulse, the healer stood to face Kaelia.
"Her physical injuries are quite severe," she reported in a hoarse, monotonous voice. "There’s internal tearing. The primary bleeding has stopped due to bodily shock, but she needs intensive care to prevent infection. I will clean the wounds and apply a healing salve."
She paused for a moment, glancing at the girl’s pale face.
"But her psychological trauma is far worse," she continued softly. "Her nervous system is refusing to wake up. She might not regain consciousness until tomorrow. Or the day after. Or... it could be much longer than that."
Kaelia wrung her fingers together. "Will she... fully recover?"
The healer looked at Kaelia with restrained pity. "Her physical body will heal, My Lady. Medicine and time will fade the bruises. But as for her soul... I cannot promise a thing."
Kaelia swallowed hard. In the other corner, Valera turned her face toward the window, her jaw tightening. Her knightly instincts naturally loathed the persecution of the weak.
The middle-aged healer turned back to the sofa. With gentle, deft movements, she cleaned away the dried blood, applied a pungent herbal salve, and bandaged the worst of the injuries with clean linen cloth.
No one made a sound in the White Rose Room.
Having finished her task, the healer packed away her tools. She wiped the sweat from her brow, then looked at Ethan, who was sitting quietly in the wooden chair.
"She needs absolute rest," the healer instructed. "Give her warm water when she wakes up. Don’t force her to speak."
She tightened the strap of her leather bag, then stared at Ethan a moment longer. "You’re the one who found her and brought her here?"
Ethan merely gave a single, slow nod.
A thin, bitter smile etched itself onto the old healer’s lips. "In a city that prefers to look the other way... you are a good man, Sir."
After delivering that wildly inaccurate sentiment, the healer bowed her head and stepped out of the room.
Silence enveloped the room once more.
Kaelia closed the door slowly. "You’re... a good man?" she repeated in a whisper, her voice laden with irony.
Ethan didn’t answer. The word ’good’ was an insult to a Demon King, but he let Kaelia wrestle with her own thoughts.
"We can’t keep her here forever, My Lord," Valera interjected pragmatically. "She isn’t part of our plan. Dragging her into the Palace’s vortex is the same as killing her a second time."
"I know," Ethan replied flatly.
"Then what?"
Ethan didn’t answer. He stood up and walked over to the arched window, staring through the glass at the Capital’s main thoroughfares.
Down below, the Frost Flower Festival was in full swing. Blue-and-white lanterns gleamed elegantly, noble carriages rolled by, and the citizens smiled joyfully. Everything looked pristine.
Yet behind that illusion of light, there were shackling poles bearing rotting corpses in the square. And there was a girl whose life had been destroyed in a dark alley for the sake of the Crown’s tribute.
"Kaelia," Ethan called out coldly.
Kaelia looked up. "Yes?"
"Don’t let anyone into this room until I return."
Kaelia furrowed her brow. "Where are you going? The Palace could summon us at any moment."
Ethan turned around, snatching his dark coat from the back of the chair and shrugging it on in one fluid motion.
"There’s something I need to take care of," he answered briefly.
Wasting no time, Ethan stepped out of the White Rose Room, letting the door shut tightly behind him.
Inside the room, Kaelia and Valera exchanged a silent glance. On the sofa, the unfortunate girl breathed steadily, completely unaware that she had just been brought into the eye of a storm that was about to rip the Capital of Astrea apart by its very roots.