Chapter 127: ¹²⁷Behind The Stage
The night in the Capital of Astrea passed in silence. Yet, for Ethan Valen, sleep was merely the routine of closing his eyes without ever truly turning off his guard.
Following the information he had gleaned from Isolde, the gears in his head continued to spin wildly. He dissected layer upon layer of the intrigue shrouding Prince Caelum, Prince Edward, and the Marble King, Evander.
Dawn slowly broke. Pale morning light slipped through the gaps in the red velvet curtains of the White Rose Room.
Near the window, Ethan stood as still as a statue.
He had already donned his long-sleeved black shirt, every silver button fastened with precision. Beneath the fabric, the Horned Crown tattoo on his left chest throbbed faintly.
On the wooden table not far away, a silver teapot reflected the dawn’s light, sitting beside the untouched remnants of sweet pastries.
Ethan shifted his gaze to the large bed in the center of the room. Valera Voss lay sleeping on her side. Her black leather armor hadn’t been taken off at all, wrapping her exotic skin in full protection. One of her hands dangled off the edge of the mattress, hovering just a few centimeters from the hilt of her massive Zweihander.
In another corner, Kaelia von Ashford was curled up on the red velvet sofa. The Southern Princess hugged her own shoulders, wearing a rumpled ruby-red nightgown. Her brows were knitted tightly. Occasionally, she let out a soft whimper.
Wordlessly, Ethan reached for his dark coat. With one fluid motion, he draped the thick fabric over his shoulders, letting it fall to his calves. His black leather boots stepped softly toward the door.
Click.
The sound of the hinge was barely audible, but Valera’s predatory instincts reacted faster than reason.
The knight’s golden eyes snapped open. In a fraction of a second, her body sprang up. Her left hand reflexively locked onto the hilt of her Zweihander.
The moment her eyes caught the black silhouette in the doorway, Valera’s killing intent dissolved, replaced by a confused frown.
"Ngh..." Valera squinted against the morning glare. "My Lord?" she called out, her voice raspy. She quickly threw off the blanket, ready to stand. "Where are you going this early? I’ll get ready—"
"Stay there," Ethan commanded flatly. His eyes stared straight at Valera. "I just need some air. Guard this room."
Valera clicked her tongue, her jaw tightening in displeasure. "Tch. But out there—"
"It’s an order, Valera." Ethan’s tone left no room for negotiation.
Valera gritted her teeth. Slowly, she released her grip on the sword hilt and reluctantly bowed her head. "Yes, My Lord."
Without another word, Ethan stepped out and shut the door tight.
He descended the quiet stairs of The Gilded Dove, bypassing a drowsy servant sweeping the floor, and stepped out into Astrea’s morning air. The spring chill instantly bit at his skin.
At this hour, the Capital’s streets were already coming to life. Blue-and-gold banners fluttered gently. Bread and flower vendors set up their stalls beneath the leftover lanterns from last night’s festival, while neatly uniformed servants bustled about.
Everything looked orderly. Clean. Civilized.
Ethan walked aimlessly. The tapping of his boots kept a constant rhythm. His eyes recorded every artificial smile and every patrol of gleaming, armored guards.
However, the further he walked, an instinct guided him away from the main thoroughfares. He began cutting through small alleyways, navigating narrow routes that noble carriages never traversed.
The white marble slowly vanished, replaced by rough gray cobblestones overgrown with damp moss. The aroma of warm bread was swapped for a putrid stench.
On his left and right, wooden houses leaned precariously, built so close together they seemed to prop each other up from collapsing. An open gutter sliced through the narrow alley, carrying a thick, foul-smelling brown sludge.
Emaciated children sat on rotting wooden steps, staring blankly. In another corner, an old woman rummaged through a pile of rotting vegetable scraps with trembling hands.
There were no Crown Knights patrolling here.
Ethan stopped. He swept his blank gaze over the surroundings.
This was the slum district. The part of Astrea deliberately buried deep beneath the shadows of Veylor Castle’s grandeur.
The young man slid both hands into his coat pockets. He was about to turn back toward the inn when a commotion broke out at the end of the alley.
"Mercy... please, Sir! Our crops froze to death last month. Give us one more week!"
Ethan’s footsteps halted.
He moved silently, hiding himself behind the corner of a dilapidated wooden house. His dark brown eyes peered toward the source of the noise.
Three men in shabby royal blue uniforms stood with their legs spread wide. They were the lower district tax collectors.
The first collector, broadly built with a pockmarked face, twirled a leather whip in his hand. The second, slightly chubby collector gripped an oak cudgel. Meanwhile, the third stood in the back with a ledger.
Before them, a middle-aged man in a grubby cotton shirt knelt on the wet cobblestones. At the doorway, his wife stood frozen, suppressing her sobs as her body trembled violently.
Beside the man stood a teenage girl. Her long black hair was a tangled mess. Her small hands tightly gripped the hem of her father’s shirt, seeking protection with eyes wide in terror.
"A week?" The pockmarked collector scoffed. He spat right in front of the father’s face. "Ptui! King Evander doesn’t need your promises, rat. The protection tax is due today."
"I swear I don’t have a single copper coin, Sir! I beg you..." The man kowtowed until his forehead kissed the muddy puddle.
The pockmarked collector’s eyes darted wildly toward the black-haired girl. A disgusting smirk spread across his face.
"No coins? Hah, easy." The collector stepped forward, roughly grabbing the girl’s scrawny arm. "We can sell this little bitch to the brothels in the east district. That’ll be enough to cover your debt."
"NO! LET ME GO! FATHER!" The girl shrieked hysterically, her struggles tearing through the slum’s silence.
The father’s eyes blew wide in a frenzy. Despair murdered his sanity. He lunged forward to snatch his daughter back. "Don’t take my daughter! Don’t!"
But the chubby collector behind him was already prepared. With a merciless swing, the oak cudgel smashed into the side of the father’s head.
Crack!
The sound of the skull fracturing was sickening. The middle-aged man collapsed heavily. Fresh blood instantly spurted from his temple, pooling over the gray stones and mixing with the putrid gutter water. His body convulsed for a moment, then went completely rigid.
The girl’s mother let out a soundless scream from the doorway, collapsing to her knees as her sanity shattered.
"FATHER! FATHER!" The black-haired girl cried out even more wildly, thrashing in the pockmarked collector’s grip.
The pockmarked collector released his grip on the girl’s hair. He glanced at his two partners, then smirked.
"Before we sell her, let’s have a taste."
The girl froze. Her eyes widened in absolute horror. She tried to run, but the chubby collector already had her by the arm.
"DON’T! LET ME GO!"
They dragged her into the middle of the alley. Her clothes were torn open. One collector shoved her head down. The other two pinned her legs and arms.
"Mmmhh... mhmhh..."
The girl’s screams were stifled. In that narrow alley, a few heads peeked out from behind their windows. But the moment the collectors’ eyes swept over them, they hastily retreated. Afraid. Resigned. Silent.
No one dared to step out. No one dared to make a sound.
Her mother was still kneeling at the doorway. Her gaze was completely empty. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
Behind the corner of the rickety house, Ethan Valen remained perfectly still.
His face was flat, without a single ripple of emotion. He watched the tragedy unfold without a shred of pity. He was no hero. Slum districts everywhere always consumed their own victims, and that was none of the Demon King’s business.
He just needed to turn around and leave. Yet, his legs refused to move.
Ethan’s gaze locked onto the girl’s small, desperately trembling hands as her only protector was destroyed right in front of her eyes.
One second passed.
The gears in Ethan’s head abruptly ground to a halt. A flash of memory slammed into his cold rationality. The image of a pale-brown-haired, blind girl who always waited for him to come home beneath an oak tree.
Elara.
What if he had never come home, and these blue-uniformed monsters came to his house?
Two seconds passed.
The girl’s heart-wrenching shriek as the tax collector violently yanked her hair became the final trigger. Ethan’s limit of patience shattered completely.
The tapping of his black boots echoed softly as he stepped out from the shadows.
Tap. Tap.
The sound wasn’t loud, but it carried a gravity that instantly made all three tax collectors snap their heads up in shock.
The pockmarked collector growled, eyeing Ethan’s black clothes that bore no noble crest. "Hah? Who the hell are you, bastard?! Get out of here or I’ll bust your head open like this old rat!"
The chubby collector raised his bloodied wooden cudgel.
Ethan didn’t answer. His face was as cold as the depths of hell. While continuing to stride forward, he slowly raised his right hand to chest level.
From the pores of his palm, blackish-red Sin Mana seeped out. Rather than exploding, the dense mana spread like smoke, slithering over the wet ground and immediately enveloping the three collectors within a ten-meter radius.
𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎
The atmospheric pressure in the alley plummeted insanely.
The three men froze stiff. It was as if oxygen had been violently ripped from their lungs. The pockmarked collector released his grip on the girl, instinctively clutching his own throat.
Their faces turned blue. Their eyes bulged in horror, filled with pure terror as their lungs desperately thrashed for the air that had completely vanished.
Ethan continued walking at a slow pace.
Seeing this black-clad grim reaper approach, the pockmarked collector tried to crawl backward. His mouth gaped wide open like a fish floundering on dry land. Not a single sound could escape.
Ethan stopped exactly one step in front of the man. His dark brown eyes stared down at the three humans beneath him as if looking at rotting insects.
Without a shred of mercy, Ethan clenched his right hand tightly.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The Sin Mana entangling the three men compressed with brutal force. Their ribs, spines, and skulls were simultaneously crushed in the blink of an eye. Crimson blood sprayed heavily, raining down on the wooden walls around them.
In a matter of seconds, the three burly bodies collapsed into a mangled, formless pile of flesh and bone. Leaving no room for even a death rattle.
The slum alley instantly fell into dead silence. Nothing remained of those Astrean tax collectors aside from a puddle of blood merging with the gutter.
Ethan lowered his hand. The dense Sin Mana evaporated once more, leaving his dark coat without a single speck of filth.
Near the pile of corpses, the girl lay unconscious. Her body was battered, covered in bruises and dried, sticky filth. At her feet, her father lay dead. At the doorway, her mother was still kneeling with a hollow, maddened stare.
Ethan turned his face, looking at the unconscious girl. Not with the warm gaze of a hero, but with an incredibly deep, empty stare.
Without asking for permission or uttering a single word, Ethan bent down. He slipped his right hand beneath the girl’s knees while his left hand supported her tiny, trembling back.
With one smooth pull, he lifted the girl’s body into his arms.
The girl didn’t resist. Her consciousness had long since faded. Her head instinctively rested against Ethan’s broad chest, seeking the only anchor left in her freshly shattered world.
Ethan turned around, turning his back on the dilapidated house and the corpses. He didn’t leave any gold coins for the madly weeping mother. He couldn’t save everyone, and he had no intention of trying.