Chapter Seventy-Five: Challenging the Mightiest Throne (Fifth Update)

The sun rose and fell, marking the end of summer, and daylight in Hemtica grew ever shorter. Unnoticed, dense fog and deep night had swallowed the world whole.

Simon, the steward, glanced at the gray mist outside the window and sighed softly, almost imperceptibly.

His mood was gloomy.

If he could, he would not spend the night here. Perhaps it was merely his imagination, but he felt an eerie and inscrutable atmosphere lingered continually, as if one—or more than one—pair of eyes watched him from behind, laughing cruelly in unseen corners.

Yet tonight, he had no choice but to stay.

For the Shadow King of the Lower District was entertaining a guest.

He brewed tea, served it.

And then—

The information the guest revealed made his hand tremble, nearly spilling the steaming tea.

—The era of the Dark Guild has ended!?

Simon's expression shifted several times, but relying on the composure honed through years of service, he steadied his hands and approached the unexpected visitor with measured calm. He bowed, poured tea for both, and said as evenly as possible, "Please enjoy."

Another bow, then he withdrew.

"That's right," said the gray-haired, black-eyed man, stirring his tea nonchalantly with a spoon, unconcerned as he continued, "Amy Ulysses and his sword-bearing companion turned that place upside down, and then I killed everyone else who remained."

He paused, delivering his final verdict.

"So, the era of the Dark Guild… has truly ended."

"Is there evidence?" The bronze mask betrayed no emotion, but those deep blue eyes remained as cold as ever. "Mister Killer of the Foggy Night."

He named the visitor.

"If it's evidence you want, go to the Dice House," said Jack the killer, spreading his hands. "They orchestrated the entire affair. Cause, process, outcome, even the aftermath—you'll find it all in their files. Given your relationship with them, obtaining it shouldn’t be difficult."

"Dice House," the Shadow King of the Lower District murmured, a mocking smile curling his lips. "Do you trust them?"

"I'm glad we agree on that," Jack's own mouth twisted in a semblance of a smile, his masked face betraying some genuine mirth. "I don't trust those lunatics either. So, I've brought my own evidence—a relic from the days of the ancient kings."

He placed a jeweled, ornate circlet on the table.

"The madmen who sought the truth?" The mask toyed with the piece, not donning it, but raising an eyebrow. "Its function?"

"To inherit memories, achieving a twisted immortality," Jack said with a hint of sarcasm. "But reality proves that the distance between human and demon is much closer than most imagine."

"Doesn't sound like a lie," the Shadow King beckoned Simon to his side and commanded, "Put it on."

Simon had no room to refuse.

With grim resolve, he closed his eyes and gently donned the circlet.

He… was not dead?

The thought flashed for only an instant before a flood of memories overwhelmed him.

"If it were a day earlier, he’d be the new leader of the Dark Guild," Jack laughed. "But… being the Guildmaster is hardly desirable, especially before yesterday. To lose your will, become a puppet—no matter how you look at it, that’s a poor bargain."

"And now?" asked the mask.

"Now? It's simply an artifact that carries memories," Jack shrugged, glancing at the steward lost in a waking nightmare. "If his will is strong enough, he might gain unimaginable benefits. After all… these are fragments of memory from every Guildmaster of the Dark Guild."

"A curious little device," mused the Shadow King, sipping fragrant tea.

"Human greed never dies," Jack concluded incisively. "But your subordinate seems capable—he’s kept his self intact amidst the ocean of memories, not lost in the seemingly endless recollections."

"Perhaps." The mask answered noncommittally, gazing at his steward with eyes void of emotion. "Did you gain anything?"

"Ah…" Simon exhaled as if waking from a dream, then shook his head reflexively. "I just… hm, just…"

He searched for words.

"For a moment, I felt I’d become someone else—a man called Gray."

Upon hearing the name, the Shadow King asked with interest, "And then?"

"I read his memories—though only a tiny portion. I dared not delve deeper, for I sensed that if I did, I might never return, or… even if I returned, I would no longer be myself."

Perhaps still shaken from his awakening, Simon's voice trembled slightly.

"A wise choice," Jack unusually offered praise, though only to lead the conversation onward. "Its name is 'Serpent's Wisdom,' crafted by ancient alchemists to transfer knowledge and insight. But when joined with human insatiable desire, it gave birth to an evil will that even demons fear and tremble before—and that will was the true master of the Dark Guild. The Guildmasters were merely its puppets."

His black eyes fixed on Simon.

"Fortunate soul—what should have devoured your spirit was destroyed yesterday, and your caution allowed you to escape the abyss of memory in time, preserving your fragile self. So you inherit Gray’s legacy—at least in part."

"Th-thank you…"

Should he be grateful? Emotion said one thing, reason another. However deep his resentment for these two, for the sake of his own life, he dared not show it. In the end, all he could offer was a dry thanks.

"I see your sincerity, and am convinced the Dark Guild has ended, as you claim," said the Shadow King, legs crossed, savoring tea. "But—"

His blue gaze lingered on the enigmatic mask.

"I do not trust you," he paused, then explained, "—Mister Killer whom I do not know."

"It seems my infamy precedes me," Jack was unsurprised. Giants do not walk beside dwarves; in unequal alliances, partnership is mere illusion. "Given that, I must show further proof of my sincerity."

"How will you do so?"

The mask was succinct, hands forming a tower beneath his chin, eyes full of interest.

"What else can a killer do, but kill?" Jack shrugged. "Naturally… kill even more."

He spoke cruelty with easy cheer.

"You intend to orchestrate a massacre?" The mask’s brows arched beneath, the Shadow King shook his head, voice turning cold. "It seems our friendship cannot end on a perfect note."

"Perhaps an ellipsis, or a dash," Jack seemed oblivious to the mood shift, offering a light chuckle. "Believe me, our friendship shall endure."

"Then tell me, unknown killer," the mask paused, gaze lingering on the ambiguous mask, then meeting those eyes deep as black holes beneath. "Why should I trust you? Why believe in our friendship?"

"A common enemy," Jack's lips curved, "and common interests."

"Enemy? Interests?" The mask scoffed, with no regard for the guest’s feelings. "Just you?"

His dominance was unmistakable.

"Yes, just me." Jack’s voice was calm and improbable. He knew well that demonstrating his value was the best way to deal with these powers. "Because I dare challenge Ignati."

Ignati.

At that name, the room fell subtly silent.

Even without the Guildmaster’s memories, Simon knew what that name meant in the Lower District—

The pinnacle of power.

Even in all Hemtica, few could hope to battle him as equals.

This man…

Simon fixed his gaze on the brash visitor, unable to release the breath trapped in his chest.

"Why?" The Shadow King asked the question for him—he straightened, carefully surveying the killer from head to toe. "Even if the Foggy Night Killer of a century ago returned, he could not rival that monster, let alone you newcomers."

"All things in this world are ever-changing," Jack paused for a long moment before speaking again. "What I could not do a century ago does not mean I… cannot now."

He stressed the final "cannot."

"A century ago…" The mask savored the subtle timestamp, then looked into Jack’s eyes, abyssal and unfathomable. "Who are you?"

"You already know," Jack replied, laden with meaning.

"Guessing is one thing," the Shadow King’s tone unconsciously softened, the previous inequality now vanished, "but in the end, facts must speak."

"Which is why I must kill." Jack, famed for the Foggy Night, was forthright. "Only killing proves my worth, does it not?"

The mask gave no reply, only watched him in silence.

"Rest assured, my friend, you are not my target." Their eyes met; Jack raised his cup. "A common enemy, a common interest—we are natural allies. Come, let us toast to Ignati, to the House of the Lost, to their blood mingled with this drink."

"This is tea," the Shadow King clarified, then clinked his cup.

And they drank it dry.